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A Turn of Fate's Wheel

Mejis had just begun to dim the lights in his chamber. The north tower of Elminwyr took on an odd brownish tinge as the candles burned low. So much blood had spilled within these halls, so many years of darkness crawling between each inch of mortar in the bricks. Yet for Mejis, this place offered warmth, comfort, solitude. The whole city of Gethfell marveled at the notion that he should choose such an ominous spire as his living quarters. The new archon, ruling from the ashes of a revived city should seek places of mirth and light. The common folk struggled with the relative peace and slowness of life under the rule of now Emperor Arlis. It seemed they would seek intrigue from any corner as long as the washerwomen could spin tales of dread and suspense from those wielding even a miniscule amount of power.

Mejis had very little in the way of power, and that suited his needs just fine. Gethfell wasn't the hub of nightmarish plots and political firestorms the way it used to be. The aging grey wolf twiddled away most of his time signing administrative records and acting as arbiter between the constantly bickering merchant guilds. Justice for the common folk fell under his purview as well, but Mejis had learned enough about governance from Arlis to set up a less than maddening bureaucracy. It modeled the Felidae system of Enfys with constables, sheriffs, arraignment judiciary and a hierarchy for appeals. Mejis had only heard three cases of civilian criminal court in six months. Each day had its own healthy bustle, but none of Gethfell's crises followed him up the stairs of this tower.

The tapestries hung, thick and purple as a whispering draft would ripple them into an almost snowfall sweep. The fire let out a hypnotizing hiss, with the spreading smell of burning Veranda wood imported just north of Watershed. He would settle into a padded chair wrapped in a cloak of softened wool and dive once again into the almost worm eaten book he had found in the Aeronwy library so many years ago, when his father still lived. Mejis had always hungered to explore the chronicles of Sern and study the collected cantos of Sytgos. He had considered commissioning a team of scribes to copy some of these relics before time wrecked them beyond recognition. For some reason the idea never stayed with him long before another trivial matter would clean his brain of all ambition. But at the very least, the wolf could retreat to his tower and savor the delights of these words all for himself.

The sound of steps on the stairs began as stiff scrapes on the ancient stone. Mejis hoped the sound was the odd settling of the keep as it sometimes shuddered with wind or moaned as a ghost moved from room to room, stirring memories and secrets. There was no such luck. Someone was approaching his sanctuary. Somehow the city called, and it's needs violated the one sacred pocket Mejis set aside for himself. Damn it all to the deepest pits of Kirith's hive, and damn it down further still.

Just before a hand managed to find its way to the monolithic wooden door of the chamber, Mejis bellowed in a sad attempt to sound threatening.

"It had better be good! I pray the very blood of Gershwin himself is dripping down from the ceiling for us to collect and seal away in a vault. What in the dankest of all hells could be so important as to..." Mejis words caught in his throat as he rose from the seat. He gingerly closed the book, with a single white strip of satin to keep his place. "Lawrth is that you... you simpering bitch?"

"It is my lord." The voice was muffled through the door. "I am confident that my news will find your peace not at all sundered in vain." Lawrth struggled to contain an urgency. His words were fast. His breath much deeper than normal. Lawrth was too young for a simple flight of steps to wind him so.

"Fine. What is it?" Mejis quickened his pace and crossed the room. The warmth of the fire left his shoulders and the drafts from beneath the tapestries splashed his face. But it wasn't the cold that sent a shiver down his spine to the base of his increasingly arthritic tail. The pain in his back had not yet slowed his steps, but it wouldn't be long before his trips up and down the tower would take their toll.

"An escort has arrived from Artex, six men in imperial regalia. Their armor is black." Lawrth was having trouble speaking, though his breath seemed to be returning.

"It's probably Just the Emperor's inquisitors chasing another slaver Lawrth, I don't see why..." Mejis stretched as he opened the latch.

"Arlis is with them. He is riding in black. He wouldn't speak with us at any length. He will be here as soon as he removes the plate and can climb the stairs."

Mejis swallowed his words and the last remnants of his sour mood. Lawrth had indeed done the right thing. "Stygos keep you Lawrth, thank you. Head back down and consult with Gree. I want to know if anyone saw Arlis besides you and the attendants. If so let them know to keep their cursed mouths shut, and if they don't i'll have a black mask on them before the sun rises." He brought his fingers to his forehead and put pressure between his eyes. "The last thing I want is to attend a beheading, so hopefully Arlis was quick enough to not be seen."

