The Singing

Hawk's Aerie 


 * ''The sprawling township of Hawk's Aerie is one of the plushest, wealthiest and most politically important settlements in the realm of Fastheld, poised as it is at the fork of River Road and the Imperial Thoroughfare, with control over the economically vital Fastheld Wharfs and the strategically critical access point of the bridge that spans the Fastheld River to Aegis Road.


 * ''Founded five centuries ago by Edran Nillu, the bustling riverport town has been a primary source of that noble house's cache with the throne on Caryas Hill and the guilds of the Market District, and has enabled the Nillus to establish themselves as an economic powerhouse.


 * ''The streets are kept clean of garbage and filthy peasants as much as possible. The elegant stone and wood buildings are kept in fine repair. It is rumored that the ravens of Hawk's Aerie get their talons polished, morning and night.

In these lonely hours before dawn, the crossroads is nearly deserted - save for the everpresent guards, and one non-guard crossing the courtyard, cloak and hood drawn up against the cold.

Thayndor Zahir steps out of a carriage escorted by a single guard: Shar, a tall woman in the Darkwater ringmail. Both figures flicker in and out of view as they head towards the tavern along the line between torchlight and darkness.

That cloaked figure is making no effort at stealth, moving surely towards the small Temple of Light, just off the main way. Thin hands, ungloved despite the weather, appear from inside the cloak, holding an item that glitters in the torchlight - a dangling bauble, of some sort. A glance up at one of the guards reveals the Mark on the young man's cheek - a friendly nod isn't returned, but the Guard at least seems to expect and tolerate the figure, at least.

Cloak clasped tight, cowl up, it is only the identity of Thayndor's guard that might identify him. The way to the tavern passes the temple, and he and his companion approach the same guard, making no sign or attempt to identify themselves.

At the temple door, the cloaked young man pauses for a moment, and with a deep breath, finds his way inside - the wan light from the candle that always burns in the sacristy shining out into the courtyard for a moment.

The guard gives the two other figures a deceptively bored look, and, with a grunt, hooks a thumb at the tavern. "Lookin' for the tavern, she's over there."

"It's not so much the tavern as a man it may contain," the tall, slim, male cloaked figure replies. "I was told Kael Firelight makes his home here and may yet be awake at this hour. Might I find him there?" The cloaked figure's voice is smooth, warm, composed.

The guard loses that bored look for a moment, shifting to look closer at the travellers. "Aye. Took up with Mistress Woodsong over in the Crafter's Square." His expression is openly wary. "You'll not be giving Mistress Woodsong any trouble," it's not a question, "but /him/ ..." He nods. "'es in the temple. Goes in every night or two - you're welcome to him."

Thayndor Zahir steps towards the guard; his face is still mostly shadowed, but the Darkwater crest on his tabard is plain enough. "Hawk's Aerie has nothing to fear from me," the figure replies, amused. "Shar, you may wait outside, or enter if you wish." He turns with a swirl of cloak, and disappears into the temple.

Hawk's Aerie Temple


 * ''The solemn shadows of the Church of True Light temple are kept at bay by the soft glow of oil lanterns that flicker and gleam in iron frames attached to the walls of quarried gray stone.


 * ''Parishioners enter through an arched doorway from the Hawk's Aerie Crossroads, passing tapestries of blue, green and yellow velvet on their way to the biinwood columns that flank the aisle that leads into the main worship chamber. Within that chamber are twelve pews, six on each side of the aisle.


 * ''The aisle ends at an open area for the temple leader to give his condemnations of the Shadow and his praise for the Light.

At this hour, the temple is empty - the priest likely very asleep. The oil lamps gutter as their fuel runs low, and the outside chill's actually managed to seep in around the edges throughout the night.

Near the back of the church, in the rearmost pew, a young man sits, eyes closed, turning that glittering bauble over in his fingers - the Mark, a dichotomy for this place, plain on his cheek in the dim light.

