THE GOLDEN GUARDIAN

“It can’t be Biersly,” Estral whispered, “he’ll be gone for hours still.”

“Shhh…” Karigan strained to listen, the silence complete and ominous. Had she imagined it? Then there it was again, a creaking floorboard, a shuffling noise. She had come to Estral’s house unarmed, believing there was no need to bring her saber on a friendly visit. She gazed about the kitchen and spotted a poker next to the cook stove. She stood as quietly as she could and grasped it.

“What are—” Estral began, but Karigan gestured her to stay quiet.

She crept out of the kitchen, motioning for Estral to stay put. She attempted to move as noiselessly as possible. It was likely the intruder would head for the kitchen once he saw the lamplight. Biersly left a lamp burning in the entry hall, making it obvious the house was occupied, and if an occupied house was not enough to deter the intruder, then Karigan must assume he was willing to harm those within, especially if it was the same person who broke into the archives and injured Dean Crosley.

The hall outside the kitchen fell into shadow and Karigan paused several moments to allow her eyes to adjust. It would do no good to go blundering into the intruder because she was light blind. She tamed her breathing and she listened. A door moaned open deeper in the house.

She set off slowly, poker clenched in her hand, aware of Estral hovering in the kitchen door behind her. She wished she knew the layout of the house better to help compensate for the darkness. She moved at a turtle’s pace, navigating furnishings and straining to hear the movements of the intruder. She should have told Estral to leave by the back entrance and seek help, but she hadn’t thought of that in time. Maybe Estral would think to do so herself.

Karigan licked her lips and pressed on. When she reached the front entry hall, Biersly’s lamp twisted and flickered wildly. The front door had been left ajar and the cold wind curled in and around Karigan’s ankles. She shivered.

Thunk.

The noises were concentrated toward the far end of the house. Karigan crept on, step by step. In daylight this walk would have taken mere seconds. Now it felt like a hundred year journey. In the parlor she smacked her knee into a chair. She covered her mouth to stop a stream of curses and hopped madly on one foot. When the pain subsided, she limped on, her senses raw to telltale sounds and to furnishings that might impede her way.

She rounded a corner in a side hall and found lamplight emanating from a doorway. The glow of light dimmed and brightened as someone moved around it.

If Karigan remembered correctly, this was the library. It made sense. If the thief couldn’t find what he wanted at the archives, then perhaps he’d find what he was looking for in the Golden Guardian’s personal library. She eased her way to the door and peered in. At first the light was too much after her eyes had become accustomed to the dark, but soon she could make out the scene.

The Fiori library was full of deep mahogany hues and rich fabrics on upholstered furniture. It was not a large library, but was filled to capacity by leather-bound volumes and scrolls. A marble-framed fireplace gaped dark and dormant. In the center of the room was the library table where a figure in a gray cloak bent over an open book. Saddlebags were strewn on the floor at his feet. Timbre the cat sat in the center of the table looking down at the open book as if he could read it, then he glanced at her with his green, slitted eyes and thumped his tail on the table. The cloaked intruder stiffened.

Karigan adjusted her grip on the poker. “Put your hands out to your sides where I can see them and turn around slowly.”

An agonizing amount of time passed in which the intruder stood where he was, unmoving. She wondered if he was considering his options, thinking of plans of attack and escape.

“In the name of the king—” Karigan began.

Immediately his stance relaxed. He obeyed and put his hands out. Hands empty of weapons. He turned around. The hood of his cloak shadowed the upper portions of his face. His chin was unshaven and golden bristles glinted in the lamplight. He was about to speak when something behind her caught his attention.

Karigan whirled and raised her poker just in time to turn a swordblade cutting out of the dark. How stupid she’d been to assume there was only one intruder in the house. A quick exchange of blows ensued, the assailant’s blade sparking against the coarse iron of the poker. She could not see him, caught as she was between the light of the library and the dark of the house. The assailant was also dressed in black and was absorbed by the formless shadows beyond.

