Cowled Ones 1

You know that part of the morning when you’re vaguely aware that you’re awake, and that you could open your eyes and look around. But you know that if you do that, you’ll have to stay awake for hours, so you stay down for a little while, and hope you’ll fall asleep again, but you never do, and it’s a waste of time, but a rather nice one. Yeah that feeling. Well I’m having that right now. Except my neck hurts a bit, but there’s something soft under it, so I’m still perfectly happy.

“TAS, rise and shine dear! Someone at the door for you!”

That voice would be my mother. And Tas, that would be me. I open my eyes and look around. The day has officially started. Out of bed, you lazy bum. Wait… bed? I look at the fine cotton sheets. I don’t remember getting into… Oh Helm… I’m in for it.

Mother knocks and enters. “You fell asleep on your… books again. Honestly! Your back is going to be crooked as a Calishite.” I look out the window. The sun has hardly risen and she’s already dressed and, if I’m smelling correctly, breakfast is ready. How does she do that? I’ve lived with her for 25 years since my birth and I can hardly remember ever seeing her not ready to receive the Council of Six for tea and biscuits.

“I am sorry, mother” I yawn. Hand before mouth of course. A look around the room. Mirror with a basin, a bookcase, a writing table with a book on it. comfortable bed with the finest cotton. I inspect my book on the table. Still open. Even while dragging my rather limited frame to the bed, she made special care not to touch the book. I could explain her that it’s just a book ABOUT magic, and it’s not in any way magical anyway, but that’d just make her uncomfortable . “Who is it?”

“One of your... friends.” A colleague from work. I frown a bit. I’ve asked them not to visit me at home unless necessary. Not that I’m ashamed of them, but it upsets her. It has happened before, and while she doesn’t SAY it… hey, I AM her son.

“I’ll be right down.” I throw off the sheets and get out of bed. Tunic neatly in the basket for our one female servant to wash, quickly washing up, clothing, shaving, combing, and generally avoiding a lecture regarding personal hygiene. Not that I wouldn’t normally wash myself, but I really wish mother wouldn’t always make sure I have at least three bottles of perfume to choose from. Or that she’d accept the choice of ‘freshly washed son who doesn’t need perfume’ as my fragrant of choice. And I wish I could forego the jewellery.

I look in the mirror. Presentable. It’s not like I was going for anything more, but I do notice that ‘presentable’ is the correct word to use. I’m one meter fifty five, rather lean, but not the small mass of concentrated muscle some women seem to like. I’ve never been the one for physical exercise. My hair is black, just over my ears and with only the barest hint of a curl. My face can be generously described as cute, but nothing to turn heads. And it’s been said I look too serious. I quickly splash my face one last time and leave the room.

“Good morning, Lord Savin.” Our maid, Mina, greets me cheerfully as she waits to pick up the basket with my discarded clothes.

“Morning Mina.” I nod to her. “Is Istan awake yet?” Istan. My older brother, twenty-nine and the power behind the rising fortune of the Savin family. We’re a minor noble family, and rather young. Istan is also the oldest man in the house, and the face to the outside. He is the one responsible for all financial matters.

Of course, there is also the younger Savin. The reclusive and distant brother that is rarely seen at public gatherings at all. It is generally assumed he looks after his mother, as if she needs ‘looking after.’ That brother would be me.

Mina smiles and shakes her head. “No my Lord. He came home late yesterday.”

I nod. I still have memories of my brother sitting hunched over the table late at night while I was still a boy, so I can’t accuse him of laziness. But I do wish he’s wake up before noon sometimes. Mostly because I’m usually not at home when he wakes up, and he’s gone when I return, so we don’t see each other very often.