Lawrth shivered. His red and black fur glistened in the twitching light of the room. The redmane was tall, legs and arms almost too long for his body. The slender form always seemed frail to Mejis, as if he could simply snap in two with a gentle push. The climb up the stairs had struck his youthful heart and he clenched his teeth as fear pulsed through his veins. Mejis remembered the love in his heart for Lawrth, and felt ashamed that he should guard his solitude with such grim words. The presence of the emperor himself also had surely rattled the young man's bones.

Mejis stretched an ever withering hand to the face of the Redmane and let his fingers brush the fur of his cheek. "I have wronged you. You weren't ready for so much responsibility." The youth fell into Mejis, bringing his forehead low so that the Geth could cradle his near weeping eyes. "When this is over you may join me and we will retire together. I owe it to you."

"But," the redmane tried to protest. "Someone will..."

"It's about time I stopped wearing a face the whole city sees through. I planted fear into your heart and now I want nothing more than wash it from your soul." The two spent a tender moment basking in their shared warmth. "Hurry now. Be mindful of what I have said. Keep your head low and all will be well."

Lawrth turned and exited, a little life had returned to his legs as the pace of his steps tapped down the stairwell. Mejis pushed all thoughts of his attendant down to the ever cavernous depths of his mind. Something dreadful likely brought Arlis to his door at this hour. He would likely be weary after riding from Artex. The Geth Archon moved across the room to the fire and swung the simple, metal pot over the flames. He cleared his throat as he rummaged through cabinets. If memory served, Arlis favorite tea was Melange. Luckily he had just received a fresh supply from Leifmarsh. He had no bread or blood loaves, but if needed he could wake the cooks and have them prepare something.

Just as the tea began to boil and screech the way white bats do on nights of the fifth moon, Mejis' door opened. There stood Arlis. His face still wore the swashbuckling, overconfident, scoundrel smirk he had always known, but politics of Artex had put weight upon his eyes and a bit more flesh around his gut. The scar across his left eye now glowed, flaked with white fur scattered amongst the bald skin where the Roden blade had made its mark. The hair atop his head was longer now, hanging down near his cheeks. He wore a simple tunic and pants, typical for a day (or more) of riding. Sweat stained beneath the arms and a slight stench of musk followed the great emperor as he entered.

"My friend. Oh Mejis it has been too long!" He raised his arms for an embrace. Mejis obliged and the two laughed the way young children do after school has ended.

"There is a little more of you then there used to be." Mejis jabbed at the Emperror's weight.

"Artexian cuisine. It's impossible not to bloat like the corpse of a whale."

Mejis offered tea, and Arlis eagerly accepted. The tea had a honey scent to dull the odor Arlis brought with him. The Archon tried to push food upon his friend, but the emperor would have none of it.

"My men are eating as we speak. I am sorry to take such liberties with your servants but we can't stay long. Another full night awaits us." He sank into the chair as he spoke, exhaustion splashed across his eyes for a moment before Arlis turned his neck with an audible crack. "I am not the young man I used to be, but tonight I ride with men who are far tougher than I ever was."

"I highly doubt that," Mejis said with a chuckle.

The wind kicked up. The stone walls echoed with ancient drafts and a moan that the chambermaids sometimes called Gershwin's cry. The reference to the ancient heir of Elminwyr still made Mejis uneasy, especially since so much of its truth had been proven in the last few years. Gershwin likely did still haunt this keep.

"Why so much rush Arlis? What brings you out into the night with soldiers so much stronger than you?" Mejis meant the comment to be another jest, but Arlis' shoulders slumped. He was indeed feeling age creeping upon his bones. He took a deep breath before he began to speak.

"We have a slaver cartel working within Geth territory. I'm not sure how many are involved, but they are moving a mix of Roden and Lepus women. Meurwyn has been tracking them for about a month but hasn't moved to strike. We had planned to let the Black Masks and Inquisition handle them, but...well...lets just say it's more complicated than we realized."

Mejis abandoned all manner of jest. "Can I help? I'm a bit rusty with a lance, but it might be nice to ride out under a banner again." Mejis was shocked at his own eagerness to leave Gethfell. Something young stirred within his aging frame.

Arlis smiled. "No not yet my friend. I hope it doesn't come to that. I hope to contain the matter quickly after a meeting with the elder Cledwyn." Arlis stood after laying down the cream colored tea cup on an end table. He readied his muscles for more strain.