The poker proved a crude sword, awkward to handle, poorly balanced, and lacking a guard to protect her hand. Her assailant was an expert swordsman and she knew she was in trouble with her clumsy weapon.

Clang-clang-clang-cling-clang!

Her best defense was to move quickly, to leap out of the way, to—She collided into a small side table and it smashed beneath her. She found herself sprawled atop the broken wood with a swordtip pressed against her neck. Desperately she groped for the poker, but it had rolled out of reach.

“Karigan?” the assailant said in disbelief.

“Master Rendle?”

The sword retracted into the shadows and a hand emerged in its place to help her rise. The side table was in shambles and Karigan felt rather bruised. Gratefully she accepted the hand up.

“Then who—?” She gestured at the man in the library.

She perceived Rendle’s sword up at guard more than saw it.

“My good Rendle,” the cloaked intruder said, “this is a fine way to welcome me home.”

The swordtip dropped to the floor. “My lord! I had no idea!” And Rendle knelt in obeisance, Karigan too startled to move. Their intruder was the Golden Guardian?

If there had been any question, it was dispelled by Estral, who flew from the darkness that Karigan had only inched through, and threw herself into the man’s wide open arms. “Father!”

When Estral broke away from him, the dark gray hood fell back and he undraped the cloak from his shoulders, revealing a lean man with faded blond hair and the same sea-green eyes as his daughter. Fine lines crinkled around his eyes as though he squinted too much in the sun or laughed a lot. Despite the lines, his age was difficult to determine, much the way it was with the Eletians. It was said that Eletian blood had intermingled with the Fiori line long ago, and Karigan believed it.

Aaron Fiori, Golden Guardian of Selium, cast them all a brilliant grin.

“If I didn’t know better, it would seem there was some conspiracy afoot—an arms master and a Green Rider sneaking about my house.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, sir,” Karigan said. Her bow was jerky, for she was still startled. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t—”

His laugh was a deep sound that resonated around them, breaking the spell of silence. “That’s what I get for trying not to disturb anyone. At this hour I expect my daughter to be abed.”

“You wouldn’t have awakened me to let me know you were home?” Estral asked.

“Morning would have been soon enough, eh? But since you are up, hug me again.” And she did. “Come, come,” he said, beckoning his accidental visitors into the library.

Karigan winced as she gazed down at the table she had crushed. “Sir, I—”

“Never you mind that. It’s only Second Age, by one of the lesser known craftmasters.”

Second Age? That meant it was hundreds of years old and now she was more than sorry—she was mortified.

“Come,” Lord Fiori insisted. Then more gently he added, “I would never blame anyone who thought she was defending my daughter and home.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her to a comfortable chair in front of the cold fireplace. When she was settled, he placed kindling on the hearth. Removing steel and flint from the mantel, he struck them together to spark a blaze. Timbre trotted over and planted himself on the hearth rug. After a few quick licks to his shoulder, he rolled and curled, his eyes fixed on the Golden Guardian.

“We are relieved you are back, my lord,” Rendle said. “There has been some trouble on campus.”

Lord Fiori leaned against the mantel, a stick of wood in his hand, his expression serious. “Yes, even from afar I heard news of the attack on Dean Crosley and of the theft.”

“The theft?” Karigan said. “Has it been determined what was taken?”

“Nothing of seeming significance,” Lord Fiori said. “But who is to say what significance it held for the thief?”

Apparently this was news to Rendle as well. “What was it?”

Lord Fiori placed the wood onto his growing fire. “A translation key for Old Sacoridian. We’ve more than one copy, and the one that was stolen held no special value. Yet it was worth enough to the thief to steal it and harm someone in the process.”

“We’ve been keeping an extra watch on campus should the thief make a reappearance,” Rendle said. “That’s what I was up to tonight, and when I saw a suspicious person enter your house, I feared for Estral.”

