The Threadbinders Ch 01

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!"

He felt the smile creep in beneath his beard before he spirited it away, turning back to look at the elder once more, as the circle of elves gathered around them had only grown in number. "Yes?"

"It has been two seasons since we put up that flag, good Threadbinder, and since then, none of your particular skillset have come this way," she sighed. "I apologize if my words implied anything but the utmost respect for you and your abilities. Please, I beseech you, lend us your mighty skills and solve our conundrum for us."

"Who is it who petitions me for aide?"

"I do," a young woman said, stepping from the pack. Her hair was silver, much like the metal he'd grown up around, swept back behind her pointed ears, running down to her neckline. She was certainly beautiful, but had a definite hesitation to her stance, even as she moved more closely to the two mages. She was slender, like most elves, but had a certain athleticism to her. He suspected she was one of those who went and hunted for wild game. "I am Zestry Honeydew, daughter of Elyria Honeydew, and I seek your aide, good Threadbinder, for this village holds no mate for me."

"And you agree to pay your fair share of the costs?" he said, looking up at her. "There is no shame in changing your mind, girl, now that you know whom you will pay your tax to. I will bear you no ill will nor--"

"I know the cost, good sir dwarf," Zestry said, "and I will pay it gladly. I would pay it gladly thricefold, if needed, simply to find that which the Threadbinders promise, which is to say an end to this solitude. I resolved to not go unbound any longer than I needed to when I told my mother to run that flag up in the spring after I came of age. It has been a long wait for one of your kind to pass our way. Wherever my thread may be bound to, it is not here, nor anywhere close to here, and because of that, I turn to you, Master Threadbinder, to ease my loneliness."

Arkady chuckled a little, nodding some, as he turned his attention back to the village elder. "And the village is prepared to pay its share of the costs?"

"A week's worth of food and rations, a night's worth of housing, for all members of your party, as in accordance with the binder tradition. Would thirty golden aryou be enough to pay the difference? It's most of the money we have here in the village, but if it helps our beloved Zestry--"

"Fifteen aryou would be more than sufficient," Yasha told them, "as long as the food and rations include something large and meaty for our friend Quiesh to eat." She patted the griffon's haunches, and the village elder smiled a little.

"That is most kind and generous of you, m'lady. I will dispatch my hunters to bring the mightiest stag they can find for the griffon to feast upon this evening, as Zestry prepares for her departure on the morrow," the elder said as the young girl moved to stand along side of her. "She has been looking forward to this for some time, but farewells still need to be made and affairs put in order."

Arkady was amused by how his wife had chosen to set the price so low, but he understood her reasoning, being as this village did not seem to have the wealth to spare, and even the meager fifteen aryou was quite a sizable investment.

"Fine," the dwarf said, adjusting his beard slightly. "Take us to where we shall lodge for the night, escort Quiesh to where she may lay down, and we will await your arrival later this evening, Zestry."

"Thank you again, sir Threadbinder."

He grabbed his satchel from the saddle, as his wife grabbed her own. Then they allowed the elves to lead the griffon over towards a barn, some place where the large winged creature could enjoy a night inside of warmth.

While normally they preferred to remain mobile and in motion, it was still important to take time to recharge and recuperate. A day's worth of relaxation would give them a chance to prepare, as Arkady suspected it would be a long voyage with the girl in tow, otherwise some local shaman might have been able to do a basic divining.

For much of the day, Yasha and Arkady chatted with the elves, giving them news from the frontiers, explaining what the two mages knew of in terms of development in extended politics, although Yasha did much of the talking, as she had always taken a much keener interest in such things than Arkady had. Elves did so love their politics, but dwarves often found the layers of social obfuscation annoying and unnecessary.

Most importantly, however, Yasha and Arkady both enjoyed a long hot bath, as the village had a hot springs they had covered, and the waters offered soothing release to the mages' well-traveled bones. Arkady felt like he did not want to leave the springs, and spent at least an hour or so simply soaking within the bath, as Yasha took the time to make sure all of his hair was cleaned.

