Chapter 4

"Well, old friend, we have two mysteries solved." Esfalan was speaking to Verothlen, seated on a hard bench in front of Cormorlan's working desk. Verothlen was helping himself to Cormorlan's wine.

"Which mysteries would those be?" Cormorlan did not seem pleased with Verothlen's free manner with his wine decanter.

"The year, or rather how long I was away, and the year, or how long it has been since Mindia was home to the Mindirrim. They had left, due, I would hazard a guess, to a great cataclysm?"

"Yes, though the records from that time are ill-preserved, that is what the historians say. You speak as if you had been to where the event occurred, and know something of the cause maybe, and yet, that is impossible. Just where did you go when you disappeared? And how did you disappear?" Cormorlan seemed more willing to listen now, here in his offices.

"The mask had a very difficult teleportation spell on it, to bring the wearer to me. The body of the wearer would have been flooded with mana, and so it was safe to bring both the wearer and mask. A great store of mana built into the mask was depleted by that spell, it is not a spell I will undertake again lightly."

"You set this spell?" Cormorlan seemed incredulous. "This artifact was brought by the Mindirrim to this Citadel, one of the few artifacts of great worth that survived the journey."

Verothlen smiled, a mirthless stretching of his lips. "I set the spell. With some help from Esfalan, I have preserved a great amount of knowledge for Feldare. Esfalan now has the knowledge and skills of a military leader of no small repute, and the abilities of a mage of no small skill. He and I have a visit we must make, and then I will be leaving you. You are to give Captain-Commander Esfalan whatever he requests upon our return, and to join with him and support him on any military mission or matter he may undertake."

Cormorlan turned again to Esfalan. "Lad... I do not wish to doubt the word of this mage. He speaks of teleportation most casually, and speaks of setting spells thousands of years old; he orders me to give to you, a lad barely past his majority, the respect and rank of a great commander of more soldiery than the Citadel can now muster in one spot. Do you give credence to his words?"

"I do." Esfalan stood. Drawing his hyandrel, he executed a bow, with his arms wide, left wrist pointed at the ground, blade horizontal at his eye level, left foot forward, right foot crossed behind the left, knees bent. It was an old, formal bow, old even in Avatharel's time, and Esfalan was not at all sure he could have done it if Avatharel's memories had not guided him.

The effect was not lost on Cormorlan. More modern versions of a formal bow existed, less deeply pronounced, often without a blade in hand, and the very fluidity and grace of the movement bespoke volumes about Esfalan's confidence. Cormorlan admitted to himself that while Esfalan was too young, he certainly carried himself like a veteran commander.

Esfalan straightened. "Marshall-General, Anathel surely stayed with the Ehladrihim; surely you questioned him on my role in his introduction to you?"

Cormorlan granted a nod.

"Did he ever tell you that we entered the Room of Ceremony by means of magery?"

Cormorlan frowned. "No, he did not."

"Did he ever tell you I was a mage?"

"No. Nor did your father, when we advised him of your disappearance."

Esfalan closed his eyes for a moment, and then shared a nod with Verothlen. Together, they had agreed to visit with Esfalan's family before departing the city.

Turning back to Cormorlan, Esfalan asked, "Well, then, would you mind if I had some wine?"

Cormorlan made an impatient gesture.

Esfalan poured a glass of wine, then brought the glass to his face. Reaching up, he took the floating glass out of the air, with his left hand, and raised a sardonic eyebrow to Cormorlan, who slowly turned and looked at the wine decanter on the sideboard six paces away.

Cormorlan was not, Esfalan knew, stupid. This was borne out, finally, when he lifted his head, and snapped out in sudden realization, "The mask!"

Esfalan nodded, and confirmed, "The mask." He gave Cormorlan a very brief and impersonal summary of what he had gained from the mask, explaining the experience as a gift of magery skills and military command knowledge. He left out all the rest of Avatharel's history and outlook, feeling that it was both too personal and would somehow demean Avatharel to share.

Verothlen confirmed that Esfalan had the memories of Avatharel, who had held the rank of Captain-Commander in the Host of the Mindirrim, and that he did hold command of 340 mounted troops. Cormorlan was now far more polite to Verothlen, though it was plain he still had questions.

The three spoke of the current overcrowding in the city, plague in Syrisia, Esfalan's skills, and the structure and order of battle of the ancient Mindarrim's forces for long into the small hours of the night.

In the early afternoon of the next day, Esfalan had visited the stores rooms of the Citadel. For a long time he searched through the shelves for mail and raiment such as he remembered, and by the end of the afternoon, he had come close with the various articles he had found. Missing was the mailshirt, which would not be replaced quickly. Esfalan also forewent a quiver, as neither Esfalan nor Avatharel had ever had much interest in the bow.

