The Malaise Falchion

by Paul Barrett

  “I’ll make it up to you,” I said.

  “No, you won’t.” She opened the door. The smell of swamp grass and peat drifted out. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “Thank your master for me.” She gave me an appraising stare. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “Good night, Liz,” Crizlyk said in a lilting voice. “I’ll dream about you.”

  “That’s…comforting.” She walked into the room and closed the door.

  “This way,” the boy said. He took us past one door and pushed open the second, this one made of wood I didn’t even recognize. I caught the scent of earth, loam, and heated stone. It immediately reminded me of home. That pissed me off until I realized it had been done as a kind gesture. Just like they had made Liz’s room smell like her marshland.

  “Is everything okay?” the elfling asked, his brows bunched in concern.

  I had scrunched my face in anger and forgotten to relax it. I did so now and offered a toothy grin. “It’s fine,” I said. “Just had a momentary bout with gas.”

  The boy took an uncertain step backward, then nodded when I dropped the smile. “There are washcloths and soap in a basin inside. Would you like your clothes cleaned?”

  I handed him my rucksack, which had somehow survived everything I had gone through with little wear. Never having retrieved my other clothes from Siralanna, I was down to one spare. “You can clean the set in there. I’ll put those on when I wake up. Right now I just want to sleep.”

  He took the sack. “As you wish.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Milanis,” the boy said. “Quinitas is my uncle.”

  I studied him. Damned if the resemblance wasn’t there. “You’re Siralanna’s son.”

  He lowered his head. “Yes.” His voice cracked. “Though I’m ashamed to admit it now.”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I patted him on the shoulder. I had to stretch my arm to do it. “We can’t pick our family. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.” Though much older than he looked, he was still basically an early adolescent as far as elves went.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said. He stared down at me. His expression said I know. Why wouldn’t I be?

  “Thank your uncle for me.”

  He nodded and turned away. I closed the door and found Crizlyk had already poured hot water from the pot into a basin and had sprinkled dried hyacinth into it.

  “What are you doing, trying to make me smell like an elf?”

  “It’ll be an improvement, boss,” he said. “You could smell like an orc, and it would be an improvement.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I could still whiff the putrosium in my clothes. Probably best to burn them. I pulled them off, groaning now that no one but Criz could hear me. Once I had stripped, I took the washcloth and wildflower-scented soap and cleaned myself as best I could. The woodsy scent crinkled my shovel-shaped nose. I sneezed several times. I dried myself and had to admit I smelled and felt better. I wished I had some good clean earth to rub under my armpits. All I found was a vial of rosewater. That wasn’t going to happen. Crizlyk had already spread out his bedroll and fallen asleep. He let out the occasional soft moan. No doubt dreaming of Liz, the naughty little imp.

  The bed looked too comfortable for me even to consider getting dressed. I crawled under the fresh linens and was gone before my head landed on the pillow.

  13

  “Wake up, boss,” Crizlyk said, hot breath on my ear. “I think we’re landing.”

  I opened my eyes and listened. The constant thrum of the propellers had disappeared. I sat up and stretched. Joints popped and muscles unwound. I groaned out of habit even though the soreness had abated. The wonders of deep sleep. Hunger snarled at me.

  “Here you go,” Crizlyk said, knowing me all too well. He had a tray of eggs, bacon, pastries, and a bottle of red wine.

  “Thanks,” I said. I don’t know what I thought elves would eat, but I had expected something more…frivolous.

  Turned out I was right. The eggs had been flavored with rose petals and coriander, the bacon faked from soybeans, and the pastries loaded with enough cream and butter to drain a cow. The whole time I ate, I longed for meat. Soybeans are for feeding livestock. Which you then slaughter to make real food.

  I chased the meal down with the wine. In addition to being too sweet, it had far less alcohol that it should have. “Only elves would water down their wine.”

  “That’s grape juice, boss.”

  I sighed. “Only elves would put grape juice in a wine bottle.”

