by Rich Wulf
“A soul cannot appreciate the stillness of the pond until it ripples,” Omax said. The warforged’s head swiveled from one side to the other with a low metallic click, his shining eyes scanning the darkness for any threat. He walked past them, finding his way unerringly in the shadows.
“Is he joking?” Seren asked with a half smile.
“It’s always hard to tell,” Tristam said, sheathing his sword and following.
Seren moved to Omax’s left while Tristam flanked the warforged on his right. She kept her hand on the hilt of her dagger. She was unsure if it would do much good against the creatures of the pit, but it would serve her well if the mortal inhabitants of the village decided to pose a problem. Other than the faint haze of starlight and the shimmering blue radiance of Omax’s eyes, the city was in complete darkness. The shrieking sounds of the pit were as loud as she had heard them, growing by the moment. The sound was difficult to describe: a mad, piercing wail underscored by babbling. Seren wanted to go back. When she exchanged looks with Tristam, it seemed he was having second thoughts as well, but Omax’s gaze was resolute and fearless. She saw no lights in any of the windows, only the occasional faint crack of radiance behind thick shutters. Though there were a few sconces for everbright lanterns on either side of the street, they did not shine. Seren paused by one and studied the empty bracket atop it. She looked at the others.
“Someone stole the light, I guess,” Tristam said, shrugging.
“Or it was removed intentionally,” Omax suggested. “I think no one wants to see what happens here at night.”
The same thought had occurred to Seren, but she had not wanted to speak it aloud. She gave the sconce a final anxious glance and moved on. Tristam stopped them several times, brow furrowing as he struggled to find the right way. They changed directions several times, until Omax finally sat down in the street and looked up at Tristam patiently.
“Whenever you know where we are going, I am ready,” he said.
“Sorry, Omax, but you know this can be tricky to triangulate,” Tristam said, scratching his chin as he looked one way, then the next. “Remember how easily we lost Seren?”
Then it struck her, what had bothered her from before. “Tristam, you can track the lens even though you only handled it for a moment,” she said. “If Marth is an artificer as well, shouldn’t he be able to do the same?”
“Doubtful,” Tristam said. “The transfusion I used is very rare. Ashrem taught it to me himself. Even if Marth could do it, he’d have to be an artificer of extraordinary power to sense its location all the way from Wroat.”
“And what if he is?” Seren asked. “You saw what he did to the inn. Are we talking impossible or improbable?”
Tristam grimaced. “Improbable,” he admitted. “Let’s not dwell on that, Seren; we already have enough worries.” He pointed. “It’s that way.”
“Are you sure?” Omax asked, still sitting.
“I think so,” Tristam answered, scratching his chin again.
Omax rose with what sounded like a sigh. They continued moving cautiously, if a bit quicker than before. They were almost at the center of town now, and when they emerged at the mouth of an alley Seren thought she heard Omax chuckle.
“How fortunate we are for your magical tracking ability, Tristam,” Omax said. “We might never have found this.”
A large sign emblazoned with an open eye hung above a door across the street. It read:
INQUISITIVE FOR HIRE
NO QUESTIONS ASKED
ALL QUESTIONS ANSWERED
REASONABLE RATES
INQUIRE WITHIN
“Well, look at that,” Tristam said, shoulders slumping as he read the sign.
Seren smiled, but her smile faded as she studied the surrounding buildings. They were uniformly dark and rundown, like the rest of the village. There was no way of telling who might be within, or if Arthen’s home was already being watched from one of them. In a place like Black Pit, it was almost impossible to find anything conspicuously suspicious, since everything was already rather shady and threatening.
Then Seren saw the small figure crouching on the rooftop next to Arthen’s office. She darted forward, seizing Tristam by the sleeve and pulling him back into the alley. Wordlessly, she pointed up.
“Let’s sneak around behind that building to the right,” Tristam said. “We should be able to get up on that roof behind him without him noticing.”
“We probably don’t need to,” Seren said. “Whoever that is, they aren’t going anywhere unless Arthen does. What if they cry out and Arthen hears?”
