BECMI Chapter 183 – Colorful Resolutions

“But, but they are Zanzyrans!” the frantic fellow with his head, hair, and hands all blue protested loudly to the cloaked older hyn whose face was all pastel green. “You know what Zanzyrans are like! We can’t trust them here! Who knows what they put into the food!”“We have certainly poisoned the sour leavings of churned milk and wrought all manner of vile and deadly magicks upon them,” I nodded agreement. “Soon enough, your flesh will be rotting off your bones, and your bones will be screaming obeisance to eternal servitude in my honor!”

There was a pause, and then hundreds of hyn burst out laughing at the same time.

“That dang scorp tail was twenny feet long if’n it were an inch!”

“Melted on the tongue! Sweeter than the butter!”

“And that broil! I had me a shrimp six inches long! Never seen one quite so large!”

“That weren’t a shrimp, you fool, that were a big cave locust, the shrimp o’ the underdark!”

“So it went down chirping!” was the rejoinder, followed by a contented patting of stomachs and laughter all around that shut down the hyn in blue.

Pretty much the whole town had turned out for an impromptu holiday. Isadora and Laurentine were holding illusionary jousts and roiling combats in the air with fantastic beasts, currently a chimera and a manticora going at it as whole families lounged on blankets on the grass, while over there Nico and Hammel were sending off easy pyrotechnics in unnatural colors and explosions to great applause and enthusiasm.

“Laddie-buck,” the Mick said, tossing back his own tankard of the local ale, and fine stuff it were, too, “ye got lucky and caught the Lady on a good day. On a bad day, ye’d all be dead and gone fer darin’ to shoot at her when she offered ye no quarrel. Just admit that she pranked ye bad, ye lost, and now’s the time to eat humble pie.” He reached out for a bowl of the broil over rice, held it out, and quick and ready hands snatched it up and conveyed it over in front of the defiant, yet crestfallen fellow in hastily-changed clothes.

He looked around sullenly, saw a bunch of intent and happy faces looking back at him, and groaned in defeat. A spoon came out of nowhere, and all the hyn cheered as he began to dig in. A mug of white wine was put down next to him, and he grabbed it and drained it dry, swearing at the heat and the taste and diving right in for more, unable to help himself.

“I was obviously misled as to the nature of your incursion into the Shires, Lady Edge,” the older hyn in green paint, being treated quite respectfully by the members of the town.

“Minor inanities,” I sniffed, as Duum’s tongue snaked out and made off with the blueberry pie on my fork. I took the bite of almost nothing, looked down at my fork, turned to look at Duum, but his head was stealthily out of position, to the delight of the watching hyn.

“What she more means t’ say is, what possessed you t’ go after a bunch of wizards, regardless of where they be from?” the Mick went on genially. “Anyone with sense knows that be trouble, now!”

“Pickle’s cousin sent word he’d been attacked by a bunch of Zanzyran wizards, and that they were coming into the Shires with bad intentions,” the elder hyn stated, with a sour glance at the hyn in blue, who flushed but remained silent.

“Oh, he were the one that were pranked stealing summat from us, and got himself painted pink for his trouble.” The hyn all around and listening attentively blinked, then burst out laughing after slinking sly glances at all the scattered hyn in blues and greens.

“I trust there’s no easy way to get this out, then,” the elder said with a wry grimace at that news.

“Daily scrubbings with soap or multiple washings, catch a lot of sunlight, and it’ll be mostly gone in about a month. If you it, it takes about a day less per spell,” Messime chortled merrily. “It’s a variation of something we do to dwarves coming into the forest to stir up trouble. They were more eclectic in their color choices,” she laughed, all the hyn around quite happy to listen to her elven accent, having great respect for ‘normal’ elves, and she wasn’t a Zanzyran.

I went for another forkful of pie, but in between eating one and turning my head to listen to Messime, Duum had scooped up the rest of it and chomped it down in silence, retreating all the way to the other side of my chair and laying his head down as if resting.

The hyn were trying VERY hard not to laugh. I looked down at him.

“You,” I accused my Familiar, “have blueberry on your whiskers.”

His monocled eye popped open. “And blackberry and cherry too, mistress! Mama Frita’s pies are wonderful!” His long tongue reached out and artfully cleaned the betraying residue off his whiskers in great satisfaction.

Defeated, I just turned my attention back to normal events, while sly chuckles all around presaged nobody saying anything.

“I trust Pickle’s cousin had a decent reason for going after the package we were totin’ fer Captain Ossluke?” the Mick asked. “Weren’t no secret we were carrying it, he just should’ve waited until it were delivered and he’d not look like an overlong tulip right now.”

“I regret I don’t know the specifics of the matter, although if it involves shipping, it’s likely some kind of smuggling going on, and they were hoping to intercept where it is going or coming,” the elder hyn responded, obviously still a bit irked at Pickle and his relative. “I thank you for your forbearance, again. Zanzyran wizards are not well-liked in the Shires, and for good reason.”

