by Kate Novak
The Faceless bent over the pool and peered within its depths. Something large and shadowed floated suspended between the bottom and the surface. "Misti-narperadnacles Hai Draco," the Faceless whispered.
The large, shadowy thing rose, breaking the water like an island rising from some primordial sea. Water slid down its gleaming white surfaces, dripped from the tips of its horns, poured from two empty eye sockets, then two nasal chambers and finally streamed from between the huge fangs of the great, gaping jawbone. The disembodied skull of the dragon Mistinarperadnacles Hai Draco hovered over the surface of the water. A sickly yellow light spun about in its eye sockets, a light that sprang from the necromantic powers animating the dead monster's remains.
A voice seemed to whisper in the air above the fountain, "What is your will, milord?" The dead dragon's words did not emanate from her remains, but seemed to drift about the room.
"When I first summoned you from your eternal sleep and bound you to my service," the Faceless said, "you told me something of a pair you held responsible for your demise, a lizardman and a red-headed swordswoman."
"It was a saurial, not a lizardman," the dead dragon's voice whispered.
"Do not play games with me, Mistinarperadnacles. Tell me what you know of this swordswoman and her companion."
There was a slight pause, and the glow in the dead creature's eye sockets strengthened.
"The woman called herself Abas of the Inner Sea, Alias of Westgate, and Alias the Sell-Sword. She travels in the company of a noble saurial warrior she quaintly calls Dragonbait. His name among his own people could roughly be translated as Champion of Justice. He and Alias share some magical bond." "Just how good are they?" the Faceless asked.
"They were each able to defeat me in combat, albeit not without some minor help. That's why I died in their service. Champion's skills are unsurpassed among his own people. This Alias, though, is the luckiest sell-sword I've ever witnessed in battle. Lady Luck, the goddess Tymora, must keep an eye on her." "How can they be scried?" the Faceless asked.
"As far as I know, they cannot. Apparently there's some enchantment cast on Alias that hides her from friends and enemies alike. Even King Azoun's wizard Vangerda-hast couldn't locate her." "Do they have any Harper connections?"
"It's possible. Neither Alias nor the saurial wore the Harpers' little pin, but the saurial said Elminster the Sage had given Alias a magical stone, and a bard told me Alias had taught her certain songs, which I recognized as belonging to Finder Wyvernspur." "Who?"
"Finder Wyvernspur. He was a Harper, one of the founders of the Harper revival in the north three centuries back. Fell into disgrace, I believe."
"So would you say this woman and her companion would be formidable foes?"
"Foes. You don't want them as foes, milord. They are not going to be frightened or defeated by mere thieves. They fight dragons and ancient gods and live."
The Faceless drummed his fingers on the ledge around the pool of water. "If they are as dangerous as you say,then perhaps they would make useful allies," he suggested. The air all about the cavern rang with laughter.
The Faceless scowled. "I fail to see the humor," he barked.
"I forgot, your language does not carry the subtleties of my own. I'll explain slowly enough for your mammalian brain to comprehend. As I said, the saurial warrior's true name translates roughly as 'Champion of Justice.' In other words, he serves the god Tyr. I called him a noble warrior because he has dedicated himself to Tyr's noble cause." "Like a paladin?" the Faceless asked in surprise.
"Not like one, is one. Or would be if he were human. Saurials with such dedications have gifts similar to human paladins," Mist explained. "Including the Sight?" the Faceless queried.
"The near equivalent," said the dragon, "More akin to my own race's ability to detect the unseen. He discerns the roiling mass of an individual's thoughts, feelings, and desires that make up the soul and the spirit, and is able to divine with a certain accuracy the individual's intentions. It is called shen sight. I don't imagine he would have remained with Alias all these years unless the shen sight of her was pleasing to him. He called her his soul's sister.
"So you see, I do not think they will become allied with you. Here I give you advice unbidden, milord," the dragon's dead spirit offered. "Do not pursue them, as I did, down the path to your own destruction. They are like gale winds or floodwaters. You must stay out of their path and wait them out."
