The Malaise Falchion

by Paul Barrett

  I kicked off my boots. “We’re up early tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to go get Archer’s help and then we’re heading to the other side of the Gaps.”

  Crizlyk stopped and dropped his food. He stared at me as if I had just announced that we were descending into the bowels of Hell. “Why?”

  “Because that’s where the Black Slag Mountains are.”

  “No, I mean, why do I have to go?”

  “Interpreter. After all, south of the Gaps is all your people.”

  Crizlyk wrung his scaly hands. “They’re not my people. They’re big and ugly orcs and hobgoblins and other scarier things. None of them like sauros. I don’t want to go.”

  I hate when Crizlyk whines. His already high voice turns into a spike across plate mail. However, he had a point. The sauros were the bastard stepchildren of the Demon Twins’ army, pulled into service against their wills and treated like shit by the demons and their goblinoid allies. They were beaten, eaten, and used as menials by everyone. Crizlyk’s survival in that dark time was a testament to his cunning and self-preservation instincts. While admirable qualities, they were inconvenient for me right now. “It will do you good. How long since you’ve been outside the city walls?”

  “Not long enough. I’m perfectly happy inside them.”

  “Come on,” I grumbled. “How often do I ever really ask you to do anything for me?”

  “At least once a day.”

  “Then this shouldn’t be that much of a shock. You’ll be perfectly safe. Archer and I will be there to protect you.”

  Crizlyk smiled at the mention of Archer, then frowned. “That’s assuming she agrees to go, which I wouldn’t bet on.”

  “She’ll go,” I said. “She won’t be able to resist my dwarven charms. Or my offer of half the money. We leave tomorrow, so make sure you pack a sack.”

  Stripped to a pair of pine green pantaloons, also courtesy of Siralanna, I crawled under the blanket and bundled up the clothes I had just removed to use for a pillow. They did smell of rosewater. Not a bad scent. They reminded me of the curvaceous elfette. There are worse things to take you to sleep.

  Crizlyk puttered around, packing his few belongings into a small pack and muttering the whole time in his sibilant sauro language. While I didn’t understand the words, I thoroughly comprehended the meaning. He wasn’t praising me for my boss-worker dynamics.

  When he finished, he settled down several feet away and was soon letting out his light snore. It was a surprisingly pleasant and soothing sound. A good assistant, Crizlyk deserved better than me. Unfortunately for him, he probably wasn’t going to find it in this lifetime.

  Hampered by my headache and the lack of my usual bottle-sized nightcap, it took me considerably longer to drift away. When I finally did, all my dreams revolved around Siralanna laughing while demons tore my arms off.

  Hunger replaced my headache the next morning. Even though the meal at Siralanna’s had removed the damage caused by my psionics, the body is a demanding beast and insisted I feed it again. Annoying body.

  However, my stomach’s request would be granted this morning. Among the items given to me by Calithan was a small sack of Golden Gosleys for expenses. Emblazoned with his face on both sides, they were yet another sign of our erstwhile leader’s overwhelming ego. They were gold, so I didn’t care. They could be called cockatrice turds. As long as they purchased things, they were my friends.

  I sent Crizlyk out to procure food and several bottles of Wizard Mana Mead, Wizard Piss’s rich cousin. Although Crizlyk was still angry with me, his mood brightened considerably when I told him one of the Gosleys was his to spend however he saw fit.

  While he was gone, I packed for the trip. With one set still being cleaned, I only had two sets of clothing left. Both were brown, old, and comfortable. I put one on and packed the other in my moth-eaten rucksack. I could have purchased nicer attire, but the money would be better spent on food, drink, and the ever-present unexpected expenses. I also didn’t think Archer would work on the basis of my promise. She would want something up front.

  Liz Archer is my oldest and best friend. We’ve known each other since well before the war. Quinitas had considerable forces at his disposal. If he had performed the double-cross his sister suggested, that meant he had an entire cult behind him. If one of his companions in the sewer had betrayed him with the hopes of killing him, then they had considerable resources to throw into the mix. Either way, I figured I might need someone to watch my back. I couldn’t think of anyone better than Archer.

