The Architect's Tale

By: Tallaen Posted on: September 29, 2005

Scene One - The year before Nicator's death

The Aeguary sun washed Ashtan's rooftops and cobblestone in a pale, elating light. Clear skies and white blossoms on the hazelnut trees presaged the beginnings of a perfect spring, but as the winter lingered on in the form of a biting wind, Lantis slipped on a fur-lined cloak over his doublet before heading out. He had placed the office of his firm, DeGage Architecture, in the care of his chief apprentice, leaving him a free hour before his appointment at the Imperial Complex. Thoughts of the plans he would soon present lifted his good mood further. Beyond his professional success, beyond his personal satisfaction with the exquisite blueprints, Lantis felt a thrill he knew he shared with many other young city officials. They were all part of the same audacious enterprise that had surpassed anyone's expectations. Their work made the glory of Empire happen, and secured them a place in it.

Only a generation back, Lantis would have resigned himself to his parents' station in life, hauling crates and scrubbing plank floors at the city docks. Like all those who draw their wages from fisheries, he would've known the rigours of little coin, and fewer opportunities. He would've consigned his sketching to a smaller and smaller part of his meager free time, before giving it up all together.

But fortune, and Nicator's dream, had favoured him. He'd been fourteen when the Seleucarian armies had marched into the city. The Empire had opened trade routes, brought goods and gold into Ashtan, and in exchange, swallowed up its bright youth with voracious appetite. A keen eye for the details of buildings, a precise hand at drawing, and a swell of childlike idealism had recommended him to the Imperial recruiters. Now in his early thirties, Lantis had all the benefits of status and education: offices in the finest part of the Merchants' Quarter, his choice of fine tailors, and regular invites to appear at court. Nicator seemed poised to offer him the chief position in Thera. Lantis's face broke into a stupid grin as he thought of repaying some of his debt of gratitude by transforming the little village into a place that would look the part of an Emperor's home town.

As he strolled among the shops surrounding the Central Market, Lantis cheerfully considered the changes in the city since his childhood, when Ashtan had still been steeped in the poverty and decrepitude brought on by the last cycle of wars with Shallam. Now, the boarded windows and empty storefronts were gone, replaced by neat white stucco facades with flowerpots in every window. The streets were newly paved, and lined with willow trees. Every third night, a complement of young boys swept the flagstones and shimmied up the streetlamps to snip their wicks and refill their oil. There was a bustle in the streets that spoke of gainful employment, prosperity and growth.

A tinkling bell announced his entrance into the tailor's shop. Lantis shut the door carefully against the crisp wind and unfastened his cloak before turning to face the room, so it was a good moment before he realised that a stranger awaited at the counter. "That, too, is a change," thought Lantis, startled a little (despite his best intentions) by the new clerk's appearance. The youth was clearly Tsol'aa, and exceptionally fine-boned and elegant even for his race.

Tsol'aa visited Ashtan in the old days, too, but the ones who made the trek from the Aalen back then were normally older, hardened travellers coming to the city for business or politics. The Empire had secured the highways, encouraged the flow of commerce, and swept in with its racial mingling. Now, with the influx of peoples from all parts of Sapience, men and women of every race settled in the city and took up everyday work.

Like this young man, with his delicate wrists, his narrow shoulders, and a painful slimness that gave him a fragile air.

"Well," said Lantis heartily, recovering from his near-gaffe, "You must be Darman's new clerk. He'd said something about hiring an assistant, now the shop's expanding."

The youth smiled faintly. His face schooled in a mild expression, his body language demure, he gave every impression of being meek and dull, save for an insuppressibly intelligent look in his eyes.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Nately gave me the position three days ago."

"I hope you don't mind my asking, how long have you lived in Ashtan?"

"I don't mind at all, sir. I came to the city just a week ago, at a friend's urging. He persuaded me that there was much to be seen here."

Lantis beamed broadly.

"Our little city's thriving. There's a lot of opportunity."

