The Blue Moon - 13. Chapter 13

"Initially, I planned to gather talented people from all over the world, but in the end, most of them happened to be my own countrymen. I have no regrets; Dimalis are generally the most rational of the great nationalities. Does the absence of religion stimulate the kind of sense of reality that science requires?

Malkanians, at least, are too full of their religion and their own excellence - Randalos' rantings sometimes bore me to tears. If his priestly highness were not so strong in Might, I would have sent him on his way long ago.

Taihan is undoubtedly a reasonable woman, but it is just that Southlanders are so different. I do not like to think that way, but sometimes I feel more bigoted than I really am.

The Afamatian culture is stiff in its old-fashionedness - everyone knows that. Fortunately, Obeiron is a different story, completely technology-oriented and unconcerned with tradition.

Sometimes I ask myself: why not one or two Ksingis? After all, they could provide the Brotherhood with information it has never known before. But Ksingis would be an impossibility, because they cannot think without their law book. And they certainly do not see us Dimalis as anything but enemies.

Darkurians, by contrast - I have no intention of trusting them. Those people had chosen their own sinister path. I cannot be their saviour. Hardly anyone can."

- Laftakom Greyhand's notes

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Isendar
Dimalos, Andiol Empire

Isendar Vargan had not expected his daughter to arrive in Dimalos, especially so soon after the events in Ipalos. However, Jolanda had wanted to come and tell him the news in person, and had described what had happened in Ipalos in her letter only in the most cursory terms.

Despite Jolanda's brevity, some of the details in the letter had been enough to make her father both worried and furious. The euphoria of the military and political victories in Ipalos and elsewhere in the South had faded when Jolanda had told him of her injury.

Since the letter, Isendar had been unable to concentrate on anything. Even carrying out his grand plan to become the undisputed ruler of Andiol was put on hold. His beloved daughter had been hurt!

Isendar rose from his black leather chair and walked around the side of his desk to the window. He tilted his chin, adorned with a dark goatee, and looked out at the distant view of the ground below.

He had deliberately chosen a high tower block for his residence. He could feel safer up there, and besides, the height of the building was a welcome reminder to Morth Lefretz of who was in charge. To reach the upper floors, an assassin would have had to pass through extensive security, so Isendar believed he was safe from his enemies. Even if something went wrong, there was a hot air balloon at the top of the tower, ready to fly at a moment's notice.

Back in Dimalos, he had hoped to remain in the shadows, staying in one of the seedy brothels in the Alleys. That had quickly proved to be an impossible idea.

No one could control the Alleys; the slum area was far too chaotic to safely execute the plan from there. Sooner or later, a shade commando would have stepped out of the shadows to finish off Isendar.

Besides, his new position as deputy leader of the Shadow Cross required a certain dignity. Whoever had the influence had sometimes to show signs of power. It was more credible to stage this play in a tower house than in some dingy apartment.

Isendar Vargan looked out over the city below. Dimalos was at its best: domed roofs of palaces, towering buildings and lush parks. He was not familiar with this glittering part of the capital. It was different in the gloomy, stinking blocks of the Alleys, whose shabbiness was an eternal part of Isendar. They had been the home of Rat, long ago.

A lock clicked somewhere further away. With a reflexive movement of his hand, Isendar checked that the medallion was hanging in its familiar place around his neck. It was a relic from the Age before Oblivion. A rare and powerful thing that protected its wearer from the effects of the Might. It was said that only a few dozen of these jewels were ever made. Most of them had been lost to the mists of time, but at least this one had survived the upheavals of the world to find its way to Isendar Vargan.

He had immediately understood the value of the talisman and never took it off, not even when he washed. Nevertheless, he had developed a habit of checking the pendant every so often to make sure it was still in place. But Isendar was not ashamed of his obsession, for the medallion had saved his life on several occasions over the years. Most recently from the hands of Morth Lefretz.

