The Tears of Kas̆dael

“They’re not here.”

“What?” Ihra drew in a breath so deep it almost hurt as the man shook his head. “Are you sure?” She followed up quickly.

“I do this for a living, you know,” the mage scoffed. “No one that bears your blood is buried in the mound.”

“So they’re alive?” She asked the question in a hushed tone, speaking to herself more than the mage, but the man responded anyway.

“That I can’t tell you, lass,” he replied more kindly. “The spell only works within a certain radius of a few hundred feet. If they were buried in the mound, I should be able to sense them, but if their bodies weren’t recovered…” He left the obvious unsaid, not wanting to give offense, and Ihra flashed him a quick smile.

“I came here fully expecting to find they were dead. Now there’s at least a chance.”

Seeing the hope in her eyes, the mage winced. “There’s nothing wrong with hope, lass, but don’t let it steal from you, you hear?”

“Steal?” She asked in puzzlement.

“I wasn’t here when the queen attacked,” the man replied, “but I’ve seen the devastation. We’re still finding bones in the surrounding fields and villages daily, and we’re not even looking for them any longer. Maybe your family escaped, but it’s more likely their bones are lying in a ditch somewhere. Look for them if you can lass, but don’t let it become an obsession – don’t let the past steal your future.”

A scalding response stormed to the tip of her tongue but died unspoken. He might have rained on her parade, but she knew the man was trying to help. More importantly, she knew he had a point. Swallowing her anger, she forced a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, and, offering him a respectful nod, she turned to head down the steep flight of stairs that led up the massive mound.

Her foot had barely hit the first step when the mage called out after her. “There is one other place you could check.”

She glanced over her shoulder, and the mage beckoned for her to come closer. “You seem like a lass with a good head on her shoulders. Am I right?”

Ihra shrugged, uncomfortable with praising herself. “I try,” she replied noncommittally.

“If you tell this, you’ll need to keep it to yourself,” he warned. “Can you keep a secret?”

She furrowed her brow, suddenly unsure if she trusted the mage. He seemed sincere enough, but she couldn’t figure out what would possibly need to be kept a secret. “I’m not much of a talker,” she replied cautiously.

The man glanced around, and seeing the priests were nowhere near them, lowered his voice. “I don’t know how much you’ve been following the aftermath of the attack, but many of the current residents are not here by choice. A lot of the former inhabitants didn’t want to stick around, but the king was determined to resettle the place. Most of those who have tried to leave have been rounded up and returned to Hargish.”

“Most?” she asked, latching on to the word.

“Despite the king’s best efforts to keep the population here, there’s been a few gone astray. Small numbers, here and there, written off as clerical errors,” he said with a wink. “It might be worth talking to the clerk.”

“Tell me,” she said, leaning forward, her eyes burning intensely.

The mage crossed his arms, unfazed. “Promise you’ll be discrete.”

“Promise,” she replied promptly.

“Talk to Abarakkûl at the Barracks. Tell him I sent you, and that the shipment of jasmine tea came in for his grandma.”

“You have code phrases,” she blurted out in surprise.

The mage laughed. “No, I actually do have a shipment of tea for his grandma, but it proves you talked to me.”

It took slightly longer than Ihra expected to return to town. The line at the gate was too long for the handful of guards to process quickly and, as she watched it with new eyes following the mage’s revelation, she realized part of the problem was that the guards were paying as careful attention to who left the city as to who entered. Is the king really treating them like prisoners?

She knew she was a bit unfair in her thoughts. The strategic importance of Hargish was too much for the king to ignore. The people weren’t exactly being mistreated – free food, free provisions, and rebuilt houses seemed a generous deal – but nonetheless the thought of being trapped here chafed at her. She was suddenly glad she had been forced to leave Hargish before the census.

When she was finally waved through the gate, she headed straight for the Barracks. From the outside, the Barracks building looked nearly identical to the Guild Hall beside it – which was hardly surprising as the Empire had built them both. But the differences between them were more obvious when she stepped inside. Expecting the pleasant cool of the Guild Hall, she was instead met with the hot, sticky heat of a building denied even the slight cooling of a good cross-breeze.

The air was downright suffocating, and as she approached the desk, she could see the clerks manning it were dripping with beads of sweat that refused to evaporate in the overly moist climate.

One of the clerks straightened up as she approached and, daubing futilely at his forehead with the hem of his sleeve, inclined his head to the left. “Lady elf,” he greeted her. “Normally, those who walk through these doors are here to join up, but I assume that’s not your purpose. Are you here with a message from the guild?”

“Nothing so official,” she said with a shake of her head. “Is Abarakkûl available? The mage at the mound,” she paused for a second, searching for his name and found it, “Ilbarût wanted him to know that the shipment of tea for his grandma had arrived.”

