Pathfinder Tales--Reaper's Eye

by Richard A. Knaak

  The bat alighted on the marble stump, then turned its head in nearly a complete circle. Grigor saw bits of marble here and there that marked what was left of the roof and verified his suspicions. This was a temple.

  It was not by mere chance that the bat had located it. Yet, finding it where the old charts had indicated still pleased the witch. The fates were on his side.

  The bat crawled around the ruins, seeking further signs favorable to Grigor’s quest. It burrowed in the rubble, looking for markings, bits of script, even some partial carving that would prove this had been constructed by the same people who had built Uhl-Adanar.

  Something moved in the rubble nearby.

  Instinct made the bat turn toward the sound. The huge eyes took in everything—the stones, the weeds, the bones of some long dead lizard—but not the source of the shifting material.

  The long tongue darted out. Through the bat’s enhanced senses, Grigor tasted the air.

  He knew what hid from his servant. The bat’s tongue flickered again as it reinforced the fact that somewhere near was a rat.

  Rodents in the Worldwound were hardly the same as those elsewhere. While they would prove no threat to Grigor himself, it would be imprudent not to investigate. That in mind, the witch had his pet bend one wing at an awkward angle and hop around.

  The image of a wounded animal did exactly as the witch wished. Out of the rubble to the bat’s right, a huge, furred form leapt. The rodent was at least five times larger than any Grigor had seen before. It had teeth that stuck out far past the lower jaw, giving it a vampiric appearance that put the bat’s own to shame.

  The vermin sought to pounce on the supposedly injured bat, but the bat fluttered above the predator at the last moment, then immediately descended, becoming the hunter instead of the prey.

  Sharp talons sank into the rodent’s flesh. The rat attempted to shake off the winged threat, but to no avail.

  The bat’s mouth twisted into as much of an approximation of Grigor’s as was possible. Teeth enhanced by the witch bit into the back of the rodent’s neck.

  With ease, Grigor’s pet ripped out a chunk of flesh. The rat shrieked in pain and tried again to free itself. Grigor had the bat sink its talons deeper. Caught up in the bat’s bloodlust, the witch had the creature spit out the gobbet so that it could take a second bite.

  The rodent’s next cry was much weaker than the first. It tried once more to free itself, but instead ended up collapsing.

  With growing gusto, Grigor—or rather, the bat—finished off its prey.

  The witch let out a gasp of dark pleasure. The temptation to continue dwelling in the bat’s savagery was strong, but Grigor managed to remind himself there were greater pleasures awaiting him.

  The bat wanted to continue its attack, but Grigor forced it to return to its search. The ruins called to the witch. He felt certain they held another clue.

  The bat hopped over a small pile of cracked marble. As it did, Grigor noticed something at the edge of his view. He guided the bat to the spot and had the creature shove aside some of the rubble.

  The profile of a wolf revealed itself.

  Grigor blinked. The profile in itself as a good sign, a true sign, but there was something, some minute change, that he couldn’t put his finger on. He had the bat clear away more of the rubble, revealing a further portion of the image. Tongue continually darting, the creature then backed up so that the witch could study his findings.

  Even with the full gaze of the bat fixed on the relief, Grigor could not fathom just what it was that was different. The wolf faced the same direction. The etchings around it were identical to those he recalled. The symbols to the side—

  The symbols.

  The witch had his servant focus on those farthest to the left. Grigor eyed each one in turn. The difference was there. It was minute, but he was certain that—

  Through the bat’s tongue, Grigor suddenly tasted a worrying scent.

  The bat took to the air—or rather, tried to.

  All Grigor heard was a brief growl. Then, pain wracked him as something ripped apart his winged servant.

  With a gasp, Grigor quickly lowered the staff. His link to the bat severed, the witch no longer felt its death throes.

  His mind was awhirl with conflicting thoughts. Part of him continued to try to define the difference he had seen in the relief, the memory already slipping away despite his best efforts.