The guard's voice could be heard from behind the door, so Isendar allowed him to enter. "Mr Vargan, your daughter is here," the man announced, and for a moment Isendar Vargan felt the need to grab the window frame. If he had any weaknesses, Jolanda was the only one.

Isendar allowed the guard to escort him to the reception room, where a young woman stood in the centre. A lump began to form in Isendar's throat. It was his own Jolanda, but what a sight!

Deep, partially unhealed wounds marred the girl's once beautiful cheeks. They would leave bad scars, this Isendar knew. Even worse was the black patch covering her left eye - or rather the socket where the eye should have been. The look in Jolanda's remaining eye was hard, not shameful, but hurt and vengeful. For the first time in years, Isendar felt his eyes water and threw himself into his daughter's arms.

As Isendar released his daughter from his grip, he looked at her battered face once more.

"Who did this?" Isendar asked in a voice he barely recognized as his own, so thick was it with emotion.

Jolanda did not break down and cry, but looked at her father with her only eye. Then she began to tell him.

Her father's daughter, Isendar thought admiringly, aware of the pain that she must have felt. Looks had always been everything to Jolanda, as to any beautiful girl. How could she adjust to this change? To the fact that it hurt to look at her own reflection and that men would never again stare at her hungrily. It was a cruel punishment for an eighteen-year-old. Someone had to pay dearly for what they'd done.

By the time she had finished her report, Isendar Vargan thought he knew who the old man in charge of the flock of birds was. He opened his mouth to tell her that.

But Jolanda was ahead of him: "I made inquiries about the old man. The name 'Zaltarim Fizol' came up.

Isendar breathed a sigh of pure rage. "I thought that old devil was dead."

"Do you know him?"

"I met him years ago, and now I regret not slitting his throat," Isendar replied, touching Jolanda's neck lightly. It was also blemished by bloody marks.

How many more scars from the jackdaws' beaks were hidden under her clothes, Isendar Vagan thought sadly and spoke again: "I've heard enough about Zal Fizol to know that I don't want him snooping around my business. We have enough enemies already. I wish there was some way to get rid of him."

After a moment's thought, Jolanda spoke. "Maybe there is. A shade commando... you know her... Plinkinenkak, also known as Little Girl. After the attack, she rushed to follow his group."

"Excellent," said Isendar, although nothing in the world was excellent anymore, not after what had been done to Jolanda. "Plink's appearance would suggest otherwise, but she's one of the most competent of our shade commandos. Though a schemer like Fizol would have been a challenge even for me in the days of my youth. The man is one of the last survivors of a now forgotten brotherhood. His knowledge would make my plan much easier to carry out. If we could take him alive - no, I don't think he would break, no matter how much I tortured him... but I'd torture him nonetheless. For what he did to you. I'd tear him apart with my own hands."

Isendar Vargan looked sadly at his daughter, who avoided her father's gaze. He knew that Jolanda was not used to seeing her father so weak. Where was the famous composure of the Shadow Cross regional director? He had to pull himself together or he would not be able to avenge the loss Jolanda had suffered - moreover, the plan could be compromised.

He let the air out of his lungs and looked at Jolanda, now in a state of steeliness. "I've decided to change my mind. Catching those boys is essential, whether they are with Zal Fizol or not. The fact that Fizol is interested in them means that they are somehow relevant."

Jolanda nodded a little too vigorously, but in this terrible situation, Isendar Vargan allowed her daughter to show such zeal. Jolanda's obsession with Sandkan's blond boy might even be useful. At least it was the fuel to keep her daughter going. Despite her injury, she would continue to fight for what they wanted to achieve.

"You're not going back to Ipalos. Others can take care of southern Andiol. I need you for something far more important. Zal Fizol must be destroyed, no matter what," Isendar said.

The way Jolanda clenched her fist and grimaced at the name of the man who had ruined her appearance told Isendar Vargan a lot. The two of them had another common goal besides the plan: to destroy Zaltarim Fizol, at any cost.