“So I surmised.” Lord Fiori slid into an overstuffed chair. “And I am grateful for everyone’s vigilance. While I doubt the thief will return, it would not be imprudent to continue the faculty patrols for a while just to be on the safe side.”

Rendle nodded. “We will do so.”

While the two men spoke softly of school business, Karigan thought about the theft anew, which brought to mind her ill-fated outing with Braymer Coyle at the Sacor City War Museum and the appearance of the Raven Mask.

Lord Fiori gazed at her curiously. “What are you thinking about?”

“There was a theft at the Sacor City War Museum not all that long ago,” she said. “It may be coincidental, but the thief took a scrap of old parchment.”

“Yes,” he said, “I heard about it.” He smiled. It was a knowing smile. Karigan couldn’t get over how he knew so much of the news of the land. He traveled extensively and must hear much on the road, but surely not any more than a Green Rider would. Or would he? Maybe folk were freer with their conversation around a minstrel than a uniformed representative of the king, and she doubted he flaunted himself as the Golden Guardian, but instead traveled in the humbler guise of an ordinary minstrel. What conversations must he overhear in the common rooms of inns and pubs between ballads and rousing drinking songs? What stories did folk tell him that they wouldn’t tell a Green Rider?

Then there were all the other Selium minstrels who were wide-ranging in their travels and constantly acquired news. The Golden Guardian was their chief, and they must report everything of interest to him.

“Yes,” he said, “I heard about the theft and that some brave lady tried to prevent it. You wouldn’t happen to know who she was, would you?”

Heat crept up Karigan’s neck and into her cheeks.

“You’re teasing her, father,” Estral said. She had heard a full account of the incident from Karigan.

“So it was Karigan.” Lord Fiori nodded as if confirming it for himself. “I did not make it to Sacor City on this journey, but I overheard the remarks of some Rhovan merchants and the name G’ladheon though one of the fellows, an older gent, used a less kind word than ‘brave’ to describe the lady. There was the occasional mention of the incident elsewhere with no name attached. Are the two thefts coincidence? It’s difficult to say. Other than these being documents, what ties them together?”

“There are hundreds of thefts across the kingdom each year,” Rendle said.

“Yes, but how many of those thefts are of objects of seemingly little worth?” Lord Fiori shrugged. “I find it curious. What do you think, Karigan?”

Karigan thought he was testing her and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wishing she was the cat who was now sprawled on his back with paws in the air, absorbing the warmth of the fire and purring away, unconcerned.

“I think,” she began, “there were two different thieves.”

“How so?”

“The thief at the museum, who may have been the Raven Mask, or was impersonating him, made the theft in full daylight and in front of witnesses. He didn’t seem to want to hurt anyone unnecessarily.” She remembered his swordtip at her throat. He could have easily killed her. “My understanding is that the thief here came stealthily in the night and showed no such concern for Dean Crosley.”

“Very good reasoning,” Lord Fiori said, his tone full of approval. “I believe you are correct. However, it is possible that more than one thief was working toward the same goal. We may never know the answer. The sad part is that had someone wanted to view the translation key, the archivists most likely would have helped him.”

“Unless the thief planned to translate something nefarious—something he didn’t want anyone else to see,” Rendle said. The pipe was out and lit, and he pulled deeply on it.

“True,” Lord Fiori said.

“There is something else,” Karigan said.

“Yes?”

“I remember the museum attendants saying that the parchment the thief stole was in Old Sacoridian.”

Lord Fiori scratched his chin. “That sounds like more than coincidence. A document in Old Sacoridian is stolen, but it needs to be translated, so a translation key is stolen from the Selium archives. Do you know what the document contained?”

“The museum attendants didn’t seem to know,” Karigan replied, “and I never heard any more about it.”

“That is unfortunate,” Lord Fiori said. “I’m afraid we’ll learn little more unless either of the thieves is apprehended, which seems rather unlikely.”

The group sat in silence until Estral, unable to sit still any longer, burst out, “Where have you been, father?”

