Chapter Sixty-Five: A Transparent Ploy

  Selriph’s slow hand gestures and quiet stillness spoke of the mystery he was striving to understand. Before him, the merchant cart stood, its wooden frame illuminated by the pale orange and rose colours of the sun as it filtered through the thinning canopy.

  The issue he was dealing with wasn’t a matter of trade or commerce; rather, it was about unnoticed entry into the city beyond the wooden canopies.

  This enigma wasn’t particularly aided by the fruit borne from the dialogic inquiry between the two nobly born youths by firelight the previous night. If anything, it spelt out the practical restrictions involved: the time required for either of them to procure the arcane prowess to make this a risk-free endeavour.

  For all of Selriph’s supposed ‘prodigal prowess’ and natural inclinations to the arcane, it would take him time to refine his ability to disguise two, or more accurately, three different living creatures by arcane means. In addition, the fact remained that he had not yet attempted to dual-cast it with the more sophisticated version of suppress aura, which would have added a degree of intricacy to a task that was already difficult.

  In a similar vein, Leian could not be expected to graduate from lifting a mere pebble—the most basic expression of the ‘divine arts’—to suppressing her uncontrollable aura, a result of her natural endowment, the ability to see traces of the past and future.

  In fact, that same gift, granted by the goddess Sadria, required Selriph to siphon the excess energy from the sleeping girl—though she didn’t know it. Perhaps it was due to Selriph’s subpar lessons, but the girl’s powers were less wild, allowing Selriph three-hour blocks of rest until his magical senses alerted him to the need to tend to the girl.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that Selriph or Leian would make groundbreaking progress in their respective arcane abilities. If the former could twin-cast or triple-cast the arcane disguise within the week, and the latter could sense and regulate her aura, then the obstacle currently impeding their progress would disappear.

  But that was unrealistic, and frankly, the boy had places to be—he had already spent forty-eight hours on this tangent of self-imposed responsibility.

  Damn it all… why didn’t I take the pendant from Eilan when I left Fallbrook!

  He shook his head—pointless musings. There were no reasons within the boundaries of what he knew at that point to take the aura-suppressing pendant with him. It would have required a level of refined premonition that only the girl—still in a deep slumber—could divine.

  And so his mind naturally ran its course through the night, now landing on the solution which seemed the most promising, one based entirely on what Selriph’s current abilities were capable of, as opposed to speculating the progress he’d make in a week.

  If I can just find a way to hide both Emmett and her in this cart without giving them cause to search it…

  Selriph knew he was effectively grasping at straws, but this was the only possible solution he could think of. He knew he could cast a blanket of suppress aura over the entire cart—he’d attempted it just last night while tending to the girl’s arcane disturbance.

  In his other hand, he cast the carefully crafted facade of a pudgy merchant, a cart full of curious goods on his way into the city. No reason for the guards to stop and do a thorough search—he would be, or rather, should be a common sight for the mercantile city of the Province of Agurdia.

  If I place them under the blanket… Arrange the weapon and the fur coats around them… they should not question the bulge as long as neither of them fidget…

  He started arranging the items, the leather tarp, smelling of earth and age, over the fallen log, about the size of a dire wolf, and precisely placing the array of weapons on the pile of thick fur coats, trying to draw attention away from it.

  As he looked at the result—a bulging mound under the leather, surrounded by his ‘goods.’

  It looked just about as one would expect: something large and potentially valuable hidden underneath.

  Or rather, something suspicious.

  This isn’t going to work… even if on a whim they decide to inspect the cart…

  Before Selriph’s mind began to wander to the fantastical notion of levitating his companions over the walls under the cover of darkness, Selriph grabbed the satchel at his side and placed it on the merchant cart with a loud thonk.

  He began to rummage through his items: personal notes, piecemeal medicinal supplies, before his hands instinctively landed on the tome of arcane foundation, pulling it out of the satchel.

  Then the crinkle of parchment came in tandem with the leaves rustling from the morning breeze overhead.

  There has to be a spell.—anything…!

  The pointless flipping of pages landed on a spell he already knew: shadow veil, a spell that could obscure their presence — but only in darkness.

  His mind lingered on the page, almost at the threshold of flipping through it again.

  If only there were a way to conceal them in the presence of light, then this would be feasible.

  Selriph’s body went rigid as he was about to flip the page, the words he had just processed making him pause.

  “Conceal…” his voice trailed off like the dying smoke in the campfire.

  From the corner of his vision, a glassy glint illuminated deep within his satchel, resembling a star long hidden by clouds in the night sky. At that moment, a succession of ideas sparked within him, akin to a fresh constellation forming in the dark, as a line of sparks linked up the scattered stars overhead.

