---- All that had been, had been poor. All that was, was perfect. There were traces of starlight within the marble pillars. Ambrosia carried on the incorruptible air.
Ashtik Sai-Weleg, she who was named Sparrow-Knight, the Champion of Black and the harbinger of what comes next, stepped forth alone. Her single footfall echoed through the vast hall. She could almost see the sound of it in the otherwise undisturbed air.
Her shaky breath bound between the great banners that hung from the walls. The centre most, a sheet of pure gold, dangled without motion beneath the cathedral's dome. Sunlight poured in from the south, though Ash looked north, and saw the crescent moon through the stained glass.
She took another step towards her inevitable fate and saw before her, some better creature. Flamed hair, and speckled skin. Golden eyes and glowing smile. It was what a woman was supposed to be, to the minds of the gods. She stood as though she weighed no more than a feather, yet she beamed as though carrying the mass of the sun.
"They are unready, Sparrow," she sang in whispered words. The noise didn't echo, nor did it disturb the air as Ash had done. She seemed to belong in this divine place, perhaps she was the altar at its focus?
"Then what am I to do?" Ash asked as lowly, and meekly, as she could manage. The woman raised a holy hand and sprung forth a horde of servants and lessers, seemingly from the very ether. They circled Ash like vultures to a ruptured corpse before, all as one, they fell upon their hands and knees beneath her. They offered Ashtik their prayers and servitude at the whim of this Golden greater.
"Rest, for now. Explore the conclave. It is truly beautiful at this time of year. Show your sister the sights while the mothers have Satra brief them," she breathed through golden lips.
----To describe all that the Conclave was, would be impossible. Magicians flew overhead, carried atop torrents of ruby winds. Great iron fleshed and ebony tusked beasts dragged along carriages larger than her village had been. Knights in gilded gold armour rode atop mares of pure white, wielding lances of play, not war.
A thousand young girls – students and craftswomen alike – screamed and fawned over one knight in particular. A young lad, maybe twenty, with flowing black hair – near down to his arse – barely contained beneath a terribly designed helm. The 'armour' made sure to display his pretty, unmarred face in full. Ash imagined a single meagre slash would bring a sharp end to his popularity.
A strange pair rode within his same precession. A young woman, the same young woman she had met within the Conclave's temple. Beautiful; truly beautiful. Red of hair and golden eyed. Ash had never known a creature like her. The very winds seemed to part before her, and the cobbles beneath seemed somehow grateful to act as her path.
To her side rode a much more disgruntled lad. He looked to be closer to thirty. Where she wore a trim and elegant riding dress, he wore armour. Padded and thick, but agile and light. A skinny blade dangled from his hip. One meant for a fighter of finesse and grace. His deep-set black eyes clashed against his short cut white hair but matched well his menacingly dark glare. The boy looked to Ash, a killer. She imagined him the guardian of the red-haired woman.
"Urgh," a little squeak sounded out from the stables.
"You can't still be this rough," Ash sighed.
From within a pile of hay, surrounded by curious mares and nags, a muffled groan sounded again. "I hate wine..."
-- "Come on, Evy. Let's get moving."
-- "Uuurggghh."
Ash dragged the half-sleeping girl atop the warmount gifted by the baron.
"How did the meeting go?" Ev whispered, her head slumped against Ash's back.
-- "They aren't ready for me."
-- "So, we can travel across the entire kingdom in two days, but they can't plan a meeting?"
-- "I think they wanted to speak with the Bishop first. They'll call upon us when Satra's told them what happened."
"Ugh," Evara sighed.
--- The two rode downhill, towards the city of divinity that circled the Conclave. Truth be told, the city was somewhat disappointing to the huntress. While the Conclave was a seat fit for the gods, the moving city seemed no grander than Duke's crossing had been. They carried on down what seemed to be the main road of the northern quarter.
