A C H: Baltazar's Backstory;

Scene 1 'A Bad Day At the Palisade’

Two agitated men, looking in their sixties, enter an hastily erected pavilion. A man that resembles them both stands as they come in. They are brothers. In a bed, a younger man in his early twenties, lies unconscious and feverish.


Moa-Atash: How is Baltazar doing? You’ve given him something, I see.

Ragg-Oryn: Yes, the ‘Ocean’s Swell’. I thought it best to give him some peace. He’ll not be getting rest much anymore.

The three men pause, examining the younger man. An angry scar where the brand has been burned into Baltazar’s left cheek is prominent.


Spay-Zaromme: Tell us what he’s managed to do. How has he come this far?

Ragg-Oryn: You haven’t heard?

Spay-Zaromme: Am I not in my armour? Have I not just ridden into the palisade? Who has told me?

Ragg-Oryn: He’s only told me a jumbled version. HE stood the charges alone. In that at least, he did the family no dishonour.

Spay-Zaromme angrily: Dishonour! I’ll dishonour his ass with some boot. What has he done?

Ragg-Oryn: Peace, Spay, peace. He shouldn’t be awoken. He has done something foolish. I want to put it down to brash youthfulness and ambition. It doesn’t matter now. He has admitted it was his fault and his crime. The family will not be indicted. All we need do is not speak with him again.

The men look at the unconscious youth with a mixture of sadness and irritation


Moa-Atash: Raggo, what did he do?

Ragg-Oryn: He stole juggernaut gubbins destined for the Trabergge Grand Armiger’s family.

Spay-Zaromme apoplectically: He stole –

Ragg-Oryn: -- Let me call it ‘intercepted’. He did take it to Trabegge. That said, he didn’t intend to deliver it. He planned to get there with some story of being waylaid by guildsmen of Cloister and losing the gubbins.

Moa-Atash quietly: Why would he do something so outlandish?

Rag-Oryn: He thought he could breed himself a juggernaut horse. Why else?

Moa-Atash: He couldn’t have imagined that he’d …

Ragg-Oryn: He did. He has been studying this particular aspect of horses without our knowing. That’s why he never has any money. Paying for information he shouldn’t have known.

Spay-Zaromme: Here I was thinking he was using all that money on wenching and food! I’ve given him hundreds of helms just in the last year. You’re telling me instead of wasting it properly, he’s been bribing horse exercisers to tell him about spume?

Ragg-Oryn: It seems that way.

Spay-Zaromme quietly furious: Let me wake him up? Gently mind, so that I can thrash his ass so that he’ll not ride for a month without salve.

Moa-Atash: You realise he’ll never ride again? Not a real horse anyway. He’s been branded. Outlander horses or mules only for him. Some knight could gain a high distinction if Baltazar was caught riding one of ours now.

Spay-Zaromme: Fool of a rider! Why would he do this to us?

Moa-Atash: It is worse for him than us, Spay. Think of Baltazar…

Spay-Zaromme: I am thinking of him. To get to him and help him I will have to travel who knows how far!

Ragg-Oryn: We may not hear from him for quite some time. If we do, it will likely be sporadic.

Moa-Atash: What happened to the gubbins? Was it found and returned to the Grand Armiger?

Ragg-Oryn: Yes, but by the time Baltazar had led them to where he’d ‘lost’ it to the guildsmen, it had spoiled. The binskin wasn’t made to last so long in direct contact with the earth. It cooled too much for the ‘skin to prevent the gubbins from congealing.

Moa-Atash: Then he returned to Trabergge and ended up confessing what he’d tried to put over on them?

Ragg-Oryn: Yes.

Spay-Zaromme: At least he owned his stupidity.

Ragg-Oryn: Baltazar’s very words to me.

Spay-Zaromme Slamming fist into palm: I had such hopes! All whipped to death… I cannot believe it.

