Chapter One

The desert winds buffeted the lone figure in the northern wastes. The dunes rolled on like frozen waves on the ocean, a fire of sand dancing in the air above them, blasting everything in the desert to dust. The sunlight was brutal and unyielding, with no clouds or shade to dull its glare. Instead the heat waves that rose from the gritty earth only multiplied the effect and the light was reflected by it like a mirror, the white sand glowing brighter than the pale blue, moisture less, sky above. In this crossroads between hell and the living earth, this single black figure walked. His silhouette against the horizon was wavy like a mirage and would disappear behind a dune only to re-appear on top of another one.

The light tracks that he made in the sand blew away moments after they were formed, leaving no trace of his passing. He did not trudge, but climbed with very conservative agility, not wasting any energy and taking care not to disturb his surrounding much as he passed. He used a single staff for support, which he wielded with one hand. The staff was his height and crafted in an arch and colored a near-white beige with a sandy texture, like his surroundings. A fiery red stone sat prominantly upon its top and was the only part of his attire that stood apart from the desert. His cloak was black and shielded his entire body, with a hood draped over his head, making only the bottom of his bearded chin visible as he walked.

Over a distance the dunes began to recede and the desert became more hospitable. The white sand of the northern wastes became a pale mixture of orange and brown that glistened because of the glass-like quality of the larger grains. On the edge of the central desert, a small oasis town appeared on the horizon. The lone figure strode towards it, without urgency, but also without hesitation.

The town was surrounded by wall on all sides. It was necessary to build walls in this part of the world not only to keep out marauding bandits but also to protect the inhabitants from the storms that came through this region often.

The wall had seen better years. It was made from red rock in the oldest sections of the wall, dating back to the Narachan dynasty when rocks were carted across the desert for 900 miles from a quarry in the Delantian range in the south. The newer sections were added as the city expanded, made from a brown sand stone that was found locally and was much weaker and carved in a clumsy way that lacked the engineering skill that formed the older walls of the hard red rock. Originally a military outpost, this was now a bustling trading town, thriving on the high desert trade.

The lone wanderer strode up to the front gate, which was open completely, revealing the active interior. The wanderer began to step into the archway of the gate when two sharp metal pikes crossed in front of him. They were crude and black but glinted at the edges, obviously kept sharp and ready if not well crafted.

"What is your business here traveler," one of the guards muttered. He and his companion were rather stout and donned black leather armor with iron helmets that had been carbonized black.

The wanderer drew back slightly, "To meet a friend that has also come this way," he spoke softly, his lips invisibly moving beneath the shadow that covered most of his face.

The guard who had spoken first moved his pike toward to the wanderer, "You are going to have to show me that you have goods to trade. We don't want beggars and we don't want trouble."

The wanderer looked up, directly at the guard, his eyes flickering at him even beneath the shroud-like cloak, "I am not here to trade, and I am not here to cause trouble," he unveiled his signet bracelet, two golden cats fighting over a black jewel were wrapped around his wrist in their never ending struggle. The guards immediately recognized it and straightenned, pulling their pikes back to their sides.

The man on the left who was in charge made a quick apology, "I am sorry my lord, you may enter of course."

The wanderer paused slightly, he spoke softly, "No apologies necessary, and you don't have to call me lord," he continued into the town, this time moving briskly.

The small tavern was nearly empty in the early afternoon. There was usually not much business this time of year and most travelers came by night. The shade of indoors contrasted sharply with the bright white of the oasis town. Three regulars came strolling out of the street into the bar. They were still squinting as they walked in, trying to adjust from blinding light to shade, the black room slowly filling with color and shapes.

The barkeep looked up from wiping down a mug, he frowned slightly when he noticed that it was Robus and his two buddies, the brothers Faarz and Turs. Robus was the mayor's son, and he utilized his position to the fullest. He and his friends would usually spend the days getting drunk at the bars and hassling the locals. Any physical or emotional damage incurred by their ramblings was usually covered by the mayor's purse, and anyone who spoke against them was also covered by the mayor's guard.