I go downstairs. Mother has already set the table for the two of us and is putting a plate for the guest despite his pleas not to bother. Melanos only met my mother a few times. She doesn’t like him much, but my mother would put on an extra plate and bread if Mask himself knocked at our door, as long as he wiped his feet. Melanos is polite enough to her, but she heard the rumours, and I couldn’t actually deny them with a straight face. He may be the son of a tailor, but most nobles and commoners have heard enough of him to forbid their daughters to speak to him. And a good many of them know enough to keep their sons away as well. He’s a lush, all right, but I know him to be an honest one. I see my mother looking warily at him. She wants grandchildren. She doesn’t need to worry. Melanos perpetual relaxed attitude and look, his short black curls messy as if he was still fresh from bed, might have an effect on some people, but I hardly notice them anymore. Then again, it’s not like I’ve paid much attention to possible suitors of any kind. There are more important things.

I greet my mother and him and he nods, his face quite serious. That’s not reassuring. In normal circumstances Melanos has a smile on his face regardless of who is looking at, as if he’s preparing to engage in flirting with them.

“Lord Savin” he bows his head slightly. He knows that I don’t like things from my two lives disturbing each other, so the title is done to avoid offending my mother. She knows I consider him my friend, and that any titles go out of the window the moment we walk out of the door, but she does seem to like to hear the title.

“Melanos. What brings you here this morning?” I see a short twinkle of mirth in his half-closed eyes; Yes, yes. I know, I always get straight to business. No need for any divination spells for that. It dies quickly though.

“There is an emergency, my Lord. Your presence is needed.” Or in other words ‘It’s serious, but I don’t want to get it in your home.’ The expected answer.

“I’ll get ready. Back in a moment.” I turn and quickly turn to walk back to my room. I was going to do this today whatever happened, but normally I would have time for breakfast, and a little bit of study. Not now it seems. I grab a leather bag. The contents was prepared yesterday night, just before my evening toilet. You never know when you need it. I rush downstairs where my mother is frowning.

“Tas Savin! You will not leave this house until I have given you something to eat.” Mother stands in front of the front door. In her hands she has a piece of bread, cut in two and smeared with cheese imported from Tethyr. Resistance is futile. And besides, I am pretty hungry. I’ll need all the energy I can get.

“Yes mother.” Melanos has seen me being chided before. No need for any more pretending. I darted a quick look. Melanos wasn’t smiling. The last time this happened he had an ear to ear grin the whole day. Now I’m getting worried.

“And… you really don’t have to… change somewhere else. What you’re doing is… is perfectly legal. And let the neighbours think what they want.” She always says that.

“I know, mother. But regulations ask for a certain anonymity.” And I always reply that. Two little white lies every day.

I HATE little white lies.

I say my goodbyes and we leave. Melanos names a nearby place and I nod, munching slowly on the bread. I can see he is agitated and wants to say the news as quickly as possible, but he knows he’ll have to wait until we are dressed. As I pass some other noble I have seen once or twice his eyes grow wide and I can feel his stare in my back. Oh dear, rumour is going around that the young Savin was seen walking with Melanos. Of course, I see him every day, but it’s pretty rare people know that. Regardless, my mother will hear the rumour and fret about it. For all I care people may think I regularly have sex with half-orc women and dwarven men, but it stings that she is harmed because of this. Can’t be helped I guess.

We arrive at the place. A small shop at the edge of the temple district. The shopkeeper recognises us. It’s not the first time we come here. He lets us enter the back of the shop. The room isn’t the least bit suspicious. The only noticeable thing is the mirror. I take my leather bag as Melanos takes his own backpack. We both take out our uniform. I always take a moment to look at it. I despise it. And really, that’s the reason why I have to wear it. There’s a short rustling of cloth as we don the nearly identical robes, then take the time to take some spell components and put it where we can find them. I look in the mirror. The cowl covers my eyes and hair completely for the outside viewer, and my lower face is only partly visible. Just another cowled enforcer. I turn to Melanos. To someone who doesn’t know the two of us, he and I are almost indistinguishable now, except I’m a head shorter than him.

“So, what is it?” I ask.

I can’t see his eyes, but his mouth shows an unusually grim expression.

“Relandis is dead.”