Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos Read online

  "No," Delphi intoned incredulously, finding it difficult to believe anything so ludicrous, though the image his description brought to mind caused her to produce a small smile in spite of herself.

  She relaxed a bit, and then set about the business of determining how to equip the garment. She stopped when he reached through the bars to stay her hands.

  "Wear it if it pleases you, but not to appease me, or anyone else," he intoned seriously.

  "I know how it looks," she replied in a small voice, her gaze still cast downward.

  "Neither my Lord, Wildern, nor his good Lady, Natura, have ever shown disfavor to their injured. Nor shall they ever show favor to those who do," he offered, though her lack of reaction implied that his offer was ineffectual. "By the river! My reaction to your appearance was not a display of disfavor. It was empathy."

  "I've heard of this word, empathy," she said with an edge. "I came across it during my Human studies while preparing for Heartrot's Quest. It means pity, does it not?" she asked in an accusing tone.

  "It…it's difficult to explain," he began haltingly. Then his expression brightened and he began to reach toward her face.

  At first, she balked, momentarily drawing back. After a moment, her own expression eased and she returned to a more relaxed posture.

  Once again, he reached out, first tracing the healed scars about her eye, and then gently holding his palm to her face. "Different peoples have differing definitions. To my people, it means the healing of another's injured heart, regardless of the form it may take."

  Her brow furrowed as she sought to comprehend the foreign concept. Shortly, she did look up to meet his eyes.

  To Jester, she appeared to be in the midst of some inner turmoil. "Empathy," he repeated, smiling. Then he quickly withdrew his hand as the guard unlocked the outer door.

  After a moment, she returned her attention to the patch. "I think…I think I shall wear it. It is very pretty cloth." she said, tracing its surface gently, much as he had traced her face.

  "Yes, I rather thought so, too," he added, noticing how it matched the color of her remaining eye. "Umm, well then…" he said, regaining composure. "Is there anything I can get you? A warmer blanket, perhaps?"

  "Another cell would be nice," she replied absently while attempting to wrap the patch about her head, backwards.

  "Another cell?" he asked, prompting her to a more attentive state.

  "Yes. There is a horrible creature in the cell next to mine, milord. He tortures me day and night, forcing me to listen to countless narratives of…of…Ale."

  Jester leaned to his right, and peered into the cell next to Delphi's. True enough. Apparently sleeping, or perhaps simply passed out, was the very same drunken Dwarf that Borin had encountered. Chumly, or Crummy, or some such. How'd he get here?

  "Guard?"

  "Ready to leave?" the guard asked.

  "I want this Lady moved to another cell, specifically away from this other prisoner."

  "And who might you be, to be ordering me about?"

  "I might be the new Ambassador to Spurious Grove."

  "Oh, really?" laughed the guard. He ceased laughing when Jester presented his Council identification scroll.

  "Beg pardon, milord. If I had known…"

  "No offence taken. Could we see to the Lady's accommodations now?"

  "I'm afraid I can't, not without orders from the Captain."

  "I see. Thank you anyway." He turned back to Delphi.

  "I'll be seeing the Captain, shortly. I'm sure he will take care of it."

  "My gratitude, milord," she offered sincerely.

  "Please, call me Jester."

  "Jester," she smiled, reaching to adjust her new patch.

  "All right, then. I'll stop by again tomorrow and see how you're doing, if you like."

  "I will look forward to it…Jester."

  "Good night, then," he offered while motioning for the guard to let him out.

  He felt a certain relief as the door shut behind him. There was something most alluring about her. There was also something a bit forbidding. When he looked back through the door's barred window, he could see that she had not moved. She just stood there, staring right back at him through the two sets of iron bars that separated them. He smiled sheepishly, and then scooted passed the guards and on toward the Captain's offices.

  Chapter Two, Home: Part Two-New Suits Of Law, And Flesh

  Sarah had just put on her housecoat, and was about to start a fresh pot of coffee, when she noticed his absent glaring. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have even registered, since he often bore a similar expression on just about any given morning. Try as he might, Dieter wasn't really an accomplished morning person. Still, he wasn't usually given to bouts of drooling unless prompted by the anticipation of food, or perhaps the occasional episode of Bay Watch. With her concern for him rising, she was just about to swivel his chair about when the doorbell rang.