They now stood in the door way, Robus wedged in between in his two oafish companions. He directed Faarz and Turs to the bar, and then made his way to the far end of it. They went to sit down when the back door creaked open.

The bar girl stepped silently in from the back. She carried a bucket with water and a brush. Her small body strained under the weight of the burden, and her face kept low as she snuck in, aware that three sets of eyes were moving up and down her body. She made her way to the corner where she would begin the afternoon scrubbing of the hardwood floors. Robus pushed his chair aside and sauntered in her direction, a bottle of hard liquor in his hand. He stepped in front of her, putting his free arm against the wall, blocking her path.

"Do you need some help with that, miss?" Robus murmured to her. He leaned toward her and she could smell the cheap liquor on his breath with the sharp, foul smell of his body odor. She backed away, still with her head down, and turned to encounter another of the men, Faarz, blocking her path again. He grinned and took the bucket away, easily lifting it with one arm. He set it on the table began to caress her hair.

"I think you have been avoiding us my dear," Faarz said, tension beginning to build in his voice. She said nothing and tried to walk around him. He sidestepped into her path again, "What, did you think we would stop noticing you, such a delicate little butterfly." He took her by the arm and forced her against the wall.

She looked up slightly but still did not make eye contact, "What do you want?" she asked, a hint of anger in her voice.

Turs, who was still at the bar, turned toward them and smiled, "So naive, isn't she," he got up and began to move toward her as well.

The barkeep put his head down, knowing that if he said anything to these thugs he would not only be risking their business but his own life. The blind servant on the other side of the room, whom no one had noticed before, picked up his broom and slowly began to walk towards the back door, stopping occasionally to sweep under the tables. His presence was still generally ignored.

The Faarz began to grope around the girl's body. Her heart, which was beating violently in fear, only enticed the man more as he began to pull up the bottom of her gown. Turs motioned toward the back room, and Faarz agreed with a nod that he should have a little more privacy before conducting a rape. He shoved her toward the back, holding on to her by the back of her gown. She whirled around and slapped him with all her might across the face, tears running down her cheeks. Without any compunction he struck her, flailing her to the ground. He began to drag her to the back room, this time with no more foreplay, and as he stepped forward the wooden handle of a broom cracked down upon his nose, blood squirting out of his rough face. He stumbled against the wall, trying to shake the tears out of his eyes when the broom handle lashed him across the side of the head, taking him to the ground. The girl took off running into the street. The two remaining thugs let her go as they stared down their new foe.

The blind servant twirled the broom in front of him, moving with the speed and grace of a cat. Both thugs drew out their swords, Robus angrily growling, "For that little stunt, you are going to die." He lowered his blade slightly, and then charged, taking a broad side swing as he came in. The blind man heard the rush of air and rolled under the blade, striking Robus with a bat across the back and catching him in the ribs with another swing. Sensing another attack the blind man pitched his head left as Turs's sword came in a thrusting motion, missing him by inches. Turs took a back step and then swung down at the blind man. The blind man sidestepped and deflected the heavy blow to the ground with the stock of the broom, stomping with this foot upon the flat middle of the sword and knocking it out of Turs's hands. He then leaped up and landed a kick on Turs's collarbone, snapping it and sending the man careening into the wall. Turs rebounded with a dagger but the blind man's broom deflected the stab outward and the blind man slipped his leg nimbly in the path of Turs's feet and the big thug clumsily came crashing to the floor. He would have tried to rise but the pain in his collarbone was so intense now that he could not move.

Robus, still gasping for every breath, walked around one of the tables cautiously, sword in hand. The blind man strolled around the other side, confidently twirling the broom back and forth. The blind man struck the table lightly with the broom, testing it for stability. The sound was a hard knock, rigid, and therefore was a very heavy or very secure table. The blind man continued his stroll around the table, feeling with the broom for anything on the table that would help him. There was a wooden cup, about half full by the sound of it. The blind man turned as if he was going to dart around the table, then struck the cup, sending it and its contents onto Robus. Robus flinched, closing his eyes as the cup and stale beer hit him and did not see the blind man vaulting over the table to flail him with the broom. Robus fell back under the attack, jabbing his sword out to push the blind man back.

