Kis: Fire in the Sky ~ Samheen 27, Late ET

[Sebastian Beauvais]

Arkovda gazed down upon Cerleann fiercely, the unfathomable distance barely softening its gaze. The outline of the Great Bear was in ascendancy over the troubled isle, gleaming with bright fury against the midnight folds of the sky. Power thrummed in the darkness between its stars, and burning meteors illuminated its eyes. To any who dared glance up Arkovda was a terrible and foreboding image to behold, one that hinted to the subconscious of power and fury, of fiery anger and death.
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Drew stood by feeling helpless and frustrated as his father repaired their cart. One of the shafts they used to pull the venerable vehicle along had finally come free of the body of the cart, the rusted iron pin shearing off with a tired cry of protest. Drew had helped recover the small boxes of leather scraps and polish that had tumbled off the side of their cobbler cart, but the makeshift fix his father was using to reattach the shaft to the cart required a strength he could not yet marshal. Nine winters and still useless, he thought angrily.

Brown eyes wandering, he spied an adhiel guardsman lounging against the corner of a building not far away, observing their distress with disinterested eyes. A scowl seeped onto Drew's face at the sight - the soldier was certainly strong enough to help his father, and yet he did nothing! Was it any wonder the humans of the city were chafing under the adhiel rule? Drew thought about calling out to the guardsman, not with any expectation of help, but to embarrass him with his callousness.

But of course he didn't. Drew knew what happened when you made fun of the guardsmen, or any other adhiel for that matter. And he knew what happened when you did one better and showed they were wrong. Neither was a good idea in Cerleann. Be glad you don't live in Sirionn, his father would say.

"I think that's about got it," his father said in his kind voice. "Come give me a hand getting her moving again, Drew." And the lad stepped to the opposite side of his father and wrapped his small hands around wood worn smooth with years of daily travel to and from the Market District and pulled with all his might. Together the two got the cart rolling again, and Drew's dad smiled down at him and tousled his hair. They would soon be home, and it was fresh fish tonight. Drew could hardly wait.

They made their way down the street, past the guardsman who hadn't lifted a finger in their aid. "Good eveningtide to you, Guardsman," Drew's father said politely, without expectation of reply. "May K'tan bless your path." The guardsman simply blinked at the pair, and then turned his attention back down the street. Drew scowled anew, though he was careful to keep his head down.

"We'll have a tale for your mother, won't we?" his father asked Drew, and the cart rounded a corner that led to the heart of the peasant district...
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"Careful, you lout! You'll stain my clothes!"

"A thousand pardons, Lord Camlin. It was most clumsy of me."

"It most assuredly was. Don't let it happen again, or I shall take my business elsewhere." The adhiel dandy gave a sidelong, knowing glance at the attendant, a spry human of middle years with receding black hair and a broad nose. Not that Camlin noticed overmuch, for why should he bother with the hired help? The humans had coarse features anyway, and Camlin often had trouble distinguishing them from each other unless he paid close attention. It was like the cats that frequented his uncle's granary in the back corner of the estate, all black and white and grey and always underfoot. How could you keep them straight?

The attendant nodded and then backed away with his tray of coffee, just one of the amenities they offered at the trading house in The Docks. For a representative of one of the Houses, such benefits were simply a part of the job, and Camlin enjoyed very much the status that came with his position. The last thing he needed was some clumsy human ruining his mood.

Especially today, for he had concluded a favourable agreement with one of the Dortish representatives for steady shipments of wine over the next three yahren. This was no small coup, and one he expected to be rewarded for by his lord. For a man who prided himself on his status and position, as Camlin most certainly did, this was a joyous day.

"I think I shall head off home, gents," he said in farewell to the other adhiel traders about the table. "A fine bottle of wine awaits me there, as well as clothes free from the stink", he glanced at the retreating human, "of this place." Chuckles of agreement erupted around the table, and with a flashy smile Camlin stood and donned his silken coat. "Until the morrow, friends."