  An idea—a solution that could allow them to enter Solvelis even if the guards were to inspect his cart — his eyes drawn to the glimmer of salvation in his bag.

  As realisation dawned, his eyes lit up with joy, and he smacked his hand against the wooden cart in a mix of delight and self-derision, which echoed and caused a reaction among the few inhabitants in the thinning trees above.

  Then he bellowed out loud in a voice full of vigour.

  “Of course! Why didn’t I think of this sooner!”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Once more, the sun drew its golden glow across the darkening evening, casting a golden glow over the horizon, painting the great lake’s northeastern edge.

  Unlike the thinning woods south of Solvelis, Selriph’s view was now filled with the imposing two-meter-high granite-cobbled stone of the capital of the Agurdia province.

  Stay calm; we can do this.

  Selriph felt the comforting embrace around his waist—both from a physical presence and the arcane disguise, a pot belly manifesting under the wool tunic. He felt the weight of the disguise on his face, bearing the face of the pudgy merchant, who would introduce himself as Jorin.

  “Remember, just stay still,” the voice, high yet middle-aged, echoed from the pudgy face, a testament to a life of trade and bargaining.

  Silence met his instruction—though ‘Jorin’ very much knew that his two pieces of contraband could very much hear him as they approached the thin line formed outside the city’s southern entrance. The group consisted of ‘fellow’ merchants, along with roughly dressed personnel wearing tunics and carrying different farming produce, and in addition to this, there was a young female in holy garb whose face was covered by black cloth, and finally, there was a band of four youths who seemed to be about Selriph’s age.

  ‘Jorin’ approached the guard post and noticed the sharp glint of metal from the grated entrance over the gate of the eastern city. The sturdy walls, bearing only the slightest remnants of a siege from a bygone era, stood as a reminder of the peace that had reigned since Agurdia was incorporated into the imperial realm of piousness a century before, an event that had faded from the memories of nearly everyone who lived within those walls.

  After all, just like the core of the empire, Solvelis is under no threat from anything feasible—the Nalthrys state to the east would never dare muster a force to challenge imperial rule here. To do so was not only imprudent but inconceivable.

  And it was that military reality that ‘Jorin’ was counting on—the guard’s overt casualness, caught in the routine inspection.

  Just act natural; you have already done this many times.

  The black gulper horse crossed over the wooden threshold, the soft murmur of the stream below the bridge—an offshoot from the great lake, feeding a moat that ran around the perimeter of the city.

  Breathe… keep the suppressing veil around us. They should not detect anything.

  Jorin’s eyes locked onto the calloused hand of the chainmail-clad man, whose grip tightened around the spear. A black fabric encircled his waist, embroidered with a golden emblem depicting a shield and star-like symbols, the insignia of the Eldeitian guards of the Agurdia Province.

  “Evening, lads”, the merchant’s voice echoed as he waved to the guards, a smile playing on his lips.

  “Skip the pleasantries, state yer business,” the gruff order did not come from the spear-wielding guard, but from a hulking orc on the left, whose deep, bearded visage and crest-emblazoned shoulder pad proclaimed his rank.

  “Just doing business; perhaps I could interest you in some quality gear? “The merchant gestured to the bloodied cart behind him, where spears, halberds, and swords were displayed as if arranged for a macabre art show.

  “Pfft, one of those kinds, eh?” as the orc spat to the side, eyes appraising the goods, before it landed on the bloodied marks.

  “Road gave you trouble, eh? Seems like a real struggle too,” as his fingers traced the crimson gashes on the cart.

  “Oh, those? No, no. Old Cerey practically dragged my stuff. Found this old thing lying on the side of the road, the girl became much happier since,” as the pudgy-faced man patted the black gulper horse in a reassuring pat.

  The orc’s brow lifted as he gave a glance to the merchant, before landing on the contents of the carts. Everything was sprawled, naked and exposed. Pelts, some with gash marks, others completely pristine. The weapon and armour were all within some semblance of serviceable condition, but none that would draw a noble’s eye.

  “You have a peculiar selection of pelts here.” The orc’s hands reached over the cart’s walls, touching the brown fur that used to cover a buck.

  Jorin’s brow twitched as the orc’s hand came close to the space in the middle of the cart. “Yeah, I know they ain’t pretty; skinned them off already corps’d deadbeats. Likely a pack of wolves got em. Only useful for linings and trimmings.”

  The merchant cleared his throat. “Also, mind you don’t touch the goods unless yer buyin’, I will sell that to you for three gold.”