The blind man tapped the sword lightly with his broom in the middle of the attack, feeling for the natural vibration of the sword. The metal made a low tong, betraying the poor quality of the metal. The blind man stepped sideways, and then struck Robus's sword with all of his might. He struck the flat side near the handle, the placing and the strenth of the blow creating a sympathetic vibration. He did this several more times successively as he attacked, increasing the power of the vibration every time until the sword was shaking so severely, a final blow from the blind man wrenched the sword from Robus's grasp.

Robus's hands quivered and his muscles were so sore that he could barely make even a fist with either hand. The blind man advanced on him again and Robus took off running, stumbling out the door. The two other men managed to scramble to their feet and were out the door as well, following Robus into the street. The blind man's fight had drawn some attention and people were beginning to peek in. The blind man straightenned the tables a bit and started to clean up the mess he had made, awkwardly ignoring the fact that he had just bested three men. The bar keep slowly stood from his hiding place in the corner of the bar as the onlookers began to walk in.

The wanderer made his way through the streets. His attire was fairly humble so his presense was generally ignored. He approached a vendor on the side of the street who had several rows of different fruit laid out before him under a canvas covering. The vendor sat back in a wooden chair and squinted as he read sheets of parchment paper, smiling occationally as he did so.

The wanderer spoke to the vendor softly, "Can you tell me where the 'Green Fountain' is?"

The vendor did not bother to look up at the wanderer but continued to read as he replied, "You gonna buy something?"

The wanderer grabbed a piece of fruit with his left hand, expecting to feel firm skin. Instead his fingers pushed right through the rotten body of the fruit and the wanderer dropped it back down upon the table.

The expression on the vendor's face did not change at all, "That will be two lishtas."

The wanderer turned and walked away, the vendor looked after him, "The 'Green Fountain' is a couple blocks over from here on the main strip. Kind of a beat up place, bad liquor, if I were you my friend I would stop by at 'The Golden Palace', by cousin runs it, fine place!" The wanderer paused slightly, turning his head but not looking at the vendor. Without a word he kept walking down the main street, watching a couple children dart into an alley with excitement.

The Green Fountain was rather beat up as the vendor had said. It was made of adobe brick, and was a fairly large structure, but the lime green paint that probably once shone brightly was now faded and chipping off. In the front of the establishment was a copper fountain of a fish that had long been dry, and the fish had gone green with tarnish, no doubt the namesake of the tavern.

The wanderer walked through the drape of beads that served as the door into the shady pub. The light difference made tavern almost pitch black at first but as his eyes adjusted so he could see the details of this quaint little place. The interior was well kept and much reminiscent of Southern Starpia with dark wooden floorboards, a long oak bar in front, with an assortment of tables and chairs throughout the place, some of them in dissarray, either knocked over or crooked. Drinking glasses were lined up in rows on the rack behind the bar. A squabble in the corner caught the wanderer's attention. The barkeep, who was away from the bar, was argueing with a young servant in the corner. The servant was mostly silent and pushed a broom back and forth as the barkeep spoke. The Wanderer listenned carefully and could tell that the bartender was trying to convince him to leave, for his own protection.

"They will be here any moment, you must leave!" the bartender told the young servant.

The Wanderer stepped forward, mostly observing. The servant was bald with little braided strands of hair falling down from around his ears and the back of his head. He was wearing a simple robe-like outfit with sandals. His complexion was dark which was understandable in this arid region, but in was fairly clear by his facial structure that his ancestry was of Velcran origin. His eyes were intent and stared outward, but watching how his eyes did not follow his movements, the Wanderer realized that the young Velcran was blind. This was the man the wanderer had come to meet. The young Velcran must have suddenly come to the same conclusion because he looked up and searched the room with his blank eyes, "Are you Erentheca, my new Master?"

Erentheca kept walking forward, "I am Erentheca, and I can tell by your gifts that you are Ji'zoran."

