Sources of Belief

Prologue

Observe the sun setting behind New Caen, the largest city in Sym, glinting off the waters of the Ani’yun. With a population of over fifty thousand humans, twenty thousand elves, sixteen thousand dwarves, ten thousand orcs, two thousand trolls, several hundred werewolves and at least two and a half thousand who would give their species as ‘other’ if they ever did a survey, it is also Sym’s largest multiethnic city.

Let the eye of the observer rest for a moment on the wonderful towers of the New Caen administration building in the Higher City. Survey the monument of peace, five huge marble statues in the very heart of the city: a human, an elf, an orc, a dwarf and a troll, striking noble attitudes.

Now look toward the slummier areas, the ones that look so much like a busy anthill, and smell like a dung heap on a hot day. This area houses most of New Caen’s population. Named after the human capital Caen, destroyed in the Fourth Elf War, the city was built several years after the war’s end, in an effort to create a metropolis where elf and troll would feel at home. And, by and large, the effort succeeded. All new arrivals to Sym went to New Caen to make their fortune. Mostly, however, they joined the city’s poor. In fact, the city itself was a major point for immigration. There were several portal gates in the city center, not far from the administrative building, and just in front of the Protector Fort. As the mountains around Sym are high and inhospitable, many people choose this easier way of travel.

The city, positioned on a large knoll, is divided into five areas: the Higher City, the Lower City, the Old City, the New City and the Pits.

Guilds split power between themselves. Among the most influential are the Assassins’ Guild, the Thieves’ Guild (both official ever since the Organized Crime Act, year 506 after the War), the Guild of Metalworkers and the Freelancers’ Guild. These have had always to compete with the city’s nobility, of all species and races, and the Caen City Watch. The Organized Crime Act needs to be mentioned separately. It does more to keep law and order than the Caen City Watch and the City Administration put together. Although it does officially legalize theft and assassination it also regulates crimes. Unlicensed theft is the responsibility of the Thieves’ Guild and is punishable by death and a tax is charged on every theft. It is also possible to insure your house for a reasonable yearly fee.

Now let the eye of the beholder zoom out, until it encompasses the city. There are a few individuals, five of them, who are of particular interest to this story. Let the eye of the beholder focus… focus…

            See: a mix-breed pacing the streets of the Hive. He is short and looks as if he is always on the verge of action. A long tail, his heritage from his father, who was of a rare species indeed, wags slowly from side to side, whipping around and around his legs. He is wearing a rough, baggy suit under which he conceals a long knife, essential in the Pits’ slums. He is humming merrily as he walks. He stops, brushing his tangled light-brown hair from his golden-yellow eyes, and continues on

            See: a girl, no more than twenty, dressed in the attire of a member of the Artists’ Guild, an easy way to make your way to high society, is talking with a wizard dwarf, sitting across the table from her in one of the many rooms of the Hall of Art… Although it is not readily apparent, she is also a mix-breed, and similar to the one currently walking the Pits. She is taller, but has the same yellow eyes and brown hair, and if you look really closely you can just detect the edge of her robe twitching, as if it ршв a tail.

            See: just a little way away, a human painter is painting the façade of the Hall of Art with sure deft strokes of his brush. He is wearing a suit and cloak befitting of the higher class. His dark hair is cropped short, and his brown eyes dart back and forth quickly as he paints.

            See: a female elf, face obscured by a hood, pacing the streets of the Old City with the obvious demeanor of an outlander. She is wearing a bright blue cloak of a strange shimmering material, which makes her stand out like a beacon. In her hand, she holds a staff, seemingly nothing more than a gnarled dead tree, fairly straight, but not exactly perfect.

