weathermage

[maderr]

Just the very very rough prologue ^^;;



The Weathermage

Prologue: The Wind and the Water

The wind whipped around the city like a child fed too many sweets on Carnival Day, but when it slipped beneath the heavy cloak of his tunic, it felt to Gallatin like a lover's caress. He smiled faintly and let the wind snatch his hood away, tilting his head up briefly to look at the dark clouds filling the gray sky.

He laughed at the way they seemed to grow darker by the second, wishing he were in a position to enjoy the storm properly, out on the sea and well away from the so called civilized world.

All around him people fled the coming storm, shutters and doors banging shut, the sound echoing down the crowded street. His boots slapped the uneven cobblestones of the street and he dug his fingers into his hair to keep it from his face, laughing as his ribbon was snatched by the wind, finally landing several feet ahead of him.

He snatched it up and tucked it away in the pocket of his coat, and in that brief moment the wind went instead for his hair, all but snatching the ash-blonde strands off his head.

Gallatin laughed loud and long, stopping in the middle of the street. Stripping off his black leather gloves, he held his hands high and fanned his fingers out. Tilting his head back, he let his eyes fall shut and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, as though on a sigh.

Around him the winds calmed to a gentle breeze.

He opened his eyes and lowered his arms, pulling on his gloves as he continued on his way.

Two more streets and he came to the building he sought – the Giggling Serpent. The faded sign over the door displayed that very namesake, and the words written in the old script. Illegal, that, in this day and age only the language of the new monarchy was allowed – but here in the darkest corners of the country, they were willing to overlook a few things.

For now, anyway.

Pushing the door open, he waded into the stench of sweat and booze and flesh. He shoved his way impatiently through the mass of bodies, a grimace twisting his handsome face. Finally he lighted upon the one he sought; the one he'd known would be here. Knocking aside a couple of people foolish enough to fall into his path, he reached the table in the back and grabbed a half-naked boy by the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside.

"Get," he said dismissively, tossing a silver coin down.

A young woman remained, and Gallatin sent her fleeing with a look.

"Well, well," said a tired but amused voice. "Look at what has blown in with the winds."

Gallatin sat down and snatched away the bottle in the man's grasp, taking a swig of its contents for himself. "You have looked better, Leath."

Leath shrugged. "Haven't we all? What do you want, Tin?"

"For you not to call me that," Gallatin retorted, relieved more than he liked to admit when the old complaint succeeded in dredging up a smile.

Taking the bottle back, Leath took a healthy swallow before slamming the bottle down on the table. "Besides that."

Gallatin looked him over, wondering yet again if he was making the right choice.

Leath had, indeed, looked better. His hair, once long, had been cut to an almost military shortness. His pale blue eyes were almost stark in his face, the finely cut features almost razor sharp now. If it were possible, Leath had lost wait in the seven years since everything had changed.

Yet still Gallatin could feel the thrum of energy that only appeared between the two of them, like a burst of lightning just waiting to be released. High Wind calling to High Water. Beneath the foul stench of the cheap tavern, he could just barely detect the scent of Leath himself, sea salt and sunshine.

"I have found him."

He got a blank stare for a moment – then the eyes widened almost comically. Fumbling, Leath snatched the bottle up again and took another swallow. It nearly toppled as he set it down again. "Where?" he asked hoarsely.

Gallatin shook his head. "Are you going to help me, Leath? Or am I going to watch you wander off eventually to a different tavern to drink and fuck yourself into another oblivion?"

"Serpent swallow you whole," Leath snapped. "Better to sulk as a drunkard than mope as a monk."

Gallatin threw his head back and laughed, knowing he'd made the right decision. "Leath, I have missed you."

"And I you, Tin," Leath said, and his smile was warm and beckoning as he shifted to close the space between them, nearly hot to the touch where their thighs pressed together. "So how monkish have you become? You look good for a man supposedly living a pious life."

"Supposedly, my friend, only supposedly. I am not so devoted to the gods that I have forgotten how to make you scream."

Leath shivered. "Oh, good. First, however, tell me what we're up to."

Instead of immediately replying, Gallatin leaned forward and covered Leath's mouth with his own. The kiss was lazy and slow as they relearned one another's mouths, tasting all the changes, and Gallatin was somehow relieved that Leath still tasted as he always had – like salt and sun and wine, a strange mix of sweet and bitter.

Finally he broke the kiss just enough to speak, still close enough they shared breaths. "We are going to kidnap the Crown Prince."

Leath chuckled and nibbled at his bottom lip. "Sounds like fun. Just like old times. It really is good to see you again."

"Yes," Gallatin replied softly, and kissed him again briefly before dragging him away to speak where no one would overhear.