“Is that all?” The clerk replied. “I can pass along the message.”

“That’s alright - I’d like to tell him myself,” she countered.

“I promise you, Lady Elf, I’ll deliver the message,” the man began to protest, but spying the resolute look in her eye, he heaved a defeated sigh. “Fine. If you want to see him yourself, he’s in the office closest to the stairs on the second floor,” he said, pointing to a staircase in the left corner of the hall.

With a quick thanks, she headed off to the stairs and bounded up them quickly, impatient to see the man. The door was closed and she rapped firmly on the frame.

There was no response, and she knocked again, banging on the door with enough force to rattle its hinges. This time, she heard the sound of frantic shuffling in the room beyond. “Coming, coming,” an irritable voice groused.

A moment later, the door shuddered open just wide enough for the occupant to peek out his head. Time had not been kind to the office’s inhabitant – though barely middle-aged, most of his hair had long fled and deep lines around his eyes testified to either a lack of sleep or a proclivity for the bottle. Judging from the slightly yellow tint of his skin, Ihra judged it was the latter.

“Ilbarût sent me to tell you that your grandmother’s shipment of jasmine tea had arrived,” she greeted him.

He glanced at her hands as if expecting her to be carrying a package, and a frown slipped over his face. “And you didn’t bring it with you? What kind of a messenger are you?”

“The kind that doesn’t care about your grandmother’s tea,” Ihra replied icily, losing patience with the man. “Ilbarût said you’d understand what that means or is your brain so addled from sleep,” she said sarcastically, “that you can’t follow.”

Comprehension finally dawned in the clerk’s eyes, and he opened the door a fraction wide, just enough for her to slip inside. “Come in,” he said begrudgingly.

He shuffled back to the desk and sank into his chair with a sigh. An open bottle of wine sat beside a pair of dirty tumblers. He poured an unsteady stream into one and waved the bottle in her direction. “Want some?”

“Your loss,” he grunted as she shook her head, but seemed unperturbed by the rejection.

“What exactly did Ilbarût tell you about me?” he asked, his eyes seeming to clear as he nursed a sip of the liquid.

“Practically nothing,” she responded. “He did tell me a bit about the king’s new rules for the citizenry. He left it up to me to draw my own conclusions.”

“At least he knows to keep his trap shut,” the man grunted. “Why did he send you to me to ask about tea?” He held up his hand as she started to reply and a sly grin slipped across his face. “Eh, my mind is coming back to me. There weren’t any elves registered as citizens of Hargish, so I bet you’re looking for someone. Maybe someone that didn’t turn up dead. Am I right?”

“A shrewd guess,” Ihra confirmed. “As far as I can tell, they’re not in the city and they’re not dead – or at least, they haven’t been buried in the mound.”

The clerk shrugged, taking another sip of the wine. “That doesn’t mean much, you know. We’ve done our best to find the bodies but the queen’s forces were like wild animals. You have no idea how horrible-”

“I was there,” she cut him off.

The man’s gaze swept over her, reassessing her, and he gave her a curt nod. “So you know what I’m talking about. We’ve tried to find everyone, but…”

“I just want to know if you have any record of them being alive.”

The man reached into his bag and pulled out a small crystal that he set on the table. “I’m not a mage, so I don’t have any truth spells to cast on you. If you want to talk to me, you’re going to have to use this and you’re going to have to pay for it.”

Her lips twisted at the thought of the expense, but she understood. An enchanted crystal was not cheap. “How much?”

“Cost me 10 gold and I can use it 5 times so how ’bout 3 gold?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re making a profit,” she accused.

“I am performing a service, lady,” he replied irritably.

With a sour face, she fished the coins out and handed them over. Then she placed her hand on the crystal and repeated the words he told her. When she had proven her intentions, the man drew a small, tattered notebook out of his bag and opened it up. “Alright, who are you looking for?”

“Sēlenāt, Sēldannu, and Ihra Takāmu,” she rattled off.

After a few pages of flipping, the man raised his brows. “Looks like you’re in luck. They did indeed pass through her and have been resettled safely.”

She leaned against the desk, relief washing over her. “Where?”

“Ikkarim,” the man replied, filing the book in his bag. It wasn’t the best news she had heard – for Ikkarim was too far out of their way for the group to detour – but it was good news nonetheless. A small piece of her family still remained, and for now, that was good enough.

Standing up, she pulled a few more coins out of her bag and tossed them at the man.

“What this for?” he asked in surprise, though he was more than happy to sweep them into his pouch.

“For helping my family – and for you. Go see a healer before you drink yourself to death.”

For a moment, the man’s lips thinned in anger, before he released it with a sigh. “Maybe I’ll just do that.”