  Packing took all of three minutes. I loaded new charges into my Firestarter, put additional charge chambers into my ammo bag, and started sharpening my axe. Crizlyk eventually returned with the supplies. When he walked through the door, I dropped my axe, damn near cutting off my foot.

  “What in the name of the six flaming hells are you wearing?”

  “Do you like it?” Crizlyk asked as he displayed his outfit. Every piece of it, from the low-cut boots to the embroidered tunic to the feathered muffin cap, was a shade of yellow the sun would envy. I had completely forgotten about, or blocked out, sauros’ fondness for bright colors. I shouldn’t have given him the gold piece.

  “You look like something from a drunk’s nightmare.”

  “You’d know,” Crizlyk muttered.

  I changed the subject since I wouldn’t get him to change his outfit. I’d have to live with it. At least I wouldn’t have trouble spotting him in a crowd. “Let’s divide this stuff up and get going.”

  We quickly divvied up everything. I took all of the drink, and Crizlyk carried almost everything else, including camping supplies and extra charge chambers for my wand. Loaded up, the pack was as big as him and threatened to drag on the ground. Like dwarves, sauros are strong for their size. Unlike Dwarves, sauros love to complain.

  “This is hurting my shoulders. Can’t you take some of this?” Crizlyk asked.

  “I have plenty,” I told him. “I pay you to carry stuff. Didn’t I give you a nice shiny gold piece that you blew to dress up like a candle? Let’s go.”

  We left the office. I didn’t bother locking it since doing so would only get me a broken lock. There wasn’t anything to steal anyway unless someone wanted old case files or older bedding.

  We headed toward Gold Spire, the center of the city. Liz made good coin running a city guide business. Mage City is a vast maze. The unwary visitor can end up lost, robbed, and dead in short order. The really unlucky end up so lost they have no choice but to live here. Liz knew the city from the sewers to the towers. She employed good people with excellent directional skills. They worked exclusively for visiting nobles who wanted to see the various interesting sights of Mage City and the surrounding area without fear of ending up as residents or corpses.

  We slipped through the gate that separated Rimside from Merchant’s Aisle, one of the six middle-class districts, with no problem. The bored guards gave Crizlyk the once over, then looked at me. “This your porter?”

  I nodded, and they waved me through. sauros were often hired as laborers or beasts-of-burden since the war ended. So it wouldn’t be a shock to see that even someone of my low station had a helper.

  “Looks like a canary fucked a parakeet,” the guard said, and they both laughed. I winced and waited for Crizlyk to say something that would get us tossed in jail. Praise the Useless Gods; he kept his mouth shut.

  Once we got out of earshot of the guards, I looked back to Crizlyk. “That’s why I gave you most of the burden. Once we’re out of town, we’ll divide things more evenly. You should trust me by now.”

  Crizlyk smiled. “Thanks.”

  Merchant’s Aisle is a giant bazaar, filled with color, sound, and merchandise. If it can be legally bought or bartered, you can find it there. I couldn’t afford most of the stuff they had. I needed none of it, so I kept my head forward and avoided eye contact. If you look at one of the merchants, they snag you sur
ely as a basilisk turns you to stone. They yelled at me, trying to get me to look at their wares. I refused. I was almost snagged when a beautiful human woman in a tight tunic approached me with a tray and a smile full of white teeth.

  “Free ale,” she said. Her tunic had the name of the ale—Wizard Heaven—embroidered on it.

  I started to reach for the tray that she obligingly lowered toward me. Crizlyk leapt up next to me and slapped my arm. “Bad boss.”

  “Ouch,” I said, even though it startled me more than it hurt. “Why did you do that?”

  “You know the scoop, boss. The first one is always free.”

  He was right. That’s how they got you. And it had almost worked. I looked up at the woman, whose gleaming smile had gone dim.

  “Thanks, b--”

  I got no further before she turned away as if I were a piece of dog shit she barely avoided. Smile returned, she sauntered toward a tall man in leather armor. “Free ale,” she beamed.