“He isn’t going to hear anything with the racket out tonight,” Tristam answered.
Seren couldn’t really argue the point, though the mysterious noise emanating from the Pit made her less eager to stumble through dark alleys. Omax led the way around to the back of the building adjacent to Arthen’s. The alley was littered with refuse and heaped with the black filth that fell from the sky. Seren searched the wall for a way up, but saw nothing beyond a few rough handholds in the stone wall. She prepared to climb, but was surprised to find her feet rooted firmly to the ground.
“What are we standing in?” she asked, twisting to look at the ground beneath her.
The shrieking that resounded from the pit erupted much closer. The pile of garbage that littered the alley exploded into movement. A grotesque amorphous shape surged toward them, a greasy pile of gray flesh studded with bloodshot eyes and clicking, fanged mouths. The sound that came from within it drilled into Seren’s head, shaking her bones and robbing her of the will to act. She felt the ground suck at her feet. What once was sturdy earth now sucked at her calves. Tristam reached for his wand with a numb, shaking hand. The creature vomited a ball of black spit in the artificer’s eyes and he fell back, screaming and clawing at his face.
The thing knocked Tristam down with a fleshy limb and rolled over his helpless form, extending more twisted hideous arms toward Seren. Then Omax was there, charging into the creature headfirst. He hit the thing squarely with a meaty slap and it began to extend fleshy, biting tentacles around the warforged’s body. With a heavy grunt and a heave, Omax grasped the beast with both arms and lifted it from the ground, pulling it off Tristam’s body. He hurled it to the opposite side of the alley. It struck the wall with the sound of cracking stone and oozed downward, leaving a trail of red ichor in its wake. Omax wrapped one arm around Seren’s waist and pulled her free of the quagmire. The shifting ground was swiftly becoming stone again now that the creature was further away.
“Finish it, Tristam,” Omax said.
“I can’t see!” the artificer said, panicked. He had tilted back his head and was now liberally dousing his face with something out of a vial from his pocket.
The creature pulled itself together with a bubbling noise. Its eyes wobbled unsteadily, then all swiveled in the same direction at once, focusing on Omax. Seren drew her knife, out of habit more than any real belief it would help. With a sudden surge it opened all the mouths on its body at once, screaming with a mad, gibbering cry.
A crossbow bolt shot down from the roof above, leaving a trail of sparks as it flew directly into one of the creature’s mouths. The abomination bit down hard. A muffled thud rocked the street just as fire erupted from several of the creature’s orifices. A cloud of oily black smoke coughed out a moment later. The monster settled to the earth with a disgusting rasp of released gas.
Tristam looked around, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. “What happened?” he asked. “Is it dead?”
“That looked like one of your explosive potions,” Omax said, peering up at the roof above them.
“That’s because it was,” said Gerith Snowshale, hopping down from the roof. He tucked his crossbow back into his belt with a scowl. “Are you hurt?”
“Other than accumulating more character, I am fine,” Omax said, poking the bite marks on his left forearm with one finger as he assessed the damage.
“Gerith, what ar
e you doing here?” Seren asked, tucking her knife away.
“How did you get one of my potions?” Tristam asked.
Gerith pretended the question did not exist. He looked up at Seren with a charming grin. “I’ve been spying on Zed Arthen for four days,” he said to her. “Didn’t you know? I thought Dalan sent you to check on me.”
“Not exactly,” Tristam said, looking at Omax for support. The warforged was still studying the dents on his arm, ignoring Tristam.
“He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he?” Gerith said, looking up at Tristam and chuckling with malicious glee.
A sharp reptilian squawk sounded from above, blending easily with the shrieking of the pit, but Gerith stopped speaking and looked up instantly. He replied with a similar cry, and Blizzard landed on the street nearby with a leathery flap.
“Arthen’s moving,” Tristam said.
“I know,” Gerith said, hopping into the saddle. “Keep up if you can, but try to keep your distance. And Seren.” The halfling looked at her pointedly. “Keep those two out of trouble.”