"That may not be possible. They rescued Jamal the Thespian tonight, indicating they must be involved with her somehow. Knowing Jamal, she will use them to encourage the people to interfere with my plans. I must use them to further my plans, and I know just how to bring them to serve me."
"The Night Masks who serve you are all motivated by their greed, their cruelty, their sloth, and their arrogance. These two have none of these traits," the dragon's skull argued. "What can you possibly offer them?" "The chance to serve the cause of justice." The dragon skull remained silent. Mist had long ago learned not to argue with the Faceless's mad-sounding schemes. The Faceless slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. "A powerful force this Alias may be, but I know now how to bring her to rein. And when the time comes, I will destroy her."
Five
House Dhostar
Mintassan offered Alias and Dragonbait quarters in his own home, but I Alias, uncomfortable with accepting I the flirtatious mage's hospitality, declined and remained firm against the sage's insistence. Finally they reached a compromise. Mintassan surrendered their company when Alias agreed to stay at an inn two blocks away, which the sage recommended.
Blais House did not advertise as an inn, but when they walked in the front door, as Mintassan had told them to do, they were greeted politely, albeit with some surprise at their appearance, by the night manager. The inn was as elegant as any Alias had ever seen. In the foyer, the inlaid tile floor gleamed in the light of a great crystal chandelier. Alias suspected that Blais House did not ordinarily cater to adventurers, but at the mention of Mintas-san'e name the night manager became instantly cordial.
The price of a room was surprisingly reasonable, causing the swordswoman to wonder what it might have cost had they not used Mintassan's name. Alias slid four gold coins across the front desk.
The night manager, a slight man dressed in a red-and-white silk tabard and black hose, bid them to follow him as he picked up a gold-plated candelabra. He led them up a white marble staircase and down a corridor made soundproof by its plush red carpeting. At the end of the corridor he produced a key, unlocked the door on the right, and led them in. Setting the candelabra down on a table, he assured them that should they want anything at all, they had only to pull the bell cord gently. The bath, he informed them as he stepped out of the room, was at the end of the hall. Then he pulled the door shut and left them alone.
The room was spacious; the expanse of white plaster walls broken only by idealized watercolors of the city. The ceiling timbers were whitewashed and decorated with painted garlands of flowers. The fireplace was lined with local ceramic tile. The beds had thick, comfortable mattresses with heavy down filling and soft sheets tightly woven of Mulhorand cotton. The great windows were made of green-stained splinter-glass set in the patterns of trees and opened out over the entrance of the inn. The armoire was Sembian, the pair of comfortable reading chairs Waterdhavian, and beneath the beds. were Cormyrian-forged copper chamber pots with porcelain lining. A small bookshelf held several well-thumbed popular reads, including Aurora's Catalogue and a complete set of Volo's Guides.
All the luxury was lost on Alias, who sat down on the edge of her bed, shucked off her boots by stepping on the heels, let her sword belt slide to the floor, fell back on the bed, and was softly snoring, still wearing her chain mail, in under three minutes.
Dragonbait locked the door and windows, ascertained that there were no secret passages in the walls or assassins in the armoire, and tucked the case with the crystal ball under the bed. He flipped a c
orner of the coverlet over Alias's shoulder and blew out the candelabra. Lying in the dark on his bed, he prayed that if they could not be delivered soon from this city, at least they be delivered safely.
The saurial always slept lightly, so it was he who awakened at the sound of someone knocking. It was a soft, hesitant rapping, not on the door, but on the door frame-as if the knocker did not really want to be responsible for waking up a skilled swordswoman and her sharp-clawed companion.
Alias muttered a curse and turned over, pulling a pillow over her head in an attempt to rescue a few more minutes of sleep. The sun was shining outside, but Drag-onbait was still cautious. When he rose, he picked up his sword before shuffling to the door. He then concentrated his shen sight on what lay beyond the door. Feeling rather foolish, he set his sword aside, slid back the bolt, and opened the door halfway.
"Murk?" he said. Alias had tried to get him to pronounce some basic Realms words, but "what," had been impossible, and the saurial's "yes," came out a sibilant hiss that sounded like a dissolving vampire caught in an open field at dawn. In the end; he answered everything with meaningless sounds like "murk," relying on inflection to convey his meaning.