Ji'zoran shook his head, smiling, "It took no sophistication to know it was you, by the sound of your unique staff and the thump of your light boots, any member of the Zinza order is easily recognizable. You forget how I see.."

Erentheca nodded, "Yes, of course, my training should tell me that as well. Should I gather by your arguement here that your mission did not go as planned?"

The barkeep leaned back perplexed by the exchange, "What's going on here?"

Ji'zoran answered, "Nothing of concern." Then he turned to Erentheca, "I had a little scuffle this morning but it was nothing to worry about. I picked up some information about the assasinations."

Erentheca looked around instictively, "Not here, pack up your stuff, we must go."

Ji'zoran turned his broom upside-down and used it to feel his way to the back of the room and out the back door into the back room. He closed the door gently behind him. Erentheca was left with the bartender who proceeded to move back to the bar and go about his normal business again, still betraying the fear he had been exuding earlier. Pulling out a glass he motioned to Erentheca, "Care for a drink stranger?"

Erentheca shook his head, stepping over to the bar, "I cannot accept, the order I belong to forbids it."

The bartender lightenned his expression for a moment, shaking his head and forming a half grin, "Religious thing huh. Every day they come out with some ancient tablet or some prophet that says this stuff is evil," he held a bottle of yellowish liquor in his hand, turning it over and lovingly fondling its dusty exterior and the brown label, "but I have never seen a man come through that door looking for water. This is the one thing that can take the real pain out of life, at least for a while."

Erentheca looked at the man with a grin, "There is nothing religious about our abstinance from liquor, it is just practical. We must always keep our minds alert, our senses sharp, liquor may be comforting, but it blurs reality."

The bartender shook his head slightly, smiling a little, "Well, suit yourself but surely you must want something after your long trek."

Erentheca stroked his beard slightly in thought, "Would you have any bread by any chance?"

"Yes, indeed," the bartender nodded, "We always keep some fine bread, not good to drink on an empty stomach. It may be a little hard but dip it in a soup or sauce and it will soften up to be quite delicious. I have it here." He reached under the bar and pulled out a dark brown loaf that had been cut into already. Closer examination showed it to be rye, dark rye, the bread of the common man. The lighter wheat breads were much more expensive, the bread of the rich, and it was doubtful the owner of this modest tavern would have any. But Erentheca always liked rye better, it had more flavor and no doubt it was healthier to eat than its lighter cousin. The tavern owner broke off a chunk of the loaf and handed it to Erentheca, who placed a small silver coin on the bar as payment. The bartender looked at Erentheca with a little awe, "That is quite alot for some bread, you sure I cannot offer you something else."

Erentheca smiled, stuffing the loaf into his cloak, "You appear to be an honest man, keep the money with my graditude, things have been happenning in the desert and it is always good to have a little extra put aside."

Ji'zoran emerged from the back room with his pack on his back and staff in hand, a long cloak also enveloping him. The staff was capped with a red stone that flashed brilliantly as it passed through the rays of light that escaped the beaded front door. He walked confindently to join Erentheca in front of the bar. They started out the beaded door, and as Erentheca turned to look back at the bartender he gave a farewell, "Your hospitality is most appreciated sir."

The bartender raised his right hand and called out in warning, "Be careful and avoid the Mayor's men, they will be looking for you." Just as he said that the pair passed through the beads that swung wildly against each other once they had cleared the entrance. The shimmering light was reflected on the bartender's worried face, he uttered a few words too low to hear, "best of luck to you lad, I wish I could thank you for what you did here."

The two walked briskly into the main street, heading to the well in the center of town, Erentheca was the first to speak, "So what have you found out?"

Ji'zoran raised an eyebrown in thought, "Much more has transpired than the Sli'shzen has feared. Weapons and supplies pass through here every day, bound for Southern Starpia. I haven't had a chance to inspect them myself, they are very well guarded. They pay mercenaries to guard the shipments though and if there is one thing mercenaries are very found of, it is the drink. I don't even have to ask what they are up to out here, they just tell me. Some rumors have been circulating through here, the entire city of Eseron was cleared out, no one knows why. I am not sure of what to make of it all."