Camlin wound his way through the crowded trading house, nodding here and dropping a subtle word there as he passed tables of notable names in the business. Thrice he had to dodge the lead-footed humans that catered to the whims of the elite traders, further dampening what should have been his triumphant moment.

They'd just better stay out of my way on the road home, he thought with dark bravado, feeling with confidence the short rapier hanging from his waist. Sweeping his feathered hat onto his carefully coifed curls, Camlin stepped out into the street and headed north toward the bridge to the eastern city.
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Cieralien rolled her amber eyes in disgust as she wiped the blood off her blade, using the filthy edge of her victim's rags. How did the overwhelming stench of the alley not drive this fool away, she thought idly, not overly concerned with the answer. Stupid animals.

Satisfied the folded steel of her sabre was cleansed, Ciera sheathed the weapon with a flourish that allowed some of the eerie phosphorescence of her costume to show beneath her dull grey cloak. The swirling fabric settled quickly enough, but there were no more cattle in the alley to observe the scene anyway. And if there were, they would suffer the same fate, the adhiel murderer thought with a satisfying candor.

They were clustered close together, despite the generous distance between the dilapidated buildings that formed the walls of the alley. Figures cloaked in similar fashion to Ciera, each standing next to their silent black mounts, awaiting the coming mark with savage anticipation. Nestled in the heart of the Peasant District, a poor district even by those standards, it had been surprisingly simple to gather unnoticed. Except for Ciera's prey, of course, but that one was of little consequence. They all were, really. Now she and her followers were nearly ready to begin the ride and deliver their justice to the lowing masses, retribution for the unprovoked attack on an adhiel maiden.

Giving the signal, Ciera leapt upon her horse and shrugged off her cloak. The full measure of her costume became apparent, a demonic depiction of black leather traced in reddish phosphorescence that glowed like a torturer's fires. With her free hand she ripped away the covering on her mount's head, revealing the phosphor that turned her mundane horse into a creature of nightmare. As her final accoutrement, she pulled free from her belt the masked hood that would cover her head with a terrifying, glowing visage. As the silken cloth settled over her head Ciera felt the thrill of anonymity course through her, just as she did every time the Firelords rode. A nameless demon was free to strike without fear, and carry through on the deeds that weaker hearts could barely contemplate. A throaty chuckle emanated from Ciera, unbidden but relished all the same.

She looked back over her shoulder and smiled cruelly at the sight that awaited her, a whole band of demons eager to follow. With a gesture she set them to lighting their incendiary flasks, ready for the first charge. While the last few completed the task, Ciera took a last glance up into the night's sky, where Arkovda hovered so symbolically. In your honour, she offered the bright, burning giant.

"Firelords!" she yelled out, her powerful voice reverberating down the alley with authority. "We ride!"

[Sebastian Beauvais]

A thunderous rumble cascaded down the alley, spilling from its hellishly lighted mouth into the dark street. Louder and brighter, brighter and louder it grew, until the Firelords erupted from between the two decrepit buildings and burst into full, nightmarish view on the street. Ciera led the charge with maniacal glee, gleaming sword held wide and flaming incendiary raised high.

Two followers close on her heels flung their firebombs in unison, spilling angry flames across homes on either side of the street. A elderly woman ran screaming from one, horrified at the fire engulfing her pitiful home, only to be spitted by a trailing Firelord. A man on the other side of the street cried with outrage, only to be pinned to the moldy planking by three quarrels launched from adhiel crossbows.

Ciera and her troop trailed destruction down the street until they emerged in a small square, where the Firelords circled in a whirlwind of death, firing home and store alike and waiting for their prey to emerge.
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Drew murmured in his sleep, tangled in his threadbare sheets and dreaming visions of suffering and disinterested adhiel guards. It was hot and someone was screaming in the background, but the guard just looked away.

Unconsciously shrugging his legs free of the sheets, the young boy continued to struggle with his dream...