The youth's smile warmed, growing more genuine, but the look in his eyes shifted, too. Though nearly concealed, that gleam now spoke of a private joke. Lantis watched, entirely fascinated, and wondering what thoughts diverted him so.

"Oh, I would agree. Opportunity such as I could not have found in Aalen." The voice was still soft, melodious and even, giving nothing away.

"Pleased you think so. Let me introduce myself. I am Lantis DeGage, and you'll see me here at least once a month."

"Mr. DeGage, the builder? Mr. Nately pointed out your new building on Protean Way. It's so impressive, just what I'd imagined Ashtan to look like."

Pride swelled so violently in Lantis at those words that he felt a little flustered and had to beat down a grin.

"My name is Elarni," the young Tsol'aa said.

Lantis thought, "A good acquisition: smart, well-spoken, diligent. He'll make a wonderful shopkeeper's boy. But then, Darman knows what he's doing. What a competent tailor. I should come here more often. Yes, I'll do that."

Scene Two - Fifteen years later

Chains clinked and screeched as ogre troops pulled back the battering rams, which swung forward with the crash of metal on splintering wood. Then, low groans rose up from the fortifications before the gates as battered planks gave way and, unable to sustain their weight, slowly collapsed to ruin. Superimposed on the rams' rhythmic thuds sang the melody of arrows whipped from the top of the Great Wall onto the battle field below. A muffled noise murmured faintly beneath the clash of blades and the crash of armoured war machinery, insidious and disturbing. Those were the moans and wails of the mortals littered on either side of the protective wall.

Lantis had to stumble over their bodies to get anywhere. His work kept him on Guardian's Avenue and in the Merchants' Quarter, just inside the walls, whence he directed the deployment of makeshift archery towers and monitored the hordes' attempts to run tunnels into the city. That was also where most of the wounded were spread out, left there under the attentions of a small, overwhelmed and undertrained cadre of healers. Perhaps in Shallam, he thought, Priests would tend to these men and women. Ashtani had no recourse to Divine succour to heal their people. Then again, those invalids were lucky to begin with: with the gates closed and fortified, except for brief excursions, many of the fallen were trapped outside, as good as dead.

An image rose in Lantis's mind, the notion of what it would be like to lie stretched out on that field, one leg shattered to pulp by the blow of an ogre's club, blood seeping into the ground below to mingle with the mud, the wails of the dying all around, waiting to be crushed beneath the wheels of a ram. Or worse: waiting to be spotted by a fellow soldier, a man you might've seen everyday in the streets, a man you might've shared a drink with, who'd put his broadsword through your throat, his mind twisted by the Tsol'teth's chants.

Lantis paled a little. He splashed his hand into a bucket of dirty water nearby and ran it over his face, streaking the soot and dust on his cheeks. Then he straightened up and turned to the apprentices hammering together a new brace for the gates. As he resumed his yelling, trying to make himself heard over the din, he thought, "Maybe not soldiers by training, but we've all become soldiers now. We don't indulge a fear and don't falter at the sight of death."

He shouted out orders, gesturing to make himself understood, until he had to stop to take a breath and a drink of water for his sore throat. Then he noticed the little page trying to catch his eye. The boy was maybe eleven years old, his crumpled uniform bearing the city arms.

Lantis bent down, a reassuring smile plastered a little falsely on his face. He secretly thought he must have looked a fright, stretched thin, exhausted and covered in the detritus of the war.

"Yes, boy?"

The boy spoke up in a polished but tiny voice:

"Sir, the Duke requests your presence at the barracks right away."

Lantis smiled again, stood up, and dismissed the boy with a friendly slap on his shoulder. Inwardly, he cringed. Had Gravin gotten wind of a novel attempt to breach the city walls?

He placed the project in the care of his most experienced aide, and started picking his way over the piles of planks and bricks, over the litters of the wounded, up Guardian's Avenue to the city barracks.

