The Wise Woman

Iskrin disembarked the ferry and stepped onto the steps leading up to the baths. Ezri was soaking in her favourite corner, as he had hoped she would be. The old woman was a pile of wrinkled, naked flesh these days, and he couldn't quite reconcile her appearance now with the strong, vibrant leader of the Gurrousard Seekers he had known in his middle age - and her youth.

"Well, if it isn't his high and mightiness the First Estril," she drawled in a deep and mocking tone when she saw him appear in her peripheral vision.

"Ezri," he acknowledged, well-used to her jibes by now.

"What brings your sorry carcass to disturb the peace and tranquility of an old woman's well-deserved rest?"

"Knock it off, Ezri," Iskrin said, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bath near her. "I seek your advice, as you have already guessed."

She cackled a sort of high, reedy, slightly mocking laugh that came from the throat, not the belly. "Do you now?" she asked. "And what knowledge could the master spy need that only I, an old woman he once mistreated, can give him?"

"I didn't mistreat you, Ezri," he said, unable to stop himself protesting.

"Naaah, you abandoned me." There was anger in her voice. A resentment that still lingered after all these years.

"The High King summoned me to his service, Ezri. I could not refuse."

"Ven-Vyzran refused." She retorted.

"Ven-Vyzran is a better man than I," Iskrin replied softly. "Perhaps I was too fond of my own reputation and power and the High King's offer was just the thing to entice me away. Or perhaps I felt a sense of duty to the people that treasure hunting with the Seekers just couldn't fulfil..." he trailed off, uncertain these days which of the two was true.

"It was the former," Ezri said flatly. "Trust me."

"Yes. I suppose so."

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in memories of Iskrin's elevation to AmranKai and, eventually, to First Estril.

Ezri broke it: "Well, that was a long time ago," she said thoughtfully, her tone softening. "I've lived twice over in the lap of luxury since then. I s'pose I did alright."

Iskrin knew better than to react to this, so he let the comment hang in the air, waiting for her to continue her thought.

"Alright," she said at length. "What do you need?"

Iskrin smiled. Ezri might be acerbic, but she had honour and a deep fondness for him that he had made use of on more than one occasion. It was a fondness he reciprocated, and he had worked in the background to ease her passage from wanted rogue to wealthy citizen many times, though he had been careful not to let her know. He looked at her now, soaking her soft body in the soothing waters of the falls as they passed into the bay. She had earned the right to this, he felt. To let go and simply enjoy her life. Yet she was knowledgeable and she heard much in these baths that even his AmranKai could not hear elsewhere. And this was an occasion where her counsel was the only counsel he would be willing to take. Eventually he spoke: "Do you remember the sword?"

The old woman raised a gray eyebrow and a sneer crossed her lips. "The sword that led to the High King offering you a place in his AmranKai. The Sword of fucking Askamran?" She asked, spitting the spirit blade's name.

"Aye, that one."

"I remember it," Ezri said, uneasiness entering her voice. "I remember what it did to you too. The rage; the violence; the selfishness. You were well rid of it, Iskrin. It was bringing out all your darker qualities. The ones you like to hide so that you can pretend you're some kind of nobleman, or whatever it is you think you are."

He nodded, accepting her analysis and critique, and sharing her memory of how his behaviour had changed the last time he had wielded the blade.

He recalled that the Gurrousard Seekers - the treasure hunters with whom he had run for many moons - had taken it from a powerful mage high in the mountains that rise like a tidal wave from the Gethspar Plains. The mage had stolen it from a Mire Witch, who had herself taken it from a Blessed Knight of the Vale. Where it had come from before that, or what Askamran was, or who the soul trapped within the blade might be, none knew.

For a time, Iskrin had wielded Ke'ntor as the Seekers undertook ever more dangerous quests for ever more valuable prizes. The band's intention had always been to give the sword to the High King eventually, to curry favour with him, but the longer Iskrin possessed it, the harder it had been for him to give up. Only the intervention of Ven-Vyzran sitting on top of him while Ezri pried the hilt from his fingers had broken the spell the sword had cast over him. And so they had locked it in a box, travelled to the Great Fortress and handed it over. After that, running with the Seekers had just felt sort of boring to him, and so when the High King had asked, Iskrin had answered and joined the AmranKai.

