From Ages Past Ch. 01

From Ages Past

By Saddle Rider

• This story is mine, don't post it elsewhere.

• If you're not old enough to read this, or someplace you're not supposed to read it, don't.

• Praise and constructive criticism, can find me through my profile.

Note: This story takes place after, "Of Bonds Forged."

Note: I have been asked to include a story order for the Erette stories for clarity, so here it is in its entirety:

1. A Bargain Made

2. A Bargain Made: A House Fallen

3. An Apocalypse Rising

4. A War Dawning

5. Of Hearts Bound

6. A Mage Born

7. A Price Paid

8. A Thrall Perfected

9. Of Bonds Forged

Note: This story contains different types of sex, so it can't always be uniformly categorized. There will be scenes of mind control, but I hesitate to call it a mind control story, for example.

I will work to offer notes, as always, when it comes to heavier violence. I will also make every effort to note sex outside the vanilla (i.e. mind control, etc.) so that for those that do not find such things appealing, they can move on from the encounter.

That said, all these stories contain some death, violence, gore, mind control, and non-vanilla encounters. If the possibility of encountering that doesn't appeal, there are thousands of other stories here that might. Happy reading either way. :)

Chapter One

Anatol moved down the street as a man on a mission and the clock was ticking. He didn't know exactly when it started ticking before he noticed, but it was thundering in his ear now. He never actually feared something like this was going to happen when he was given what he was. It was sold to him in a hurried fashion, that seller wanting whatever he could get so that he could fuel his travels. He picked up this and that as he went, and sold it to others in his little network, expanding that network as he went.

So, when this man told him he'd found pieces of a treasure map, Anatol took it with a healthy amount of skepticism and then some because he understood his business. "These are the best gems to be found in these parts." "This is a long lost painting from the lost artist Iva and is worth a fortune, but I'll make you a deal." That's just how it went. While only sometimes there was something of genuine value, almost all of it was worth something. Passable gems that weren't too cloudy could still be marketed, and a decent painting, even if a copy, could always find a home. Move enough of these average odds and ends and the occasional rarity, and one could make a good living, which he did.

In hindsight though, he now wondered if this seller's hurry to sell was more than the usual hurry to move on. He'd called them pieces of a map to a great treasure. That some of what he held was a map was obvious in the layered green and brown tones with the winding blue that denoted a river, or a path of some kind. The other pieces were less familiar, but they would sell as interesting bits of art nevertheless. The seller wouldn't say where he got them, but that sort of thing wasn't unusual either. The up-sell that was the story was well told and told with zeal and Anatol thought that was worth a bit extra coin, but it didn't matter beyond that.

Until he started noticing the eyes upon him.

He'd had possession of enough genuinely valuable items in his day to know when someone else wanted what he had and was waiting for the proper time to try to get it. What too few people grasped was that there were always ways to track the tracker, especially in a city, large or small. The world there was often one of reflections. From water, glass, or any number of other surfaces one could see what was around them, even if it was sometimes a just a familiar shape. It was the same man over and over in the past several days. Anatol's pursuer had stayed well back and showed no signs that he knew that Anatol knew that he was there. If he had, Anatol guessed he would have made a move before now.

He'd hoped that whoever this was hadn't been following for too long before he was noticed so that perhaps this nameless reflection didn't notice a change in his routine. Anatol decided that his best defense against whatever this represented was to know what was going on, so he began to add some shopping trips to his normal route. They were all innocuous stops in and of themselves, and he always came out with a bit of this and that so that he looked like one of those people that perhaps didn't know what they might need or want until the moment came and lived their lives day-to-day.

And him coming away with needed bits is what he did. He had various connections of worth webbed throughout Erette and he knew where to go and who to ask to find out what he needed to know. Someone wanted what he was given, and he was given, most notably, a map. Something someone wanted was at the end of it, so there were things that had to be done to get there, and those were the things that he focused on. It took a bit of time, but not as much as he thought it might. And it didn't hurt that he paid well considering he had an unwanted shadow.