  ***

  She had never heard a more bizarre accounting. This guy, this…weirdo…shows up at the door, claiming to be a Doctor, as if that alone should gain her confidence, but sounding more like a cross between your average computer nerd, and one of those mad scientists from the comic books her little brother had read when they were kids. If Dieter hadn't been in the condition he was, she would have called the police, right then and there. In retrospect, however, though she still found it all quite difficult to accept, she did regret striking the man. Worst possible scenario: he's just a loon. But if what he says is true …

  After Kwibee had finally semi-prevailed upon her, so that she dubiously gave him the benefit of the doubt, she had wanted to contact the hospital, though he had quickly argued that it wouldn't help. If her brother really was in the game, then there could well be a tap on the main line. According to Kwibee, the only reason that they weren't able to detect his filter thingy in the first place was due to the fact that whatever was cloaking it from the program, also cloaked it from tap detection. He had tried to explain how it worked, for all the good it did. The unholy string of techno-babble he offered could have been Chinese Pig-Latin for all she knew.

  As for the matter of her brother, whose involvement had yet to be determined, she thought, Well, maybe he wasn't in the game when it hit. Maybe he got caught by one of the Doctors, or couldn't get a free line. He might have even overslept. He's good at that.

  She recalled several instances when Dieter had complained about Jesse's not showing up at all. When she called the hospital to see if anything was wrong, the nurse would always inform her that he was in fact still sleeping.

  An image persisted of her little brother lying in his hospital bed with the same absent gaze as Dieter. If only we hadn't sent him that stupid game!

  ***

  After several more moments, she began to get impatient, wondering if it was going to work at all. [Doc? You there? Doctor Kwibee?] {Sorry. It took a moment to re-sequence the Chronomic ratio-flux indicator to an analogous state of paralleled…} [Well, get it together, would ya? I don't know where here is, but it's dark and…well, it's very dark.] {Yes, I believe that's…almost got it.} [What do you mean, almost?] {Patience, Madam.} [What did you just call me?] {There! I'm linked with your filter interface, you're linked with my filter control, and now were both in sync with the program.} [Ok, now what?] {All we need to complete the circuit is to overlay your patch with an actual N.P.C…} [Is something wrong?] {Listen to me, Mrs. Hoffman. Once you're in, there's no turning back. But we can still switch links now. You're really not qualified to…} [Yeah, right! Like you are! That's my family in there! And just for the record, Doctor, I'm not the one responsible for this whole freaking mess in the first place!] {All right! All right! Patching you in… Now!}

  ***

  Sarah was suddenly thrust out of the darkness and into a world of vibrant colors. At first, there were no specific forms, only a swirling mass of chaotic spectra. Then, certain shapes began to coagulate and take on depth, similar to a camera's moving in an
d out of focus, only the picture she was receiving was all about her and expanding outward as new shapes formed.

  {Is it working?} [It's still kinda fuzzy.] {That's to be expected. It takes a few moments for the filter to adjust.} [Oh! That's better.]

  "Selina?" Marcus inquired. Are you all right, my friend?

  [There's someone with her!] {Don't panic.}

  "Selina? Hellooo?"

  [What should I do?] {Her memory template indicates they were to attend a training exhibition together.} [Oh yeah, that's helpful!]

  "Don't tell me the ale-slamming champion of South Arbitos is getting dizzy over two small stouts," he laughed.

  [That's it! I mean, yes, that's it.] {Huh?} [Not you! The other guy.] {Well, don't tell me. Tell him.} [Right… Umm, how'd that go again?] {We've already been over this, Mrs. Hoffman!} [Don't push it, Doc! I'll dot the other eye!] {No! No need for violence. We've both been under a strain. We just need to stay focused.}

  "Now see here, girl! Are you quite all right, then?"