  “Thanks, Criz,” I said. We kept moving. As I said, I’m glad I have him.

  Ten minutes later we reached the gate into Silver Tower district. The closer you get to the center of the city, the taller and better kept the walls. Here they were crenellated and twenty feet high, build from granite, with an archer at towers every twenty feet

  The quality of the guards’ arms and armor also improved. Here they wore gleaming chain mail shirts, ring mail leggings, and polished half-helms. They stood on either side of the gate under small awnings to keep them from the early morning heat. Sweat still glistened on their foreheads.

  As we approached the ten-foot-wide gate, the guards stepped from under their awnings and blocked our way. I didn’t recognize them. They were young, probably new, and felt they had to actually do their job. Their half-helms gleamed in the morning sun, which was topping the wall. The star and eye emblem for Gosley had been incorporated into their mail using links of gold chain. Ostentatious and impractical. Gold cuts like butter under a bladed weapon. If it ever came to an ugly fight, I’d know where to aim...

  “Purpose for going to Silver Tower,” the taller and older looking of the two asked.

  “Passing through to Gold Spire,” I answered. The men glanced at each other. The younger one rolled his brown eyes. I could almost read their thoughts. How could someone dressed like me expect to get anywhere near the wealthiest district in the city? Normally, I couldn’t. Knowing the right people helps.

  “Sure you are,” the older guard said in a smug voice. Humans have the market cornered on smug, even putting elves to shame. “What exactly is your business in Gold Spire?”

  “My own and none of yours,” I said before thinking. It was the sort of comment I made far too often, even knowing it wasn’t going to win me any points.

  The guard’s upper lip curled as if he smelled something rotten. He hiked a thumb at Crizlyk. “Is this registered?”

  Crizlyk again knew better than to open his mouth. Silence had been one of his tricks for staying alive. I looked at the sauro, then back up at the guard. “I don’t know. I hired it at a porter station about half a mile back. Go ask them.”

  The guard rested his hand on his sword. “How about if I make you go back and get me his papers, and then deny you entrance anyway?”

  I hurt my brain trying to think of a way out of this situation that would get me through the gate and not thrown in jail when a soft, sibilant voice spoke from behind the guard.

  “Why don’t you allow them to pass as my guests and I’ll make sure you don’t lose your job for even making such a ludicrous suggestion?”

  The guard looked over his shoulder to find a thin, eight-foot-tall female lizard dressed in a blue silk kirtle standing over him. She had a long snout, a delicate knobbed ridge on her forehead, and two gold eyes on either side of her head which stared down at the guard with slender black pupils.

  To his credit, the man didn’t flinch. He took a step back and turned to regard the tall creature while his partner kept an eye on me. His tone changed from smug to inordinately polite. “And who would you be, ma’am?”

  “I would be Lizaria Archer, owner of Archer’s Guides, and a personal friend of Tadmore Fincan, who I believe is your superior. One word from me and the only thing you’ll be guarding is a latrine pit in one of the Rimside districts. Now let my friends through, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

  As Liz spoke, she kept her very sharp teeth visible and leaned down closer to the guard’s face. I had seen Liz’s work enough to recognize this highly effective intimidation tactic.

  It worked so well that even the guard who wasn’t under the assault turned pale and shook. The man who took the full brunt appeared a heartbeat away from a full-on seizure. He turned his gaze back to me. “Pass,” he whispered.

  “That what I thought.” I threw a little smugness back in his face as I walked through the gate. Crizlyk followed.

  “Suck your tongue in, Crizlyk,” Archer said. I glanced back to find my assistant flapping his forked tongue at the guard. I doubt the man even noticed. Both soldiers stumbled away, presumably to return to their awnings until they could accost less formidable opponents

  I stared up at Archer. No easy feat considering our height difference. “Great to see you, Liz. You seem to have gotten taller and thinner since the last time we got together.”

  Archer shrugged. In a matter of seconds, she went from eight feet to her still impressive six-and-a-half. Her shoulders narrowed and chest expanded to fill out her silk dress. “Better?”

  “Better,” I agreed. “Did you really think you needed the extra height?”