He didn't know how long his shadow would wait before deciding to grow closer, but he got lucky in that he got what he needed while his pursuer was still, apparently, gaming out what to do. Anatol knew though that he had to act quickly because, whatever this was, the man wasn't going to wait forever.

So, as he did every morning these days, he dropped by a local market to pick up his day's food. When he entered, the merchant Ott, gave him a smile. "Fancy seeing you here again. You know, you're the highlight of my mornings."

Anatol returned the smile, "I'm sorry that your mornings are so uninteresting." He was tempted to glance behind him, but he knew that his shadow would be going around the block and pick him up again after he left this place. "Do you have the fruit I asked you for yet or are you fixin' to sit on your ass for a while longer."

"All I can do is put in the order. It gets here when it gets here. He stretched his arms plaintively. "Do you have any idea how much effort it is to get those things here? They have to be just the right shade of violet before they get picked since they ripen a bit even after picking. Then getting them here is a pain in the ass by itself, bouncing back and forth in wagons. If they get here at all, half of them are bruised and not even worth putting them in a pie. You have..."

He was more than a little exasperated at the drama. "Do you have some or not?"

"I saved four of the good ones for you in the back," he said with some pride as he moved his bulk from the stool and half-waddled from the counter toward the entryway to the storeroom that was almost too narrow for him to pass through without turning his body sideways.

"You know, you could have just said that in the first place."

"I just want my best customers to remember all I go through to get them what they want." He slipped behind the black curtain, the metal rings sliding against the metal rod with a not unpleasant sound.

Anatol followed him back and replaced the curtain before reaching into his jacket pocket to hand him a piece of paper. He decided that he needed help and he needed it from someone he trusted. It would take time for her to get here, and that was assuming that she wasn't elsewhere in the world than where he expected her to be. The message might bring others not her, and, under the circumstances, he wasn't completely sure he could trust them just because strangers to him, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Besides, if they were sent from her guild, and they would be, he decided he could trust them because she did. "Get this to Guild Vestrix. They'll know where it goes from there." Even this was quite the risk for him, but the map would be seen and maybe understood by others enough to start something else that would risk bringing down what he was going through, or worse, on others. It had taken him days to recreate the artwork that came with the map that he wanted to pass on as a message. Perhaps, if he were lucky, someone there knew what it was and what it meant. He wasn't sure he wanted to part with the map because, if things got difficult somehow it'd be the only leverage that he had.

It wasn't good enough to pass as the original by a mile, as that was so intricate and so full of fine line and detail that he could never hope to replicate it on his own without months or more, but, in some spots it was pretty close. Anatol just hoped that it was enough to get the point across and bring someone to him quickly.

Ott took the paper and slid it quickly under a box in the back. He knew better than to look at it. He wasn't paid to poke his nose into other people's business. "Pick-up is in twenty minutes."

Hearing that time was so short rattled him more than he thought it would. He knew the answer, but he desperately needed the words. "Are you sure no one is going to track this?"

"Once it's picked up, only the Goddess knows where it goes, man. They pick up and five seconds later it's like no one was ever here. It's like they walk through walls, and, shit, for all I know, maybe they do. I don't even have names, only faces that I know. It's gone and I don't have anything to give up even if I wanted to, which I don't."

"This one stays around here," he said, pulling out a smaller bit of paper. "This one stays here in case anyone from Vestrix comes looking. Tell them that, too."

Ott looked concerned and took Anatol by the shoulders. "What's wrong with you? What's going on? If you need help, I know people. If somebody's scaring you I know people who can scare them back."

Whatever this was, it didn't need more people in it, especially not this man who was taking risk enough just doing his regular bits here. That tempered him and brought him back to himself. He had reason to be paranoid, but he could see that path was going to lead him nowhere that would help him. He smiled a small smile. "Nah, it's nothing that bad. Thanks for the offer though. I'll keep that in mind for when I lose at cards and don't feel like paying up."