[Sebastian Beauvais]

Lieutenant Vaelor of the City Guard deftly put the last touches on a new quill with his penknife, making sure the nib would be shaped to accommodate the annoyingly tight ledgers provided to the guard for official records. For the thousandth time he resolved to go have a talk with the administrators that created and ordered the log books, to explain how ordinary people couldn't fit even the smallest words in the spaces they provided. It was idle frustration though, and deep down Vaelor knew he wouldn't bother in the end. With a final examination he set down the penknife, sighed, and bent back to the task of updating the night's log.

He had barely begun scratching across the parchment when an urgent rap sounded from the door frame to his office, and an impatient ahem confirmed it was his sergeant of the watch, Fraelin. Smirking to the page in front of him, Vaelor asked without even looking up. "What is it now, Fraelin?"

"Sir, we have a problem in the Peasant District," came the quick reply, and something in Fraelin's tone alerted the lieutenant that this was no false alarm. "There are reports of fires, and they are spreading."

Vaelor's violet eyes widened significantly, and an annoyed curse escaped his lips. "By K'tan's grace! What have the humans done now?" Fire was always a threat in a city the size of Cerleann, and especially in the densely packed Peasant District, where the homes were cheaply made of the most abundant resource near the capital - wood. Leave it to the humans to bugger this up, he thought.

"What has been done already?" he asked, rising from behind his desk. "Get our patrols to cordon off the area, and mobilize the volunteers. How far from the river are we talking?" Proximity to the Cerl was always critical when dealing with fires, since it was the biggest source of their defense.

"Measures are already being taken," replied the sergeant, nodding in agreement. "The area is just north of the Market, near the place they call Teigor's Square. Not too far from the river, thank the Goddess."

"But there's more, sir," Fraelin added ominously, sending a chill down Vaelor's back. What could be worse than fires in the Peasant District? "I think it best you hear this from Mirell, sir."

At the lieutenant's nod a young adhiel guard came in, still panting slightly after his headlong rush to Guard Headquarters in the Palace District. Never had Mirell run so far, so fast as he did this night. The leering faces of the riders had driven him mercilessly.

"Sir, the fires are not the human's doing," he reported breathlessly, the implications of his words banishing any shyness he might have felt before his commanding officer. "It is the Fi..the Firelords, sir. They are attacking in Cerleann!"

Vaelor stood for a flicker staring at his patrolman in disbelief. "You must be mistaken, Mirell," he finally managed, trying to quell the cold knot in his stomach. "The Firelords are a problem in Sironnabh, not in the capital. There must be another explanation."

"I don't think so, sir," he panting adhiel guard responded, shaking his head in the negative. "I saw a handful myself, just before flying here to spread the alarm. They looked the part down to the last detail," Mirell shuddered slightly as he recalled the image in his mind. "They are Firelords, sir."

"What are we going to do?"

[Dartimos Hammer]

Splash

Splash

Splash

The steady beat of the oars in the water was the only sound. The rowers had muffled the oarlocks with cloth so they wouldn't rattle. Aboard the small row-powered skiff no one spoke. Every man aboard knew that being found here, with him was a death sentence, and silence was a requirement.

Slowly another sound joined in. The rolling of surf up a beach. A couple of men looked up from thier rowing as they approached. They had never actually seen the beach in daylight. Landings were always made under cover of darkness when they were less likely to be seen. But after what had happened, he said that he had to get to the main island, and what hewanted, he usually got.

Even now he was there under the black cloak at the prow of the ship as though he could will it to go faster.

As the low draft ship grounded against the shoreline people came up out of hiding, and rushed out to hold it in place as he disembarked. Turning back to the rowers, he thanked them for the risk they took. As he spun back to his followers on the shoreline the clasp on his cloak flashed for a moment in the sun.

A sliver wolf's head.

[Dartimos Hammer]

The sun was hanging low in the sky as the crowd gathered to hear him speak. The Wolf. Pirate. Rebel. General. Scourge of the Kisolvani slavers.

