by Randy Nargi
Silbra Dal shook her head. There was more to this tower than met the eye. Next she tried a sunder spell, but still, something about the door resisted her magic. Perhaps it had something to do with the metal pipes which issued from the walls.
She walked around the structure and found a spot on the wall directly opposite the door. There she cast stoneflow. This time her spell worked. The rock bubbled and a tunnel about three feet in diameter opened. Cold air billowed out. Silbra Dal knew that the passage would only last for a short time, so she climbed through the magically-created doorway and entered the structure. She was surprised at what she discovered.
The inside of the rough stone tower did not match the outside at all. In fact, the space in which she now stood resembled nothing so much as a nobleman’s flat. It was lit with wall sconces fitted with lightstones. Paintings in gilded frames hung on walls decorated with intricately-patterned fabric. Beneath her feet was a plush woven carpet with an elaborate design of repeating crescent shapes. The air was stale, but the temperature was comfortable.
What was this place?
Silbra Dal looked at the paintings one by one. The largest was a portrait of a stunningly beautiful woman with dark hair, a piercing gaze, and a faint sardonic smile. She wore a rich dark purple gown and a delicate silver chain around her neck from which hung a small silver crescent, like a moon. The portrait was so masterfully rendered that it appeared that the woman was looking right at Silbra Dal. It was uncanny.
The other paintings were of strange landscapes: a savage coast being whipped by a storm, an eerie rock formation rising from a desert, a castle on the cliffs overlooking a deep gorge. But Silbra Dal kept returning to the portrait of the dark-haired woman. Now she noticed the woman’s eyes. Green and glinting with intelligence. Mesmerizing. She forced herself to look away and examine the rest of the room.
The only other thing of note was a clear glass orb, like a bubble, which rested on a carved wooden stand about four feet off the ground. The orb was about twice the size of her fist and there was a rough metal pyramid floating in it. Silbra Dal stooped down to get a closer look. The pyramid was conical and stepped, almost like five discs of different sizes stacked on each other. She had never seen anything like this. Perhaps it was an artifact.
She cast detect magic but her spell did not reveal the presence of magical energy. But the orb and the little pyramid had to be magic. Things did not just float of their own accord.
At that moment, her stoneflow spell faded and the passage closed up. A sudden feeling of dread welled up in her, but Silbra Dal quickly pushed it aside. She would not be trapped in here; she could easily cast another stoneflow to create an exit. But that gave her another idea.
She examined the door out, looking for a bolt or a lock, but found none. In fact, when she tried to open it, the door yielded easily, and the cool morning air wafted in. She looked around the room again and noticed the ceiling for the first time. It was a lattice of carved wooden beams converging to a point six or seven feet above her head. In the center of the ceiling hung what appeared to be a large greenish jewel on a delicate chain. It swayed and glittered as fresh air drifted into the structure.
Silbra Dal took another look around to see if there was anything else she had missed, but it appeared that she had noted everything in this small chamber.
She found herself drawn back to the painting of the dark haired woman and took a few steps closer to inspect the portrait. It was indeed remarkable. She could not even detect the brush strokes on the canvas. Something caught her eye at the bottom of the frame: a small engraved plaque. After wiping off the dust, she could barely make out one word: Ahania.
Was it a name? She spoke it aloud. “Ahania.” It had to be a name. Her name. But who was she? Her appearance was regal. Perhaps she was a noblewoman.
Silbra Dal continued to stare at the painting and she wondered if Ahania was a historical figure of some sort. Or a mythological princess or a queen. Her beauty was so breathtaking, she couldn’t be real. Her nose was perfect and her cheekbones were high and sharp. And there was something about her lips. They were full and round and reddened. Immodest and incredibly sensual.
As she continued to stare at the painting, Silbra Dal felt her heart race. She put her finger on Ahania’s lips, and she was actually surprised that they weren’t soft and moist to the touch. She moved even closer and looked into Ahania’s eyes. Deep green with flecks of yellow. Filled with secrets.
Ahania must be a real person. Maybe she wasn’t a historical figure at all. Maybe she lived now. Somewhere.
Another odd feeling came over her. A kind of premonition. Ahania was in trouble.
Silbra Dal needed to find her. She must find her.
Without warning, tears welled up in Silbra Dal’s eyes. Why was she crying? It had been so long since she cried this way. But she couldn’t stop the tears.
Drained, she sat down on the thick carpet and looked up at the painting. The light was so realistic. Was it even a painting? It seemed more like a window. Maybe a window to a cell. A cell which held Ahania. Frozen. Alone.
She cried some more. For Ahania trapped in a cell somewhere. And for herself.
Her fingers brushed against something half buried in the deep carpet. It was a necklace. Silbra Dal lifted it up into the light. A delicate chain with a tiny silver crescent. One side of the crescent was polished to a mirror-like shine. The other side was rougher. It was just like the necklace Ahania wore. How could this be?
She stood and held the necklace up to the painting and saw that the two necklaces were not quite identical. Ahania’s crescent curved to the left, while hers curved to the right. A matched set.