Ott laughed. "With the way you play cards, you'd need those boys all the time. It'd just be cheaper to stop playing cards."

"But not nearly as much fun."

Ott eyed him conspicuously one more time. "You sure you're okay?"

He exhaled sharply, trying to make the anxiety leave his body. "I'm doing fine. Just make sure that all that gets squared away though, all right?"

"It's already done, friend."

Anatol took two steps back toward the curtain before Ott touched his arm, "Hold on there." He reached for a small bag on one of the higher shelves before pressing it into his chest. "Don't forget your fruit."

Anatol smiled. "Better be as good as you talked up."

"When was the last time I screwed you over?"

"This year?"

Ott laughed boisterously. "Take your fruit and get out."

* * *

The day proceeded as the days before had. His shadow latched on to him almost immediately after he left the market and followed him on his new routine. Anatol felt better after twenty minutes had passed. After that, he was sure what he sent was safely on its way because he didn't think whoever was tracking him would dare interfere with the mages even if he believed Anatol was trying something.

The shadow was there through his usual appointments and, while he no longer caught a hint of him, as he stopped for a drink at a nearby tavern on the way home, he wasn't fool enough to believe that the man was done with him Maybe he stopped for dinner, he thought with a tinge of dark humor.

He was well within the relative safety of home looking over some older parchments that someone sent him as a tease of a larger offering. They looked like some random scientist's chemistry notes and personal correspondence from a century or so before, though the proffer promised some known names in the field at the time, in good condition, and in well-bound leather. If the promise held, the sale might hold enough promise for him to get away from this place for a time. But even this was comforting. It was calm and quiet and he was immersed in things he knew. So immersed was he in his work that he jumped when there was a knock at the door.

He closed his eyes and took control of his heart until he was certain he had his faculties collected once again and added a few more seconds to prepare himself. His work started with the rising sun, but was over for the day by the time it set. No one just happened to come by his home this time of night, so he had a good idea of who it was. He swallowed hard and resigned himself to whatever would be before rising to go to the door.

Opening it smoothly, he was met by the brown eyes of a mostly nondescript soul. Medium height, medium build with hair a sandy blond that wasn't noticeably short or long that continued downward to frame his face in a well-kept beard. He was a fine-looking man in reasonable attire. He seemed to craft himself to be someone to be seen when he wanted to be, liked while he was engaging with someone, but fairly quickly forgotten when he was gone. Whether that was who he was or just who he wanted to be for the purpose of following Anatol, but it was the same man that had paced him for days. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he forced himself to behave normally, waiting to see how events might unfold.

He smiled the practiced, convincing smile that he had for new clients or contacts that he'd heard bad things about before he could judge for himself. "Hello?"

The smile was returned with confidence. "Hello. My name is Prestin. Please pardon the lateness of the hour, but word has it that you're a dealer in various antiquities, and I've also heard that you have some very interesting pieces in your possession. If that's true, I believe that we can conduct some business. May I come in?"

Inwardly, he was a bit relieved. Someone wanting something that he had while being all secretive about it for their own reasons, from being in competition, real or imagined with someone else, to someone willing to spend exorbitant sums of money just to buy and hoard whatever they found that tickled their fancy. He could have done without all the shadowplay and air of espionage to things, but he'd met with some odd people over the years. At the moment though, it seemed like something he could deal with.

"Certainly. Come in." Even though he felt better about things just now, he backed away from the door rather than turn away from Prestin. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Prestin looked around the comfortably furnished little home and shook his head to dismiss the notion. "Thank you for your hospitality, especially given the lateness of my arrival, but, no. I don't expect our business will take long anyway."

"All right," he began, as he moved behind his desk, "why don't you tell me about 'our business?'"