  About the time we finished eating, the Ziploon landed. A gentle thud announced our arrival. The room had no windows, so I had no idea if Quinitas had followed my advice to land outside the city.

  Moments later, a soft knock rattled the door.

  “Who is it,” I said.

  “Milanis,” the thin voice said. “I have your clothes.”

  “Good,” I said. I pulled the sheet over my lower half. “Come in.”

  He opened the door and walked in with a pile of black cloth in one hand and my rucksack in the other. Disgust hit his face as he saw my squat, hair-laden chest and torso. Well-trained, he quickly reverted to a neutral expression.

  “Don’t worry, boy; you’ll have a fine coat like this someday,” I ran my hand over the coarse red chest hair.

  “Thankfully I won’t,” he said. “We don’t have body hair.”

  “None?” I asked.

  “None,” he confirmed.

  “Learn something new every day,” I said. “What’s that?”

  He looked at the bundle in his hand. “It’s the clothing my uncle wants you to wear.”

  “I thought you said you had my clothes.”

  He held up the rucksack. “They are here and washed, but since you are going on a night reconnaissance, my uncle would—”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I said. “It’s not my first joust.”

  That confused him. “He said nothing about jousting.”

  He and Crizlyk would make great friends. “Just leave the clothes.”

  He nodded and set the clothes on the small table. As he dropped my rucksack to the floor, he said, “Do you need anything else?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  He nodded. “My uncle is waiting for you on deck as soon as you’re ready.”

  He walked out and closed the door. “No body hair,” I said, running a hand through my beard. “That’s freaky.”

  Crizlyk looked at his scaly hide. “Yeah, I couldn’t imagine that.”

  “It’s different. Other than general body shape, you don’t resemble a dwarf. Elves do.”

  “I wouldn’t tell them that,” Crizlyk said.

  The bundle of dark clothing revealed itself to be two sets, one for me and one for Crizlyk. I tossed the smaller packet to my assistant.

  “I hate black,” Criz said. “It doesn’t work with my skin.”

  I considered the bright yellow outfit he wore, though it wasn’t quite as radiant after the past few days. “Your sense of color coordination is suspect at best.”

  “At least I know there are colors other than brown.”

  “I know it too. I just find them unnecessary.”

  I changed into the clothes. They fit well. The material caressed my skin like a bought kiss. The fabric for just the shirt had probably cost more than my whole wardrobe. I hefted my pack onto my shoulder. A scent of lilac drifted from the bag, under-laid with the barest hint of putrosium. They had tried, but the smell of the mineral clung like a tick.

  As we stepped out of the room, Liz’s door opened. She also wore the black clothing. It was perfectly cut to accent her lithe body. The word sensuous had been created to describe the sight before me.

  “I love this,” Liz ran a hand over her hip, which put a shiver through mine. “I have to find out who their seamstress is.”

  Crizlyk looked askance at her. “It always weirds me out when you talk like a girl.” By the way he shifted his b
lack pants, that wasn’t the only effect it had on him.

  Liz gave a shy smile and flicked her tongue at him. She was a beautiful lizard. Her bow rested across her back, the quiver slung beside her backpack. I caught a faint odor of raw meat coming from it.

  “Planning a barbecue?” I asked.

  “A snack. In case I get hungry on our trek.”

  I didn’t know why she would get hungry on a less than five-mile walk. I didn’t ask.

  We went up on deck. Quinitas had taken my advice. Mage City sat in the distance, spires silhouetted by the lowered sun visible across the fields. It was a beautiful city from this vantage. Too bad what happened inside wasn’t as pleasant as its outward appearance. That was something Siralanna and the city had in common.

  We had landed too far away to see the pit that surrounded the walls. I could barely make out the waves that drifted up from the ever-burning whatever it was that roasted miles down in the crevice. We had landed next to a vineyard, judging by the rows of grape trellises and the bittersweet scent on the air.

  Quinitas stood amidships, near the lowered gangplank. His two orcs flanked him. All of them had also changed into dark clothing, which meant the orcs were coming with their boss. I would have preferred they stayed behind, although the extra muscle might prove useful. They all looked toward the city. As I approached, Quinitas said, “Are you ready? All fresh and rested?”