The three men sit quietly well into the early hours. Baltazar moans from the fever-pain occasionally. Ragg-Oryn and Moa-Atash fall asleep. Spay-Zaromme waits until he is sure that the other men are deeply asleep. Then he stands and examines Baltazar’s things. His weapons and armour are arranged neatly at the foot of his bed. He lifts the helmet from where it sits. He takes the visor’s hinges and removes the pinnings that hold it to the cask. He exhales in satisfaction. He removes a piece of metal from the visor’s interior as one might remove a letter from an envelope. This piece of metal is burnished but plain. Looking around to be sure he isn’t watched, Spay-Zaromme takes out a similar piece of metal from a side pouch. This metal is green and chantried. He slides it into the slit in the visor and grunts with satisfaction at the fit…


End Scene 1

Scene 2 'The Rancorian'

A stable’s hayloft. Two people are in a low-toned conversation. One a man. The other a woman.

The man is a knight, large and clearly armed and protected far more than is common. He has two swords that have matching hilts, a war-axe and several knives scabbarded along the small of his back. His armour was plate surmounted by a leather and chain surcoat and topped, as is the custom, by a fur. In his case it was a timber wolf pelt. His two scars, run from brow to cheek, a permanent -- perhaps undesirable -- show of his right to wear the pelt.

His name is Argun-Adag Ulsh, an Armiger of the Houselands.

The woman is Sedakkuay Laigin, a Herald.

She looks tired. Weary from long days of travel. She wears the customary white of her collegiate profession. Hers is a tight-fitted bodice. She is no demure recordkeeper. She wears less than she might, although she is wearing a long riding cloak which she is careful to use to cover herself. Occasionally, her movements do reveal her tanned skin. She wears long riding boots.


Ulsh eyeing Laigin closely: You look like a bed would serve you better than this meeting. It’s damned cold tonight. This could wait until you’ve had some rest.

Laigin: Nonetheless.

Ulsh: We must speak. I understand.

Laigin sharply: Then do so, armiger. I have to know what happened. I was told to expect to be given the hive by you. You say you don’t have it. I need to be able to explain this to my superiors. If you’re feeling the cold, pull some straw around you and get on with it. Where is it?

Ulsh: I… I don’t know where it is at the moment. I know why I don’t know, however… The hive was on its way here. I and my two retainers were bringing it. All was readied for the hand over to you. Nothing had been left to chance. See? The table below us awaits the hive. Over there – maybe you can’t quite see it from where you are – there are drinks laid on for a toast to our mutual success. The horses are readied. The wagon for the hive’s safe transport sits there too. Supplies to make your journey more comfortable than your trip here probably was: blankets, tinder, foods –

Laigin exasperated: -- I’m aware that the hand over meant a fair amount to yours. I have no doubt about your preparations. What happened to the hive?

Ulsh: Yes, herald… The hive was… absorbed.

Laigin: You will be explaining that choice of word.

Ulsh: It might be the wrong choice. I cannot be absolutely sure of the word. I know these specifics matter to a collegian.

Laigin archly: They do indeed. Right now, I don’t give a borer’s bucket. Give me the details.

Ulsh: Collegian, I have lost two armigers this evening. I am lucky to have been able to come to you. I barely saved myself. My page is dead. My squire is missing. I know you’re upset and rightly but I cannot answer your tone with gladness. Pride is nothing but I am not a child to be spoken to in this way.

Laigin: Argun, I am sorry. As you said, I’m tired. Please tell me what caused you to lose so much.

Ulsh: I will be brief. We were transporting the hive here. For care’s sake, we were moving it simply. No show at all. I had my page, Weltoning carrying the hive. This was sensible as a page is often seen to be lugging various boxes or small bundles for his armiger. If my squire was to have carried it, there would have been more interest as squires can fight. The two other armigers and their retinues were arranged smartly, one ahead, one behind. Not so carefully as to arouse unwarranted attentions. A seeming casual progress through Salq’s lanes.

Quite abruptly, the ground broke open. It was like riding through the surf. The earth was seeping, swallowing my mount’s hooves. I stilled its fear easily but by the time I had, my squire was up to her waist. I reached down to lend her my arm. I pulled her up behind me. A cry of great alarm went up from ahead of us. The armiger there was set upon by foul things of the grave. I have seen undyne before but none like these. Thinking of them now, I am moved to vomit.