  “Probably not, but I wanted to make sure he got the point. Besides, can you imagine the look at the tavern when that little piss ant tries to tell his friends about the giant female chizard that accosted him?”

  The three of us chuckled at the thought.

  “Hi, Liz,” Crizlyk said, his voice gone gooey.

  “Hi, Criz,” Liz said. “How’s my favorite baby lizard?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.” Criz glared at the ground, his face turning dark green. He was blushing. I sighed. Criz had a thing for Liz. Even though it was totally unrequited, he didn’t seem to care. I suspected it was because she resembled a larger version of him. I didn’t blame him. I liked tall women too.

  I stared up at her again and didn’t have to crane my neck quite so much. “I’ve never had what you would call good luck. This wasn’t an extraordinarily convenient coincidence, was it?”

  “It wasn’t. A little snake told me you were coming, so I thought I’d meet you. Grand Wizard Gosley gets paranoid when he’s out of town. Afraid the Fringes might decide to try a rebellion. I figured you might have some problems with Criz.”

  The Fringes were the verd refugees from the war who, rather than flee south when they lost, decided to tough it out in the city, surrendering rights for safety. Goblins, imps, orcs, and even the occasional hobgoblin or troll. Fringes couldn’t afford the scrap of parchment that legitimized them. They had no citizenship, no say in how things ran, and the average populace treated them like dirt. Even those that managed to get citizenship papers weren’t treated as equals. Despite that, it was better than what they got back home among their kind. The goblinoid races have a “with your shield or on it” mentality. Losers aren’t treated like returning heroes.

  Even though the sauros had been forced to aid the goblinoids against their will, the council set up by the Grand Wizard Gosley didn’t make the distinction. Sauros either purchased papers or they were Fringe. And sauros had it worse down south than the goblins. They were the victims the other victims shat upon. One of the main reasons Crizlyk had no desire to return for a visit.

  This wasn’t the first time Archer knew things she shouldn’t. I’d always suspected her “guides” did more than show people around the city. I never asked, and she never offered. “Thanks for the help,” I said. “So, Gosley’s out of town.”

  “Grand Wizard Gosley,” Archer corre
cted.

  “Yeah, right.” After Gosley and his students saved the world and took over leadership of Mage City, he decreed he would henceforth be addressed or referred to as “Grand Wizard Gosley.” Failure to do so was punishable by a fine. Overall, I had no complaints about his leadership. He had a few quirks that rankled me. This particular idiosyncrasy fell on the scale at the level of sand under fingernails. “Where did he go?”

  “No one’s certain, but my understanding is it’s a critical diplomatic mission to the elves up north in Rondalon. But you’re not here to talk about international, interracial politics. You want something from me.”

  “What makes you--”

  “It’s the only time you visit. So what is it?”

  “Well, I can tell you, but it will go better over a mug of ale.”

  Archer smiled. An unnerving sight even when she’s your friend. “Very well, we’ll get a mug of ale.”

  I smiled back. “It’ll be my treat.”

  Archer’s smile vanished like a sausage near a halfling’s mouth. “You must want something really big.”

  We made good time through the crowded streets, thanks to Archer’s appearance. Chizards are distant relatives to sauros—another reason for Criz’s infatuation—but much less common. Few people have ever seen one, even in Mage City. They were never a prolific race, and the war played hell with them. Literally. For some reason, the Demon Twins took a sadistic delight in hunting the chizards down. Most of Archer’s extended family, some eighty members, had died trying to escape through the sewers by changing into alligators and snakes and slinking away. A force of orcs and imps caught them and set the tunnels alight with hellfire. Archer was the only survivor. She still has dark patches and missing scales on her arms and legs from the burns.

  Archer slid us into a tavern called the Purple Unicorn. I call it a tavern only because it served drinks. Otherwise, it looked more like a well-decorated manor house. Fine tapestries on the walls, woven rugs on the floor. Candles scented the air with spicy sandalwood and cinnamon. The tables were made of exotic hardwoods. Most of the taverns I frequented were lucky to have straw on the floor. Some barely had floors.