Chapter 7

Again, there was no sense of transition. Esfalan was sitting at the table, watching Jorda and a column of light. Jorda looked up at the column - a motion that seemed to start as if in viscous honey, then accelerate up to normal speed. Esfalan watched this in amazement, as he felt no such acceleration of time.

Jorda completed the motion. The look of devotion on his face was almost a physical force, yet there was no sign of diminished awareness, Esfalan was suddenly pleased to discover. The potential for Clerical magic was plain for Esfalan to see.

You see what I see. The sending was reminiscent of his fey speaking to him, but Esfalan knew it was Garvaiden without needing to guess.

"Jorda." The voice was again laden with overtones and presence. "You are ever a good man. This other you have brought to me, know him as one in service to me. He has duties different than you and other men, for he is not of men. Yet, your path and his shall run together now, for a while, perhaps. When Esfalan bids you to leave him, you must obey, or much will be lost.

"I charge you with the following tasks: divide your church in this town into three groups. Those who will be my right hand, to go forth in the world and work in my name, shall be identified by a blue standard. They shall be called upon for military service and shall be both the defense and offensive force of my followers. They shall learn from the one Esfalan brings you to, learn the crafting of metals and tactics.

"Those who remain, and hold fast, who tend the sick, and feed the poor shall be marked by a yellow standard. These shall be needed more sorely than the blues.

"The third group is the most delicate road to walk. Bearing a white standard, this group shall be the group to spread word of The One Who Remains, to find and explain to the humans the history of their world, to explain the nature of Feldare, to teach humans their place in the world - together with dozens of other races. For the Church of the One Who Remains must grow in this world, for the ability of the One Who Remains to match the need."

Jorda swallowed, visibly staggered by the tasks laid on him.

"One more thing, Jorda. Esfalan and his kind may communicate clearly and directly with such as I, it is in their nature. That does not mean that there should not be a similar communication between humans and I. Perhaps, when there is time for study, a fourth order of the Church could be made, one to study the power of Clergy. For each and every Cleric of my Church shall be able to hold and wield the power I grant him.

"Go, and tell the others of what has transpired here. Any who truly believes in the One Who Remains shall find the truth in what they feel."

The figure of light faded, and Esfalan heard the sounds of the street outside return into the darkened stone nave.

Jorda remained still, head bowed again. Esfalan reflected upon the nature of gods for a moment, and wondered how Jorda had interpreted much of what was said.

"Esfalan, who are you?" Jorda seemed to have an innocent quality in how he asked so simply.

"I am one in the service of the One Who Remains, yet this does not tell you much. I am one who was born in this city less than sixty summers ago; and yet I am one who was born twenty-three hundreds and forty-one summers ago. I am a simple youth of an elven city, and I am the Captain-Commander, one of hundreds of that title, of the proud Host of the Mindirrim. I am one who has slain demons, and one who has, in my other self, thrown from this world the gate by which an enemy so vast and terrible it dwarfs your comprehension and mine had access to this world.

"Your road and mine go together, Jorda, for a while, as it may be. I would be one who is your friend." It was all the truth, and yet, Esfalan knew Jorda would hear things and reach conclusions that Esfalan did not say; it seemed that Garvaiden knew this as well.

Esfalan was reminded of how short the lifespan of humans was in this moment of reflection, and wondered how the religion that had sprung up within the last millennium would change in the millennia to come.

Esfalan met Verothlen and the two women in his charge at Endalan's house. Verothlen seemed subdued, and confirmed that he had indeed been clearing streets and sewer drains again for the afternoon. "It is not as if I could reason out anything else to do while I wait, though your two women would hound me for lessons."

Endalan had reported failure with the other chandlers. None seemed open to Verothlen's proposal of a commonwealth government. Endalan seemed to be in the beginning stages of a fey bitterness to Esfalan's eye, and the older mage seemed to notice it, too.

"Father." Endalan turned to look at Esfalan, the evening meal seeming to have passed unnoticed by the older man.

"Father, I have had a strange thing occur this day. There is much I do not feel the liberty to speak of, but I will say this. The humans have developed a new magic in Feldare, the power of faith in a deity. That deity and his clergy can perform acts such as elven mages do with mana. I was... assured... that this deity shall watch over your family on Feldare, Father, watch over you as you establish your foothold in the Windir Islands."

Endalan looked up, his eyes clear. "Then there is no hope for Ehladriel?"

Esfalan shook his head, 'no'.

Verothlen snorted, breaking the mood. "You could have saved me a day cleaning the streets, boy. Endalan, do you have any wine?"