Houses piled higher than she had ever seen. Instead of burrows in the ground, as was the Maester Veil fashion, or the stone carved and wooden framed structures of the Meomi people just across the border, these houses were made of hardened blocks of reddish clay. Some houses even bridged over the road, supported by ornately cast steel bars. The novelty of suspended houses and shops did nothing to strip the way of its slightly claustrophobic feeling.
A particularly lanky building held a sign out front, though it held text rather than the images she was used to. Ash nudged her sister awake and nodded towards the sign.
"It just says 'inn'," she whimpered before falling back to her restless sleep.
-- "Good. Let's get you some food."
"Yippee," Ev said, feigning enthusiasm.
A post at the inn's door held a station for her horse. She wrapped the proud beast's rein around the slick wooden post and helped Ev to her feet.
"Twelve plates for a room," a grizzled old man shouted from behind his bar as soon as the duo opened the door. "Pay now or piss off."
Ash lumped her sister at an empty table, of which there seemed no lack.
Ash drew a leather pouch from her belt. "How much for a meal?"
"Make it thirteen," the man sniffed.
"And for that?" Ash placed a silver disk on the bar.
"For that you can have my daughter's hand in marriage," the man chuckled. He slipped the disc beneath the bar before anyone could see it. "A luxury suite for the good lady?"
"Just... look after her," Ash said. "I have stuff to do, but if anyone even looks at her funny while I'm gone-"
"Cut their cocks off," he darkly said, brandishing a cleaver and a wicked look towards a drunk patron in a far corner.
"Exactly," Ash smirked. "Another disk if she's happy when I get back." She rustled her purse, and the clanging metal sounded musical to the man.
"Right, I'll put some scrub on for the two of you." He sniffed the air as two rusty old men entered the inn.
"None for me, thank you. But I'm sure she'll be glad for the double portion." Ash looked past the keeper, a cruel idea appearing in the shape of two opened barrels of ale. "I'll take two mugs of your best, though."
The keeper poured out the only ale the house held into two surprisingly clean tankards. Ash took them with a nod and lay them before her sister.
"Drink that," she warmly said, stroking a hand through Evara's hair.
"Is it poisoned?" Ev asked. She lay with her head against the table and her hair sprawled across it.
"Yup, nightingale poison," Ash chuckled, taking a swig. "It'll put an end to your suffering... And everything else – come to think of it."
"Yay," Ev groaned. Her head rose, though her body remained limp. Her fringe had taken on the shape of a violent tsunami. With the grand will of a warrior of legend, the girl took up the cup and dragged down a single gulp.
Liquid flame must have been held within. She spat it as soon as it had touched her tongue. It was the most energy Ash had seen of the girl since the feast two days past.
"Why would you give me ale?" she cried, falling back to the table.
"Stitching a stab wound, as dad would call it." Ash couldn't help but laugh. After a swig of her own, she pushed Evara's cup closer to the girl.
"What?" Ev groaned. She managed a little rise and rested her heavy head against the mug, though she avoided drinking.
"Stitching a stab, the cure for the ailment is a littler version of the ailment." Ash ran a hand over Ev's fringe and patted it down over her steely little eyes. "Heh, Ale-ment."
"Dads dumb," Ev whined. "So are you."
"Love you too, Evy," Ash giggled. She stood, giving the girl a kiss on the cheek before mounting her spear to her back.
"Suffer," Ev coughed as she managed down another swig. She turned to see Ash ready herself. "We're leaving?"
-- "No. I got you a room upstairs. The owner is making you some food, then I want you to sleep this off. I'll be back in a couple of hours. It there are any issues, tell the owner and he'll... cut them off at the stem."
"Don't go," Ev whispered. "I'll come with you." She tried to stand but the effort lacked drive, and her legs lacked capacity. She floundered at the table, her only argument left being her big pleading eyes.
"Sleep, Ev. I won't be long, I promise." She kissed her sister again, rounding a hand across her little cheeks.
Ashtik left her young sister in the care of the innkeeper and made off for the city. She did not wander aimlessly. She sought a smithy. The baron had granted her a rather large stipend for her journey to the Conclave, and she intended to make full use of it while she still could. She doubted the gold and silver would be of much use once she returned to the woods.