  An unimpressed scoff escaped the orc’s lips, broadcasting his lack of amusement.

  An interjection bellowed from behind the cart.

  A voice was heard from behind the cart. “Hah, I’d rather purchase linen for my mother than any of these,” from one of the party of four.

  “Stay your tongue,” the orc bellowed as he drew his sword at the source of the disturbance. A faint whimper, like a dying ember, escaped the tattletale youth.

  “Last thing, where are you residing?” he asked, gesturing to another guard holding a wooden board with parchment on it, unreadable instructions passing through their eye contact.

  “Silver Mug’s wing, off Cotawashk’s avenue, been there a fair few times this cycle.” from the merchant was coloured with a reminiscence familiarity.

  “Living a high life, eh? Able to afford something so close to the nobles’ estate, even selling trash like this?

  “That is a low blow; one man’s discard is another’s jewel. Besides, I want to treat myself to a good night, been a long few weeks on the frosty road.” As the merchant patted the satchel that hung by the horse, a faint clink of metal was heard from it.

  “Bold of you to announce your wealth like that,” the voice came from the spear-wielding man. “Didn’t you hear? A noble’s daughter got snatched up in broad daylight.”

  Jorin, or rather Selriph, felt something tighten in his chest; it wasn’t just from nervousness, it was from recognition.

  “Is that so? I am sure you lads will have it all under control.” The remark, loud and clear, bounced off the surroundings, directed not just at the guards but also at the band of four watching behind the merchant.

  The orc gave one final look, his eyes weary, with the fight in his stance suggesting an irritation—perhaps from the lack of any further stir or protest from the young adventurers that he’d ordered to be silent.

  “If you see a red-haired elf tomorrow in the market square—that’s Sergeant Dalun, he may get some of that gear off you for our recruits,” the spear-wielding guard interjected, his eleven ears now visible in the torchlight as he neared the merchant.

  The orc guard waved off his colleague, his voice bordering on a reprimand. “Move along, move along. You’re holding up the line.”

  And so, Merchant ‘Jorin’ gave a curt nod and pushed his weight into the horse, the black gulper steed moving into a steady stroll as it entered the walls of the city.

  He had done it. They were in — the orc being a mere hair's length from discovering the presence of the creature hidden in plain sight in the cart.

  And only when the walls were well out of earshot, hidden behind the rows of candlelit houses in the city’s southern quarter, did the two people on Nightwind’s saddle breathe a sigh of relief.

  As they turned the corner at that very moment, venturing into one of the alleyways that led toward the noble quarter found to the north east, the translucent veil vanished, and the girl who had been holding the merchant in a tight embrace regained her physical visibility. The young girl with black hair was revealed as she sat behind the plump merchant.

  The mottled grey fur of the dire wolf stood out among the sea of pelts and weapons in the merchant cart, resembling the centrepiece of a whimsical mosaic.

  The merchant withdrew the empty vial from his satchel—it once contained the concoction that made this transparent ploy possible—giving it a shake as a sigh of resignation escaped his lips. “I suppose our thirty allotted minutes have expired…”

  “Sel, thanks for everything. I can make my way back to the estate from here, just—,” the girl fidgeted in the back of the saddle, attempting to adjust to the cobbled paths below.

  A firm hand wrapped around her forearm. “Come now, Leian. Emmett can hide under the leather tarp. Besides, I will not let you out of my sight until you are safe within the walls of the Eilsweth estate.”

  And that is as far as I am taking you—no more than that.

  The merchant, in the process of turning his body to face the girl positioned behind him, saw his face transform, taking on a younger look, while his voice changed to that of the runaway templar deserter. His gaze, radiating protective warmth, bore into her eyes, forcing all but a soft nod of agreement from the girl.

  “If you say so…” she mumbled, the rough leather of the saddle pressing against her thighs as she swung her legs back over, her hands wrapped around the youth’s abdomen. “I just feel like a burden…” as her form glowed softly with Arcane energy—a silent testament to the youth’s insistence on accompanying her.

  “No, you are my responsibility—at least until you are within the walls of your home.” With another swipe of his hand across his face, he reverted to being the stout, chubby-faced merchant, Jorin. His hand tightened around his estoc; he gave a sharp, formal inclination of his head, a stiff bow between a commoner of the mercantile trade in deference to the young lady of noble descent.

  As he came upright, he gestured with his open palm, angled upwards, to the streets beyond. A gesture of invitation to proceed ahead, to lead them to the Eilsweth estate, her home. The destination of the precious ‘goods’ he had in tow.

  “Now, please, my lady, lead me through these streets.”