Prestin looked to his right and saw the small chair just by the door that Anatol used to take off his shoes rather than track dirt or mud through the house. He looked to Anatol and gestured toward it, "May I?"

"Help yourself, Prestin."

"Thank you so much." He sat it in front of the desk and seated himself. "It's been a long day."

"I can't imagine how following me around all day would be exhausting for you. I just work around this here little city. It's not as if I live a fantastic, busy life elbow to elbow with the nobles of Court."

Anatol thought he saw a flash of surprise in the other's expression, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. Either way, he allowed himself that bit of satisfaction that came with thinking it. It seemed the least he could do for himself when part of him still wanted to drop the niceties and rage a bit until he'd decided he'd completely vented.

"That's true, from what little I know about you anyway. You do deal in various antiquities? It had the lilt of a question even though Prestin had already said as much.

"I do," he agreed.

"Manuscripts? Art work of various types?"

"Yes. There are samples of the sorts of things that I deal with here. Would you like to see some general samples or is there something in particular you're looking for?"

"Well, my employers sent me because they have it on good authority that you have a map in your possession."

"I have many maps that come my way."

Prestin looked around, "No doubt, but this one might have come to you within the past couple of weeks. You see, it was never meant to come to you at all. It was stolen from my employers."

"Not by me."

"Oh, I'm not accusing you of anything. Nevertheless, it was never meant to find its way to you, so they'd like it back."

"And if you have a bill of sale or something else to prove that the item in question belongs to you you're free to have it back and I'll take up the matter of the money I paid for it with the person that I got it from."

Prestin smiled. "That's a very enlightened position. It's what I came here expecting given what I've learned about you over the past days, but, honestly, it's genuinely uplifting to see it. You're an honest man and I appreciate it."

He then looked a bit deflated, "And it's certainly a wise course to take it up with the one who sold it to you. The problem is that the map itself is a found original work that was subsequently stolen. As such, there is no bill of sale."

It did look hand drawn, and he he had to admit it was quite the piece of work, "The artist seems very talented. If you know that I have a map and that I have many maps, you must know what you're looking for, so perhaps you could describe it?"

Prestin proceeded to do so in some detail. Some of those details were off, but enough of them were correct that, as he spoke, Anatol rose and went to the coat he'd worn today. Reaching into a hidden pocket he pulled out the paper he'd been carrying there. Returning to his seat at the table opposite Prestin, he unfolded it and showed its face to the other. "Would this be it?"

Prestin smiled broadly and disarmingly, "It would be, yes. Forgive me, but I honestly feared you might have gotten rid of it."

Anatol's thin brows rose as he placed it face up on the table, "That wouldn't have solved the problem of you following me around, would it? You'd still want it. You'd have questions about what I did with it and where it was. Why drag other people into it?"

"That's very pragmatic of you." He reached for the paper before the other put his palm down on it.

"But there's still the matter that you can really only say it's yours when, right now, it's actually mine. I have it. I paid for it. And since you have no proof that it's yours, all you really are is a perspective buyer."

This part was at least familiar to him and he knew he had to play it out. This wasn't normal, none of it was, the feeling of unease that he had when he first noticed Prestin behind him was still there. If he played at something other than a slightly greedy merchant Prestin might pick up on it. If he was very lucky, he could make this sale, and it could be over. More likely, if they went to all this trouble to begin with, there would be eyes on him after this just to be sure that he wasn't running some other game and then do whatever they were going to do. By then, someone from Vestrix would probably be there to help him sort out the truth of things. At the very least he'd have people with some bite to protect him. All he'd probably have to do is get past the next few minutes.

Prestin was silent for a moment, seemingly processing what he was just told. Eventually, he sighed and shrugged, "You know what? That's perfectly fair, too. My employers, obviously, had hoped to avoid paying anything at all, but, I advised that, since they had nothing but their word that what they said belonged to them did, that they should be prepared to pay. To that end..."