With all the clutter and crowd, the five minute trip took him a good quarter of an hour, by which time he was wound tight with anticipation. The door of the barracks was propped open, envoys and soldiers streaming in and out. Inside, Gravin, Duke of Ashtan, paced behind the desk, the enlistment ledgers now replaced by maps and stacks of parchments with field reports, issuing orders and directing questions to the officers overseeing the city's defence. As Lantis entered, the Duke threw him a sharp look, then waved his hand dismissively at the men around him.

"A moment's breath, gentlemen," he rumbled in his deep, patrician tones.

With a discreet gesture, he beckoned Lantis to a corner of the room, where a screen had been set up for private meetings. The noise outside masked his voice from the others in the room, as he spoke.

"Lantis, I realise that you've a lot of responsibility on your shoulders right now, but I need a good man I can trust for a little diplomacy. We're doing the best we can do by the gates, we've got men patrolling and looking for signs that the enemy is burrowing again. Leave the bulk of the fortifications in your apprentices' hands for an hour, and do this for me."

Lantis nodded, wary and unsettled. The Duke was a direct man. It was unlike Gravin to prepare a man in this manner before handing down an order. His apprehension grew as Gravin lowered his voice even further, until he spoke in an urgent, whispered bass.

"We've had a wave of enlistment from the most unexpected quarter. You've probably heard the rumours already. Since the attack began, two dozen Occultists have joined our army ranks. And there may be more waiting and considering, many more."

Surprise must've shown on Lantis's carefully composed face, because the Duke scrutinised him with that same sharp look, before continuing:

"I know. We've given them as close as they have to a safe haven. And yet… Who would have expected there to be so many of them? They're wary, and who could blame them? They've been hidden among us so carefully. I've had... a few surprises myself."

The Duke hesitated briefly. An indulgent smile played briefly over his face, then he grew serious and urgent again.

"They're organised, too. They have leadership. And they wish to meet with us. Lantis, I have neither the time, nor the inclination to draw attention to such a meeting. So I will ask you to represent us instead."

Another pause, then he continued with pensive, measured words.

"They can stave off the Tsol'teth's influence over our men. And those powers at their command... make them an asset on the field of battle. We need them on our side, among our troops, accepting our orders, defending Ashtan, Lantis."

"You will meet with their Secretary in Ashtan. Reassure him that we bear them no ill will and won't persecute them for using any means at their disposal in the city's service. Tell him that his people will be richly rewarded for their aid in battle. Agree to any reasonable demand."

"He will meet you in the slums, at the old monument. Any minute now, he'll be there. Go."

The Duke lay a firm hand on Lantis's shoulder and with that, stepped out from behind the screen before Lantis could quite get out a question or an acknowledgement.

There was no time to waste dithering. Lantis took a breath, then followed the Duke out. He made a quick bow, ignored another of Gravin's piercing looks, which aggravated him a little now, stifled an inappropriate pang of resentment, and headed out the door.

He worked his way down Guardian's Avenue again, letting his workers know of his absence, throwing a reassuring comment here and there to frightened youths he recognised, then started up the Parade, to the Triple Junction, making his way north through the city. Around him bustled panicked crowds, heading deeper into the city, away from the gates, seeking safety, or towards the gates, desperately looking for lost family members. Civilians screamed out names in the crowd. Soldiers barked out orders, trying to keep the peace. Most disheartening, Lantis saw the signs of looting: shops with battered-down doors and wares strewn about. He reminded himself that, with a siege already underway, even honest people could be scared enough to steal food and supplies. With access to the trade routes cut off, elixir stocks were already running low enough. Who wouldn't resort to stealing to save the life of a dear one?

Hardening himself against the racket of terror, Lantis made his way towards the relative familiarity of the Descent. No one there but the usual slum-dwellers: the beggars, the drunks, the orphaned children. Yet his mood sank lower and lower. Martin's Sorrow was his sorrow as well. Here were the parts of the city untouched by the glory of the Empire. The plans, the brilliant building projects, had not reached this far yet, and now, they probably never would. Even if Ashtan survived the assault - and given the time to stop working and think, Lantis acknowledged the remoteness of that possibility - even so, how much rebuilding would have to happen first! The war had barely been underway a day, and already, with his architect's eye, he looked at a setback of years.