            See: a heavily built man of around twenty-five, his hair matte black, asleep in an uncomfortable position on a couch which is obviously too small for him. One of his legs is draped over the couch’s armrest and the other hangs over onto the floor. His neck is bent at such an angle that his chin is forced into his chest. A white sheet is draped over his torso and lower body, his chest uncovered. His hands are both draped over the couch’s armrest, giving him an air of vulnerability. Two similar curved blades lie on the floor a few feet away, one of them a conventional sword, the other with a handle perpendicular to the direction of the blade, in such a way that it would lie along the forearm when held. There is a strange sign tattooed onto the right half of his chest. He is probably the only one who has an inkling of what is going to happen in a few moments.

Chapter I

            Lognaross Kim, known to his friends as ‘Log’, was walking home from another day of work, his tail twitching behind him. He had discovered very early in his life that a charming smile and a prehensile tail opened great opportunities for the pickpocket. These last few weeks were especially plentiful. There was a huge influx of clueless outlanders, who spent most of their time staring up and all around, than at their purses.

His pockets were overflowing with money, and but he wasn’t content. Today’s catch was going to be enough for a week at least even considering the Thieves’ Guild’s tax, and if he and his sister Annah saved, they could put more money into buying a room up in the New City. Truth to say, he was getting bored of this kind of life. Days spent doing nothing were getting monotonous. In the fresh spring air, his body itself was begging for a change down to the pulsing of his veins and the beating of his heart.

            Those were his thoughts as he turned into the familiar neighborhood that they had lived in for so long. Then, he heard the explosion. Turning, he spotted a huge fireball rising into the air. At least a kilometer away it sounded muffled, but nevertheless gave an impression of enormous power.

            Log stopped, his curiosity aroused. Few sights are surprising in New Caen, mixing pot as it is, but huge explosions are one of them. He began towards it, trying to place it. About, a kilometer away, that would be the Lower City, somewhere around… Suddenly he burst into a run. The Hall of Art! His sister was in there.

            Annah Kim, nominally member of the Art Guild, although she worked as a clerk, was deep in conversation with Tarbush, a dwarf wizard, who was telling her about his experiences in the forests of Holb’Chas-Gungeta, wherever that was, when she heard the sound of a scuffle at the Hall’s entrance. She rose to open the door and see what was going on and collided with a huge man in heavy plated armor, one of the Hall’s guards. That was what saved her.

            “Ged Kai-Lin-Sayibsah!” Someone yelled outside. Annah had time to recognize the speech as Kai-Voc, the language of the werewolves, which was heard more and more often on the streets of New Caen, and then everything went a blinding white. A wave of intense heat hit her, most of it breaking over the armored man and then they were both lifted off their feet and into a wall. Then everything went black.

            Jave Reline was standing outside the Hall of Art, painting a commission for the leader, of the Weavers’ Guild. His hand moved firmly, coloring in the huge stone slabs used to pave the area in front of the Hall. People were crowding around and getting in the way, but he persevered, knowing that he would probably have to stop and continue at another time.

            He was about to pack his brushes and leave when two men caught his eye. They were wearing a minimalistic set of clothing: a shirt that was no more than two pieces of cloth pinned together at the shoulders and wide pants that were secured at the waist by a thin string. If someone in the crowd snagged it, the pants would come right off. Then the man caught his gaze, and Jave decided that if someone in the crowd did snag the string, they would be carrying their teeth away in a bag. Those were a killer’s eyes: bright green and piercing. Around their abdomens, just below the ribcage, the men wore belts, whose sole purpose was apparently to carry the men’s blades. Each had a pair, both of the same shape, but one of them with a handle on the side, so as to enable it to be held along the forearm.

            Jave had seen those kind of weapons before: they were Sy-blades, carried by the werewolves. That explained the clothing: made so that it wouldn’t entangle a wolf. One of the men was carrying a burlap sac in his hand. It seemed to contain something bulky and heavy, as the man’s muscles bulged just hoisting it aloft. Jave watched as the werewolves made their way to the entrance of the Hall. He saw clearly as the leading man, the one without a bag, grabbed one of the guards by the collar and punched him hard across the face, knocking the man down instantly. Then he was reaching for the next guard, who had already raised his weapon. Jave watched in horrified fascination as the werewolf’s hands fastened around the man’s Adam’s apple and twisted. The guard collapsed, a puppet with its strings cut.