Mejis' scrunched slightly. He cleared cobwebs from his mind. "Tegau? Gofannon's brother? You mean to ride all the way to Innisgale tonight?"

Arlis sensed the pain of raging curiosity within Mejis. He spoke with hesitation. "Tegau has information about the leaders of this slaver group, but I don't think he is aware of how vital it is. Sending a messenger would take too long. I need to be able to act as soon as I see it."

Mejis saw a look in Arlis eyes, a squint, a near pained reluctance to speak. He hadn't seen Arlis like this in so long. Not since...

"Arlis? What's going on?"

The emperor never could hide his emotions. His eyes wept as loud as the wind now howling above them. He was a worthy heir to Gershwin the damned. "Meurwyn thinks Chirin is in league with them, she believes he has returned to Canisia and though I can't imagine why that fool would do something so suicidal, Meurwyn has never been wrong with hunches like this. She left yesterday for Westwatch. If she finds Chirin, he is as good as dead and the curs in our slaver faction will scatter. She is going to tip them off in the process, but I couldn't stop her."

Mejis' face now sat frozen in horror. "No...I wouldn't think you could."

The wind died. Flames continued their dance and the sound of cracks and searing wood growled between them.

"He will tell her. He may not even wait for his dying breaths." Arlis stared at the floor and clenched his teeth.

"You don't know that," Mejis said, rising to meet his friend on his lonely precipice. Arlis turned from Mejis and walked to a window. The shutters stared him in the face as the wind kicked up again, tapping the steel hinges.

"This used to be Grak's chamber. When we were little I never saw him, he was always hiding up here. I was forbidden to climb above the third floor, curse of the second son and all. Grak fortified himself in this tower. Even Caruso couldn't disturb him. Did Grak leave anything behind, or did Fesric just clear it all out and burn it? Your dad always claimed Grak died a coward. I feel so much shame that I never corrected him."

Mejis sank in a dumbfounded stupor. Arlis had never spoken of Grak since Caruso had slain him in some cursed corner of Watershed. The disgraced first son of Elmin's name had virtually disappeared from history. And August, the third son...so many hoped his days would soon come to an end.

Mejis didn't let the red herring deter his purpose for long. "She is her own woman Arlis. She loves you. Things were so different back then. You are not the same man."

Arlis turned and a fury boiled beneath his scowl, not for Mejis, but something close. "She will not hesitate to cut my heart from my chest Mejis. She is a creature pure and simple in its most profound virtue. Her blood flows in her veins for the sole fulfillment of her oath, and Stygos take my eyes that is why I love her more than my own heart. I deserve to die Mejis. There is nothing that can change that fact."

Mejis settled into his despair. His knees felt crushed beneath his frame. He had hoped for years to see Arlis and Meurwyn wed, hoped that the monsters of the emperor's past could be exorcised. Arlis called such fantasies bad faith, and though he claimed to never believe the Red Mane Vixen would lower herself to take his hand, Mejis saw just how bad Arlis' own faith could be. Mejis thought of the seductive Red Wolf, her windlike strikes with a scimitar, the twirling of a lance, the light twitch of her fingers spinning a dagger through black claws.

He tried not to think of the day she slew Caruso. The blood of the Felidae geysering through the wound in his chest. She carved him with a scythe, just as she promised him the night Arlis formed the Blismonais. Caruso claimed to have bedded her that night, and as she reached the top of her ecstasy, she whispered a prophecy into his ear, that his blood would stain her hands and her journey would be one league closer to its end. Caruso spoke in way similar to Arlis even now, with fury, shame and fear. Both struggled with the burden of guilt. Both tried in vain to wash the Countess' blood from their cursed hands.

Mejis had nothing to say. He hung his head and prayed to Stygos. Arlis broke the silence. "Dark things are afoot. The shadows themselves move about, though no physical thing ties them down. Kirith is apparently not sleeping well." Mejis looked up, new energy coursed through his veins. Fear always was far more useful than sorrow. "A Quorum of Roden seers made the long trek from Turbish to warn us."

Mejis' breath quickened as he spoke. "They can still sense Kirith? After all we've done to cleanse them of his influence?

Arlis found sanctum in plots. "I have seen Kirith, spoken with him. Trust me, that stench stays lodged in your brain. I can still hear his voice sometimes when I sleep. I don't think he is contacting them or even meaning to make himself felt, I think they just are sensitive to his stirring." Arlis took a seat and even lifted the tea back to his lips.