Silpiai wordlessly brought a carafe and seven glasses to the table.

Endalan poured for all, then said, "This night, three of us must plan out what we shall ship to Windir. Wife, you shall sail ahead and prepare us a home. Daughter, you shall decide what of this home to bring, and I shall prepare my affairs for relocation to Windir."

Verothlen raised his glass and gestured at Esfalan. "You heard what he was careful not to say, then?"

Endalan nodded at Verothlen. "Yes."

Together they turned to Esfalan. "Where will you be?" Verothlen asked the question.

"With Verothlen, but not in the manner he expects." Verothlen frowned, but Esfalan would not divulge more. Debra and Autonorë frowned at each other, then seemed to come to some agreement. Esfalan watched this, but did not comment.

An hour later, as the guests were departing and the family was separating for bed, Silpiai asked, "How long will you remain, Esfalan?"

"Until my armor is completed, Mother. When your ship for Windir is ready, we shall say our goodbyes."

Esfalan woke in the fourth hour of the night, having only been asleep for a short time. Something told him he should be dressed, and out in the streets.

Esfalan had his suspicions about what the something was that woke him, but did not take time to examine his thought on the matter. Instead, he dressed quickly, and quietly, and slipped out of the house.

Moving quietly through the streets, he grinned as he got close. There was one downspout still left on the corner of the building he sought. He quickly scaled the wall, and sat on the roof. Silent as a cat, Debra sat next to him, surprising Esfalan only a little.

Gileath was having a vexing week. He had been trying to police the streets at night with the young gang of street youths, to keep the more egregious violations of good order down. Last week, they had hunted a murderer - a human who had had some petty feud with another, over the location of a street stall or some such.

Trying to help the humans and keep order in the city at night was hard. Lately, it seemed they had been seeing some of the same faces doing similar sorts of things Gileath was sure was harming people - carrying goods furtively and at night, transactions involving small quantities of stuffs, conducted as clandestinely as the participants could manage, that sort of thing. Gileath was starting to suspect that there was a society under the surface of the city, one that was somehow feeding off the desire of the underprivileged refugees to live better lives. And this offended him.

He was not at all sure how the role had become his. It just seemed natural, when the city's cleanliness started to decay, as the overcrowding began. Then his innate sense of fair play seemed to take over, and it had infected his friends also.

But for some reason, the damned guild guards were out this night, and it seemed everywhere Gileath and his gang turned, over the tops of the human crowd out even after dark on this mild summer evening there would soon appear brown helms.

Gileath almost breathed a sigh of relief when they got into the warehouse district, and the crowds thinned. Here he felt most at home, and could relax... but there were more of the damned guards down that street.

He fought a rising sense of panic; he knew he had done nothing wrong this evening, nor for many others prior. The fear was irrational, but it was there - and he could see it in the eyes of his fellow youths.

Running now, the gang of youths flew down their home alley, running to their meeting-place. Stopping short, they drew breath, panting from the exertion. The sense of fear was still there, with an awful sense of waiting for something.

Gileath heard a chanting, and turned around quickly. Forming a wall across two of the exits from the alley were humans - four or five abreast, the leftmost of each carrying a standard with a blue banner pinned along half the length.

Gileath spun, checking each of the other exits, and confirming they were all similarly blocked, stood in the small intersection, reaching for his sword, looking for all the world like an animal at bay.

Esfalan felt a nudge from within. Grinning, he drew his hyandrel, and hopped over the edge of the roof.

To the youths in the center of the intersection, it seemed as if Esfalan were a white figure cloaked in light, with silver fire running up his sword, floating down from the sky at a leisurely pace.

As he alighted, Jorda stepped forward, and caught Esfalan's eye. He gave a small half-nod, an inclination of the head, and Esfalan returned it.

"Gileath." The other looked up, startled to recognize Esfalan's voice.

A little less, please, Esfalan thought at Garvaiden. Instantly, the glow dimmed to near nothing, and the silver fire on the blade of the hyandrel went out, as Esfalan sheathed it. Smiling inwardly, he spoke to the confused youth in the odd cadences and slurs of the Western Tongue. "I did not bring you here. These others," he indicated the humans, "Brought us together at the behest of another. That other is the god they serve, the One Who Remains. We knew of them as the Indirii, the Guardians; for good reason there is now only one. That one has a mission for such as you and I, it will involve danger, and excitement, and a chance at glory. I have room for twenty in a company, a company that will ride fast, fight hard, and perhaps, at the end, win some prizes. There will be beings from outside this world to face, though we shall be armed to suit."