A little boy in ragged clothes scurried past him, and Lantis realised that he had reached the monument. He stepped inside. He let his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. No one was there. Lantis clasped his hands behind his back, stifling his nervousness, and told himself not to pace.

Then before his eyes, as though a transparent shroud had fallen away, stood the man he was there to meet. Slight, elegant, fey and pale, the familiar face transformed by an unfamiliar expression, a black cloak draped over the everyday clothes of a shopkeeper's errand boy.

Lantis stood paralysed. He could not bring himself to grasp the fact, to make it sink in, but he realised that Elarni would not speak first, so that was what he had to do.

"The Duke sent me."

Elarni inclined his head towards Lantis, in acknowledgement.

"I did not expect to see you here," Lantis forged on in a forcibly even tone.

"You did not expect this meeting at all," Elarni pointed out with a half-smile. "None of us did, a day ago."

Elarni was trying to set him at ease, with his soft smile and mild tone, but Lantis prickled at the measured self-assurance and the hardness beneath that appearance, and found himself more discomfited than ever.

"We've had many of your kind enlist in the army."

"No, not many," replied Elarni thoughtfully. "Only those willing to take a great risk. There are more of us than you believe."

Lantis nodded. He had no doubt of that now. Hidden in plain sight, they must have made this city their home. Through his mind flashed a string of faces, the faces he saw every day as he worked, as he went about his leisure, all of them now masks that covered secret lives.

"What would it take for more of you to join us in our city's defence?"

Elarni frowned, mind clearly labouring over private thoughts as he spoke slowly.

"We're not looking for any boons. Ashtan has been our home for generations now, our last refuge when we thought we had none. We are as eager to fight for its safety as you are, and have perhaps much more on the line."

He fixed his eyes on Lantis, holding his gaze.

"We merely want a guarantee. We will offer that we have. When the Black Wave breaks, we will not be hunted down as we were in the past, in other places. That's the promise we need."

Lantis nodded again.

"Of course. You are citizens, just as we are. This is our common cause. You will never be persecuted for fighting on our side," he said, echoing the Duke's instructions.

Elarni raised his eyebrow skeptically.

"Then you will not object to our... means?"

"Of course not," said Lantis warily.

Elarni threw back his head, uttered a string of words in a guttural language, his eyes dark and threatening. Nothing appeared to happen, but Lantis's hair now stood on end, a visceral fear prickling at the back of his neck. Something now skulked in the darkness. The stale air inside the monument was suddenly, somehow, full. Elarni gave a curt little nod, and something brushed Lantis's legs. He reached down, shivering, and drew back his hand sharply, barely stifling a gasp. He'd touched something. Something small, unnatural - and alive.

"Whatever those means may be?" continued Elarni, a challenge in his voice.

Now, in the roiling darkness, Lantis could make out eyes staring at him with predatory intent, flashes of fire, faint multicoloured swirls, the coils and curves of obscene bodies, all concealed by a repressive magic, but growing more pregnant by the second, like manifestations of Elarni's will closing in on him. Cornered, Lantis snapped back:

"Use whatever means you please. We won't be squeamish about doing what we need to survive."

Then Elarni faded from sight again with a bemused smile and a fractional nod of acknowledgement. The monument was empty, currents of air whistling through the cracks in the walls to stir up dust. Knowing that the emptiness could be an illusion, Lantis swallowed the sigh about to cross his lips, and told himself that he, too, had done what needed to be done.

Scene Three - One week later

The Carnivalis Family had come through beautifully. A blaze of fireworks erupted in the sky, dispelling the night with bright, elating colours and trails of white smoke that almost erased the memory of streaking meteor arrows and a sky tinged with the orange glow of campfires and burning fortifications billowing charcoal soot. The aural landscape, too, had changed. There was a happy racket outside, the shouts of celebration and vibrant, triumphant life, the retort of firecrackers echoing off of buildings, laughter, the clink of bottles of mead carelessly smashed, and the stomp of dancing feet.