* * *
 

Melgyera
Five Hills, Andiol Empire

Curls of smoke poured out of the chimneys of the factories. It was the first sign of a town emerging from the hilly farmland. As Melgyera and her companions rode closer, Five Hills began to appear in the middle of the fields, impressive in its size.

The roads that criss-crossed the countryside carried a steady stream of people to Five Hills. The most important commercial and industrial centre in central Andiol attracted people from every direction. Some were local villagers and farmers selling their produce, others were merchants who had travelled a long way. Many fortune-seekers were also looking for work in the booming factories, and a few were probably just passing through on their way to some distant destination.

Melgyera Dimossai could guess their stories, for she had crossed the Andiol Empire and visited Five Hills several times before. Out of old habit, she turned her gaze to the highest point of the town. There stood a grey building with many wings, known to the people of Five Hills as Castle Cache.

The name did not seem to fit the building. Despite its unadorned appearance, Castle Cache was too large to hide in its surroundings. There was a more likely reason for the building's name. It served as the official residence of the imperial governor of Five Hills, but it also concealed a far more important purpose, one that was kept hidden from ordinary citizens.

Melgyera felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she rode under the first archway into the town. It had been a long time since her last visit to Five Hills. Like Zal, she had deliberately avoided this place. It held too many memories, most of them were painful. The town of Five Hills had taught the young Melgyera to be disappointed.

* * *

It was a grey autumn nearly thirty years ago. Melgyera had waited impatiently for news of the Seven Companions' return. She had begged to go with them, with Marl and Anden, but Zal had refused. Anden had sided with Zal, even though the two men's views on the purpose of the expedition had otherwise differed.

"It is not wise to risk our lives at the same time," Anden had repeated. There were not many trusted ones left. Even fewer were the members of the Brotherhood, only Anden, Zal, Taihan and Izaskar. Although Izaskar had already been counted for nothing. Damn that madman Izaskar! And damn that skulking Taihan!

Zal had not gone, and Melgyera had not been allowed either. Even though she had raged and begged, it had not helped.

"Too dangerous for you," Marl had said, hugging her before he left. Back then, Marl had known how to hug. Anden had embraced her too, though Melgyera had been too moody to say a proper goodbye. It was perhaps the thing she regretted most. But how could she have known then that she would never see her beloved Anden again? Anden, who had not loved Melgyera like a man loves a woman.

Melgyera had spent the entire autumn locked away in the stone rooms of Castle Cache. She had stayed awake at night, pacing the dark corridors, longing. During the day she had slept, heavy sleep that was not refreshing. In her dreams Anden had been killed a thousand times.

Then, one morning, a breathless servant came to Melgyera's room with the great news: the expedition had returned and was being escorted to the governor's reception room.

Melgyera had run there like a whirlwind. Instead of seven companions, there were only four. How desperately she had searched for Anden's face but to no avail. The compassionate look Marl had given Melgyera had said enough, too much. Anden had not returned with them.

After that, everything had been a dizzying pain. Melgyera had tried to pull herself together. She did not want to let her grief get the better of her, not in this situation. Others counted on her support, Zal needed her to defend his vision to the Blue Moon. Melgyera had stood by Zal when Trebomir Galna, Curtus Jerovann, Marl Gaidok and Ikarr Knobnose had told the Great Council of the Blue Moon what they had seen.

They had not been believed, or their message had not been considered important. Melgyera remembered the bored, angry and mocking expressions on the faces of the council members as Trebomir Galna tried to summarise the journey. Galna was not a brilliant speaker, not like Anden would have been. Perhaps Anden Telon would have made the Blue Moon listen, but Galna, Marl, Curtus or Knobnose had no success.

Neither did Zal, who had used all his authority to defend the Seven Companions' expedition. "You weren't there. Why should we listen to you, old fool?" some of the men behind the tables had snarled at Zal, others had sneered with cruel mockery.