Verothlen had spent the day in the archives of the Citadel. During this day it was impossible for anyone to find a clerk in the entire Citadel, as it seemed that Verothlen had asked a clerk for assistance finding an old set of records, and that clerk had asked another to fill in his position while he helped search. When the two were not enough, the first clerk went looking for help, and soon every clerk within the walls was eagerly helping the strange new mage.

Cormorlan remarked upon it bemusedly as, near the end of the working hours of the day, the two itinerants met with him.

"You have enchanted my clerical staff, Verothlen. Somehow you spirited them from their duties, and now they watch your every move to see what new delight you next have in store for them."

Verothlen simply nodded. "I believe it comes from the excitement of a visitor, something new, from outside one's experience. On the morrow, I shall borrow your mages."

Cormorlan 'tsk'ed. "That would be a spell, then, for I have no dedicated magery staff. There are some mages in the city. As I have no standing enemy, I have no standing army, and no need for dedicated mages in the military. Very few who can mage with any sophistication choose the life of a soldier." He turned to Verothlen and looked him in the eye. "I still do not understand your history, or how you came to set a spell more than ten lifetimes ago, and yet I have chosen to believe it so, as I have no other explanation. This implies to me that you are a great mage; yet you sometimes act as if you had only yesterday been surrounded by soldiers, clerks, and mages at your beck and call." He stopped, while both Verothlen and Esfalan broke out in laughter.

"That is truer than you know, Cormorlan," Verothlen managed, and then continued in a more serious mien. "I had stepped outside of the intervening twenty-two hundreds of years, they have not affected me, and I have not observed them. To the point, though, I think it is time for you to re-establish a magery staff. Mindia had the War College, an institution dedicated to the development of tactics and skills, as well as the command center for the Mindirrim. Mage skills were but one weapon to be exploited, and as such were one of the many areas of research on its' island."

Cormorlan seemed slightly dazed while he grappled with Verothlen's statement. "You stepped out of time for twenty-two hundreds of years? This explains much."

Verothlen nodded. "Cormorlan, you have heard that great things occur on Feldare for a reason. I believe I, Esfalan, and the Ehladrihim all have a role to play, and that there is some service that is demanded of us."

Esfalan picked up the conversation. "I have searched the catalogue of armaments in the stores, and inspected most. I have concerns about both quantity and quality of the stock. It would seem that the best of equipment was the oldest, and that several soldiers have found the best over the years; leaving you with less in store than you might have counted. I cannot find stocks of foodstuffs for a column to take an offensive to the field with, and as for tents, horse gear, and engineering equipment, there is little."

Cormorlan nodded. "We are granted but a slight allowance from the trade guilds. From that, we have barely enough to maintain one company. Few enough go about in arms, as you know," he nodded to Esfalan, "What you may not know is a slightly larger number are out of the city, gathering information and returning it to us, so as to better prepare us. The various guilds in the city will aid us with travel, but they do not share their own intelligence gathering with us. Regardless, I do not have a treasury to empty to rebuild the Ehladrihim."

Verothlen nodded. "Then we shall visit the various guilds and convince them of the need. Surely they understand that an unsettled countryside and huge migrations of the human populace will have adverse effects on trade? One would hope that they should fund, what is in essence, a peacekeeping force for the countryside."

"You would hope so," Cormorlan sounded disgusted. "Yet, I think they only think of next week or their next voyage; they do not wish to spend money this day against the needs of the future. And there has been little need for a standing army for ten generations."

"Much has been forgotten, then, of why elves are on Feldare, and what they are here to protect against." Verothlen turned to Esfalan, "Jetting the Gate off Feldare was the right thing to do, I am convinced, yet it has had its' cost."

"A high one," Esfalan agreed. "I shall go and determine what the blacksmiths and artisans have in the way of capacity for arming an increase in the Ehladrihim. Verothlen, if you come with me, I shall introduce you to my father, who is a senior member of the chandlery, and is friend to the shipmasters and many other merchant associations." He paused, then continued, "And, I think there are some matters to discuss which you should be present for, when I explain my recent whereabouts and history with my family."

Esfalan and Verothlen left the Citadel the next morning, out into the city. The first stop was to be a blacksmith Esfalan remembered, a fairly young one who should still be in business eight years after Esfalan last passed his forge.

Esfalan was shocked by the condition of the lower market streets. There were piles of dirt on the corners, and many more humans than he remembered. The crowd pressed and surged, and it was difficult to find a path through all the stalls and shacks that seemed to have sprung up. Many of the more established businesses that had stone walls facing the city streets now had carts and stalls in front of them crowding out the view of the shops behind to the passers-by. Dirt was everywhere, collecting in the storm drains, and in the gutters. Once-white stone walls were now grimy, and most buildings had the downspout tubes removed - Esfalan suddenly wondered how Gileath was doing with the youth of the city. He resolved to find out, and then was bumped into by a man backing out of a stall. The man turned and spoke something to Esfalan, touching his shoulder, which caused Esfalan to stop. Esfalan did not catch what the other had said.