Lantis peered ruefully down at his own feet, bound in bandaged splinters. Held together was more like it, he thought. The crippling blow that kept him from joining the joyous throng now, also gave him cause to reflect. For every man who clinked a mug of ale down in the streets, one kneeled to tend a wounded friend; for every woman singing a bawdy song, one stooped to clear the rubble from her shop. The noise of victory covered the sounds of mortal misery much as the noise of the siege had done.

For his part, Lantis wished he were back in Thera. He let his eyes drift shut and indulged the fancy of walking again down the dusty streets, surveying the new buildings that were his life's work, kneeling quietly in the Chapel there to seek comfort from the Gods. But Thera had not escaped the goblin raiders, either. The scouts' reports had not told Lantis which of his buildings had been brought down, and he could not stand from his wheelchair on his mangled legs to mount his horse and ride there. The Chapel no longer existed, he knew that much. And if it had… Lantis didn't think he'd ever again be able to place his life in trust to the Divine. Like all Ashtani, he had learnt that mortal will and the desperate urge to survive were more solid and tangible than faith in the mercy of Those on high.

The reconstruction effort would keep him in Ashtan in the years to come. He'd called the city his home since childhood, and having endured so much there in the preceding days, it was in his blood in a violent, uncomfortable way. Eyes still closed, he leaned his head back against the wall behind him, and wished urgently that he could stand up and run far from walls with battlements, from crowds, and cobbled city streets, just for a little while before he took up his responsibilities once more.

When he lifted his head and looked again, Elarni stood in the corner of the room, as delicate and mannered as Lantis had ever known him. The black cloak was gone, replaced by a modest brown coat that made his shoulders seem smaller still. Lantis tried to sketch a smile, but could only get one corner of his mouth to lift; he had the feeling that he looked a little bitter.

"It was good of you to stay up so late. It's difficult to find a quiet spot in here during the day, and it's really for the best that we can speak in private," the lovely apparition said.

Lantis nodded emphatically. Of course. The makeshift hospital was crammed with those wounded in Gattan'lier's retributive earthquake, and swarmed with relatives and friends during the day. At night, though, the patients breathed a collective sigh of relief as delphinium swept their pains and recollections away. Two hours past the Serenade, the place was lifeless as a mausoleum. "Clandestine meetings in the dead of night," Lantis thought with a pang of amusement.

"You have Ashtan's most sincere thanks," Lantis said by rote. "The Duke personally commends you all for your efforts. We would not have held out 'till the Seleucarian armies came, without your people's help, and the war would have... ended quite differently."

Lantis frowned as those words sank in for the first time, then pushed them from his mind and forged on. No use in thinking what would have happened without those dangerous, disturbing magicians on the front lines, keeping the troops uncorrupted by the Tsol'teth's chants. Absolutely no reason to shiver at the thought of Ashtan, fallen, a fortified base from which the Black Wave could spill out over Sapience with redoubled force.

"The Duke offers his condoleances and consolation for those who perished in the line of battle. And he extends an invitation to many of your people who distinguished themselves as fighters, leaders and strategists to seek him out for noble employment in a time of peace. I have a letter here listing the names of those he'd particularly like to honour with high positions, though thanks go to you all."

Elarni stepped forward just close enough for Lantis to hand him the parchment, then retreated to his corner with a light step. In that moment of proximity, Lantis strained his sight and hearing and intuition, to see if he could sense the mark of death and Chaos on this man. He could not.

"Finally, the Duke will gladly reward you for your service to the city, but he's not entirely sure how to go about that. Perhaps you have some thoughts? What would you consider fitting thanks?"

Elarni shook his head wearily in demurral.

"No thanks are necessary. As long as you don't investigate the recent string of disappearances too closely, none of us will have any problems."