Melgyera's eyes were black with sheer anger. Was this the kind of reception for which Anden had sacrificed his life?

Since that day, Melgyera had not felt at home in Castle Cache. Zal had continued the battle of wits with the Blue Moon for some time, but had finally given up in disappointment and bitterness. Melgyera could only imagine how it must have felt for Zal, a man whose entire life's work had been trashed.

But Zaltarim Fizol was not the type to abandon what he believed to be the right path. He would not cease his search while the faceless and powerful Fallen were still at large. Not even Blue Moon could deny Zal his search, for who else would they have turned to without him?

When Zal had left Five Hills, Melgyera had followed. The four remaining companions had scattered to different places. Curtus had stayed on in the service of the Blue Moon for a while, at Zal's request. Someone trustworthy needed to keep watch in Castle Cache, to be Zal's eyes and ears. Faithful Curtus! Now you too are dead.

Ikarr Knobnose disappeared somewhere, no one knew where. Perhaps the oddball had crawled back into the same dark lair from which he had once emerged. Melgyera did not really care, Ikarr had been anything but a pleasant person.

Trebomir Galna returned to his family in the north and some years later inherited vast lands from his father. Melgyera had paid Galna a visit, only to be told that he never intended to have anything to do with the Blue Moon again.

What about Marl? The big man did not abandon the path of adventure. On the contrary, he became one of the most famous heroes of the era. Marl Gaidok and the band of mercenaries he led were always ready to plunge into danger. No challenge was too great for Marl. Stories of Marl and his comrades' exploits spread throughout the Empire. Marl was the hero that every little boy in Andiol wanted to be when he grew up, and the one that young maidens had romantic dreams about.

Melgyera had fantasies of Marl, too, desperately needing someone to fill the hole in her heart left by Anden's death. She had even managed to get into bed with him a few times during the years when Zal and Marl's paths had crossed.

Marl had been handsome and Melgyera beautiful, and they had enjoyed each other's company. How young had they been then? Certainly no more than thirty. That was before Marl had met Rheena and settled down at Silver Castle. He probably would have settled down for good, had not one tragic night destroyed everything he loved.

Melgyera shook Marl from her thoughts. It was useless to mourn the past. Filling her head with memories would not bring them back. Not Marl's wife and children, not Anden, not Melgyera's now faded beauty. Only the present moment mattered, so she had to focus on that and help Zal on his journey. As Melgyera had done for dozens of years.

The encounter with the Blue Moon would be difficult. Lugas Bahrall had been kind to Zal along the way, but Bahrall was not as important as those waiting in Castle Cache.

In the end, Zal had to fight the battle alone. The members of the Great Council would not listen to Ragart, Melgyera or Marl; Zaltarim Fizol alone meant something to them, but not much. Or so they would argue. In fact, Zal meant a great deal, more than the Blue Moon would ever admit. Yet they would not be ashamed to belittle Zal, Melgyera was sure of that.

Still, things could go in Zal's favour. After all, Zal had a few trump cards in his deck, including Plinkinenkak Tikienkuu. Melgyera glanced to her side and saw a tiny woman on Ragart's horse. The dwarf's face was swollen and bruised, but Melgyera felt no remorse.

Plinkinenkak deserved a harsher beating for the insults she had hurled at Melgyera in Princess's cargo hold. Where had that worthless skunk managed to fish out that information about her past? Little Girl had thrown Melgyera's darkest secret in her face, spitting out bitter taunts and reminding Melgyera of what she had been before Zal's amnesty.

Little Girl's horrible giggles still ring in Melgyera's ears. She had let her open palm do the talking. Not because the dwarf had lied, but because she had spoken the truth.

"Whore, whore, whore!" the little Southlander had shouted. It was true - in her youth, Melgyera had been a whore, the most beautiful and saddest whore in the city of Nao-Kartheon.

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