"Let there be no doubt. There will be blood spilled tonight. Some of it will be ours. But by the grace of Vargaz there will be adhiel wine spilled aplenty!" The Wolf's voice rang out. It was a clear educated voice, and there were many rumors that he had been a favored servant of an adhiel lord before he was cast out to become the pirate he was now.

"I have friends in the city. Servants of the Masters who have seen shippments of saddles, bridles and bits coming into the city. Tack and harnesses covered with bright glowing phosphor." There was a collective intake of breath among the crowd listening. Everyon knew what that meant. Firelords. Here in the capital city.

"I have said so before and now we have proof. If the royal family objected at all they would never let this happen here. Clearly, they support these killers. We must send a message to the Queen. We are not to be trifled with!"

Cheers broke out. The crowd whooped and hollered. Many knew they might face death tonight, but they would face it togehter and standing on thier feet not cowering on thier knees.

Plans were made. Assignments given. And by the time another mark had passed the glade was empty with no sign anyone had been there.

[Dartimos Hammer]

The carriage was opulent and well appointed. The adhiel noble inside sitting ramrod straight, not bothering to look out the windows, giving off an air of boredom.

It would have take a sharp eye indeed to realize that it was not boredom that kept him so still: it was terror. His "guest" sitting back in the shadows was a ninadhiel everyone had heard of, but he had never met. Still the silver wolf's head charm on his cloak made it clear who it was.

His carriage had been grabbed on its way into town, his adhiel driver killed, his human footman replaced, and now the cart rolled its way towards the center of the Capital City carrying the most wanted criminal in Kislovan.
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The Wolf continued to weigh options and choices in his head as the carriage continued on. He knew this was a risk, but he felt it was a necessary one. The adhiel government had to understand that acts like this could not simply be accepted as status quo. Had the adhiel wizard been arrested he might have let this go, but clearly both the Crown and the Church saw nothing wrong in the near death of a human.

Well after tonight, they would understand. Not an eye for an eye. That way led the stalemate of the last fifty years. No, starting tonight it would be a head for an eye.

He and his lieutenant rode in the cart. Two of his buccaneers, skilled swordsmen and archers occupied the stand in the back of the carriage as footman, and a blessed warrior of Vargaz, skilled in the ways of sea magic sat in the drivers seat.

It was to be a snatch and grab, before the Temple or the Guard could mount a defense. With the adhiel in their hands they would fade into the summoned fog. Later, her trial and execution would be both public and bloody, but set up at a time and place that they would not be interrupted.

[Sebastian Beauvais]

Camlin wandered northward from the docks, drawing his cloak about him more tightly to ward of the damp of the evening. Wisps of fog danced across the top of the Cerl, which flowed sluggishly to his right, as though fleeing the heart of the city for the safety of open water. He was vaguely aware of crowds around him, ninadhiel for the most part, but they hardly registered on his mind. Instead his eyes were turned skyward, to the intriguing sight above.

The adhiel lordling had spotted two strange swirls of fiery colour in the heavens, sitting stationary within the constellation Arkovda. Somewhere around the head, if I remember rightly, he thought to himself, twisting his neck to try and put the proper perspective on the grouping of stars. Perhaps it is an omen of my success!

Camlin gasped suddenly as the swirls flared and spit a myriad of shooting stars, much like a cookfire popping to shoot a shower of sparks into the air. “What magic is this?” he murmured despite himself, as a flaming tracery spread across the night sky, illuminating the dark tapestry with innumerable orange-gold threads. The meteors arced across the sky, fanning out to blanket the firmament above Cerleann, and eliciting another gasp of awe from the adhiel.

A solid push in the back drew his attention back to the ground, and he did not hesitate to berate the perpetrator. “Watch where you are going, you clumsy oaf!” he barked, whirling on the person behind him. A tall human stood there, a sly smile pasted on his bearded face. “Just what are you grinning at, fool. Do you not know who I am?”