  [Doc? He's becoming impatient.] {Oh, yes. Well, it's just as we discussed. Focus on your surroundings. Let yourself align with the program, and then you can interact. Just don't forget to focus on the interface before speaking to me, otherwise they'll think you're crazy, or possessed, or some such.} [Got it.]

  Sarah tried to focus. She let go of the interface and concentrated instead on the game's environment: on Selina, the buildings, the sky… A light breeze caressed her cheek. The chilled air caused gooseflesh to erupt on her bare arms. Then a myriad of perceptions flooded in on her at once: the alluring scents of seasoned meats and baked goods from half a dozen shops in the area, the uneven feel of cobblestones beneath her feet, quickly followed by a glint from the almost golden sandstone buildings as they were stuck by the setting sun.

  She looked west, and to the sun itself, now almost buried below the horizon. It was the same sun she had seen many times from outside the game while watching Dieter play, only now it wasn't, not really. The reds and golds were on fire, writhing in the fiery splinter of globe, visible, and then fading to a softer glow as her eyes lifted, succumbing to the night sky punctuated by what points of starlight were still strong enough to filter through the city's own illumination.

  She looked at the stranger before her, whose day's growth of beard stubble was in great contrast to the polygonal texture expected. There was something else, too. This was no stranger. This was Marcus Goodfellow, and he was very much the proper gentleman: a suitable name indeed. He had been one of her best friends ever since nursery school, and two years after he had joined the Arbitos Guard, it had been his recommendation that got her in as well. He was her brother in arms, and as close as her own… No, that's not right. Selina has no brother.

  She found herself abruptly flooded with memories of this other: this Selina. No, she was Selina. She was Selina Valorous, Daughter of Randor and Miana Valorous, Paladin of the Forty-ninth Circle, and sworn guardian to the peoples of Arbitos. Her heart swelled with pride and strength, even as tears welled in her eyes.

  {Hey! What's going on in there? Your heart rate just jumped ten points.} [What? That was… Wow!] {Remember, you must maintain control! Interact in whatever ways you see fit, but don't let yourself get lost in it, or I can't promise you'll find your way back.} [Got it.] I hope.

  "All right, that's it! You're going straight home, young lady!" Marcus intoned authoritatively.

  "Huh? Oh yeah, sure thing. I'm bushed anyways."

  "Bushed? In what strange manner do you speak, Selina?"

  "I'm sorry, Marc. I guess I'm just tired. I also feel a bit guilty about teasing poor Borin."

  "As well you should, Corporal. Our friend has been through quite enough without our adding to his problems."

  "Yes, you're absolutely right. I promise to apologize tomorrow."

  "You'll do no such thing! I know you, Selina. You'll only make matters worse. You are to drop the subject altogether, and that's an order!"

  "Yes, Lieutenant," she agreed, snapping to attention.

  ***

  "No, not at all," Reginald assured him. "I'll have her moved immediately. To be perfectly honest, she should never have been consigned to the lower tier in the first place. She's not exactly a prisoner as such, anyway. Her confinement is conditional, only until a hearing can be arranged."

  "I…I promised that I would help her," Jester said tentatively, reluctant to broach another request. "I realize I'm not really qualified, but I don't suppose there's anyone else who'd be willing."

  "Willing to what?"

  "Well, to speak on her behalf."

  Reginald seemed puzzled. "It would appear you don't quite grasp the importance of the issue at hand, my boy."

  "Yes, milord. I realize that if Arbitos turns her away…"

  "This is a most unique opportunity! There is a vast chasm separating many cultures in our world. The more we learn about these cultures, the better we are capable to communicate, and communication is the first step toward peace. In time, perhaps even friendship."

  "Forgive me, Captain, but I'm not sure I see what this has to do with…"

  "The girl obviously has some attachment to you."

  A preference for Half-elf a la mode, perhaps, Jester thought despairingly.

  "That's why I approached Elder Ironwood on the subject. In light of your existing rapport, I simply felt… Is something wrong?"