            Then the pair of werewolves was inside the Hall. Jave stood, dumbfounded.

            And then there was a boom that caused eardrums to pop, and the Hall’s stained glass windows, which Jave had so lovingly painted only this morning, exploded outwards, showering glass over the crowd. A pillar buckled and a section of the entrance collapsed in a shower of dust. And then Jave was hurrying forward to help the survivors.

            Amber Sylvana, elf, recently arrived by portal, was looking around. Head twisting as if her neck was a turntable, she had unwittingly wandered into New Caen’s Old City, a mistake many arrivals make. Although she did have an official one week theft immunity as a visitor to the city, no one in the Old City really cared. The only reason she hadn’t been attacked, robbed and left in the gutter was the strange staff she carried. Although it didn’t look like anything special, thugs gave it nervous glances. Elves were well known for their skill at magic.

            The thugs needn’t have worried. Although possessed of potent magic, Amber would have been hard-pressed to summon up a magical candle-flame. The worst she could have done was to create an illusion to scare the thugs away, which, in all probability, wouldn’t work. Her true skills lay in healing.

            Amber stopped to look at a building built nearly four hundred years earlier, just after the war. It was lined with gargoyles, some of which occasionally moved, with the sound of stone scraping stone and heavy clunking. The gargoyles were another site unique to New Caen. It was said they were a type of rock golem, animated by the humans during the War. Like all things when left to their own devices, magic evolves. The gargoyles became shy, relatively harmless creatures that sought the protection of rooftops and came down in the night to feed on refuse.

The explosion caught Amber Sylvana as she was looking up to admire some of New Caen’s finer architecture. The sight of the expanding fireball was absolutely new to her, but she knew immediately that help was needed.

            Tightening her grip on the staff she ran in the direction of the explosion.

            Lupine Reklawyks awoke with a start to the sound of the enormous boom and the tinkle of glass. The windows of his room had fallen in.

            “They’ve done it, haven’t they?” He muttered and was on his feet. Glancing out the broken window he could see the fireball expanding and rising into the sky several blocks away. “They’ve done it.” He added more quietly. Then he was racing for the door. Halfway, he realized he was naked and stopped to drape a werewolf shirt and pants over himself. Then, taking up his Sy-blades he strapped them around his chest and was off, taking the stairs many at a time with the sure grace of his kind.

            Below, in the street, people were running in all directions. A man was yelling something incomprehensible. Lupine grabbed him by the shoulders and gave the man a shake. “Where did it happen?”

            The man stared at him with the terrified expression of a cornered rabbit. Werewolves tended to have that effect on people. Lupine shook the unfortunate man again. “Where?”

            “H-Hall of Art.” The man stuttered. Lupine let go of his shoulders and the man slipped back into the crowd, relieved. Lupine moved on. They had done it, by the light of Selene. Dodging through the crowd, elbowing where needed he made his way to the site of the explosion. Although panic stricken, the majority was wise enough to move out of his way. Werewolves projected something that seemed to speak directly to the human subconscious, which still vividly remembered when humans cowered in caves and gibbered at the sound of the howl.

            When he arrived at the Hall, a mob was already gathered there. His eyes searching quickly through the crowd, he spotted the werewolf he was looking for: Arbo Ecule. He approached quickly, the crowd parting in front of him.

            “Arbo, ghin uye daht, uye? (Arbo, they’ve done it, haven’t they?)” He spoke quietly and gutturally.

            “Ve, Kai-Rus ex Versi. Oko Kai uye merat, lunaba. Gam eh Flege Kenare. (Yes, Versi’s supporters. Four werewolves were killed, at least. Alf Kenare among them.)” Arbo answered.