“I can see all I need to know, lord,” came the reply, the grin only widening. The dark purpose in the man's eyes and the resounding chuckles that came from all directions finally alerted Camlin to his true peril. Head whirling, he saw humans of all shapes and description closing in, a variety of crude but effective-looking implements held in their murderous hands.

The streaking fires in the sky were the only innocent witnesses to Camlin’s fall, though many heard the calls of wolves…
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Ciera whirled her mount in a circle, the forelegs pawing the air fiercely. Hungry flames danced around her, and she couldn’t still the satisfying, throaty laugh that spilled from her lips. On the edges of the hellish light she could see the backsides of fleeing ninadhiel, while others less fortunate peppered the night air with their death moans. She stood in the stirrups and whooped exuberantly, her sword tracing a deadly circle in the air. The Firelords were triumphant tonight!

Suddenly the cries of her followers filtered through the carnage, “The guard! The guard arrives!” Ciera scowled behind her fiendish mask and spurred her mount forward to see just what defence the city had mustered.

It was worse than she thought – several ranks of city guards, wrapped in red dhotee and carrying their shining glaives, were converging on them from the north. With the river forming a boundary to the east, Ciera wheeled her horse to the west and called above the din for her fellow Firelords to follow.

But she hadn’t gone half a block before guards spilled from the alley to block the street in front of them. Reigning in her mount, its phosphor-painted features glaring at the defending Cerleann forces, Ciera began to feel the first pangs of fear. She would not command her riders to attack the adhiel defenders; they were kinfolk, not the unclean, ungrateful humans. But capture was not an option either. One day her rank as a Firelord would matter, but as yet it was still a detriment in the courts of the queen.

With a snarling cry she threw one of her remaining incendiaries deliberately short of the guards, the bomb exploding in a wall of flames that shielded their retreat. Spurring back to the east, Ciera led the Firelords toward the river, looking for an opening. More explosions sounded on either side of them, but she paid little heed. They needed an escape route.

And then they were upon it, a broad avenue leading southward. Without regard for where it might lead, Ciera turned her galloping mount down the wide road and led her rampaging force south, into the Market District…

[Dartimos Hammer]

Miguel Evestorn came out of The Shattered Wave humming to himself. Kaleen had heard about another musical prodigy, a human female who favored the hand harp or the lyre. She had played tonight, and Miguel had to agree she had talent.

As nervous as the audience was, and who wasn't tense these days; she had the audience clapping and singing along from nearly the first song. Some of her folk songs were a little irreverent to the island's adhiel population, and Miguel caught several glances his way as she sang to guage his reaction. After all he was the only adhiel in the bar, which was located where the hills first started to rise away from the docks and into the capital city's Market District. This was clearly human territory. Kaleen had often told him to be careful but there had never been trouble since the uprising had been put down fifty years ago.

At least not until tonight. The rumble of hooves and flicker of torches caught his eye. A dozen or more horses were barrelling down the main thoroughfare, the beasts and riders glowing with symbols of painted phosphor.

Leaning heaving against his cane he tried to flatten himself against the building, but there was no room. One of the horses, lathered in sweat and panic, caught him a passing blow with its shoulder. For an older adhiel with a bad leg, that was all it took. Bouncing off the wall behind him he fell into the street, into the path of the riding Firelords.

Instinctively most of the horses swerved around or lept over him. But still by the time the horde had passed he was a bloody mess. His already wounded leg was now crushed, his scalp opened from a glancing hoof. He tried to cry out in pain but he stabbing from his chest as he tried to inhale made it clear that ribs were broken as well.

Kaleen was his last thought as darkness overtook him. I have to warn Kaleen.

[Sebastian Beauvais]

Ciera sat hunched over in her saddle, a steadying hand upon her shoulder to make sure she did not lose her seat. They were all hooded again including the horses, a small clutch of riders black on black. They made their way toward a secret exit in the west wall of the city, the same access they had used to enter Cerleann. The streets in this part of the Docks district were dark and quiet save for the clop of their own horses' hooves, most either already drawn to the commotion in the center of town like moths to the flame, or locked up safely within their homes against the chaos.