Erentheca kept nodding, taking in the information, keeping his face expressionless as he silently pondered it over, "So what about the assassinations?"

Ji'zoran furrowed his light eyebrows, "Oddly enough, no one seems to want to talk about that. The knowledge of the assassinations certainly struck a chord in the local populace. Such a thing is unheard of, no Velcran official has been murdered in collective memory. There is something dark following those murders, the normal gossip and rumors that accompany a murder are gone, something ominous holds back the tounges of these people, and though they all fear Velcra, it is not Velcran reprisal that holds them back. Even if people were more talkative, I doubt there were any witnesses to the crime, and if there were, I think they would be dead by now."

Erentheca looked over, his eyes squinting inquisitively, "Why do you say that?"

"There have been many murders recently," Ji'zoran shook his head, obviously a little troubled, "Local officials, some Alsalsca Dalphans, Starpians," he paused, "not just your regular accounts of theft and murders of revenge or passion, I would not even attribute all of this to organized crime even, no, these were professional. No witnesses, a lot of suppossed suicides, accidents, dissapearances, and sometimes a body would be left as an obvious message. The Constable of this town and his aids were a good source of rumors and information for a long time. Many would come into the bar and talk. They had all kinds of theories, many of them not that far fetched, but when the Constable was found dead in his jail with his tounge severed, the rumors stopped. The only person who seems to be doing better because of all this is the mayor; two days after the Constable's death, he put on a large feast in his palace, all private of course. They were up all hours of the night, I could hear the music halfway across town."

Erentheca looked down, thinking, "Sounds like he is the one we should question."

Erentheca and Ji'zoran approached the center of town; the oasis lay before them, a stunning work of art in the middle of the dry adobe setting. It was a stone fountain surrounded by a large round pool, fairly typical of a desert town oasis. There was a large sculpture in the center, made of azure that glistenned translucently as water sheeted off of it. It was the image of a beautiful sea maiden that stood barechested in a stream of water that flowed out of her cupped hands held above her head. It came from Meldonian lore; exactly what legend it was from Erentheca did not know. Erentheca looked around the square, trying to observe everything. In the corners of the square, standing above all the other buildings, were windmills that were just high enough to catch the desert winds that flowed over the town walls. These no doubt powered the pumping mechanism in the fountain. Guards patrolled the road around the fountain. Affluent travelers, tradesmen, officials, and nobility went to the fountain, or sent servants to the fountain freely, without so much as a side glance from the guards. The poorer travelers and townspeople were stopped incessantly and could not access the fountain without a pass or money to give the guards. No doubt this is how they collected taxes out here. Erentheca could not help but marvel at the injustice of the system and was about to try his luck at getting water when a large contigency of guards marched into the other side of the courtyard.

At the head of the guards was an older man dressed in similar armor but with an orange plume that flowed out of his helmet and a long orange cape. Looking more closesly, Erentheca could tell the man's appearance was more polished and his armor and weapons were of higher quality. He carried an iveska on his belt, an enlongated axe of solid metal that could be weilded almost like a sword. Traditional Meldonian armor and weapons, Erentheca marvelled at it to himself. No doubt this man was Captain of the city guard, a Constable in these parts would not wear armor, for his job would be above that necessity. The Constable of this town was also dead, so that made guessing easier. A younger man walked at the Captain's side. He was robed in expensive fabrics and jewelry, but wore them as sloppily as a beggar. The younger man looked around the courtyard carefully, then pointed at Erentheca and Ji'zoran. Erentheca could not make out what he was saying from the distance, but as the guards and their Captain quickenned their pace in the direction of the two Velcrans, Erentheca got the impression that they meant to do more than just say 'hello'.

Erentheca nudged his apprentice lightly with a question, "Town guards are heading over here, anything you want to tell me about that little scuffle you got into earlier?"

Ji'zoran's jaw shook slightly, but Erentheca thought it might be out of fear of his admonishment and not of the guards, "I am sorry master, I should have been more forthcoming. I fought and bested three men this morning to defend a young girl, one of the men might have been the mayor's son."