Threadbinder life was never quite as glamorous as the mages had made it seem in Arkady's youth, but to constantly live a life in motion was a thing he would not trade for any price. In fact, Yasha had estimated that the three of them -- herself, Arkady and Quiesh -- had likely seen more of the planet than any other individuals upon it, a claim that Arkady could find no fault in, and had no reason to question.

It was the smell of the late lunch that finally coaxed the dwarf from the baths, as the elves had done their best to cook up some long forgotten dwarvish delicacy they had been taught long ago, the last time anyone in this region had seen a dwarf passing through. He suspected few of the elves in the village had ever seen his kind before, being as they were so far from any proper mountains. But whatever they had made, they had layered it in pepper, garlic, butter and spice, and it had a lovely aroma that stirred even the darkest heart into action.

Whomever they had learned it from, the elves had learned the way to a dwarf's stomach, and learned it well.

While they ate lunch, Arkady made it a point to dry his beard and to not get any food in it. His wife had referred to his beard as a soup catcher more than once, and Arkady, like any proper dwarf, had taken umbrage to it, his beard a proud reminder of his heritage. Once, when her teasing had crossed from amusement to annoyance, he had threatened to cut it off if it bothered her so much. Never before nor since had he seen his wife quite so quickly crestfallen and ashamed of herself, and she went to great lengths to apologize to him repeatedly over the next week.

Into the early evening, the pattern continued, with elves coming to ask questions about what transpired beyond their forest, but also to come and politely examine the dwarf, the most excitement this village would see for years.

By the time dinner had finished, both Yasha and Arkady found their bellies full and their appetites satiated, and not one elf had dared ask how Arkady and Yasha had come to be wed, much to the dwarf's amusement.

One of the buildings in the village had laid dormant, its owner having died a few years ago, and during the day while they ate, a number of the elves had converted it into a makeshift inn for the night, a place where Yasha and Arkady could lay their heads down for the night and be on their way in the morning to continue their work.

As they walked from the dining hall to the converted cottage, the elder finally dared to ask the two mages a little more about themselves, having steadfastly avoided the subject for the entire day thusfar. "Do you find your services are more or less in demand than your wife's, good Threadbinder?"

Arkady bristled a little, stroking his beard with one of his massive hands. "Slightly more, perhaps, but not excessively such. Her work certainly pays more than mine, but I find mine more rewarding in the end, as I feel the toll upon our souls is less great."

"Do you find executing your tasks difficult, my lady?"

Yasha smiled, that subtle almost imperceptible hint of melancholy that was gone as quickly as it had arrived. "Everyone is important to some one, elder, but to require the services of a Threatbinder, your foe must have truly transgressed in some heinous way. That helps console me a little. But not much, as you might imagine. Ending a life is something never done lightly."

The elder nodded, as they arrived at the cottage. "Has anyone ever come to regret enlisting your services, Master Dwarf?"

Arkady scratched at his leathery cheek, shaking his head. "I'm not sure why everyone seems to ask this, but once a Threadbinder's business is done, they tend not to remain in contact with their patrons. That said, in our journeys we have doubled back upon locations many a time, and I have seen some of those whom have paid for my aid once more, later in their lives, and never once has anyone expressed any regret to me."

"In fact, more than a few times, a couple whom my husband has paired have invited us to return to help their offspring with their threads," Yasha said proudly. "They have always said it was the best decision they have ever made."

The elvish chieftain nodded once more. "Then I will believe our Zestry is in good hands, and we will arise with the dawn to see her off with your departure. You have done us a great honor with your presence, and we will endeavor to tell stories of this day for decades to come."

Arkady raised one of his large hands in salute, as he and his wife entered into the cottage. "We shall see you on the morrow, elder," he said, closing the door behind them.