A half-elf girl not yet twelve winters old stood outside the door. She wore a miniature version of the uniform the night manager had sported, a red-and-white tabard with black hose. The paladin wondered if she'd been orphaned or abandoned, as he knew children who worked as servants often were. Her sAera-signature was the purest he had seen in Westgate, and he hoped it stayed that way.
The girl's eyes were at the same level as the saurial's, but while his were encrusted with sleep, hers were wide-eyed with astonishment. Dragonbait repeated, "Murk?" and cocked his head in a manner that humans often found amusing.
The girl remained speechless, but had the wits to hold out a small serving tray bearing two letters. Her hands shook as the saurial reached for the letters. Dragonbait was tempted to smile and pat her on the head to calm her, but realized that might have the opposite effect.
Dragonbait picked up the letters and turned away to fetch a gratuity, but when he turned back with a few coins, the child was gone, the hallway empty. Dragonbait shrugged and shut the door.
Alias had risen after all and was peeling off her chain mail. "I cannot believe you let me sleep in my armor," she said testily.
Dragonbait shrugged again. "You went out like a candle. I doubt I could have awakened you if I tried." Alias snorted, "The best bed I've seen along the Inner Sea Coast, and you let me sleep in a steel nighty. Ouch!" She stretched out the kinks in her back. "I wonder what a hot bath runs in a place like this." Dragonbait held up the two letters. "What's that?" Alias asked.
"I think you can afford a hot bath," said the saurial, throwing the heavier of the two letters on the bed. It landed with a satisfying thump and jingle. Alias snatched up the letter and ripped it open. A few magical sparks danced from the paper, and belatedly Alias saw that it bore Mintassan's sigil set into the blue sealing wax.
Four gold coins slid out from the letter's folds onto the bed. Alias leaned against a bedpost and read the letter aloud.
" Lovely Alias and stout-hearted Dragonbait, " she began, then looked up at the saurial. "How come I never-get to be stout-hearted?" "How come I never get to be lovely?" Dragonbait parried.
"Hmpph," she said, and continued reading. " 'In the press of our business dealings last night, I neglected to thank you for aiding Jamal. She is an old and dear friend.' I'll just bet," Alias muttered this last. "I would be heartbroken to see her charred to coal. Thank you. We are greatly indebted to you. I have arranged with the hostler of Blais House to turn all your charges over to my account. Please, accept this hospitality as a token of my gratitude.
" I hope that your stay in Westgate lasts long enough to afford me the opportunity to speak with both of you at length in order to broaden my knowledge of saurials. Thank you once again for your courageous rescue. Yours sincerely, Mintassan the Sage. P.S. Ask for the pan-fried prawns for dinner-they are a taste treat." "Sounds like you have a fan," the saurial said.
"Me? It's your brain he wants to pick. Probably trying to prove your people are related to tree frogs or something. He only wants me as a free translator."
"Alias, he's a spellcaster. He can use magic to speak with me. If he claimed to need you to translate, he would only be using it as an excuse to hear you speak." Alias furrowed her brow, but could think of no solid argument. "Hand me that other letter," she demanded.
Dragonbait held out the second missive by the edges, as if it were a dead thing he did not want to touch. Alias plucked it from the saurial's grasp. The paper stock was far heavier than Mintassan's stationery, and the watermarks gave it the look of a very thin slice of granite. The purple sealing wax was marked with the coat of arms of the Croamarkh of Westgate, the elected leader of the city's council of noble and wealthy merchants. Alias sniffed at it. "Smells like money," she joked. Dragonbait harrumphed. "Smells like corruption."
"In this city, it's usually the same thing." Alias slid her throwing dagger between the wax seal and the paper and unfolded the single sheet. "It says, 'From the Office of the Croamarkh, Lord Luer Dhostar, to the adventurers herein identified as Alias and her lizardman companion. Greetings in the name of the Croamarkh of Westgate.'"