Silbra Dal’s fingers opened the clasp on the necklace and she slipped it around her neck. There was a faint hesitation in the back of her mind. She was trained to cast detect magic on any unusual item before coming in close contact with it, but she felt this to be right. The crescent felt warm against her skin, and she smiled.
All would be good. She would find Ahania and help her.
A calmness washed over her, and Silbra Dal sat back down on the plush carpet. At some point, she dozed off.
When she looked up, it was dark outside. A storm had blown in, and the winds whistled through the low trees surrounding the stone structure. She got to her feet and took a step outside. The cool air was bracing and she felt her head clear a bit. And then she saw a figure coming towards her.
It was Hirbo Thrang. But he was alone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I COULD GET USED TO THIS,” BRYN ERESTHAR SAID. He and Jaden had risen early and made their way to the center of town. They waited outside of the Delhaven Inn eating the first loaves of bread out of Lindessen the baker’s oven.
Around them, the village was coming to life. The shutters on the shops and stalls along the Shore Way were being opened and goods were being set up on tables and stands and in windows.
Carters and maids and cooks all set off to work. It took nearly the entire village to keep Asryn’s government workers fed, clean, clothed, and entertained. But all the villagers seemed happy to be busy. Bryn Eresthar heard no gripes or complaints.
Jaden seemed to pick up on the mood as well. He said, “It certainly is an industrious little place.”
“I’ve lived in cities so long, I’ve forgotten how different a place like this can be. Where everyone knows one another…”
“That can be good or bad,” Jaden said. “It’s hard to fit in when you stick out.”
“I wasn’t talking about infiltration, or assassination, or bounty hunting, or whatever it is you do.”
“Actually, I’m mostly retired these days.”
“I was talking about living,” Bryn Eresthar said. “You know what that is?” He took another bite of bread. It was soft and warm and delicious.
“I know all about living. Before Meomannan Quill brought me into this thing, I was doing quite a bit of living. Although not in a dumpy little town like this
.”
“Dumpy? This place is perfect.”
"Perhaps—if you like to live your life with no variety whatsoever. Me, I like being able to choose from more than one public-house and one brothel."
"If you've got a single excellent public house, that's all you really need. I can't speak knowledgeably about the brothel situation. It's been quite some time since—"
Jaden interrupted him. “There’s our man.”
Bryn Eresthar followed the bounty hunter’s gaze and saw a short muscular fellow with a strong, square jaw and a heavy brow. He was dressed in a robe-like tunic with a thick leather belt. He walked confidently and was alert to his surroundings. In fact, he noticed them looking at him from across the road.
“Might as well try the direct approach,” Jaden said. “Stay here.” He waved a greeting at the man and walked closer.
Bryn Eresthar hoped that Jaden knew what he was doing. He watched as the bounty hunter and the emissary spoke for a few minutes. The man looked surprised at whatever it was that Jaden told him.
They conversed for a few more minutes, and then the two men approached.
Jaden said, “Lord Governor Bryn Eresthar, may I present Eiji, Legate and official representative of the the sovereign city-state of Basu.”
“Your grace,” Eiji bowed.
“Thank you for meeting us,” Bryn Eresthar said. “I trust that my associate explained the situation.”
"He did, but it is a most unusual situation, to say the least."
“Agreed. May I buy you a cup of moxa at the Broken Antler, and we can discuss this further?”
“I prefer tea, but I will sit with you.”
They walked down the street to the Broken Antler public house, which was starting to get busy. Jaden went in first and secured them a corner table that was reasonably private.
After they sat down, Eiji looked Bryn Eresthar straight in the eye and said, “In the interest of honesty and forthrightness I must tell you that once a death mark is commissioned, it cannot be removed. No amount of money will change that.”
Bryn Eresthar looked at Jaden. This was probably not a good idea.
Jaden said, “We are well aware of that. We’re not here to try to lift the mark.”
“Indeed?”
“We’re here—or should I say—I’m here to deliver this man and collect the bounty on his head.”
Betrayed! Jaden had betrayed him! Bryn Eresthar tried to rise from the table, but Jaden was quicker. The bounty hunter was behind him in an instant, pressing him back down into his chair.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“WHAT? LIKE A BATTERING RAM?” FARAMIR BOLDFIST ASKED.
“No,” Bander said. “It has to be more sudden. I was thinking of explosives.”
He had called his team together to discuss options for assaulting the fortress. They all sat around a fire built in one of the six immense fireplaces in Jaden’s cooperage.
“But how thick are the doors?” Faramir Boldfist asked.
Bander didn’t answer.
Wegg shrugged. “We didn’t actually see the fortress ourselves.”
“Then how do you know that a frontal assault is the best option?” Dusk asked.
“We spoke to someone who has knowledge of the fortress,” Bander said.
“And he told you to go through the front gates?” Etthar Calain asked.
“Not in so many words, but he confirmed what I had been thinking. Between the magic disruption, the archers, the memalin shards, and the lack of cover, it is fairly obvious that the structure has been well engineered to resist intruders.”
“Then why do you think a frontal assault will work? I’m still unclear on this, Captain?” Dusk asked.