“Zanzyrans aren’t often liked too much in Zanzyr, often fer good reasons,” the Mick replied drolly, and got hoots of approval all around for that, especially when both I and Messime nodded.

“The noble-born are the worst, however,” Messime pointed out. “They’ve been told they are the best and the greatest and they can do no wrong and are bound for great things and destined to rule… and then they go out into the real world and suddenly not everyone is bowing and scraping to them, they really aren’t all that special, they are cutting off their nose to spite their face because they don’t want to compete for recognition with the clerics with all the Healing magic they can’t use, and of course they get fed their own version of true history and bend it to suit their motivations and place in the world.” She swirled her wine in her glass. “We have heard rumors of Zanzyran wizards pursuing experiments with hyn, but they are only rumors, and attached to names that are rather… unstable?”

“I believe the polite term is ‘stark raving loony crackers’,” I sniffed, and the hyn hooted in approval. “If you are going to dominate the masses, simply tell them and let them cower before you in fear and awe!” I added pompously.

“Three cheers for Mistress!” someone shouted out, and a round of Hip-Hip-Hoorays sounded forth for me. I basked in the applause with no change of expression whatsoever, all totally deserved and as it should be, thank you.

“That being said,” I went on as silence came down, “if you can find out the names of those fools daring to interfere with my loyal subjects… well, then. I am sure they will all live long, happy, or fulfilling lives.” Dıscover more novels at ????????????????????•????????????????•????????????

The smiles slowly faded, and changed in character.

For they most certainly were not going to.

“Mistress Edge,” the hyn elder said, playing along with things, “if we could get you names and descriptions of those we know to have been kidnapped by Zanzyrans, would that help you find them?” he asked hesitantly.

I paused a moment before replying. “If you can bring a relative, friend, or other person before me who can picture the individuals, that will help immensely. If you have any personal effects, such as cherished clothing or keepsakes or mementos they treasured, those will further enhance the Scrying efforts.” I tilted my head slightly. “I am certain that when they are located they will be yielded up without violence or bloodshed.”

Pickles stopped feeding his blue face, popping up to stand on his feet. “Me little brother and me cousin’s sweetheart were taken by them!” he exclaimed shrilly. “And Tater o’ the Cornhusks! And Molly Redroots, and Omer Downhoe!”

Silence fell over the previously jubilant proceedings, laughs giving way to things that were grimly serious.

“Oh?” I asked softly, dangerously. “And can you picture all of them, my little repentant minion?” I asked him calmly.

“Yes! Yes, I can!” he stated, hopping down and darting up in front of me. “I know who they are all are, what they look like!”

“My vast throng of willing subjects have not all made proper obeisance to me, so I will take this offering of their names and faces from you.” I reached out and put my hand on his forehead. He tried not to flinch, and then his eyes opened very wide as he stared at me. “Now tell me their names, and picture them… and if you can, the fool who stole my subjects.”

His eyes closed involuntarily, and he took a deep breath as everyone watched.

“Kolger Hoofrows.” He gasped as I looked at the face and name in his mind, multiple memories coming forth to form an image searing in its reality and depth, more aware of everything about his little brother than he’d ever been in real life.

“Tina Gollycrows.

“Tater Cornhusk.

“Molly Redroots.

“Omer Downhoe.”

“And, and the wizard...”

I paused long enough for the final visualization, everything storied safely in my Visual File. I looked up as I released the young and fervent hyn. “!” I said in a very normal tone, but despite the distance he turned around instantly.

He bowed out of the fireworks and hastily made his way over to where I was seated. “Yes, Lady Edge?”

I flicked up a , life-size, drawn from multiple hasty and uncertain images, conjoined and condensed together to a remarkably sharp picture. “This is a Tranelli, is it not?” I asked him in very cold tones.

Our Fuirenze Alchemist studied with image with increasingly cold sobriety, going over names and faces. “He’s wearing the family colors, and that’s a Tranelli boot style, with emeralds on the belt buckle. I’ve not seen the man myself, but he’s got the Tranelli chin, too. Based on his age, I’m guessing that’s the second son of the sister to the patriarch of the family. They run one of the baronies under Count Vincianetti, Pulgoro. I believe his name is Anfonio. I never heard anything good attached to his name, which is a point of pride for the Tranellis.” He looked around once, reading the mood. “A problem?”

“He has been kidnapping hyn for… unknown purposes.”

Nico winced hard. “He’s a Third Circle Alchemist…” he breathed out meaningfully.

Which meant he was likely capturing them for experimentation for one reason or another, poison-testing likely a prominent part of what was going on.

I turned my eyes back to the waiting, listening hyn. “This is not proof, but it is a start. We will have your proof soon enough, and then, some things might be done about this.”

The elder was also standing on his seat now. “Lady Edge, there have been other hyn taken, in other Shires. Would you be able to track them?” he asked urgently.

“If they care to come and make known to me who is missing. I am moving quickly, and will likely be out of the Shires tomorrow.”