  The rest of him concentrated on the scent he had noticed just before the bat’s grisly demise. Had it been that of another rat, the witch would have paid it no mind, save for the magical cost of losing yet another valuable tool.

  Unfortunately, he had detected the one scent he most wished he had not. A scent he had noted twice before, both times revolving around his quest.

  A demon … yet with a very lupine scent …

  12

  FUGITIVE

  Water splashed Daryus in the face. He swallowed what he could of it, then opened his eyes and glanced up at the pitborn who had thrown it at him.

  “Thanks. I got thirsty waiting for you.” As he spoke, Daryus shifted as best he could on the chair to which he had been tied. The old wood remained as sturdy—as unbreakable—as before.

  “Should have killed you,” his captor replied, displaying sharp teeth. “Still no sign of the accursed thing.”

  “I told you what I know of him. If you can find Toy, you’re very welcome to him.” Since being taken in the alley, Daryus had spent most of his time trying to figure out his captors. By rights, they should have killed him, but instinct had made him go along rather than fight what was likely to have been a futile—and fatal—battle.

  The remaining two pitborn had quickly bound him so that he could be no threat to them. Even then, there had been a few tricks Daryus could have used to possibly escape. However, he had deemed his chances much better by cooperating until the duo made some mistake.

  They had brought him to this unused building in the slums as if they knew it very well. From the signs he had seen, the building had gone through plenty of use by others. Daryus had wondered what Harricka would think if she knew that pitborn and others used her fair city for refuge as they passed from the Worldwound to the outside realms and back.

  The pitborn grunted in response. From a distance and with his mouth closed, he could pass for human, something his companion could not have done. Curiously, despite that, it was the latter now out among the populace on some mission that had thus far meant the former crusader’s life continuing to be spared.

  Despite appearances, Daryus had not been inactive. The pitborn had bound him tight enough to deal with his strength, but did not know about some of the tricks he had learned since having left the order. Given a little more time, Daryus knew he could have the ropes loose enough for him to escape. His weapons lay nearby, prizes the pitborn had yet to decide what to do with.

  “You were a fool to trust the weasel,” his captor muttered.

  “And you’re a bigger fool if you think ever I did. What do you want with him?”

  If the pitborn intended to reply—which would have been a change from previous conversations—his opportunity passed quickly, for they were at that moment joined by the other survivor.

  “Too late,” the uglier pitborn growled. “He’s gone.”

  “The witch won’t like this,” the first returned. “Betrayed twice…”

  “The mercenaries—”

  “Have their task. This was ours.”

  “Maybe we can still find the familiar.” He jerked a thumb at Daryus. “Maybe we should cut his throat and see if it shows up. It seems to need him.”

  Daryus worked harder on the ropes.

  The first mulled the suggestion over, then shook his head. “Not yet. Toy picked him for a reason. The witch may want to know that reason.”

  Daryus paused. Toy had picked him?

  “I don’t care if he does,” the uglier pitborn retorted. “If the human won’t draw the weasel to us,
he’s no use! Let’s slit his throat!”

  “If I slit any throats, it’ll be yours!” argued his companion. “He’s our only chance to find the weasel! I’ll see that tube-rat skinned—the others are dead because of him!”

  “And because of this one, too!”

  As the pair argued, the former crusader suddenly felt activity by his wrists. Barely a breath later, his bonds loosened completely.

  Daryus hid his surprise. Instead, he focused on the distance between his weapons and himself. That done, he looked from one pitborn to another, judging the odds there as well.

  “There’s something I just remembered about Toy,” he announced.

  His second captor took a step toward him. “You know nothing! You just want to keep your life!” He drew a dagger. “I should—”

  Daryus lunged.

  He crossed the distance in half the time most men would have needed, catching the nearer pitborn while the latter was still adjusting his grip on the dagger. Daryus threw himself at an angle, sending both of them colliding with the other captor.

  As they all went down, he twisted the dagger from the one pitborn’s grip. Taking a risk, he grabbed for the fallen weapon even as the duo tried to recover.