Omax looked up at Gerith in shock. The halfling gave a final cocky smile and flapped away on his glidewing.
Seren’s life as a street rat had made her fairly competent at shadowing people, or at least she’d thought as much. She was capable of fading into the background and following a mark for hours without attracting his attention. It was easier with a crowd to act as cover, but nearly as simple on a dark evening like tonight. In a place like Black Pit, it should have been relatively simple. To her surprise, Zed Arthen lost her in less than two minutes. She had only one clear glimpse of his ratty brown coat before he disappeared into another alley, during which she noticed that he had a large sword strapped to his back.
The worst part was that she was fairly certain that he hadn’t even noticed her. She had been hanging back farther than usual, with Omax being as conspicuous as he was. The inquisitive ditched them effortlessly, without even knowing they were there. She hadn’t seen any sign of Gerith since he had taken off, and could only hope that the little scout was having more luck. It was all in Tristam’s hands now.
The artificer stood in the center of a crossroads, brow furrowed as he closed his eyes in concentration. Omax sat on the road in meditation, obviously not expecting Tristam to sort out the answer any time soon.
Seren was not quite so patient. “Well?” she prompted. She scanned the streets for movement, nervous for any sign of life after the strange creature that attacked them. There was nothing. In fact, the mad shrieking of the Pit was now almost silent.
“This way,” Tristam said, pointing to his left. “He’s stopped moving. That’s good news?”
“Or very bad news, depending on why he’s stopped,” Seren said.
Tristam laughed.
Omax rose and fell into his usual dauntless stride. They soon found themselves on a path leading out of the village and into the thick forests to the south. The light of a torch shone in the forest ahead. Seren gestured for them to stop. Omax nodded in understanding.
“I will wait here,” he said softly, settling into his meditative posture again. “Silence is not my specialty.”
Tristam laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. He fell in behind Seren, following closely as she picked her way through the forest. She stopped abruptly, looking back at him patiently. After several seconds, he realized he was literally hanging over her shoulder, one hand clenched tightly on her upper arm. He let her go and stepped back with an embarrassed smile.
“Sorry, Seren,” he whispered. “I get nervous sometimes. Omax is the soldier. I’m just a scholar.”
“Really?” Seren said, glancing at him in surprise. “So the dashing Lhazaarite swordsman act is just bravado?”
“You’re teasing me,” he said wryly. “I’m not entirely clueless in a fight, but that’s not how I like to handle things. I figure if I can scare the other guy into not fighting at all, then I don’t have to worry about getting thrashed.”
“Makes sense,” she said, moving forward again.
Tristam coughed. “Did you really think I was dashing, Seren?”
She looked back at him, pressing one finger over her lips for him to be silent.
Seren crouched in the underbrush and crawled forward for a closer look at their quarry. Tristam crawled beside her, moving with less grace and drawing a scowl from her. A small clearing lay ahead. Zed Arthen waited there, facing the way they had come. He stood with his back against a tree, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a torch. He was definitely wearing a sword; its elaborate two-handed hilt protruded above his right shoulder. Tristam had mentioned twice before that Zed had been a knight. She wondered if the sword was a souvenir from that previous career.
For a long time, they watched Zed Arthen stand in the forest and do nothing. He occasionally removed his pipe from his mouth, blowing delicate smoke rings into the night breeze.
Tristam shifted restlessly. Seren guessed he had sat down awkwardly and was cramping up. She’d done the same thing the first time she’d spied on someone. She poked him sharply in the side with one finger. He looked at her in surprise. She smiled and laid one finger over her lips again. He frowned miserably and kept still.
After a few seconds, Tristam clasped a hand over hers. She shot him a suspicious look. He pointed to the northern edge of the clearing. Another light was rapidly approaching, and the figure carrying it soon resolved from the darkness. It was a tall, fair-skinned woman with long black hair. She was obviously a warrior, the traditional image of a knight. She wore full armor, carried a short spear in one hand, and wore a shortsword at her hip. Her tabard bore an impressive crest, a monstrous creature with the heads of a lion, ram, and dragon underneath an iron gauntlet, holding a double-bladed sword. Seren did not recognize her but noticed the way Tristam’s hand tightened when he saw her.