Quietly, another figure enters the church. Tall and slim, clad in an elegant cloak with cowl up, the figure wordlessly sits next to Kael.

A presence that close certainly catches the young man off guard - his reaction is sadly predictable. A glance up, his eyes going wide for a moment - a look to the front, and then back to the door.. and then a resigned sigh. After a moment, he offers, a reedy, tired tenor - "If yer plannin' on runnin' me out - 'm nearly done, an' no' worth th' trouble."

The figure leans forward enough that his lips fall out of shadow, twisted into an amused smirk. "I did not come to interrupt your prayers," he replies, mildly. As he half-turns, the white hemisphere of a Mage's Mark peeks out from under the cloak before returning to darkness. "Although I wish to speak with you once you finish."

From one extreme to the other - but the young man nods, and turns that little glittering shard over in his fingers - it's nothing more than a polished piece of river mica, a shining, faceted rock. True to his word, it doesn't take him long to lean back in the pew and look back to the cloaked figure. "Thankye." He keeps his voice low. "Prolly no' th' best choice fer either o' us t' be here." He actually offers a lopsided smile - though it's not relaxed. "Woul' scandalize th' ol' priest t' no end."

"The education would do him good," the figure replies mildly. "Without light, there would be no shadow. Who are we not to worship our reason for being?"

"I did not know what I was until recently," the figure replies, earnest. Indignant. "I am different from others, but I am still who I was before I knew. I have no urge to corruption. No desire for chaos. I have a gift, not a curse." The figure straightens, lets out a slow sigh. "It is not a matter of you and I changing, Master Firelight. It is a matter of proving our worth to the realm anew."

"Which, in truth, is why I came here."

He turns to look fully at this cloaked figure, at that, thoughtful. "'t is chaos, y' ken. S' power 'n drives n' urges 'n .. yer goin' ta do things y' hate yerself for." Young he may be, but he says that with some authority. "E'en m'lady Nillu hears 't singin' - an ye will too afore 's done." He reaches up to run a hand through is hair. "Y' ken who I am - so who are ye?"

"I am he who already had power of another sort before learning of this one," the figure replies. "No weakling held in thrall to his to urges and drives, I am master of myself and of men who would follow me to their deaths, Mark or no," he continues, decisive. "I am he who will protect Sahna Nillu from all who dare threaten her. Including herself, as her soon-to-be husband."

The figure shrugs back the cowl of his cloak, and deep green eyes level with Kael's -- the same eyes that, weeks ago, looked down on him one foggy night when the streets were paved with jewels. "I am Count Thayndor Zahir, the Lord of Darkwater. And I have a quest for you, Kael Firelight. If you believe yourself capable of rising above your ... urges ... to complete it."

The young man gets caught by that gaze, looking at the man with no small measure of surprise. To his credit, he doesn't retreat, but he does swallow - hard. "I'm... listenin', m'lord."

"Soon," Thayndor explains, "I will be leading a party beyond the Aegis, to find the source of the skyboat that crashed in Lightholder Crossroads some moons ago. The skyboat could have been the advance scout of a war party. Or, as those who sent it believe it missing, may precede a war party anyway. We don't know. The Emperor has charged me with organizing an expedition to find those who sent the strange craft and establish contact. Lucius Nepos, former Marshal of the Blades, will be my second in command. I am gathering a group of experts -- many who have been over the Wall already, hunters, skilled and loyal warriors ... and Shadow mages, -good- men and women, who may be the balance between the success and failure of our expedition with their skills. I have been beyond the Wall before. The Wildlands are a hard place and fraught with danger. I was told you are a woodsman of no small measure and a Mage of some skill. I have need of all your skills, Kael." Thayndor does not release the young man's eyes.

