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Old Guard / Other Stories / Out of Character / Torin's Introduction
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Emotions Legend
[quote][b]Solenis (Feb 18, 2005 09:46 p.m.):[/b] It was after nightfall when Torin and his guide arrived at the bridge to Asticar. The rain that had plagued them sporadically in the afternoon now came down in heavy sheets, and though they both wore heavy leather cloaks that the rain could not penetrate the downpour changed directions with the wind and kept their faces wet. The great walkway groaned, but the guide rode out onto it without hesitation. The ground dropped off sharply on either side of the bridge, and Torin brought his eyes quickly to the level when his horse stepped off the giant anchor stones and onto the metal and stone structure that spanned the chasm. The horses' shod hooves made dull ringing sounds on the steel plates. They passed under the first of the two slim white stone towers that stood chained at either edge of the cleft, and he focused on the steadily moving guide so he wouldn't see the gentle motion of the world around them. That worked until they were halfway to the second tower and he could see how widely they were swinging in relation to it. Vertigo made him shut his eyes, and when he opened them he could not resist looking over the round metal rail and down into nothingness. The depths below the bridge had no mist or haze, nothing to conceal the darkness. Somewhere down there lay the Astis river, coiled like a snake around the base of the enclave. It had been an underground tributary thousands of years ago until the wizards had diverted a section of it for their purpose, and under their guidance the Astis had formed the gorge and polished its sides to lethally sheer cliffs. He closed his eyes again and let the horse find its own way until he heard the guide's mount step off the walkway and onto the far anchor. The path on this side was paved with stone tiles and lined with giant trees that blotted out any starlight that might have filtered through the rain. The lantern that his guide carried did little to push back the shadows, and she coaxed her tired horse into a gentle gallop. Torin did the same, and a short time later they arrived at the city gates. Torin had lived most of his life in the capital city of Sunan, a city invested with the vanity of hundreds of emperors, but he had never seen architecture so seamless. Giant yellow lamps too bright for the rain to dim were imbedded in white stone walls four stories high and cast illumination well beyond the city perimeter, and Torin shielded his eyes as they came closer. The thick trees on either side of the path grew right up to the walls and then stopped, the living wood twisted away from the ramparts as if caught permanently in a violent wind. The gates themselves were made of the same white stone and showed only the barest of outlines against the surrounding surface. The lights did not permit Torin to see who or what stood atop the walls, but as he and the guide approached the wicket he experienced an unnatural shiver. His right leg ached, and he pulled his cloak more tightly around him and wished it could shield him from more than the elements. His guide answered no hail, but the small door opened when they drew near, releasing a brief warm breath that was quickly lost to the storm. A man with the demeanor and dress of a servant emerged and took his bridle, and Torin pulled the cane free from the saddle and dismounted. The guide did not, and Torin was barely on the ground before she turned her horse toward the distant bridge and rode back into the night. The servant gestured toward the door and then led his horse away, and Torin moved as quickly as he could for the small door. It had only been two months since he'd been injured, and the cane still felt clumsy, but it was far easier and less painful than walking without one and so remained an unpleasant necessity. Through the door was a small room that contained a round wooden table and two chairs, and there was another door in the opposite wall. Wall lanterns lit the room and Torin blinked as his eyes adjusted. At the table sat an ordinary-looking older man in a simple brown shirt and trousers, sipping something from a small steaming cup and reading from a piece of parchment. Uncertain of protocol, Torin pushed his damp hood away from his face and waited. The man looked up and passed his eyes over Torin disinterestedly. "Your name, please," he asked in Suna. "Torin Garell," he answered, and the man looked back down at the parchment. Seconds dragged by as the man continued to scan the document and Torin shifted uncomfortably, water dripping from his cloak and forming puddles on the hard stone floor. "You're not on the list," the man said at last, his tone disapproving. He looked up at Torin as if expecting an explanation, and Torin tightened his hand around the small spherical head of his cane in annoyance. His sister's location was no secret; it was imperative that this business be concluded quickly. "As I explained to your guide, I do not need access to Asticar or the university," he said as patiently as possible. "I am only interested in arranging for my sister's departure. I did not have time to submit the request through the Order before I left Sunan." The man stood up, unimpressed. "You Suna nobles never seem to have the time," he said in an exasperated tone as he crossed the room to the far door. "You'll have to speak to the Guardsmaster. Wait here." The man unlocked the other door, passed through it and pulled it shut behind him. A key scraped in the lock, and Torin frowned and tried the handle to the door he'd entered through. It was also locked, and after fiddling with it for a few moments he gave up and sat down in one of the chairs. The room gradually grew warm, though there was no fireplace, and Torin stood up long enough to peel off his wet cloak and lay it over the other chair. His clothing was dry underneath, a heavy grey jacket lined with fur and thick black trousers and boots. The western approach to the enclave required a three week trek through the featureless steppes of northeastern Sunan, and if Selic Mahala's gold had not purchased the clothing and supplies he had needed it would have been a dangerous passage. The area immediately surrounding Asticar was not nearly so cold, but it would have been pointless to buy new clothing when they would have to travel the same path to get back through Sunan to the port. At length the far door opened, and Torin reached for his cane and prepared to rise. A woman entered, wearing a strange approximation of armor that looked too flimsy to deflect even the weakest of blows. She carried no sword and her short, faded blonde hair was barely longer than Torin's. Her face was gently lined but she did not move