---- Unlike the inn, Ash needed no skill in literacy to sniff out the smithy. Black smoke pillared high; a dozen master-crafted armours lay at the display; the sound of clashing iron rang out for miles, and it didn't hurt that a great wooden anvil hung from the doorway. The building was of the same style as the others, though it was much more exposed to the elements. Two parts split the building: the forge, and the sellers. She made for the open-air shopfront and stood in the one-man queue behind a strange man in strange dress.
"Please, master Toblik!" The strange man before her pled. He was a fairly short man, though still a head above her, and surprisingly well built. It wasn't a warrior's build, closer to the build of the smith's sons that she had lost in the clearing.
"Sujin, was it?" the forge master sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Yes, master Toblik!" the shorter man enthused, nearly bouncing in place.
"Well, Sujin," the forger said as he leant closer to the other man, "piss off."
-- "But mas-"
"look, kid. You're talented but for the sake of Taeva's bountiful tits, read my lips! I don't need an apprentice!" he said slowly and clearly. It was blatant that the older man was placing all his will into remaining calm, though that will was quickly draining. "Yes, you young mae," the forger finally said, dismissing the other man with a sideways glance.
"Oh, th- thank you, sir," Ash stammered. She couldn't bring herself to look at the scorned apprentice.
"I'm sorry about that. I hate swearing in front of customers." The forger shared in her discomfort for a moment but quickly dismissed the feeling from himself. "So, what can I get you, Sai-Weleg?"
"Oh, you know I'm a huntress?" Ash nearly whispered, her face hot and her words slow. Her eyes danced around the room, between the assorted arms and armours; the shelves of curios and tomes, but never towards the armourer and proprietor himself.
"Toblik Jai-Hael, at your service. I'm a northern lad myself: I've served many of your kith. So, what can I get for you? New armour? A bow, perhaps?" He beckoned above with veined and muscled arms.
A series of leather plates were hung on the high wall. They came in all kinds and fashions. One was a single piece of brown boiled leather, studded with iron. Another seemed closer to a coat as it dangled much too low for someone of her build. It held no torso, so Ash assumed it was meant to be worn beneath some steel cuirass.
Aside them both hung a male version of her own armour, only a dark shade of green rather than the camouflaged red of her own. The male version lacked the wrist pads meant for female archers and seemed much more flattering in its proportions. The belly was still exposed, as it was with her own, but it clearly prioritised vanity over protection. The chest had sculpted pectorals, and where her own armour covered her biceps in full, the man's version wore only a leather strip across.
"I was wondering the cost of a full set up," Ash meekly said.
"Leather armour, dirk and a bow?" Toblik guessed.
-- "Ah- no. I'm not much use with a bow, and I have a dirk. I was thinking new armour, a spear and a travel pack."
"Well... A set of huntress leathers would be two disks. An ironwood spear would be twelve plates, and the travel pack would be ten. Let's call it three silvers," he decided.
"I promised my last silver to the barkeep," Ash realised. "I only have gold."
She took out her pouch and rustled through the coins. He peaked within, doubt in his gaze.
"Gods, put that away!" He urged without shouting. The forger sealed her hands over the pouch quickly and forced it closer to her chest.
"I'm sorry," Ash shouted, unsure as to what she could have done to cause such offence. She recoiled from his touch, nearly dropping the pouch.
"Gods, mae. Where did a huntress get so much gold? Did you slay a dragon?" Toblik questioned, but Ash barely heard him. Blood rushed through her ears and drowned out all other noise.
-- "The... Baron gave it to me."
"For what?" he asked. His curiosity waned and a drop of guilt gripped him at the sight of the reeling girl.
"I killed the bandits," she answered.
"Bandits?" he repeated. Confusion was a mask on man's face, pierced only by his working eyes. He appraised her, despite all his unspoken questions, as though she were some tool fresh from the forge. "No...." he finally breathed. "You? Are you the Sparrow-Knight?"