Lantis stood stock-still. An image resurfaced in his mind, that of the crippled soldier lying outside the city walls, awaiting imminent death. This time, that death did not come from the crushing weight of a ram or from a blade through the throat. It came in the form of a graceful, beautiful comrade in arms vivisecting his chest with a cold gleam in his eyes, and reaching in to rip out a heart throbbing madly with the pulse of fear. "And if my legs had been crushed at the beginning of the siege?" Lantis thought. Would he have been the necessary sacrifice?

"Whatever it takes," he thought. "Whatever means you please. We're not going to get squeamish about it now." He nodded curtly.

"I'm sure the Duke will agree."

"Good," said the eater of hearts. "Then we are settled. I'll pass the Duke's words on to my Cabal, and they will decide for themselves whether to accept his generosity."

"Do you intend to accept a position in the city?" Lantis asked, despite himself.

"Not at the moment. You may have heard the rumours - our Demiurge is not himself since he consumed the heart of Agith'maal. I will join those caring for him first. It may be a long road to recovery, but we stand by our own 'till the end. In fact, I must be off now."

Elarni hesitated, a slight frown on his face. He pulled out a block of ebony from an inside pocket in his coat and drew from it a large illuminated card. He ran his fingers in a fluid caress over the card, which began to glow, then stepped forward decisively and pressed it to Lantis's forehead. A wash of magic ran through Lantis's body, settling in his legs, but nothing more happened.

"Well, it was worth a try," said Elarni evenly, before turning away. He walked out the door, disappearing from sight like any normal man. Lantis watched his departure with an irrational misgiving.

His duty acquitted, Lantis let his eyes drift shut again. Incoherent images of fighting and slaughter impinged upon the perfect dark, his true recollections tangling with scenes pieced together from the field reports, until his vision swept through the confusion of a battlefield to close in upon the figure of a tall man bent over a malicious crumpled body. The battle centred and swarmed around him. The man's mouth was covered in a black substance with the consistency of congealed blood, which spread from there over his skin, his body, radiating from him. The stain spread over the circle of comrades around him, blotting them out, in a flash swallowing Elarni's face, obscuring the squirm of bodies and blades, until there was nothing left.

The Duke's escort woke Lantis late the following morning. A manservant helped him change into court clothes, then two footsoldiers lifted his chair down the stairs, and wheeled him from the improvised house of healing on Elm Street to the Radiant Path. Ill-rested and sore from a night out of bed, Lantis looked forward to a brief interview with the Duke, so he could discharge his unsettling news and be done. He soon realised that would not be the case. Though he was received with exceeding courtesy, he would not be granted a private audience. Gravin was entertaining envoys and Imperial officials with all the pomp still possible after the recent ruin. He did drop a cordial hand on Lantis's shoulder and commend him heartily, inappropriately, on the sacrifices he had made in service to Ashtan. The admonishing look in his eyes told Lantis just how redundant his information would be.

Using his impaired mobility as a pretext, Lantis wheeled his chair back against the wall, out of the way of the gathering. He watched the formalities and court talk with a resigned eye. After a tense while, in which he assured himself that he would go unnoticed, he slipped out of a side door into the quiet inner hallway.

Further down the hall, another door stood ajar, leading to an unused audience chamber. Lantis pushed it open. A little way in, he realised that the room was not empty. As his eyes made out the figure in the darkness more clearly, he nearly cried out. Fear raced in a chill pulse down his spine. A hobgoblin! And he was crippled and defenceless before it.

The hobgoblin turned sluggishly towards him. His eyes measured Lantis, calm, jaded and intelligent. Under his plate armour, he wore Seleucarian uniform. In a rush of relief, Lantis understood.

"Captain Matic Ridley?"

The hobgoblin nodded slowly.

"Pardon, I did not mean to disturb you."

"You do not," answered Ridley in his gravelly voice, with a heavy accent. "Your Master the Duke does honour me, but I do not feast now. I seek a time to mourn."

There was bitterness in that voice, and resignation, too. But what struck Lantis was its nobility and strength.

He spared one last thought to pale beauty with a taste for death, and moved towards this gruff creature, the last of his race, holding on to life.