Doranax looked ahead, across the square. Outside the main gate to the Holy Tower milled a small group of brethren talking in the dusk light before the night prayer. Uneasily, he noticed almost half of the clump were the black cloaks of those magnificent, but terrifying, men from the previous night. The Nightbrothers, he had been told was their name. They were good, though they didn't completely look it, and they fought bad things that were more terrifying than they were. The word was that they were men of faith who could be trusted, but by goodness, they sure didn't look it, thought Doranax. ------------- The young boy trembled as he recalled that horrible night the previous month. As he had usually done, Doranax had been perched on the rail of the bridge that connect the Fishborough with the main intersection in east New Tirmaeir, waiting for the hours to while away and perhaps the odd drunk whose pockets he could pilfer. His favourite trick was watching the merchants, soldiers, sailors and other less certain types and guessing where they were headed - the docks to his left, the bars to his right, a ferry to further west into the city, or into Fishborough behind him. An even better trick was guessing what they were thinking or saying. Sometimes, if Doranax really really listened good, he could catch what someone was saying, even on the other side of the junction. Suddenly, he realised a boat had appeared beneath, docking on the junction side of the bridge. He couldn't think how it had snuck up on him like that, normally his listening was much better. From the boat stepped a dozen figures in black cloaks, with the glint of long metal things beneath them. From the fog hugging the junction emerged another dozen similiar figures. Freezing for fear of detection, Doranax thought only of being quiet, and maybe a little of hearing what they were saying.... "...this is it, first house on the left...." "Are you sure?" "Yes, Boran's scrying was quiet specific. He even recognised the neighbourhood and that bridge." "...we have been detected? No, i don't think so either, thanks to He Who Is One. Remember, no magicks until we are in place...." "I know, I'm not dimwitted, brother" "I realise that, but we don't know really know what we will have to deal with ahead..." But he had heard them, Doranax thought to himself.... At that, the lead figure, a tall, red-bearded man, looked up, the cowl of his cloak falling off. "In the Name of the First, there is a boy up there," the man said to his companion, "Do you see him?" "What have you been eating, Avan, I can't see anyone." "You fool, he's cloaked himself, and I swear he was listening to us." "Ahh yes, I see him now. He's just a street-brat. There are so many of them in New Tirmaeir, brother, sadly. What would a streetbrat know of cloaking? And listening to us from that distance? Come brother Avan, the cold is getting to your brain. We must go now though, everyone is here and ready. The time is now." Doranax watched as the cloaked men walked under his position on the bridge. The one called Avan looked up and whispered so quietly at him that he had to concentrate very hard, "any trouble tonight, boy?" For some reason, Doranax shook his head, "no sir, none. Quiet as a mouse." With that the men disappeared into the fog blanketing Fishborough, though Doranax sat watching the fog, wondering if the strange men would return. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Doranax knew he awoke with a start to a dreadful howling and the clash of steel and thundering explosions that followed the howls. Flames leapt out of the old mansion just off the way, the direction the strange men had gone in before. Like the strange magical fire that was shot into the sky during the festivals, streams of coloured fire jumped through the fog as he heard the yells of men fighting. For an hour the living nightmare continued, Doranax too scared to move for a multitude of reasons. Finally the visions and sounds disappeared. A while later, the strange men reappeared, carrying a number of badly beaten men - not their men though, for these wore normal clothing. They passed across the bridge again, not looking up at him, and disappeared just like they had arrived. The last man stopped, and looked up at him. It was the one called Avan, who said, "boy, you know where the Holy Tower is?" "Yes sir, I do. Over in Marketborough." "Yes, it is. Come there tomorrow morning. We have a school there for gifted children such as yourself. An education, a roof, a bed, clean clothes, hot food. Will you come?" -------------- Doranax walked up to the group of people, a mixture of adults and youngsters. They turned towards him as he approached, and he recognised one of them. It was the red haired man called Avan, from the night before. "Ahh, the young bridge-walker from last night. So you came after all, I wasn't sure if you would. Come, meet your new classmates." ================================ Confidentiality Statement and Disclaimer ================================ This message is intended only for the use of the individual or entity to whom it is addressed and contains information that is privileged and confidential. If you, the reader of this message, are not the intended recipient, you should not disseminate, distribute or copy this communication. If you have received this communication in error, please notify us immediately by return email and delete the original message. Thank you. ---------------------------------------------------------------- To unsubscribe, send mail to celandra-off@phoenyx.net.
