Chapter One
The griffon flew low over the snowy fields, the land stretched out beneath them covered in powder white like a coat of paint atop the trees that had months ago been stripped of their leaves for the winter. In just a few short months, the snow would pass and the flora would explode into blooms of color and life, but now, still in the mid of winter, the ice still clung to every available surface, the two suns giving spots of glare to both the left and the right of the magnificent flying creature.
Her name was Quiesh, and she was their friend.
Quiesh loved to skim down close to the surface, taking in the landscape as much as she could while her two passengers, partners really, sat atop of her, continuing their long voyage with no set destination, in search of work, which would bring them food, shelter and money to keep themselves going, and as such, Quiesh had been trained to spot one of two flags at a good distance. As much as she preferred flying low, she regularly took high swoops up into the air, to take in the lay of the land and scout for either of the two flags that would allow her partners to ply their trade.
To the right, a small forest splayed down up and over a hill, the ideal spot to find a village, and as the griffon lifted skyward, getting sufficient altitude to give the area a once over, she spotted a small town nestled in a grove that still clung to some foliage, some of that green still seeding the visual palate of the landscape.
That meant elves.
It wasn't a large village by any stretch of the imagination, only two dozen or so structures, but with the way elves built their homes, that could mean maybe fifty families living there, so they would be able to afford the services of her partners.
In the center of the village, as was true for every village and town Quiesh had ever seen, was a single flagpole that stretched higher than the top of any building, taller in fact than any tree around it. The signal flagpole tradition was one that spanned further back in time than written history, and every gathering of people had one, the height of it important so that mages could spot it at a great distance, even when impeded.
Most mages weren't dignified with a partner quite so elegant as Quiesh, and many of them had to travel the surface in carts drawn by lesser beasts of burden. Because of Quiesh's vantage, her partners were adept at finding the villages and townships that were lesser traveled and often more in need of their services.
The two atop her back hadn't always traveled by griffon, but since Quiesh had come into their lives, they had been more satisfied with their lives, seeing far more of the world than they had before. The two had always wanted to travel further, and with Quiesh, they were visiting lands neither had seen before, taking in as much of the world as they could, from the deserts to the forests, from the islands to the plains. Quiesh had been one of the best things to happen to their lives.
The griffon noted that the flagpole in the center of the village had one of the two flags she had been trained to stay on watch for, and saw it was the large blue flag with two red semi-circle lines not quite joined in the center of it.
The flag requesting the presence of a Threadbinder.
Quiesh moved to descend closer to the village, scouting the area carefully as she could see elves looking upwards at her, pointing and shouting, no doubt reveling in her majesty, as she finally decided on a proper landing place and glided downwards, giving a little shake to rouse her partners from their slumber, it still being mid morning, Quiesh having flown through much of the night.
The woman, Yasha, was the first to awaken, her silvery eyes fluttering open to look down beneath her, her fine elvish features hued in rose from the cool air. "Oh look, Arkady, it's your turn," she said to her husband, shaking the dwarf from his slumber.
"Hm?" the squat man said as he felt his wife tugging lightly on his beard. His eyes opened, the color of freshly mined ruby, as he looked down from their saddle where they were strapped in. "Mmm. Elves. I imagine that means you'll do the collecting, but I suppose we will see." His thick hand patted Quiesh's mane affectionately. "Excellent spot, friend. You'll eat well tonight, I am certain of that."
Quiesh cut through the air, swooping in a downward arc that curved up at the end before giving a single flap of her majestic wings to stop her forward motion, then floated down into an open portion of the village, one she would have no trouble taking off from after her partners had concluded their business.
Arkady unstrapped himself from the saddle and slid off, hopping down onto the ground once more, his leather boots happy to be back on the surface again. As much as he loved Quiesh and the ease of travel her partnership provided, a dwarf never liked to be too far from the stone.
In comparison to his slender elven wife, he was a short man, although no shorter than any other typical dwarf, strong and squat, with a proud red beard that he kept braided in a single knotted cord that ran down the center of his chest. Like most Threadbinders, he wore shades of dark blue, the familiar two red unjoined semi-circles embroidered in the fabric or painted on what sparse bits of armor he did wear, mostly on his shoulders and torso. He wore a heavy blue cap over the top of his head, the center quite bald, but the red hairs that formed a ring around that center barren patch peeked out from beneath the hat. He didn't look old, but then again, no binder worth their weight in spit did.