Erentheca betrayed his dissapointment in his stern reply, "You are a Paladin of Velcra, violence does not become you. We shall discuss this later."

Ji'zoran felt the natural instinct to defend his actions, "But master, they were going to-"

Erentheca cut him off, the guards were quickly approaching, "I said we shall discuss this later, now mind your place and let me do the speaking."

The guards approached the pair and stopped beside the Captain and the younger man. The younger man pointed at Ji'zoran and sneered, "That's the one, the one on the right."

The Captain waved his hand, "Seize him."

The guards quickly marched forward but stopped when Erentheca stepped in front of Ji'zoran, stamping his staff into the dirt like a judge would bang a gavel, "On whose order's do you take this man?"

The Captain growled a warning, "Mayor's orders, now step aside drifter or spend the night in the jail, makes little difference to me."

Erentheca lifted his arm, letting his sleeve fall and revealing his golden signet, "Has hospitality changed so much that Velcrans are accorted as enemies?"

The Captain's stern expression dropped to one of shock as he half stuttered, "No, of course not. I -I didn't know. You must understand, I do have orders to bring him in."

Erentheca nodded his understanding, "Then bring him in you will, but first you will take us to the mayor, I have urgent things to discuss with him."

The Captain hesitated a little, then replied, "I will do as you ask, but he is not accustomed to visitors without an appointment, I do not know how he will react."

Erentheca spoke confidently, "I doubt there will be any problems."

The Captain began to turn around to lead Erentheca and Ji'zoran to the mayor when the youth stepped in his way, "Is that all you are going to do?"

The Captain looked the youth directly in the eye, "What else can I do, they are Paladins of the Zinza order, know you not any respect? Besides, they are coming with us, your father will decide what to do."

The youth walked ahead to the palace angrily, his cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The Captain led Erentheca and Ji'zoran to the palace, the guards marched in two silent columns behind them.

The palace was a walled inner structure of the city. It was more than just the residence of the mayor, but it housed the barracks, the city officials, and all the offices and homes of the affluent traders, as well as nobility whenever they passed through. An iron gate with pearl tips openned into the center courtyard where there was another fountain, much smaller than the central city fountain. The detatchment of guards broke off the moment they entered the palace and the Captain escorted the two Paladins to the large building at the end of the courtyard. All the buildings were made from stone, not adobe like the rest of the town, and had ornate carvings and columns that were definately Meldonian in origin and style, although the Mayor's house itself had some Starpian accutraments, no doubt added as an afterthought to keep pace with the changing political atmostphere. The three climbed the steps and walked through a set of double-doors that two blue caped guards openned before them.

On the inside was an antechamber, a large marble floored meeting hall with an arrangement of chairs, tables, and busts of political leaders and figures of people that Erentheca was not familiar with. The interior was mostly granite, granite collumns, walls were made from granite, a beige colored granite that was polished to a mirror finish. Huge windows huge windows on the sides of the room filled the chamber with light, the glass laticed in tight triangles that varied in size and almost seemed to form designs. Long beige curtains were draped about the windows and works of art hung on the walls. The double doors in front of them that led to the Mayor's chambers were partially openned, and from the raised voices inside, Erentheca could tell that the young man had gotten there first.

The Captain was only a couple paces away from the doors when they were suddenly flung open. A man with long, greying hair, and a short black beard emerged boldly into the room, the imp of a youth simpering by his side. The Mayor's decorative robe, with golden horses swimming in a sea of orange, shimmered in the sulight, certainly a garb of pure silk. He was of normal height, but his stance made him more imposing. His suede boots, brown with silver buckling, were reminiscient of Meldonian calavry boots, and their metal heels clicked sharply against the floor as he stormed forward.

The Mayor stopped almost nose to nose with the captain, looking amost like he was going to strike the man, "Why," he paused to clinch back his fury, "why did you bring these brigants here?" His question was in a level tone, the tension so strong behind it that the man almost figeted controlling it.