Unlike those skeletons or more fleshy undyne I have seen before, these could mock human speech. Not only this horrid playing but they actually seemed to respond to each other, as though they could think! Then to make the alarm more serious, there appeared a caster. He wore ragged robes, surmounted by a great deal of dull silver ornaments. On his head, he wore a kind of horned helm. He was driving the undyne forward. Encouraging them to attack me and the other armigers and to ignore the rest, save my page who held the hive. It was as though they might undertake his commands. I thought it crazed until the creatures did as he asked. My shock was brief. I had all I could manage to stave off the foul things. Twice I had to call on both swords to fashion a defence for my horse. The things tried to haul it to the ground. That did not seem a good thing at all! At our mounts’ feet, the earth seethed with grasping hands, all undyne, not all of which were human.

My page, when I looked for her was drawn under. With her last effort, she threw the hive to the nearest man. He was a squire of an armiger. This man died instantly. The caster emitted a kind of bolt from his finger. Green, coruscating energy wrapped itself around the squire’s chest and… and he was reduced to smoke.


Laigin evidently moved: A horrible tale. she pauses, then more intrigued: Can I ask you, you mentioned this deathcaster had a headpiece? A helm with horns, I believe you said. This is crucial, Armiger Argun-Adag… Would you try to recall if it could have been a crown?

Ulsh thoughtful: I could see that. Mind you, who would know it for this? What makes a helm a helm and when does this cease being a helm and become a crown?

Laigin: When the wearer is a ruler and not a warrior.

Ulsh: He was a caster not a ruler.

Laigin: While kingship has not been known to have ever been a caster’s role, who am I to say that this was never the case?

Ulsh: You are a herald! You would know.

Laiginmysteriously: So true.

Ulsh: Collegian, I have lost much of my retinue, I am not above admitting I am scared and my lands call to me. Can you tell me what the college will do with this news? I would not want to be on bad terms. I need to tell my Grand Armiger that my duty here is fulfilled…as best as it can be now.

Laigin: I need certainty myself. If you will allow me a closer look at your memory of this caster, I will consider your duty discharged.

Ulsh: You want to give me one of your examinations? I don’t know…

Laigin: It is rare that I meet refusal, armiger. This is not an enslavement of your mind to mine. Consider it much like when you ask your horse to leap a fence. A partnership of near-equals would be a better thought on it.

Ulsh: I am not a horse!

Laigin: Your honour will not be sullied, Argun. I will leave you as much modesty as you feel is required.

With that, Laigin laughs. She throws back her cloak. She is attractive and the Argun-Adag Ulsh sees it. He is less worried when she draws nearer to him. She reveals her long fingers as she removes her gloves. She takes his hand in hers. She caresses it. He looks uncomfortable, even embarrassed but that passes as the collegian’s casting takes hold. White mist emerges from her chest. He is transfixed. It embraces them both like a soft bedsheet. She whispers in his ear to think on the deathcaster he spoke about. He does and the mist swirls taking on form and menace. As it becomes substantial before the herald, the mist’s whiteness splits into other colours, most grey. Grey is his skin. Darker grey near-black are his robes. His power is a new Colour. Magenta as it has been called. He is no living caster but a dead one. Laigin draws a deep breath, not of fear but more as a defiance against this source of death. She is not startled because she knows the deathcaster’s face, even though it is a desiccated version of the one she has learned of in the books of the college. It is Thalen Trabergge’s face. She sees that he is made into a deathly caster but also that he is more than this. He is driven by an unquenchable thirst for what he would call justice. He is filled with the spite of what was done to him by the Houselands nobles at his fall. He has not died and become dust. He has died and become a Rancorian.

She realises that the mission she has been sent on is more important than any she has been given. She wonders at why she was chosen. The armiger’s words from earlier return to her, “… For care’s sake, we were moving it simply. No show at all…” The college must have chosen her for this same reason; a lesser would draw little attention. She must find the hive. Her career would not matter one bit if she didn’t get it back. Little might matter if she didn’t get it back. She whispers in Argun’s ear once more and he sleeps. She arranges some straw over him and departs.