  His fingers closed around the hilt, and he thrust at the closest of his foes. The dagger sank deep into the uglier pitborn’s shoulder. The demonspawn cried out.

  The force of Daryus’s blow worked against him. Driven into the pitborn’s shoulder to the hilt, the dagger refused to be removed. Swearing, Daryus kicked his wounded adversary to the side as he went for his own weapons.

  The first of the pitborn snagged his leg just before he could reach his sword. Daryus kicked the horned assassin in his blunt features, forcing him to release his hold.

  Daryus seized his sword and faced the pair. By this time, the second pitborn had managed to pull the dagger from his shoulder. Looking more furious than wounded, he threw the blade expertly at Daryus.

  Waiting for just that particular attack, Daryus deflected the missile. However, as he did, the wounded assassin drew his own sword and charged.

  The pair exchanged blows. Despite the bloody gap in the pitborn’s shoulder, he showed no sign of slowing. Indeed, very likely urged on by the injury Daryus had caused him, he pressed the human hard. Daryus found himself backing into a corner—not a place he wanted to be.

  Behind Daryus’s attacker, the other assassin rubbed his ruined nose, then drew his own sword. Daryus knew he had to finish off the nearer pitborn quickly if he wanted a chance to survive.

  Then, something caused the assassin with the broken nose to stumble and fall. The pitborn cursed as he fell, then spouted something in a language Daryus didn’t understand.

  Whatever he said made Daryus’s foe turn. Daryus didn’t question his luck. Too close to use his blade effectively, he satisfied himself with punching the distracted assassin with his sword’s pommel.

  The stunned pitborn tumbled back. Daryus readied his sword, only to hear a new voice.

  “Run!”

  He recognized Toy immediately, although exactly where the familiar was, he could not say. Still gripping his weapon, he shoved past the wounded pitborn, then leapt over the other.

  As he reached the door, something seized his shoulder.

  “Faster!” urged Toy near his ear.

  Daryus burst through the door and out into the dank slums. He was not at all surprised to find no one in the immediate vicinity. The pitborn would have hardly chosen a place too near where people tended to congregate.

  It was not like him to run from a fight, especially against only two. The assassins had gotten the better of him in the alley through subterfuge. Daryus was now certain he could have taken both in the building, but Toy’s urging had made him fear that some other danger lurked.

  This far from his foes, Daryus turned his concern to Shiera and her patron. While Raffan was not of much interest to Daryus, Shiera was tied to the man.

  “Back to the market, back to the market!” hissed Toy.

  “Is that where they are?”

  “No questions!”

  That answer made Daryus come to an abrupt halt. “Tell me straight or I’ll save those demonspawn the trouble and skin you myself! Where’s Shiera?”

  “She has been kidnapped, kidnapped!”

  “By who?”

  “The four who rode with us!”

  “Galifar and his men?” Whatever his mistrust of Toy at times, Daryus didn’t find the weasel’s declaration particularly hard to accept. He had seen Galifar’s ilk enough to believe the weasel about the duplicitous nature of the mercenary captain and his small band.

  “Yes!” the familiar insisted. “Toy followed them! Saw them take her outside the city!”

  Daryus held back a wider frown. He was certain that Toy was not exactly telling the entire truth, but that could wait until Daryus located Shiera. While some hired swords would have considered their contracts ended by such events, he couldn’t find it in himself to abandon Shiera to her fate. The Flaming Lance might have cast him out, but Daryus still inherently believed in the most basic of their tenets: that the crusaders protected the good from evil.

  “Why would they do that? Slave traders?”

  “No! No! The witch’s men they are! Grigor’s men! We need to follow! Yes, follow!”

  Daryus had no intention of leaving Shiera to either the mercenaries or the witch. Of course, that meant getting out of Kenabres without Harricka or some other veteran who knew Daryus spotting him.

  Barely had he thought that than Toy jumped off his shoulder. After a pause to look behind them, the familiar pointed his nose to the right. “There! We go there!”