The Captain was fearless and professional, he did not look in the Mayor's eyes but stared straight forward, giving as formal a report as he could, "Pardon my Lord, they requested an audience with your greatness. They-"

The Mayor snapped, "Requested?! Requested!!" He stepped over to Erentheca, not bothering to hide the contempt in his eyes, "What right do you pretend to have to violate our laws and then walk right in here, uninvited, and unwanted?"

Erentheca was quite calm, almost detatched in his reply, "I pretend to have no rights, but we have broken no laws, and I apologize if my lack of invitation has offended your graces."

The Mayor started to turn away, "Oh I think it will take more than an apology. Captain, take them to the prison, and don't be gentle about it!" He then addressed Erentheca again, "And our court will determine which of our laws you have broken, not you." He looked at the Captain, who had turned slightly, but was not moving, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The Captain was a little nervous in answering, "My lord, I was about to tell you that these two are Paladins of Velcra."

The Mayor may not have cared much about justice or equality, and no doubt it would have been a death sentence for any commoner to enter into his presense without escort or invite, but he did care about wealth and power, and Velcra had a great deal of both. His face almost completely whitenned with fear. He paused, yet words would not come out of his mouth. Finally he forced a nervous laugh, "Certainly, gentlemen, you will excuse my curtness, I had no idea who you were. You understand how important it is for leaders out here to have a stern hand with such rif raff that comes through these parts." His tone was pleasant and almost insultingly polite, he quickly turned to his son and snapped, "You assaulted a Paladin of Velcra?" He slapped the boy hard across his unshaven face, "How dare you dishonor me like that? I've had enough of you and your low life friends, depart this instant! You will wait for me in your chambers." The boy ran out the door, shaken by the sudden change in his father's attitude, and unaware that it was mostly a show. The Mayor continued with Erentheca, "You must forgive my son, I really spoiled him too much in his youth. You want the best for your children, but it is so hard to get a handle on them these days." He was lying through his teeth, no doubt, Erentheca speculated, this youth had harassed and hurt people for years with the blessing and support of his father, the only difference this time was that this time he had tried to hurt people his father feared. Despite the ploy, Erentheca recognized the attempt, although given far too late, to impress him.

Erentheca lowered his head slightly in respect, "No harm done, but there are a few questions I wish to pose."

The Mayor nodded eagerly, "Yes, absolutely, I have been such an unattentive host." His attention snapped to the Captain, "Oh Captain, you may go now." The Captain bowed, executed a perfect about-face and began to head out the door, "And Captain," the Captain paused as the Mayor gave a last word, "Next time be a little more assertive, wouldn't want to insult any more guests."

The Captain faced about one more time and bowed, "Pardon my Lord, it will not happen again." With that he backed out the door without raising his head and closed the double doors in front of him. The room seemed much more quiet and alone now. Erentheca pitied the Captain, a man that had to walk a line between his duty and the irrationality of the lord he was working for. The more competant a man is in that position, the harder his job must be.

The Mayor turned to the two Paladins, "I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting a Paladin of the Zinza order face to face. I will testify as to seeing your kind in action before, and your reputation far exceeds you, but to actually talk to you: amazing. I must also apologize for not having proper introductions made. I am Roazren of Thrica, Nephew of the late Mefius, the deposed Marquis of Thrica."

Erentheca curtiously made introductions as well, "I am Erentheca, a Paladin of the Zinza order of Velcra, and this is Ji'zoran, my apprentice and also a Paladin of the Zinza order." He bowed slightly in respect and Ji'zoran did so as well. Erentheca pondered to himself about the old Meldonian lines of succession. Even today the deposed leaders carried their titles proudly, sheparding what is left of their once proud, now conquered Empire: the trading towns of the desert, a thin legacy of what power and splendor they once had, 300 years ago.

The Mayor smiled, "Well then, you wanted to speak to me, about what I may ask?"

Erentheca nodded, "Yes, I had questions to pose."