End Scene 2

Scene 3 'A Sister's Love'

Two weeks later. A high tower room with a small floor space, only nine feet a side. Laigin has moved from Salq to Marchrise. She would pace the floor but there isn’t room, so she taps her foot against a table leg. She is not alone. Her sister, Ganial is with her. They look similar.


Laigin: You have the sent the hive?

Ganial: It’s done. A Houselander takes it.

Laigin: Nobody too self-assured. Not the questioning type?

Ganial: Right, but skilled…

Laigin: The hive must be delivered, Ganial.

Ganial distractedly Of course, Sedakkuay. It should be there or almost there.

Laigin: Good.

Ganial: Tell me, what is in it?

Laigin: A blade.

Ganial: A small blade then considering the hive’s size. Just a knife or is it truly a blade and has no hilt?

Laigin: Just the blade. Some might take it to be a knife but that would be a mistake. It is a blade meant for a spear.

Ganial: Spear? That’s less common. Fewer to use it.

Laigin: Fewer still who might deserve it. The spear tip is a found crystal. Chantried by the world, not a maker. A thing of the world when it was forming. Ancient to the ancient things.

Ganial: You were entrusted with it too! You have done well to find it.

Laigin: I shall be rewarded as the college desires.

Ganial: Yes, Sedakkuay.

Laigin: I will mention your aid. Not too strongly so it isn’t seen to be self-serving.

Ganial: Wise.

Laigin: What was the Houselander’s name? The one who takes it to Mymoor?

Ganial: Baltazar. An outcast of the Maynor House.

Laigin: Outcast… I’d not have thought of that. An… interesting choice, Ganial.

Ganial. I need to make some payments at the Trianglers. It’s an inn where I have a room reserved.

Laigin: Why have a room? This tower is room enough surely?

Ganial: Yes, for my purposes. I have had a couple of chance encounters that have taught me the value having a room reserved there. A place to send people of interest to the college, so that I know where they will be found. There is a healer that lives two shops away who I can count on to aid those that need it. It really –

Laigindismissively: -- Yes, fine, I get it. I will take a bath. The road was dusty and I need to warm up a bit.

Ganial: Two floors down.

Laigin: But my room is upstairs?

Ganial: A long way up to carry water enough for a bath, Sedakkuay.

Laigin: Of course… I will speak to you in the morning if you’re going to be more than an hour?

Ganial: Yes, don’t wait up for me. I might be a bit longer than an hour.

Ganial hugs her sister and leaves. Once down the stairs two levels, Ganial breathes more deeply to calm herself. She must not panic. She mustn’t but something is terribly wrong. Her sister is not upstairs. Whoever is in the heraldic tower, is not Sedakkuay Laigin. Ganial knows it.

She felt it but there were other things too. Her sister doesn’t like being called, Sedakkuay. She prefers, Kuay. Her real sister would have become angry at Ganial repeatedly calling her by her full name. Ganial wouldn’t have bothered to do that if whoever the imposter was hadn’t called her, Ganial. Kauy, the real Kuay, called Ganial, ‘Anagram’. That was because their parents had named her by loosely muddling up the letters of their family name. Ganial shrugs as it’s better than ‘Junior’.

The imposter wants the hive delivered. The spear tip delivered. It sounds normal, even desirable. The mission was to deliver something. The spear tip sounded right. Ganial needed more information than she can expect to get in Marchrise. She wasn’t permitted to leave the city. She would have to make do with the resources here. She needs to make a list of what she can count on. The list needed to include those she could rely on too. She thinks about the Trianglers. It’s a place where a few decent travellers and mercenary types stay. She might find help there. This was the trouble with being a herald. Things need to be solved on your own. Heralds need to be self-sufficient.

Ganial’s thoughts race. What if the blade is right but wrong? Meant to be delivered but not the right blade? The imposter probably had replaced the blade with an 'imposter' blade. How could a blade be faked if it was meant to pass for something so old? That was the only way it would make any sense for the imposter to be trying to ‘complete’ the mission. The college would have to be warned. It might be too late. The outcast was likely there... Ganial stifled a sob. Her sister. Her Kuay. What had happened to her in Salq?


End Scene 3