“It’s a fair question,” Bander said. “The answer is that I don’t really know. But what I do know is that when you’re in a heavily fortified location, and you’re confident of your defenses, you tend to become a little complacent when it comes to the obvious entry points. Like the main gate.”
“But how does that make the main gate any weaker?”
“It doesn’t. The gate isn’t the weak link. It’s the people. They—”
He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Hirbo Thrang and Silbra Dal, who stepped through a shimmering portal.
“Any luck?” Bander asked.
He noticed that Hirbo Thrang had a grim expression on his face and Silbra Dal looked drained and worried.
“Perhaps,” Hirbo Thrang said. “We need to all gather and return to the Isle of Venir.”
“Why?” Etthar Calain asked.
“The Witches have agreed to help us,” Hirbo Thrang said.
“For a price,” Silbra Dal said. “And it appears it is I who will pay it.”
Bander asked, “What did they ask?”
“That’s the thing,” Silbra Dal said. “Hirbo Thrang said that they would not name their price.”
“That is true,” Hirbo Thrang said. “They asked for a boon. At some point in the future.”
“From me,” Silbra Dal said. She was clearly unhappy about the arrangement.
“That is typical of the Witches, is it not?” Bander asked.
“It is,” Hirbo Thrang said.
“But no easier to accept,” Silbra Dal said.
“Mistress, we all have to make sacrifices,” Bander said. “And I am grateful for yours.”
Silbra Dal looked down and did not say anything.
“We must all go now,” Hirbo Thrang said. “There is but a brief window. Silbra Dal, if you please, open the portal…”
"Do you require my presence?" Meomannan Quill said as he appeared out of nowhere.
“As much as I abhor your company, I have to admit that your presence would increase our chances of success,” Hirbo Thrang said.
“Fair enough, but I also come with news,” Meomannan Quill said. “Distressing news.”
“Tell us, old friend.” Etthar Calain said. “But quickly.”
“It seems there was an uprising at Old Lausk. Guildmaster Herron and six dozen or so battle mages broke out of their prison. No one knows where they went to. We cannot track them.”
“I suspected that some of the mages would not acquiesce to this type of internment,” Etthar Calain said.
“That is not the distressing part,” Meomannan Quill said. “Raggur Nil was among the ones who escaped.”
“We can discuss this later,” Hirbo Thrang said. “Right now we must depart.”
Soon they all found themselves on a small, windswept island, in the midst of a growing storm.
"This way," Hirbo Thrang said, as he led them up a slope to a squat stone structure in the middle of the island.
He pushed through a weathered wooden door and they found themselves inside what appeared to be a ruined tower. Inside, the raw stone walls and dirt floor provided an inhospitable meeting place. The timbered roof was rotted and broken and light streamed through large gaps in the ceiling. Faramir Boldfist closed the door to protect against the howling wind, but the cold and damp seemed to emanate from the rough walls that surrounded them.
“This is all wrong,” Silbra Dal said. She was clearly upset by what she was seeing.
“No, this is exactly right,” said a voice that seemed to come from nowhere, but everywhere at the same time.
Bander spun to face a tall woman with long red curls, stepping out of the shadows. She was draped in a grey cloak and a hood obscured her face, save for a flash of blood red lips.
“I am Caera,” the woman said. “I believe we have an arrangement.”
“What happened to this place?” Silbra Dal asked. “I was here but an hour ago and it was different. Where are the rugs? The paintings?”
“Let us proceed,” Caera said, ignoring her. “My time here is limited.”
“What would you have us do?” Hirbo Thrang asked.
“Gather round me in a circle,” Caera said. “Calm yourselves.”
They all moved in position and formed a circle around the Wi
tch. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head back in concentration.
“Fascinating,” Meomannan Quill muttered.
“Be silent and clear your minds,” Caera said.
Bander took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. He wanted to participate but did not know if his natural magic resistance would interfere with the procedure.
It will not. Caera’s voice sounded in his mind.
Good, he thought.
He looked around the stone chamber. Silbra Dal, Hirbo Thrang, Dusk. Faramir Boldfist, Wegg, Etthar Calain, and Meomannan Quill. A good company, although he wished that Bryn Eresthar, Jaden, and Niam had returned in time to join them.
Caera said, “Now, be still.” She turned to Hirbo Thrang. “You wish to know who is responsible for the attacks on your Empire, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you understand that we require payment—a boon from you, sorceress?”
“Yes,” Silbra Dal said quietly.
“So I will tell you now that you already know the answer.”
“Is this a trick?” Etthar Calain asked.
“No, Magister. The knowledge that you seek is within you. Within all of you.”
The Witch’s voice had a droning quality about it, and she spoke in a cadence which both lulled and stimulated.
“You see, you hear, you think…and all of this forms a body of knowledge…”
As she spoke, Bander’s mind raced, his thoughts flashed. Seemingly random images, memories, hunches, and snatches of conversation flowed through his consciousness like a raging river.
The Witch continued, but now he couldn’t make out her words. He was overwhelmed by the cacophony of his thoughts.
He tried to calm himself, take deep breaths, slow down his rampaging mind, but it only got worse.
There was a roar in his ears as if he was standing beside a colossal waterfall.
Then, suddenly, silence.