  Jester's expression of confusion had faded to neutral. As he made the connection, a new expression took its place. "You requested my appointment! You actually want her to be granted political asylum, so you made a personal appeal to the Council of Elders, which in turn moved me to the head of the list."

  "Well, yes, of course. I thought the Council had explained all this to you."

  "No, milord. They neglected to impart that tidbit of information," Jester intoned.

  "I can't imagine why they would do such a thing."

  "I can."

  "You must have been quite baffled. Oh dear! You must have thought that they…"

  "You have Rangers and Druids among your Human citizens," Jester began. "So I'm sure you've noticed a certain…propensity…for mirth."

  "This is true," Reginald replied. "I understand it is a natural occurrence. It makes sense if one thinks about it. If a heart is healthy, it should no doubt follow that it would also be happy."

  "Yes, but couple that with an Elven bloodline and one may expect a great magnification in one's sense of humor. Believe me, I know. I wrestle with mine daily in many matters. It is often difficult to know just when to draw the line between harmless mischief and old fashioned common sense."

  "Well, I suppose that falls under what I mentioned before. Even our own two cultures have a few things left to learn about one another, yes?" Reginald smiled while refilling Jester's cup with tea.

  "I don't think you'll have too much trouble, Captain. You recovered from that little joke much faster than I did."

  Reginald remained silent. He was clearly struggling to maintain a straight face.

  "Well then, I suppose I should get started on my client's defense," Jester offered, hoping to avoid further discussion on the subject of jokes and the butts thereof.

  "Ahh yes, about that," Reginald resumed with a more officious expression. "I've taken the liberty of assembling a legal staff. With your permission, I would like to assign them to the case, directly under your authority, of course. I do hope you don't mind, but I assure you, they're the best defense available in Arbitos."

  "Not at all, milord. As a matter of fact, I was a bit worried. I'm not really learned in the specifics of your legal system. Your staff will be most welcome."

  "I want you to think of them as your staff, Ambassador Thistle. They will be responding to you, as you're the only real link to Mistress Bane."

  Jester nodded in appreciation.

  "There is something I would like for you to do for me, though."

  "I will help in any way I can, milord."

&nb
sp; "As you know, I took a Detail personally to escort our guest back to Arbitos while you and my son attended the festivities at the Tarot camp last evening."

  "Yes, I remember."

  "Well, along the way, she informed me of certain details concerning the purpose of Baron Heartrot's Quest. It would appear they had been searching for weaknesses in both Arbitos and Spurious defenses."

  At this, Jester's eyes grew wider. "Did they find any such weaknesses?"

  "According to her, there were strong indications, though she was never made privy to the specifics."

  "What will you need of me, Captain?"

  "I want you to avoid this subject during the Hearing. We need time to discover what this information is. Besides, we've reason to believe there may still be Empire agents within Arbitos proper. If so, then there must be no letting on we are even the slightest bit suspicious."

  "I understand."

  "Very good then. It's probably nothing, but Heartrot and I go way back. He's rather bitter toward me for having thwarted him in the past."

  "I will be careful to skirt the subject."

  "Oh, yes," Reginald said, suddenly remembering something else. "There is just one other bit of news of which I think you should be made aware."

  "Milord?"

  "After studying all of the evidence, and reconstructing certain aspects of the case, Elder Ironwood and several of her Rangers have come to the conclusion that…"

  "What, Captain?"

  "Well, to put it frankly, your friend Delphi appears to be the actual Assassin."

  "What!" Jester exclaimed while coming up and out of his chair.

  "Now, just hold on a moment. In the girl's defense, she was a soldier, following orders. One cannot fault a soldier for doing his or her duty."

  Jester seemed not to hear him. His mind was reeling. It had never occurred to him to even think of her as a murderess. Under the circumstances of their acquaintance, there had not been a great deal of time to think of anything other than survival. In retrospect, he recalled the odd way in which she seemed to keep assessing him, as if to calculate which direction he might be about to bolt, as if to know better where to pounce. Yes. Now that he thought about it, the look in her eye was definitely the glare of a wanton killer.