Mejis was glad the topic had shifted, though the thought of Meurwyn's fury would surely haunt him later that night. Taking refuge in Lawrth would likely not erase that terror from his mind, but there was no harm in trying. "Kirith isn't supposed to waken for what, two thousand years? What on Earth could be stirring him?"

Arlis smirked. "The Roden have no clue and honestly, Menshuel is shitting himself in terror, though I don't blame him." Arlis struggled to form a stern look on his face. Success took a few moments, but soon all mirth fled. "I have my own sources, I know a little more about Kirith's sleep than the Roden."

Mejis' heart sank again. Secrets like this ruined men's minds and damned souls to Stygos' furnace beneath the void. Arlis was careful to limit the details. "Something else is stirring. It's presence is making Kirith's dreams unpleasant. From what I have heard, we should do everything we can to keep it from waking up."

"Another Ishtar? How the hell could more than three physically manifest in this kingdom without tearing the continent apart?" Mejis needed to piss. Stress of this magnitude always wracked his bladder.

Arlis moved to the corner and began fastening the black plate to his arms. The conversation was nearing its end. "We hope that whatever it is, it moves on. It's doesn't seem to have manifested, otherwise Kirith would most definitely be awake and leaving a trail of defiled women and rotting corpses in his wake. There isn't anything we can do at the moment, but I thought it may be a good idea to warn you. Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. If you see anything remotely cultish forming in Gethfell let us know. If Stygos is kind, Meurwyn and Karsh can silence it before things get out of control again."

"You think it's in Gethfell?" Mejis asked, eyeing the chamber pot in the corner.

"The Roden seem to think Kirith's eye is turned south. My acolytes are clueless. My guess would be Gethfell, it's a good place to hide, and though our citizens think so much higher of themselves than our troubled Sheoul brethren in Artex, you and I know from personal experience they can be just as depraved as any descendant of the Trollex."

Arlis heaved his breastplate into position as Mejis moved to assist. As the final clamps and buckles clicked, Arlis reached out to Mejis with a parcel. The paper bore the imperial seal, not the shield and lance of house Elmin, but But the sword and stars of Artex, the serpent of house Trollex superimposed forming the most feared symbol through all of Fenra. "If I die by Meruwyn's hand, make sure this decree reaches the council. I'm sure I don't have to explain what it says."

Mejis took the papers. They felt heavier than all the stones of Warren's quarries. "Exile? Surely you wouldn't execute her." Mejis regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. Fool he was...

Arlis merely smiled. "Death to any who try to detain her. Also a confession. Long overdue I think." Arlis paused as he retrieved his helmet. The wry smile returned to his lips. "It also names a successor."

Mejis nearly pissed. "I...I mean..."

"Don't worry you old fool it's not you."

Mejis' breath rushed from his lungs. The weight of doom lifted.

"You are a great leader Mejis, you would make a great Emperor, but shit I don't hate you. I have decided the seat should move to Emphys."

Mejis eyebrows peaked. "A Felidae?"

"A Lepus. The king of kings should be a stranger to his own land. And I also think a guilty heart should be tradition."

"General Greld." Mejis saw the puzzle clicking to shape.

"I hope to see you again soon my friend. Pray that my heart should stay in its place. Pray that Meurwyn may know some peace in her Oath. Pray that Caterwail's ghost should rest and know its vengeance." Mejis thought a tear could form in Arlis eye as he spoke the girl's name. He hadn't heard him say that name in fifteen years.

"She still comes to you?" Mejis said, sorrow plugging his throat.

"Not as often. Though the hell she brings is just as savage as it ever was. Farewell cousin. May the dark be thin and short.

Mejis embraced Arlis. The cold metal of black armor pressed against his breast. "May the famine break."

As Arlis descended the stairs, the cold of Elminwyr's drafts struck once again to Mejis' very core. Now, more than ever, the echo of ages danced through his mind. The songs of Geld and Wyvrk formed a cyclone in his troubled thoughts. Faith in the stalwart visage of Stygos, his iron will and defense of oaths crumbled before the deepness of time. All that lurked in the darkness of eternity threatened life in its very act of dreaming. Mejis feared for the ever shaking will of his emperor, the fury of his mistress, and the hell of Fenra's destiny.