            “Uh Endi-Kai? (And non-werewolves?)”

            “Kun lin. Lunaba drike. Anahin sofe achat Endi-Kai. (I don’t know. At least twelve. We have to warn the non-werewolves.)”

            “Anahin tuye ex Caen jetat, tuye? (We’re going to get thrown out of Caen, aren’t we?)”

            Arbo sighed instead of answering.

            Lupine walked to the very edge of the crowd. There were several people working to pull survivors from under the rubble. Lupine skirted the huge pile of rock trying to assess the damage.

            Lognar ran as he had never run before. When he reached the Hall of Art he was panting and was bruised where he had fallen onto the cobbles. Pushing through the crowd he made his way to the pile of rubble that used to be the façade of the Hall. By the time he arrived, a pair of trolls, huge cavern-dwelling creatures were at work clearing the rubble. Volunteers scurried between and around them. To the side he saw a little spot where the survivors -and the bodies- were being deposited. He sped there, trying to identify his sister. There was an elf tending to the wounded. Log rushed towards her, grabbing her by the sleeve of her robe.

            “Where’s my sister? Have you seen her? She looks a lot like me!” The elf absorbed his onslaught calmly, it seemed he was not the first.

            “Calm yourself. I do not know where your sister is.” She spoke with a strange accent that marked her as an outlander. “Maybe she is still under the rubble.” But the elf’s eyes strayed dangerously towards the corpses, covered by blankets. Log was there almost immediately, uncovering the faces, peering intently, his eyes playing tricks on him, attempting to place Annah’s face on every body. His sister wasn’t among the dead. Log’s eyes traveled inevitably upwards to the trolls. His brain still numb and his body working on impulse, he ran to join the rescue teams.

            The Hall itself hadn’t collapsed, although rubble from the entryway had blocked some of the entryways. The trolls were now removing the larger pieces of debris to clear the way. Lognar almost collided with an orc and a human carrying the body of a huge man in plate armor. The latter might have survived, but for a shard of marble that had pierced his back and nearly broke his breastplate on the way. Had Log known how close that shard came to killing his sister he would have praised the gods that it had found its mark somewhere else.

            And then he saw her, draped unconscious over the shoulder of a man, his face and suit smeared with blood and dust.

            “Annah!” Log lunged, nearly bowling the man over. “She’s my sister!”

            “Calm down and help me.” Together, they managed to carry Log’s sister out of the Hall and lay her down in a clear corner. Her breathing was shallow, but her pulse strong. She had a head wound that had bled profusely.

            The elf healer hurried over.

            “I will need some water.” And Log was sent scurrying again. He was back shortly with a bucket of water he had managed to borrow by using some gentle persuasion (“My sister’s dying! Now give me the damn water!”), his tail snaking behind him. The elf had already begun to work, using magic to accelerate the body’s natural healing processes.

            “She probably has a concussion, but nothing that magic won’t heal. Just sit back for now.” The elf motioned him away. Log bit his lip, leaning back, his tail thrashing agitatedly from side to side. The man who had been carrying his sister was sitting next to him. Log extended his hand.

            “Thank you for getting my sister out of there.” The man shook his hand and nodded as an acknowledgement. Log relaxed for a moment. “By the way, what’s your name?”

            “I’m Jave Reline.” The man smiled. Through the smears of blood in his face it looked scary. “You?”

            “Lognar Kim. You can just call me Log.” The mix-breed sighed, bringing his knees up to his chest and leaning his chin in them. Who had blown up the Hall of Art? The Hall of Art for gods’ sake! Why?

            “What happened here, anyway? Who did this.” He turned back to Jave. The other sighed.

“Werewolves. Two. Carried a bag with them. My guess is it was filled with some explosive substance from the dwarf alchemists.” He looked back at the rubble. “Nothing else could have done that.”

“But why? I mean, werewolves? They have always been the quietest of all the races in the city. Work, don’t do anyone any harm, unless someone interferes with their affairs…” Log trailed off into silence. “Why?”