Alias took a deep breath and read on. " 'Your recent activities against the criminal organization known as the Night Masks have come to our attention. We wish to discuss with you the possibility of continued employment in that capacity on our behalf. If you are interested in such, a manservant will escort you to our present location for discussions. Such dealings will undoubtedly be extremely profitable for you, and we strongly recommend you avail yourself of this opportunity. My servant is instructed to await a reply. Yours sincerely, Luer Dhostar, Croamarkh of Westgate.'"
Alias let the missive drape delicately from one hand. "What do you think?"
"Last night you wanted to take the first boat back. You said you didn't want to be a cheap hero," Dragonbait pointed out.
"Ah, but the croamarkh isn't offering us the job of cheap hero. He's giving us the chance to be 'extremely profitable' heroes." "We don't need money."
"But I like to think my services are worth money," Alias pointed out. "Lots of money. You're just hurt that he called you a lizardman," she teased.
Dragonbait sniffed with disdain. "He sounds like the sort of merchant who thinks everything can be solved by throwing money at it. The Night Masks are not a simple problem."
"Could take us more than a few weeks," Alias agreed cockily. Dragonbait laughed and shook his head.
"Look," Alias cajoled, "Grypht isn't expecting us back immediately, and I know you miss CopperBloom, but it couldn't hurt to hear what the man has to say." "Maybe not," the paladin replied dourly.
"I'll need a bath if I'm going to be presented to the croamarkh," the swordswoman declared, hopping off the bed.
Dragonbait pulled a guest bathrobe from the armoire and tossed it to her. There was a tiny rap on the door frame. Alias draped the robe over her arm and pulled open the door. A tray of fruit, muffins, and tea sat on the floor.
"Complimentary breakfast," Alias noted, looking down the hallway. "Where's the server?"
"She's shy," the paladin explained, picking up the tray, "but very sweet."
"Is she now?" Alias asked. It was rare that the saurial made that sort of compliment. "Well, you'll have to introduce us when I've finished my bath."
"What about this servant waiting downstairs?" asked Dragonbait. "Dhostar said hell wait for our reply. Let him wait."
Alias slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Dragonbait could hear her launching into a bawdy folk song involving dryads and paladins, as she went in search of the bath.
Dragonbait picked up the croamarkh's letter and sniffed. He couldn't use his shen sight on a soulless object, and while he'd joked about the smell of corruption, the only scents he could detect were paper, ink, and wax. Sti
ll, the letter made him uneasy.
"Westgate," Alias explained to Dragonbait, while she stuffed down a breakfast roll and slipped into a clean tunic, "is ruled by a council consisting of representatives of all the major trading families, along with a cluster of minor houses. No one else gets a vote in council, not craftsmen, not shopkeepers, not tavern owners, no one, not even persons like Mintassan. Most of the council's power is invested in the croamaskh. Luer Dhostar was elected by the council to three terms as croamarkh, before he was forced to yield to Lansdal Ssemm for a term. No one had really been happy with Lansdal, and during his term interfamily feuding and Night Mask violence was worse than ever. Last spring Luer Dhostar convinced the other families that only he could organize the chaos left by Lansdal, and he was returned to his former office.
"Besides his duty to the city of Westgate, Luer Dhostar oversees a mercantile empire consisting of twelve ships, twenty-four stockyards and warehouses, nine caravans, fifty representatives in other cities across the Heartlands, seventy-five businesses and craftsmen under his direct control and twice that controlled in all but name, a castle, a host of servants, ten purebred Zakharan horses, three carriages, and one son."
"Something tells me you were briefed by Elminster before we left Shadowdale," the saurial said when Alias had finished her monologue.
"Yeah. You think the old sneak had some premonition I would need to be up on current affairs?" she asked as she pulled on her chain mail and buckled on her sword.
The paladin did not answer as he buckled on his own. He didn't like to think of all the things Elminster must know.
As Alias and Dragonbait strolled down the hall, they spied the half-elven servant girl leaning over the railing, staring down at the lobby. Alias leaned against the railing beside her. The girl backed away in surprise, but her escape was blocked by the saurial. Alias turned back to look at her and smiled. "Are you the child," she asked,"who delivered the letters and breakfast?"