Ash could do nothing but nod. She clung tightly to the little pouch, though gold and silver live lives much too cold to make for comforting fellows.
Toblik simply chuckled. "Incredible."
"I'm sorry," Ash repeated quietly.
"No, I'm sorry. You can clearly take care of yourself; I shouldn't have urged you." Despite the little chuckle that came with the words, the forger spoke with a heart-bleeding sincerity.
"Okay," was all she could manage.
"Now, about this armour!" he buzzed. "This shite up here is no good you for, Sparrow. I have a better idea. I am Toblik, master forger. Warriors of legend journey the continent for a chance at my finest arms. Allow me to press my craft. I shall forge you a set of steel plates for the same price as the leather... and- and I'll even craft a one-of-a-kind spear, just for you. No extra cost!" he said with glee bounding from each word.
"I can't wear steel," Ash meekly protested. "It's too loud and heavy – plus it rusts."
"Not my steel," he proudly declared. "I am no mere smith; I am a master forger! I shall carve steel lighter than an innocent heart, and quieter than an orgasm at a church. I can make it waterproof and even self-heating, for those wintertime hunts." He wasn't talking to her anymore. His rambling declarations seemed more so plans and blueprints, formed in the mind but not yet material.
-- "Why would you do that?"
-- "Because you're the Sparrow-Knight! They say you're the Champion of Black! If you're off to defeat the darkness, you ought to be fighting it with the best gear the light has to offer!"
"A detachable head," he decided. "To make it modular? No, too busy for a huntress. I'll add a chain for ranged attacks! I could carve an explosive rune behind the tip to send it flying out..." The rest of his rambles spoke of specifications and possible material composites, though she couldn't parse a word of it. "Defeating the darkness?" Ash repeated. He didn't seem to notice her confusion, instead turning his ramblings onto the spear.
"Okay, I'll pay you for it now then," she said, her eyes in her boots. Cost clearly hadn't entered his mind yet. She drew a gold disk and placed it on his counter.
"That's too much," he insisted, his focus breaking in an instant. "I said three silvers."
-- "That was for the basics."
-- "No, that was for the full set up. I never specified quality in that contract."
"I only have gold left. Take it, please."
"Is there nothing else here that you would take to make this a full transaction?" he asked.
Her eyes fell to the curio shelves. Books lined them, as dusty and ancient as the city must have been.
"Novice guides to magic," Toblik explained.
-- "Nobody has bought them?"
-- "We are in the conclave... Nobody here is a novice. Either magic is forbidden to them, or their skills are far beyond the reach of those books."
"I could take that too, then," she suggested.
"It's not worth much more than a few coppers, but sure. Though you don't strike me as the magical kind," he chuckled.
-- "It's not for me; it's for my sister. I'm sure she'd love to learn."
-- "Oh, well I can't say I'm much of an expert on magecraft, but I'm pretty sure there's a reason you never hear about self-taught magicians."
"She's clever," Ash insisted. "She'll figure it out."
"Very well," he nodded. "Why don't you pick something else out for her, too? Is she also a spear-huntress?"
-- "No, she's more used to crossbows."
-- "I haven't a crossbow in stock, but I do have many string bows."
"That would be perfect," Ash smiled.
He drew from the wall, a dawn birch short bow, stringed with a strange crystal wire. "Then take this," he offered. He unwound the silvery band that kept it dry when not in use and handed it to her. She took it up and strung it, drawing back to test the pull.
"It's fairly heavily wound, but I suppose she'll grow into it." Ash slowly slacked the string and packed the bow up. "Thank you, master Toblik. You are a kind man."
"Of course," he bowed. "Any forger would battle to have his arms in the use of such a legendary figure as yourself, Sparrow. It is an honour untold. But please, take care of yourself, Mae. There is a storm coming and you are at its eye."
"The eye is the calmest part," she smiled.
"So long as you can keep pace. Fall behind and it'll consume you." Then, with a smirk, he cried out, "Callum! Take the shop, I've work to do!"