"Let us sit then," the Mayor beconned them to the side of the room where there were luxurious blue chairs, cushioned and draped in expensive cloth. He moved to the one closer to the center of the room and he waited to sit until they sat down in their seats across from him before he sat. He tried to be as gracious as possible, Erentheca could see that he was trying to compensate for how rude he was earlier, "As always, I am happy to accomidate Paladins of Velcra. So tell me, what do you want to know?"

Erentheca decided to probe around the issue before asking directly so he would know if there was deception, "Tell me Sir, we have noticed several odd things happenning recently in this region. For instance: your neighboring city, Eseron, has been cleared out. Do you know why?"

The Mayor shrugged, adding to it an awkward smile that betrayed information he was not willing to release conciously, "There are lots of rumors going about, I would think a people as wise as yours could discern between facts and the local gossip and exaggerations."

Erentheca held a steady face, "Can't really doubt the claims of recently evicted refugees. We had some come to Velcra," Erentheca was not sure if he was stretching the truth or not. At least one or two former habitants of Eseron might have ended up in Iszanawe or Yisharz'ul, or at least it was possible. He continued, "If we had some come into our country, hundreds, perhaps thousands had to have poured through your town. Surely you noticed this."

The Mayor was as paralyzed as a deer would be before a predator, "Well, of course some rumors are true. But, I -I don't really know why, cannot really answer that question." He cleared his throat and now even the silence had now become very tense. Erentheca did not budge one inch but stared right at the Mayor, silent.

Ji'zoran took his queue to speak, "And the shipments going through town, from Eseron?"

The Mayor scratched above his eyebrow for apparently no reason, even Ji'zoran could hear him fidget. He cleared his voice again before speaking, "Which one's are you referring to? A lot of stuff comes through here, we are the trade route after all."

"The heavily guarded shipments. Comes in wagons, covered by leather tarps, lots of mercenaries around them. Mercenaries talk, say they are headed to Castle Vikeharst in Southern Starpia; rather odd destination don't you think? And why all the security?" Ji'zoran tapped on the handle of his staff which was laying across his lap.

The Mayor scoffed, "Probably something expensive, like wine or rare fabrics, I don't check all the cargo that comes through here, some people would prefer their privacy. As to all the security, you have to beware of bandits and theives out here, you two know that."

Erentheca shifted in his seat. Ji'zoran was pretty sure what Erentheca wanted him to do. He continued on a closer line of questioning, "A lot of murders happening around here too. I must convey our condolences for the recent death of your Constable."

"That is most gracious of you," the Mayor knew they were playing something, but he could not tell what, "his loss has definately been a damper on law enforcement around here. The man was my eyes and ears you know, he will be impossible to replace."

"Tell me," Ji'zoran continued, "you have any leads yet as to who might have killed him, or wanted him dead?"

The Mayor shrugged, "That man had a lot of enemies. He had at least as many enemies as he had contacts. Dangerous line of work you know, but someone has gotta do it. Don't know who actually killed him though, probably some drunk or some petty theif, he always gave them a hard time, a ride right outta town."

Erentheca's silence told Ji'zoran he should keep going, "So, wouldn't happen to know about any other killings or assasinations?"

The Mayor let out half of a laugh, "Huh, take your pick, always someone getting buried in the desert, that has never changed."

Ji'zoran narrowed the field, there should be no way the Mayor could weasel past this one, "Anyone important perhaps? Foriegn maybe, dignitaries?"

The Mayor made a wise move, "Why do you ask? I am not in trouble or anything am I?"

Ji'zoran made his move, carefully, playing ignorance, "No, just trying to keep abreast of things, security reasons is all."

The Mayor fell in, "Nothing important that I know about, besides the Constable that is."

Checkmate. Erentheca had the Mayor exactly where he wanted him. He had gotten the Mayor to lie about the assasinations. He deliberately avoided mentioning them, no doubt gambling that Erentheca and Ji'zoran were not even aware that they had happened. He was covering something up, something that even he was involved in. Erentheca's skin almost crawled with excitement, but he played the game paciently.

Erentheca changed the subject, "So, you saw our kind in action before? Where I might ask?"

The Mayor was eager to answer this time, ""