  “Why there?”

  “You must have a mount, Master Daryus … and the pitborn have good mounts…”

  The pitborn’s mounts? “They’re that direction?”

  “Yes, both!”

  Daryus nodded. “Show me the way.”

  Toy scurried off, and Daryus followed.

  The familiar led him down an alley, then onto a narrow, deserted street even deeper into the slums. The area was such that it did not look at all odd for Daryus to be keeping his weapon handy. The pitborn clearly trusted their disguises only so far.

  Toy finally led him to a decrepit set of stables watched over by a hefty, balding figure who had likely once been a soldier and now clearly acted as a guard for the seedy establishment. The burly sentry nodded lazily at Daryus, who walked into the stables as if keeping an animal of his own there.

  Toy had vanished the moment they neared the stables, but reappeared just inside the stables. “This way! This way!”

  “Keep it down!” Continuing to follow the weasel, Daryus inspected one dirty stall after another. Most were empty, but at last Toy stopped before one where a brooding dark mare eyed the intruders with distrust.

  “This one of them?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  Daryus grunted. “You know a lot, don’t you? You seem to have been busy. Much too busy.”

  Toy gave him a one-eyed look of puzzlement. “I am a familiar. It is my task to know as much as possible.”

  The weasel moved on as if he had explained everything. Still not satisfied but aware he had no time to question Toy further, Daryus entered the stall.

  The mare snorted uneasily. Daryus made soothing noises as he inspected the animal. She was covered in small scars, most of them, Daryus decided, being the work of the mount’s rider. Still talking calmly to the mare, Daryus began preparing the creature for the journey.

  The saddle was a standard one he was easily able to secure. Daryus tried to work quickly, aware that at any moment the pitborn might come for their horses. If they trapped him in the stall, he would stand no chance.

  He mounted the moment the animal was ready. The mare snorted again, then moved around as best as the stall allowed. Daryus leaned forward and gently tried to shush the horse—

  Voices arose from near the entrance, voices that d
id not sound much like the pitborn.

  Daryus urged the mare out of the stall.

  Three crusaders stood blocking the way out. They did not seem prepared for Daryus, but immediately compensated.

  He urged the mare to as full a gallop as she could manage despite the cramped surroundings.

  The crusaders already had their weapons drawn before Daryus managed to get the mare halfway down the central corridor. He gently kicked the beast in the sides, trying to get it to move faster.

  The youngest-looking crusaders broke away as the mare neared. Daryus maneuvered the horse toward the sudden gap.

  A sword came at him from his right. Daryus twisted to his left, just managing to evade the attack.

  Leaving the trio in his wake, he steered the horse out the entrance. The guard made a grab for him, but much too late.

  “Faster! Faster!” Toy shouted from behind him.

  Daryus had no idea just how the crusaders had known he would be here. Only as he rode out into the street did Daryus consider that perhaps they had not been after him at all, but rather the assassins. Even still, he wondered at that timing as well.

  Suspicious as he was about his tiny companion, Daryus chose to say nothing to Toy until they were far from the stables and into the Ring District, which engulfed not only the Waller slums, but also Old Kenabres.

  With crowds finally around him, Daryus finally dared to speak, albeit under his breath. “Which gate? The south one?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  “Any idea where they want to go after that?

  Toy climbed up onto his shoulder again. “The Worldwound, of course, Master Daryus! The Worldwound!”

  “Well, that narrows it down.” Daryus held his tongue as he noticed a mounted party moving through the crowds from the other direction. He squinted, scarcely believing his bad luck.

  Sure enough, at their head was Harricka.

  The dark look on her face matched his thoughts. In her mind, once more, Daryus had played her for the fool. She would not be as kind to him as she had been last meeting.

  He steered the mare to the right. The crowd made the going slow. Daryus bowed his head and tried to look like any of a hundred other people riding through Kenabres. The turn he desired beckoned, but the way continued to be clogged with people who seemed not to understand that a horse outweighed them.