with any of the infirmities of age. Her eyes were blue and active, and she took him in with a single impatient glance as he stood up. "What do you want?" she demanded in his native tongue. "I was told to wait for the Guardsmaster." "I am the Guardsmaster," she replied testily. "And you are here without an invitation. Why didn't you file with the Order for a pass?" Torin overcame his surprise and rallied. "I had neither the time nor the luxury of waiting a week for the palace of the Order to receive me," he replied sarcastically. "My mother is dead, and I am here to inform my sister and take her back with me." The woman looked at him suspiciously. "What's your sister's name? We have no students in the register under Garell." "Kaleni," he said, relieved at last to be getting somewhere. "Raspeth Kaleni." She looked at him silently and then nodded once. "Come with me, then." He gathered his cloak, now dry, and followed her through the inner door. It opened out into a corridor and she led him through several junctions until they reached a series of doors. Guards in the same light armor stood next to these doors, and the woman unlocked one of them and gestured for him to enter. "Visiting quarters," she said when he hesitated. "We keep our charges safe here. You know the rules." She eyed his cane. "Leave that out here, and the knife in your belt. I'll fetch your sister." Wordlessly, Torin handed over the small hunting knife and his cane. The woman took them and he turned and limped into the cell. She locked the door after him. It was comfortably appointed, though by no definition lavish. There was a bed here with blankets and a small wooden desk with two chairs. He settled into one of them and propped his right leg on the other with his cloak as a cushion and waited for the Guardsmaster to return with Raspeth. There were rules about Asticar, and everyone knew them. Asticar housed the university where children from every country on the continent came to learn how to wield the power of atacre, and as such there were certain measures in place to ensure that no harm came to those children during their stay. Sunan and Brindia both had great numbers of young nobles residing in Asticar at any given time, and strict discipline was maintained to keep them safe. Once they returned to their homes they could set about killing one another if they wished, but the enclave was sacrosanct. Torin had considered leaving Raspeth here, but the longer they delayed the more pressure the Edelosuna family would place on their pet mages who stood resident at the university to have her expelled into the waiting arms of an execution squad. It would be better to have her out now and someplace safe than to risk letting her stay where everyone knew she was. Time passed and Torin grew weary. He'd been riding half the day and many days before that, and he was just beginning to doze when the door jostled and woke him. It opened inward to reveal an old bald man in dark blue robes with two of the guards behind him. He looked like he'd been rudely awakened and was ready to take it out on someone; he was thin and sere and slightly hunched, but his dark eyes fastened on Torin's face without hesitation or confusion. "Torin Garell," muttered the man in a surprisingly deep voice, "brother of Raspeth. You look different than when you were last here, Torin." The man seemed to be talking to himself more than to Torin. He and the guards entered the room and the door shut behind them. Torin tried to get up but one of the guards lay a heavy hand on his right shoulder and pushed him down again, not ungently. The old man came within a few inches of him and stared down at him speculatively. Torin could see the deep creases age and study had carved into the man's forehead, every stray whisker that adorned his sallow cheeks, the large nose and the thin lips drawn back like a rodent's from teeth unnaturally large and white in the withered face. "Not the same," the old man murmured to himself. "Another, not the same, but the same eyes as the girl now, same blood." He made a slow circuit around Torin's chair making little thoughtful noises, and when he came back into view he was nodding to himself. "You are Raspeth's brother?" he asked sharply, his voice now leaving no doubt that Torin was being addressed, and Torin looked at the guard and stood up slowly. "Yes," he replied shortly. "Where is she?" The old man scowled at Torin's question. "She's not here. Left more than a month ago, just before that other Suna came looking for her." The old man looked smug. "He claimed to be you, but I knew he wasn't related to that girl. It's easy to see on you. Same eyes, same blood, same stupid expression when people say things you don't understand." Torin closed his mouth. So the Edelosuna had sent someone ahead of him to try to snatch his sister before he could get to her. It explained why they'd bothered to try to kill him as well as his mother. By himself Torin was absolutely unimportant, but standing next to his younger sister he looked extremely useful. His leg throbbed and he favored it a little more. [i]Just another thing to thank you for, Raspeth.[/i] "She left with a servant of your mother's," continued the old man inexorably. "Some woman. The girl knew her, so I let her go. She was nothing but trouble, you know," the man continued more affably, as if all the important topics had been covered and all that remained was to make conversation. "Always asking questions, always in the way, never a moment's peace. Mark my words and marry her off to a patient man, that one." [i]Devona[/i]. Devona was Imaret's most trusted slave. She'd been with his mother since before Torin was born, and he had ceased to notice Devona so long ago that he had not taken note of her absence. For Devona to have arrived before the Edelosuna agent Imaret must have sent her in advance, weeks before she died. Imaret had known something of what was going to happen, and she'd sent Devona to protect her precious daughter and hadn't bothered to whisper a single word of warning to her son. Bitterness he hadn't felt in years welled up inside him, and he picked up his cloak and headed to the door without another word. The Guardsmaster returned his knife and cane and then trailed him back to the entrance, and by the time he got there his horse was waiting for him. The rain had stopped and the moon lit his way back across the bridge. He knew where Devona would take Raspeth because he had intended to take her there himself. They had a head start on him, but they would be moving slowly, trying to keep a low profile, and Torin had no such restraint. He would travel directly to the port and take the first ship headed for Kalendeta. He would make it to Lahkis first where their father lived and prepare him for what was to come.[/quote]
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