He seems more than caught by that gaze - and his own expression ranges from startled to intent to thoughtful, thin hands flexing. It's a long moment - it's a great deal to digest - before he takes a deep breath, and simply nods slowly. "Sometimes th' prayin' sneaks up on ye, 'm thinkin'." He actually has to close his eyes to look away for a moment, speaking carefully. "I donnae know what use I kin be.. but if yer askin', m'lord - I cannae deny ye." He opens his eyes again, looking back up to the Count, still thoughtful. "How soon?"

"It will be some weeks yet," Thayndor replies. "At least another two, I wager. You will have time to complete your affairs and assemble what supplies you deem necessary for a time in the swamps and forests of indeterminate length. We will have food and men capable of catching us still more food." There is a pause. "If supplies you consider essential are beyond your resources to acquire, bring it to my attention. I will do what I can to get them for you."

The young man actually risks an exceedingly lopsided smile.. and asks, "wi' all due respect, m'lord - what are ye?" He indicates the tattoo with a nod and a gesture. "An'.. as fer things, I donnae need much. But.. I do need a bit o' time. M' Alainne... is no' goin' t' be very happy wi' me, an'.. she deserves th' time t' be properly so."

Thayndor Zahir's brow protrudes as it furrows. "I am Count Thayndor Zahir," he replies to Kael, firmly but not angrily. "The Lord of Darkwater. That is the identity I assumed when the last Lord of Darkwater, my father, passed away. And that is the identity I shall have until the day I die."

Kael shakes his head then. "Fergive me, m'lord... 'm no' much wi' words." It's amused, that, "I mean.. e'ery one o' th' Touched I met has.. somethin' that matches 'em.. .like th' lady Nillu's fire.. like, m' own shadow." His expression is oddly gauging. "What about ye?"

"I know what you wanted to know," Thayndor replies. "Consider my response a warning: what you can do is by no means the definition of who you are." He pulls up his cloak cowl and moves to rise. "If you are asking after the nature of my Shadow power, I have some affinity with nature. Beyond that the scope of my gifts are unclear."

"O' course, m'lord." He stands, with the Count - and flashes him a toothy grin... it's perhaps presumptuous, but the young man seems somehow relieved. "When y' feel th' storm in yer teeth - 's nothin' like 't, aye?" He moves out into the aisle, defferential.

Thayndor Zahir follows Kael into the aisle. "What is the nature of -your- power, Kael?" He asks, instead of answering.

"I.. hae th' heart o' a beast, m'lord. Sometimes, 't comes when I call." His words are quiet. "Sometimes I kin feel th' wind, o' th' growin' things.. but no' often. I always know /it/, though."

"I had heard as much," Thayndor replies, tone ponderous. "But I had wondered if it was true." The Zahir adjusts his tabard under his cloak, pulls up his cowl. "Make your way to Darkwater in two weeks' time," he says. "You may reach me before then if you've any troubles. And I trust I may find you through Mistress Woodsong's shop if I have need of you before then?"

Kael nods. "Aye, m'lord." He looks up again to the Count, "an' I wi' be there - y' hae m' word."

Thayndor Zahir smiles tightly, nodding to Kael. "I am pleased," he says. "Chances like this should come once in a lifetime. I have been fortunate and this is my third ... but each time the Wildlands shows me a reflection of myself in greater measure. If it will not mold you into something stronger, it will be an education in who you are. You will gain strength in the knowing," Thayndor says, with the same confident authority as Kael had when talking about Shadow urges. "I have much to do before I sleep, and I'm afraid I must take my leave. But it heartens me to know you will be coming, Master Firelight."

It's a night of startling things - and that last statement is no exception... "Y' honor me, m'lord." The young man sketches out a bow that is neither courtly nor practiced, but seems truly genuine. "Donnae let me keep ye."

Thayndor Zahir returns the bow with a nod and an ironic smile. "If you'll excuse me," he says, shadows playing about his face as he turns.

"Light keep," Thayndor drawls wryly, and then the only sound is the swish of his cloak at his ankles as he leaves the Temple.

''Return to Season 5 (2007)