Esfalan regarded the human in front of him. "Excuse me?" he said in Syrisian.

"I said, 'The blessing of the One who Remains upon you', but I'd like to know where you learned the Western Tongue now instead."

Esfalan gave a mental shrug. Languages change, he knew, as the Western Tongue obviously had from Syrisian. The changes seemed to be in the inflection of some words, and the slurring of "I" and "would" took a moment to decipher, but Esfalan gave it the credit due for making some kind of sense.

"Who is the 'One who Remains'?" Esfalan asked. He glanced up and saw Verothlen disappearing around a corner. Esfalan let him go, knowing that when Verothlen noticed he was missing, he had come back and find him; there was any of a dozen methods that Verothlen could use to find him in the crowd again, ranging from unobtrusive and private to ostentatious and very public.

"That is a tale for many long hours. If you would really like to hear it, come by my nave, there on the Salt Road, with the blue banner hanging out front." He pointed to one of the wide streets leaving the lower market square, and continued, "I can see your companion has left you. I shan't delay you further, go ahead and catch him, and I will see you another time."

Esfalan shrugged again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, as even in his own time and his home city, life seemed to have become... different.

Trotting, he caught up to Verothlen.

The two had left the noise and press of the lower market behind, and were climbing one of the city's other hills, where the merchants and guild leaderships had offices. Though the press was left behind, evidence that the human tide had surged here, and repeatedly, abounded through the city's parks. Almost, the parkland had been unspoiled countryside, and yet, there were now tents and ramshackle huts in the trees and meadows. Alongside the road was the detritus of thousands of humans, trash that, Esfalan guessed, would be washed downhill a few feet when next it rained.

Shaking his head, they continued the climb.

"How may I help you?" The doorman was something new, in Esfalan's experience. He supposed the position had been created to keep the intrusions from the new residents of the city to a minimum. Regardless, it was plain he did not recognize the two strangely-clad elves on his doorstep.

"I request an audience with Endalan, Master of Chandlers." Esfalan spoke confidently, and with the rhythm and accent of the wellborn in the city.

Surprised, the doorman reevaluated the pair on his doorstep. "And whom shall I say is calling?"

"I am Verothlen, a mage of some skill. I am performing a service for the Citadel," Verothlen had interjected before Esfalan had begun to answer. Esfalan considered a second, and let it lie.

Nodding, the doorman invited them into the foyer, and bade them wait. Verothlen turned to Esfalan, winked, and waved a hand in front of his face. Esfalan saw and felt a flow of mana, and guessed that Verothlen had disguised his face. Verothlen touched a finger to his lips, to indicate silence.

Three minutes later, they were escorted down the hallway and up a staircase. Esfalan had visited his father's office before, and could have led the way, so little had changed.

Endalan was somewhat short for an elf, dapper and trim, well-turned out in silk blouse and corded trousers, a silvery belt of office at the juncture of pant and shirt. The only other device was a silver hair-ring, gathering his grey tresses behind his back. His grey eyes bespoke of years of easy command, and Esfalan saw him anew through the eyes of a Captain-Commander as old as his father was then. What he saw was a man of power and assurance.

Here is the man we made mischief around, Esfalan said to his fey.

It is nothing, came the response, It only means we need to plan our work with greater care. Esfalan agreed, wondering how he ever dared to be so brazen in his defiance of his father's wishes.

"Good morning, then," Endalan greeted Verothlen. "It is not every day the Citadel sends me a mage. Have they relented then, and agreed to clean the sewage off the streets?"

Esfalan felt an eyebrow climb. Verothlen remained impassive, but replied, "Nay. I have come to propose something far more sweeping, or far more than sweeping, if you will." The other elf smiled in amusement. "Feldare is under an attack of sorts, and I cannot tell if it is a natural one or not; you are more than aware of the population migration from central Syrisia.

"What you may not be so aware of is the general disorder as the regional governmental structure falls victim to the plague rampant there. And it will only be a matter of time before the victims reach Ehladriel.

"Commerce with other nations and cities will be disrupted dramatically, I am sure you are experiencing shortages and ridiculously high prices demanded for goods originating in central Syrisia or points east. Likewise, there are great profits to be made if you ship goods from the West back East, but only," and here he paused for dramatic effect, "Only if you have a city to return to.

"Allowing the city to decay under the burden of too-great a populace is madness. Disease and the worst behaviors of men occur in filth and overcrowding; many of the city-states that Syrisia absorbed in its' expansion could not withstand the Syrisian Legions due to the shoddy condition of their own forces and homes. It is not as if they had no warning.

"It is clear that the model where guildsmen build according to a guild-specified code, and shop owners sweep their street is no longer working under this dramatic pressure.