            Jave simply shrugged, but another voice, low and clearly articulated, answered instead.

            “This is the beginning Kai-Clan-Garon… war of the clans.” Jave looked up in surprise and Log spun around and stared upwards from where he was sitting. A tall heavily built man, was standing over him. Log rose, kindling a new anger. The man was wearing the attire of the werewolves, carried Sy-blades and spoke Kai-Voc, so Log made the obvious connection.

            “So what…” He stood up, stretching to the full of his under-average height, and only reaching the werewolf’s Adam’s apple. He continued unfazed. “… does my sister have to do with the clans?”

            “Nothing.” The werewolf gave him a piercing look that seemed to sear the brain of all coherent thoughts, but Log, at the moment, wasn’t thinking coherently. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

            “Then could you just give me a list of wrong places to be?” Log said nastily. The werewolf suddenly looked sad.

            “My best is advice to you is to run as far as you can. Leave the city, go to Rym, Adair, Kistag, the dwarves, the orcs, wherever. Just leave.” The werewolf began to turn away. Log stopped him.

            “But why? What happened?” The werewolf offered no answer. Log tugged at the man’s shoulder. “Tell me.”

            The werewolf sighed. “It is… politics.” He practically spat the word. “And it is complicated.” This last phrase sounded dismissive. Log, however wasn’t finished yet.

            “Wait! You haven’t told me anything.”

            “There is no time.” The werewolf turned around and began walking away. Log chased after him.

            “I’ve got plenty of time, now tell me.” He insisted.

            “I have no time, I must go.”

            “Where?”

            “It is none of your business.” The werewolf continued walking, oblivious. His voice had sounded quite final.

Log stopped. “Your people and their damn secrets.” He said half to himself, but apparently the werewolf heard him and froze. He turned as if mounted on a turntable. Log just had time to think ‘oops’ and then the werewolf was facing him. His expression however showed no anger.

“You are brave to say that.” He stated simply. “Do not let your tongue get carried away or you may end up dead in the gutter.” He paused, a faint smile appearing on his lips. “I will tell you what you want know. Follow me, you and your friend,” He gestured at Jave, “and your sister, if she is fit to move now.”

Log, remembering suddenly, glanced back at Annah, his tail moving slowly and concernedly. Her head was bound with bandages and the elf had placed a rolled-up blanket under her head. Log looked questioningly at the healer. Sensing his unspoken question, she told him.

“She’s fine, asleep now and it would be best if we moved her to somewhere warmer.”

Log nodded then leaned down and picked up his sister with a grunt of effort. “Heavier than she used to be. Of course, last time I picked her up like this was when she was six.” He looked up at Lupine. “Where to now, great leader?”

The werewolf began to walk wordlessly. Already he was beginning to doubt his decision, but the Endi-Kai had to know, didn’t they? He looked back quickly over his shoulder and saw the little party walking behind him. The elf healer who had been listening quietly was also tagging along. Might as well start by telling them and then he would really have to go.

As he continued walking, he sighed dwelling on the journey ahead of him. It would do well to see the Old Country. He suddenly felt a nostalgic tug that hadn’t been there before. Kai-Lin-Sayibsah… The Sources of Belief… The land had some sort of aura around it. For a breath of that magical air! The last time he had been there he felt reborn... but the last time he had been there was because his father was dying. He closed his eyes against the memory: it was too painful.

His father had always been the most important person in his life: his teacher, friend and provider. He could have still lived, but for a quirk of fate: he had been hunting alone and ran into a female Hogtaw with her young. The creature immediately went on the defensive, and it had just been his luck that he startled a bird nesting in the grass and provoked the Hogtaw into attacking. It bit him on the calf, and its poison immediately began work on his muscle tissue. He killed it, of course, then hobbled to the nearest werewolf village for help. Lucklily there was a Hezi-Kai there and, although it was too late to save his father, the shaman had kept him alive until Lupine arrived.