Garvaiden had added to the presence and timbre of his voice, he supposed. The look on some of the other's faces had him wondering what other tricks had been played out this evening. They would, to a man, agree to follow him, he was suddenly sure. He wondered if it had even been necessary for him to speak. Strange things happen on Feldare.

Turning back to Jorda, he asked if the clerics could work with metal. "If shown what to do," was the answer.

He bade them all, clerics and elves, to meet him at his blacksmith's forge at the fourth hour of the morning, two hours before noon.

With that, he turned to walk out of the alleyway, only to find himself climbing an invisible stairway. Garvaiden... ;

A ghostly chuckle tickled his inner ear.

Eritsral looked up, expecting Esfalan. He was surprised to see a company of a score of elves, Esfalan not amongst them. He had been cutting smaller chunks of metal out of the ingots left in a crucible, in preparation for beating it into rods for drawing into wire for ringmail.

None of his audience spoke, they simply watched and waited. Eritsral realized they were waiting for Esfalan, just as he was.

Perhaps ten minutes later, Esfalan walked up in the company of yet another elf, this one in robes, and two human females.

Eritsal looked up from his work again to see Esfalan standing close, regarding him. "Good morrow, Esfalan. Have you brought more commissions for me?"

"However did you guess? Yes, and some labor, too, to help things along. There should be others coming along to help this day, also. I think we do not have much time."

Eritsal tossed his hammer onto the bench next to the anvil he was working on, leaning forward, looking at the steel bar he had been working. "Esfalan... why should I do this thing? It is plain you mean me to teach something to some of the 'help'."

The younger elf took a deep breath. "For gold, Eritsal. For gold you will need and I cannot take with me. You will need gold to establish a smithy and a family on Windir. For this is not to be repeated, but there are millions of refugees coming our way from the collapse of government in the central reaches of Syrisia. No small few of those refugees are carrying a plague, and several more will be diseased from overcrowding in camps, fouled water, poor food, and worse. All of this will wash up against Ehladriel, and Ehladriel will be swept under in a wave of riot."

"And where will you be with all this armor, and twenty men at your back?"

Esfalan nodded, expecting the question. He lowered his voice further, "Hunting the demon behind the plague and fall of Syrisia."

The smith straightened and turned to face Esfalan fully. "You go knowing what you face? What can be driving you?"

Esfalan shrugged. One day he would have to stop that. "Feldare, first and foremost. Then, the memories and skills of a better servant to Feldare than I, and the service of a warrior in a war so old that I cannot conceive of it."

"Very well, Esfalan. An introduction to your father, and all the gold I can use, and I will teach these lads anything."

Esfalan smiled. "There are some humans who will help, also... and here they are," nodding to the clerics who had filed into the smithy yard.

"They will help?" Eritsal sounded doubtful.

"Yes. Some of them will swing a hammer no doubt, and I imagine others of them can heat things much the same way I can - make your alloys, I mean. They can do much... and I think your way will go with theirs for a very long time, Eritsal; some of them will go with you to Windir. Perhaps you should ask them what they can do to help you make twenty sets of mail, and sixty blades in ten days?"

Eritsal blinked. For a moment, he had the look of one who was debating with himself, then turned and walked over to the nearest cleric. A few moments later, they were all huddled about him. Verothlen followed the smith, an intrigued expression on his face.

Esfalan looked over at the twenty street youths. Making a 'formation on me' gesture from his memories as Avatharel, he was surprised when the twenty did form on him, in two ranks. Again, that ghostly chuckle from Garvaiden.

Garvaiden, I will need to learn how to use this interface with them.

The answer came back instantly. "I heard your desire to come and stand in front of you," said Gileath. "I do not know how this could be?"

"'In for the start, in for the end'," Esfalan smiled. "There are... things... I think we should discuss, before Eritsal and the clerics finish their conversation."

Sitting crosslegged on the floor, Esfalan recounted most of his conversation with Garvaiden, omitting the name of the One Who Remains. He answered questions patiently for an hour, then bade the company - his company now, he realized - tell off shifts to assist or to be measured. Oddly, both Debra and Autonorë were sitting with the elves.

One of the clerics touched Esfalan on the shoulder as he was readying himself to leave. "Yes, what is it?" asked the Company-Commander.

"We have determined a way to help the smith. We will take this place a little bit outside of time, with the grace of the One Who Remains, and we can heat his forges as you have shown him; but we cannot move ore in the quantities you can and he will need."