“Deneith,” he whispered. His lips pressed into a grim, lipless line. “Another dragonmarked house.”
Zed did not seem at all distressed to see this newcomer, so this was obviously whom he was waiting for. She offered him a formal salute with her spear. He returned the gesture in such a nonchalant, offhand manner that it caused her to frown in disapproval. Seren couldn’t hear what they were saying, but saw Zed brush her irritation away with a laughing comment, which only seemed to annoy her more. The two spoke in hushed voices. Eventually the inquisitive reached into his pocket and produced the purple hand lens. Seren felt Tristam tense. She looked down and saw he had drawn his wand. She squeezed Tristam’s hand and he looked at her. She shook her head, cautioning him not to do anything foolish. He only fixed his gaze back on Arthen and the woman.
The Deneith warrior reached for the lens, but Zed drew it back with a quiet demurral. Seren wished she could hear what they were saying. She considered moving closer when she saw Zed Arthen suddenly tense and look directly toward their hiding place. Had he seen them? No, Seren quickly realized, he was looking slightly to their left. Arthen dropped his torch and drew his sword with the brilliant hiss of steel.
Then eight of Marth’s Cyran soldiers charged into the clearing with weapons drawn.
“Should we help them?” Seren asked, looking at Tristam.
Her reply was the heavy sound of adamantine footsteps charging through the forest behind them. Omax rushed past them and into the clearing with a mechanical howl. A shriek sounded from the tree above and Gerith soared down on his glidewing. Tristam just sighed and lunged to his feet, wobbling as the blood flowed back into his knees. He drew his sword and followed the others. Seren found her dagger and charged as well.
Zed Arthen had already taken down the first of his attackers with a heavy cleave of his sword. He whirled with a glare as Seren and the others burst into the clearing, but his fury changed quickly to astonishment when he recognized them.
“These are friends, Eraina!” Zed shouted. The woman only nodded and parried a mercenary’s sword with her spear.
“Take the in
quisitive alive!” the Cyran leader cried as the attackers shifted formation to address the new threat.
Omax charged that one first, seizing him by his cloak and hurling him into a tree trunk. Tristam pointed his wand into the group, releasing a burst of white lightning that sent two more men flying. A third charged through the blast, putting Tristam down with a brutal slash of his sword. Seren shouted out in anger, lunging while still off-balance from the swing. He looked down at her with a murderous gaze and fell to his knees, his throat bleeding profusely from Seren’s knife.
Seren staggered back in horror and watched the man fall face down and lie still. She had been in fights before but had never killed a man. It had happened without thinking. She was so stunned she didn’t see the sword cleaving toward her.
“Curse yourself later, girl,” Arthen said, knocking the blade aside with his own.
Zed cut the man down with another swing, but left himself open from behind. A soldier clubbed Zed across the back of the skull with the hilt of his blade, driving Arthen to one knee. Seren hurled her dagger at the soldier but it went wide, lodging in a tree. The soldier ignored her, lifting his sword for a final blow. The weapon tumbled out of his hands as Gerith’s crossbow bolt bloomed in his eye. Zed staggered back to his feet, paying no mind to the man dying behind him.
“Nice shot, Snowshale,” he called out.
Seren turned to find Tristam and was surprised to see him on his feet. The artificer wobbled unsteadily, looking down at his bloody shirt with a sleepy, bewildered expression. A faint trail of white sparkling light streamed from the rip in his shirt to the hand of the woman Zed had called Eraina. Seeing that Tristam was now stable, the dark-haired woman turned and ducked the sword blow of the nearest soldier. She drew her shortsword in a wicked underhand slash, leaving a red gouge across the man’s chest.
Some of the injured mercenaries were already retreating, but one charged at Zed Arthen with a frenzied scream, clutching his longsword in both hands. Omax darted in from behind, kicking the mercenary’s feet out from under him. He fell face down and immediately rolled to stand again. Omax planted a foot heavily in the man’s face and he went limp.