  “I’m good.” I didn’t take his bait. Elves don’t have to sleep. Another reason to hate them. “If you’re waiting on me, you’re backing up.”

  He turned to me and gave a wry smile. “And by associating with you, I’m dumbing down. Such is fate.” He turned back and started down the gangplank. His goons followed him, and we followed them.

  “So much for your onboard hospitality.” I pointed to the trellises as we reached the ground. “This yours?”

  “My Clan’s, yes,” he answered. “One of seven we own.”

  I nodded. “I assume your Clan also has a way we can get into the city without being seen.”

  “Of course not,” he sniffed. “We’re respectable merchants and upstanding citizens.”

  “Funny, last I checked you were an assassin, and your sister was a psychotic necromancer. True bedrock of the earth, your people.”

  He wheeled on me. “My Clan is above reproach. Being an assassin is an age-old and honorable profession. My sister is a regrettable anomaly. And if we’re casting general aspersions, should I judge your entire Clan based on your actions?”

  I glared up at him. The orcs bristled; Liz tensed. Crizlyk cast his frightened eyes back and forth. I took a deep breath and let it out―willing myself not to leap up and throttle him.

  “My apologies,” I damn near choked getting out the words. “Of course every family has their flawed gems. As you say, your Clan is respected. As is mine if it comes to that. So, since you participate in no nefarious activities that demand secrecy, how did you plan for us to get into town? Walk through the front gate?”

  “I suspect that would work fine,” Quinitas said. “But if you feel we require subterfuge, I am certain you know the rat holes we can use. I don’t mean that as an insult,” he hastily added in reaction to my fists clenching. “Rather, I know your profession calls for subtlety and discretion, so I’m sure you have ways to move unseen.”

  “Nice recovery,” Liz said.

  “I don’t know any secret ways in,” I said. “I’ve never needed them.”

  “I have ways” Liz said.

  Quinitas gaped at her. Each orc cocked a jagged eyebrow.

  “I wasn’t always a tour guide,” she said. “Now that we’ve resolved that, can we continue?”

  I smiled. In addition to scouting with me during the war, Liz also did weapons runs to supply the besieged city. Of course, she had secret routes. I suspected she still used them since her business partner was a well-known smuggler in certain circles.

  We walked in silence as the sun went down. The city drew closer. More lights appeared on the outer rim and high up in the spires at the hilltop. The Good Wizard Gosley’s tower gleamed with a light that changed colors in a steady rhythm. It was an ostentatious display of magical power that fit our leader like a glove.

  Full dark had fallen by the time we reached the fissure that surrounded the city. Only a fingernail clipping of the smaller moon Asol shone. The larger Aslic went dark this time of the month.

  Thankfully, everyone in our little troop could see fine in pitch black. Each race had a different method to do so. I read heat signals. To my eyes, Liz and Criz appeared pale blue and the others bright orange. Anything not living looked muted brown and dead.

  The orcs saw in shades of gray like dogs. Quinitas simply ignored the lack of light. To elves, night looked like a cloudy day. Liz and Criz used their tongues to sense changes in air pressure. Though not as accurate as vision, it worked well enough for them.

  This gave us an advantage over the almost exclusively human city guard, though it wouldn’t help a bit against the hobgoblins when we found them.

  “We’ll have to go across the East Gap Bridge and trust to luck,” Liz said. “My secret ways don’t include us getting across the fissure.”

  “I can take care of that,” Quinitas said. “Are we close to a way through the wall?

  Liz took a moment to get her bearings. “Pretty close,” she said.

  Quinitas nodded and stared at the ground. He reached down and picked up something. A cricket. It chirped quietly. “Gather close,” he told us.

  We did, Criz and I towered over by our companions. Claustrophobia doesn’t affect my people. After all, most of us are born and live our lives in caves. Still, being so close to orcs and an elf and unable to see past them made my skin crawl. Overcoming ingrained racial antipathy is a bitch.