“West mostly,” he said. “West into Rhovanny and beyond, trying to get a feel for the mood of the people beyond Sacoridia’s borders. They appear to have been spared the reach of Blackveil Forest this summer past, but rumors of magical oddities here reached even as far west as Dunan and the folk are uneasy. Though I did not venture east this journey, the land was full of tales of passing Eletians, Eletians wandering east, a very bright company of them. I understand they are now encamped outside the gates of Sacor City.”

At the mention of Eletians, Karigan straightened in her chair. “They’ve gone to Sacor City?”

“So it appears,” Lord Fiori said.

“What do they want? What do they plan?”

“I wish I knew,” Lord Fiori replied. “I have not heard.”

Karigan’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the arms of her chair. She wanted to ride back to Sacor City to find out what the Eletians were up to. She did not trust them, not entirely.

“I should think their intentions are peaceful,” Lord Fiori said, as if sensing her turmoil. “I heard nothing of them traveling as a war party. The land told no such tale of danger, only wonder and joy at their passing.”

Wonder and joy… His words soothed her but little. Yes, the Eletians were magical beings, but they were also quite possibly a threat. A threat to herself, and a threat to her people. It was difficult to sort out the Eletians’ intentions. On one hand they were willing to save mortal lives, as in the aftermath of the massacre of Lady Penburn’s delegation. On the other, they were willing to allow all to be destroyed.

Song murmured in the back of her mind. The Golden Guardian sang, his voice growing and distracting her from her worries, bringing her back to the present. His voice arose from the deepest of places within, not just from himself, but from his listeners, and encompassed the entire room, filled the spaces between books and shelves, flowed into the fireplace and up the chimney with the smoke, and arched over them like the ceiling itself. Karigan felt the song vibrate within her. The room was music. He sang:

When he stopped, it was like being dropped out of a dream. The song was a lament and saddened Karigan, but it held great beauty in its mourning.

“I haven’t heard that one before,” Estral said, breaking the spell of the song.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Lord Fiori murmured. “I have heard it sung among the Eletians, and this is but a rough translation.”

“What is this Shining Land?” Rendle asked. “This Avrath?”

Lord Fiori rose to toss another log on the fire. “It is,” he said, “their highest spiritual place, the place from whence they came and to where they aspire to return. Or so I gather.”

“Like the heavens,” Rendle said.

The fire hissed and sparked as it consumed the new log. Lord Fiori returned to his chair and spread his long legs before him. “Perhaps that is so, but I do not know. It may be a physical place, or a layer of the world. It may even be a state of mind. I do know the Eletians believe their presence on Earth is a time of exile.”

Exile. Karigan turned that over in her mind. Hadn’t the Eletians always dwelled here? If it were a literal exile from a place called Avrath, maybe the divisions among the Eletians went deeper than anyone could imagine. What would cause them to be exiled from their “Shining Land?” And why were some of them so adamant about cleansing this land of mortals? To re-create Avrath on Earth? She yawned and thought the late hour was leading her to unlikely conclusions.

“I assume it is not by chance that one of the king’s own messengers is here in Selium,” Lord Fiori said, gazing at her.

“No, sir. I’ve a message from the king.” She patted the message satchel at her side. She had not been willing to leave it unattended at the Guesting House. She removed the message and passed it to Lord Fiori.

He raised his eyebrows. “Addressed in the king’s own hand—I recognize his scrawl. I trust this will require a response.” He glanced up at Karigan. “Seek me out tomorrow.” When the campus bell rang out the early morning hour, he amended, with a smile, “Later today.”

Karigan took that as a dismissal and she was more than ready for her bed. She walked out with Master Rendle and he said, “Good fight. Too bad about the table.”

He went off in his own direction with a hearty chuckle trailing behind him. Karigan smiled and shook her head. It had turned into an interesting evening, and she had much to think about, not the least of which was her technique with the poker.