"Ehladriel is named for Defense, and we are failing in the promise. When the Mindirrim came, they had abandoned their defense of the Syrisians. But the Mindirrim, and the Windirhim with them, were here on Feldare to safeguard the world.

"I propose something dramatic, and new to the face of the world. The Mindirrim lost their purpose in the move to Ehladriel; the Windirhim have, I have recently read, pursued other vocations than the path of the warrior; both were used to protect Feldare without recompense. Both believed it was their purpose, and the concept of pay for this labor was not involved.

"I propose that the guilds and trade associations form a government. That officials of the government be paid for their efforts. That the government maintain a standing army - a sizeable one. That the standing army restrict travel into the lands of the Ehladihim, and charge a fee to enter the city or land. That the government maintain the city and the land, and charge a tax on the general populace for the services - high and low, the tax is paid by all, or the city guard, paid for by the government, should deposit the shirkers outside the borders."

Endalan stood, one eyebrow raised, and Esfalan recognized where his own mannerism had come from. "You propose an apparatus similar to the human cities. Yet, how would this work in elven lands? We have no feudal lords, we have no hereditary royal families. We no longer have a rich military tradition and a large pool of generals to squabble amongst themselves and determine the next leader. How, then?"

"Men of means, who are agreed amongst their peers to be of sound judgment and character, with a good record of decision-making, shall declare for a position. And in a general population region, the inhabitants shall vote amongst those who declared. Positions for commerce, defense, sanitation and public works, lawkeeping and lawmaking, and the like shall be declared for, and the regional representatives vote for the best choice for the job. It worked in the civilian populace of Mindia, it can work here."

"I do not disagree that such a government could work, but I am doubtful that it could work here. I am highly skeptical that any guild will willingly give over funds it collects for services, or even the control of the services that generate the funds." Endalan shook his head. "I am reasonably certain this proposal will be unpopular."

"I only need to convince the heads of the guilds, do I not?"

Endalan nodded. "I am, you understand, not the head of the chandlery, but only one Master amongst several?"

Verothlen smiled. "The chandlers would sell to the government, the Ehladrihim, the guard, the streetsweepers, the bordermen, the new arrivals to the city, and to those who would have to leave for lack of the residence tax."

Endalan nodded. "And does one Verothlen, mage with no repute, have a role in Ehladriel?"

Verothlen shook his head. "Nay. I must leave this place soon, and leave the world of Feldare to its own devices for a while; though I am sworn to do what I may to help Feldare. You see," he said somewhat wistfully, "I am one of those who swore to defend Feldare without recompense. Once our numbers were greater."

Endalan studied Verothlen. "You speak as if you were a member of the Mindirrim, but you do not appear to be over two thousands of years old."

Verothlen laughed gently. "I know of at least one case of a man walking this day with the memories of a man two thousand years dead within his head. Perhaps someday, you may meet him. And yet, I hear, implicit in your statement, a request for my qualification. Have you not wondered whether I could be pressed to perform some great feat of magic to demonstrate my credibility?"

Endalan smiled hollowly. "Since you offer..." he trailed off.

Verothlen turned to Esfalan. "My colleague has been silent. Perhaps I should introduce him?" He winked at Esfalan, while grinning broadly.

Esfalan wiped away the disguise Verothlen had put upon his face with a small flow of mana. "Hello, Father," he said.

"Yes, apparently I was held in the spell of the mask for eight years while Avatharel's memories became my own; though to me it was but a short while; I was aware that the days were passing, but not aware of their length; I did not die of thirst." Esfalan had been explaining to his father for the better part of an hour. "And now, I will admit I see the world very differently through Avatharel's eyes. And, Father? Before we continue, I would like to apologize." Esfalan stood and bowed - the same ornate bow that had helped to convince Cormorlan.

Endalan stood as well. "Arise, son. All that was ill is forgotten."

Endalan stood straight again. "I have much to think on. Verothlen, I will admit I will give your proposal more credence and serious thought; having my son confirm what the government of Mindia was like over twenty-two centuries ago as an eyewitness is... not an everyday occurrence.

"Esfalan, I shall expect the two of you for supper this evening. I will send a runner to your mother to expect two more for the meal; I shall not tell her who is coming. For the afternoon, however, I must attend to many details so that I shall have the time to discuss with my fellow chandlers."

The two were only a few steps down the path from the door, when Verothlen turned to Esfalan. "'Hello, Father'," he quoted, gasping for air, "It was priceless!"

Esfalan nodded soberly, cocked his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear, then eyed the mess on the street. "Verothlen, you are a mage of great power. While I go talk to a blacksmith, you could clean the streets up a little."

Verothlen stopped in his tracks, while Esfalan continued walking down the hill. Looking around, he muttered to himself, "It was only a little fun. Oh, hell, look at this mess." He began to search about himself, looking for a handy source of mana.