  Quinitas chanted in the annoyingly musical Elvish. As he spoke, he put the cricket against each of our foreheads in turn. When it touched me my scalp tingled and my neck hairs stood up. Thankfully my nose stayed clear. This spell wasn’t as strong as the location spell.

  He touched the insect to his head last. He held his hand out palm up, and the cricket sat on it like a pet.

  “Taisa,” Quinitas said. Elvish for jump. The cricket obeyed by leaping off his hand. It burst into a brief spark of fire. White light flashed across my face, and I was standing on the other side of the fissure along with everyone else.

  “Wow, that was—” Criz stopped, fell to his knees, and threw up.

  “I don’t think he’s ever going to get used to that,” I told Quinitas.

  The elf shrugged. “Some people don’t.” He looked at Liz. “As soon as the little one is done, you can take over.”

  Criz spoke between spewing. “She doesn’t…have to…take over. I can be…sick on…my own.”

  Even sick he was literal. I refrained from laughing. I didn’t want the runt to feel worse.

  Liz knelt and rubbed Criz’s back. “You’ll be okay soon.”

  Soon eventually happened. Criz stood up. “A little warning next time.”

  “If you ever see me picking up a cricket, consider yourself warned.”

  The sauro spit and let out an irritated hiss.

  I briefly wondered why some spells required props like crickets or pats of butter and some didn’t. Then I decided I didn’t care. Spells were like my wand. As long as they worked, I didn’t need to know the mechanics.

  “Shall we?” Liz said. She took the lead, and we followed. The wall stood about twenty feet high here, patrolled irregularly. With the nearly moonless night and our equally dark clothing, I wasn’t too worried we would be spotted. Nonetheless, we stayed close to the wall and moved as quietly as we could with two orcs in chain mail.

  Fifty feet brought us to a downgrade in the irregular bedrock. Liz scurried down the slope; we joined her. I saw a small gap at the wall’s bottom where it didn’t quite touch the ground. Big enough for nothing larger than a rat. I made a closer inspection of the wall and saw the slight
irregularity in the mortar. “There’s a door here.”

  “Yes, there is,” Liz said.

  Quinitas raised his eyebrows.

  “Dwarves and rocks,” I said. “It’s kind of like you guys and wildflowers.”

  He offered me a sneer with no real menace in it.

  “I’ll need a moment to open it,” Liz said. A slight haze engulfed her. In seconds she became a gecko and ran into the gap under the wall.

  “Where do her clothes go?” Crizlyk asked.

  “To another dimension,” Quinitas said.

  “A what?”

  “Don’t bother,” I said as the elf opened his mouth to explain. “You’ll just confuse him and give me a headache. What he wants to know is will she have clothes on when she transforms back, and the answer is yes. You know that. You’ve seen her change at least a dozen times.”

  Crizlyk frowned. “A guy can always hope.”

  A few silent minutes passed before we heard a click. The wall swung open, creating an opening barely three-foot-high. A smiling, fully-clothed Liz stooped to look at us. “Welcome, gentlemen,” she said. “You too, Spade.”

  We slipped inside. Quinitas and the orcs had to stoop. Liz closed the wall, then walked to the nearest building and pushed a few buttons. The wall clicked again. Liz placed a wooden slat over the buttons to conceal them. She looked at Quinitas. “I would appreciate it if you forget you ever saw this.”

  “Saw what?” Quinitas asked, smiling. Liz smiled back.

  “Let’s go,” I growled, not approving of all the smiling. “This is where you take over.”

  “Hang on,” Liz said. She had unclipped her pack and pulled out something wrapped in white paper. I caught a stronger smell of raw meat. She unwrapped a slab of bloody steak as large as my head and consumed it in two quick bites.

  “You knew you were going to have to metamorph, didn’t you?”

  “I suspected it would be a possibility,” she said. “I like to be prepared. I would have hated to eat Crizlyk.”

  “I wouldn’t have been too fond of it either,” the sauro said.