Behind him, his wife slid down from Quiesh's saddle, her appearance much more akin to those around them. She was a high elf, lithe and majestic, but extremely fit for her kind, her willowy limbs bearing strong muscle, her bosom perhaps a bit larger than average for her species. If her husband had a certain air of world-weariness to him, Yasha was sprightly and energetic. He moved with the deliberate resolve of the stone; she moved like water passing over that stone. Her hair was like spun gold, partially braided in a ring that formed a crown atop her head, the rest drawn back into a bound tail along the back.
The two provided quite the contrast to one another. His skin was leathery and heavily tanned by the sun, whereas hers still remained supple and light, almost the shade of milk, as if the sun simply rolled off of her and refused to color her even a smidgen. Both looked like they could easily win fights, but in very different methods. She looked as though she might wear her opponent down with lunges and parries before ending the combat with a single, well-placed deadly strike. He looked as though that great axe of his would split an opponent right in half on the first blow.
In contrast to her husband's blue attire, Yasha wore mostly red clothes, with a different blue symbol, that of four lines moving towards forming an X but unjoined in the center, reflecting the difference in her profession to her husbands. Mages often traveled in pairs or small groups, so that they could all benefit from one of their kind's services being in demand, but they were not often wed, as Arkady and Yasha were, something the dwarf had never been able to fully reconcile in his head, but as it turned out, many mages were far too timid to turn their abilities inward.
Once both were off Quiesh's back, Yasha moved up to stroke the griffon's neck a bit, scratching the muscles through the thick coat, taking a moment to pry some burrs loose from the fur, much to the creature's enjoyment, as a small number of elves became to approach them.
The leader of the village approached first, a large ceremonial staff in hand, a woman who had to be a few centuries past the lifespan of any human, but still only appeared as aged as a human woman in her forties. She had sharp, angular features, a sort of deadly pointed beauty to her, like that of well-crafted kris knife, with eyes the shade of ancient pine needles that looked at Arkady with trepidation.
"You are a Threadbinder?" the leader scoffed at him.
"Arkady Gormansson," he said to her, accustomed to being looked down upon by elves, both figuratively and literally. "Eighth rank Threadbinder, so you know my skills are unquestionable. This is my wife and partner, Yasha Summervale, Threatbinder, twelfth rank."
The village leader began to immediately bow. "My lady, I--"
"If that bow dips one inch further," Yasha cautioned, "I will demand my husband double his fees." The woman stopped bowing suddenly, hearing the tone in Yasha's voice that made it clear this was no idle threat.
"Apologies my lady," the elder said, standing upright once more. "Your family name speaks volumes, even to us so far removed from elvish high society." Arkady had grown accustomed to this over the years, and had accepted it part and parcel when he and Yasha had been wed, but he still found it all just a little silly. While dwarves also had their royalty, the bowing and toadying the elves gave theirs would've gotten any dwarf a punch up the bracket. "Also, I was not aware that binders could excel beyond a tenth rank."
"Threadbinders have nine ranks, Threatbinders have thirteen," she said, no opinion in her voice, simply relaying the facts to the villagers. "And the only name I choose to trade on in my own. You fly the Threadbinder flag, so someone here is in need of my husband's services."
"Yes, I, ah..." the woman said, looking down at Arkady before looking back to Yasha once more. Arkady wasn't certain which had put the woman off more -- the fact that he was a dwarf, or the fact that Yasha had identified him as her husband. "Forgive us, we are not used to having a dwarf among us. We do not mean to judge, fine Threadbinder, but your kind does not often venture into these woods, so far from any mountain."
Arkady raised a thick hand in understanding, not wanting to put these people off any further. "It is no bother. If you do not want my services and instead choose to want to wait for a Threadbinder of a different race, you are entitled to do so." He started to turn back towards Quiesh, as if he was going to climb aboard the griffon once more, but he had done this dance in enough towns and villages that he knew what would come next, and this was merely a tactic to cut through the bargaining bullshit. They would hem and haw for what felt like eons if he didn't push them to act quickly.
"Wait!"
