Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 50 - UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS

  Hal squinted against the late afternoon sun as he observed Shaleport from his perch on the hill. Little had changed since his last visit to the city nearly five years prior, though to be fair, Shaleport had remained largely the same since the survivors of the Cataclysm realized that this previously landlocked area had become beachfront property. Overnight, they had gone to work constructing the docks, and now, eight hundred and eighty-four years and two epochs later, it served as one of the busiest ports in all of Verden. The only remaining vestige of what the area used to be in those ages long past was the venerable tower that stood tall in the center of the city, staring down over centuries of change and progress. It had at one time served as the home of an ancient sorcerer whose name Hal never cared to remember. All those old users of the arcane arts were just variations of the same; knowledge-hoarding, morals-lacking, secrets-of-the-universe-bending sociopaths who for all their expertise and self-assurance had proved wholly unprepared for the disasters that their pursuit of power wrought upon the face of Eda. It was a shame, Hal often thought when his mind landed on such subjects, that modern practitioners seemed bent on pursuing the same mistakes as their forefathers.

  Not that he was a much better person of course; many had accused him of all those same awful descriptors. Yet the most wanted criminal in Verden took heart in the deep-seated belief that he was much more aware of his precarious place in history than those who came before him. He did not delude himself with notions of immortality for himself or his organization. Nothing could ever truly live forever; he was and always would be nothing more than a moment in time; but, he had decided long ago that it was his duty to make certain that his moment was much more important than anyone else sharing the same time.

What would that old sorcerer think if he could see the fat, lazy Governor who took up residence in his tower now? Hal mused with some mirth, How far had this place fallen that it was now run by a man who did not possess a supernatural power of any form?

The reticence the governor had shown in choosing between surrendering his city and refusing the terms worried Hal. It did not strike him as odd that such a cowardly, spineless man would waffle when faced with a no-win binary choice, but he had not expected the deftness with which the governor had avoided provoking a siege by the resistance. He delayed as if he expected the reinforcements to come to his defense. Shoring the city against the resistance's forces did not make any logical sense as a strategy for they should not be able to arrive for over a week at the earliest, if not longer. Certainly, Governor Bradley knew the dukes would not wait that much longer to begin their advances. He sighed, irritated by the lack of progress; inaction was the last sanctuary of cowards he supposed.

  "You aren't wandering too far now, are you?" Ezrael's ever-chipper voice called out from inside the tent that Hal squatted in front of. The thin leather flaps flew open as his sitter strolled out of the shaded interior to stand behind him.

  "I have not been allowed to leave your side for the last two weeks, why would today be any different?" Hal grumbled, irritated by the interruption of his thoughts.

"What's that you are drawing?" Ezrael asked unperturbed as ever by Hal's churlish demeanor. He leaned down to peer over his charge's shoulder to get a better glimpse of the patch of dirt in front of Hal.

Hal frowned at the ground, unaware that he had been absent-mindedly tracing a poor, stick-figure recreation of a woman. He wiped his hand across the image before Ezrael could fully see what it had been. It was easier that way; the young man would have pestered him with endless questions over his meaningless doodle.

  "That was rather rude of you," Ezrael frowned in annoyance at his inability to inspect the drawing.

  Hal snorted, "Do you expect anything else from me?"  He stood, ignoring the creaking of his knees that had not plagued him in years past, and brushed his hands together, shaking free the loose dust that had gathered on his fingers.