The door of the tenement building he was staying was still open as he had left it. Small wonder, as the only other tenant was an old lady who lived on the third floor and rarely came out. Leading the small party, he mounted the stairs, Log straining under the weight of his sister. The door to Lupine’s apartment was also ajar. It didn’t matter. There was nothing in his apartment worth stealing: it was absolutely bare, except for the single couch in the center and a mat lying in a corner under the window. Shattered pieces of glass from the windows still littered the floor. The elf healer stopped in the doorway, but Lupine motioned her in.

“Come in, make yourself at home.” He told them. Turning to Log, he added. “You’d better set your sister down on the couch. The rest of us will have to make do on the floor. Use the mat if you want, although it does smell a bit of wolf.”

Log squatted down immediately at the foot of the couch and leaned back. The atmosphere was charged pleasantly with the possibility of change. Jave inspected the mat for a second, thought better of it and sat down next to the mix-breed. The elf joined them, sitting cross-legged. Lupine closed and bolted the door of the apartment and came to rest across from them, resting on his knees.

“Let’s get the introductions over with. For those who don’t know, my name is Lupine Reklawyks. This is Lognar Kim. Who are you?” He asked, looking at Jave.

“Name’s Jave Reline. I’m a painter.”

Lupine’s solemn gaze traveled to the elven healer.

“I’m Amber. I’m a Priestess of the Moon. That’s where I draw my healing powers from.”

“From the moon?” Lupine’s voice sounded almost reverential. “Then we are similar in that way.” The fingers of the werewolf’s left almost subconsciously formed a C-shape and his other hand made a vertical circle around it. Finally his gaze slid back to Log.

“And your sister?”

“Annah.” The thief answered immediately.

“Not a very common name in Sym.” Lupine commented.

“No, not at all.” Log glanced at the sleeping form of his sister. “It’s the name Dad gave her.” He looked back, his voice suddenly growing careful, and his tail beginning to trash from side to side. “He wasn’t from around here.”

“I see.” Lupine told him absently. It was the wrong thing to say.

Log sneered at him. “Think you’re being original, do you, wolf-boy? Think you’re being so clever? Thinking ‘Oh there’s ole Log, why don’t I just go and make fun of his tail.’”

Lupine gave him an intense stare. “Temper. I did not intend to insult your parents, fiend-boy.”

Log rose, his face coloring and his tail thrashing. For a second he stood there, raging, then the steam seemed to go out of him and he sighed, sitting back down. “How did you know about Dad?”

“I have seen beings similar to you. Tails are common among them, although some possess other traits: claws, scales, fangs, horns…” Lupine extended his hand to Log. “I don’t hold it against you, friend.”

Log offered his own hand and they shook. Suddenly he was aware of the dumbfounded stares of Amber and Jave. He turned to face them.

            “You want to know what we were talking about a second ago?” Seeing the confirmation in their eyes, he continued. “Look, basically… know what… just…” Log waved a hand in the air as if summoning the right words to him. “To put it bluntly, Dad, my Dad… and Annah’s Dad… was a… simply… a… you know of the ‘Naasi persuasion.” If anything, the expression of confusion on the faces of his new friends deepened. He sighed.

            Lupine stepped in for him. “He wants to say that his father was a fiend.”

            Log nodded glumly. “Yeah, what he said, although Dad preferred Sihe-Seleni. That makes me and Annah fiendlings.”

            Jave shrugged indifferently. “Got no problem with that.”

            Amber, however, seemed to draw herself up and shift slightly farther away from Log. The thief, however didn’t notice.

            “Anyway enough talking about me. We came here to talk about the Kai-Clan… Something, the war, and about the bomb and why we should get out of the city.” He faced Lupine. “Go on, wolf-boy, I’m all ears.”

            “As you say fiend-boy. Let me begin…” Lupine took a deep breath and launched into his narrative…