Now he wondered whether, deep in the back of his mind, he'd been playing the long game to get his hands back on the Sword of Askamran. He sighed and then slowly reached beneath his cloak, drawing the hilt of Ke'ntor and laying it in his lap.

"Fuck me," Ezri whispered. "You stupid fucking elf."

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "But it is the only weapon powerful enough to give me the edge. You must have seen the battle against the sun god, and I'm sure you heard the whispers about the green asteroid that fell. Ansa`fel is attracting powerful beings, Ezri. I am not a wizard. I wield magical tools granted me by the High King. This is just another of them."

"Just another of them?" she asked, incredulity in her voice. "It POSSESSES you!" She turned away from him as she said this, hiding the tears that had come unbidden to her eyes, unwilling for him to see them or how she still cared. "It will take you, Iskrin," she said more softly, turning back and looking at her old friend. "Like last time. And I don't want that. You have darkness in you - god's know - but not like the sword draws from you. It's wicked and it will undo you. I want you to live so I can be mad at you until my dying day. Don't you dare get yourself killed because of that fucking sword."

He looked at her with honest, thoughtful eyes and shook his head. "I have no intention of succumbing to the sword," he said, hiding the uncertainty he felt inside. "But I need help with that endeavour. Ke'ntor's song is powerful and insidious. I need some sort of protection from it."

Ezri looked beyond the baths to the falls cascading down beyond the archway. She rummaged through her mind, bringing faces before her mind's eye and dismissing them, narrowing down her thoughts to a few mages that she felt might have what Iskrin needed. She had thought of and dismissed Ansa`fel's High Wizard a few times. Deciding each time he occurred to her that he wasn't quite right for this. Out loud she said: "That crystal fish will be no use, I think. He's powerful, I'll give him that. But his focus is elsewhere."

"Are you sure?" Iskrin asked. "His approach to magic has always struck me as very practical. Very applied."

She nodded, certain in her mind. Then, somewhat coyly, she offered: "There is another, though. Equally practical, but I think more in the direction of what you want."

Iskrin met her gaze and knew by her tone and her look of whom she spoke. "Oh gods," he sighed. "I was afraid you might be going to suggest her."

"Lady Silmariel." Ezri said in confirmation.

"Lady Silmariel," Iskrin agreed.

"She is a fancy one, yes. But talented. I've only seen her briefly myself - I watched your battle from the comfort of the High Walk - but the whispers in the street are that she's a force to be reckoned with. And I'm told her magic is... unusual. Perhaps something different might be just the thing to counter the swordsong?"

"She is different." Iskrin agreed.

"Of course, that means you don't trust her." Ezri said, a smile crossing her lips.

"No."

"Might be a good lesson for you there then." She folded her arms around her ample bosom with a grin.

"Fuck you." Iskrin said, returning the smile.

They sat in silence for a while after that, each contemplating their memories again. At length, Ezri spoke up. "Of course, you could also go to him," she said. Her voice was hushed, almost as though she didn't want to say out loud what she had said.

Iskrin snapped out of this thoughts. "No," he said firmly. "That old snake is never to be trusted again. We took it from him and he is not having it back. The sword is mine." He wasn't aware of the anger with which he suddenly spoke, but Ezri could hear it in his voice and it concerned her. She paused for a moment.

"Suit yourself," she said eventually, choosing not to raise it with him. "He was magnificent in his day, though."

"You're no judge, you were sleeping with him."

"Aye," she said, almost dreamily.

"No, it will have to be Lady Silm," Iskrin said, resignation in his voice as he stood and brushed down his cloak. "Thank you Ezri."

She smiled a dreamy smile and appeared to be lost in another memory, so he left her to it. She seemed to barely notice him take his leave. But she was watching. Once he had gone, she hauled herself out of the bath with some little effort, hating the feel of her weight on her old bones. "Bring me my clothes," she called to the sweet girl who was so good at scraping off calluses. "I need to pay a visit to an old friend."