Flames still danced behind Ciera's eyelids though, even as she fought off the pain in her left forearm. Blood continued to seep from the grievous wound into the heavy layering of bandages, and though none of her men would say so she feared her left hand could not be saved. And even so, she was one of the lucky ones.

Their group had fled south from the encroaching guard, not willing to engage fellow adhiel in serious combat. It was a simple enough maneuver and only cost a few clumsy innocents their lives, until they had reached the market district and run headlong into a gang of humans streaming northward from the Docks. And not just any humans, she sneered to herself. The Brotherhood.

They were not prepared for the battle, nor for the bald ferocity the humans displayed in tearing her fellow Firelords from their mounts and dashing them to the cobbles. Battle was even too kind a word, for it lent a sense of skill and tactics to nothing more than a morass of death. It was more like the sea rushing in when the dike failed, waves upon waves of unrelenting power washing over them. Ciera and a handful of others won free to run and hide in the warrens of the Docks, but only after the sky started raining fire on its own. A lucky strike cleared a path through the onslaught, but only a precious few were able to take advantage before the sea closed in again. The rest were lost. Perhaps the guard avenged them, but Ciera was not optimistic.

She was patient though, and this night's failure, snatched from glorious victory, would not go unpunished. Nor would the loss of her hand. The Wolf would pay, and pay dearly. And then no one would be able to defend the human rabble left behind.
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Elsewhere in the Docks and Market district, handfuls of Brotherhood faithful ducked and dodged the city guard patrols as they worked their way back to the rendezvous. Soon they would win free to the ships and slip out onto their domain, the open sea where Vargaz ruled supreme. Men had been lost, but the night had been a victory. They had come face to face with the rampaging Firelords and bested them. The howls of the wolf would remain firmly in the minds of all Cerleann's citizens after this night.

Jamal was eager to get back to the ship. He couldn't wait to tell the Wolf of his encounter with the adhiel leader of the Firelords, of how he had dodged the flashing hooves of a rearing mount and landed a solid slash to his enemy's forearm. I'll bet I cut it clean off, he thought exultantly. If only the meteorite had not landed just then, foul adhiel sorcery that it was. They he could have presented a head to their illustrious leader.
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Lieutenant Vaelor stood on the east side of the Kingsbridge, where his command post had been set up. He was nodding to the reports being delivered by his second, Fraelin, while keeping his eyes on the flames still burning brightly in the Peasant district.

"...contained so far, and I think we're ahead of it now. With the shower practically over," Vaelor spared a glance overhead to see that Fraelin wasn't exaggerating, "we should be able to prevent further damage to the surrounding areas."

"The Firelords and Brotherhood have dispersed and patrols are scouring the lower city to pick up any remnants they may. The east bank is secure and was never threatened by the raiders. The Royal Guard backed us up along the river and have also secured the upper city. Reports of looting in The Heights have filtered down, but I understand the Seawall command has that under control." Fraelin paused to allow his commanding officer input.

"Very well, Fraelin. Keep me informed if anything significant changes," was all Vaelor said, his eyes still staring at the flames eating through the Peasant district.

The fire has finally come home to the hearth, he thought bleakly.
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Overhead in all his gleaming ferocity, Arkovda let loose the last of his wrath and watched the flaming ball plunge down toward the little island. A feeling of cold satisfaction spread throughout the inky nothingness that lay within the starry outline of the Great Bear, as the last ember joined its brethren in the brazier that was now Cerleann. A fitting homage to such a power of the night sky.

The mortals would survive, certainly. They would rebuild, claim greater achievements, visit attrocities upon one another in the name of some cause or another, and otherwise live out their painfully short lives. Arkovda did not mind, for he was patient. Sleep would come soon, but his power would wax yet again, long yahren from now when the cycle came full circle and returned him once more to ascendency in the sky.

The eyes of the Great Bear sparkled against the firmament, relishing the thought.