The carriage arrived. Ivrian watched Jekka, who hadn’t seemed to find any special significance in the sigil of Iomedae emblazoned upon the door. Ivrian noticed Mirian and the baron studying him surreptitiously as well.
The door swung open, and Jeneta stepped out, offering a low bow to the baron and his guards. Then she held the door open as another robed figure dropped down
Jekka hissed and stepped back. “You were dead!”
“I was,” Kalina agreed.
Any number of things could have gone wrong, Ivrian knew. There’d been a fair chance that even with the finest priests of Iomedae working the resurrection magic, it might not be enough. No one had wanted to give Jekka false hope, so no one had mentioned what they’d hoped to accomplish by bringing the body back with them.
Jekka turned to Mirian. “What magic is this?”
Mirian put a hand on his shoulder. “The good kind, Jekka. The good kind.”
Jekka stepped forward and bobbed his head formally. “Kalina. My heart speeds at the sight of you.”
Kalina bobbed her own head, first to Jekka, then to Mirian and Ivrian.
“I’m glad it worked out,” the baron said softly to Ivrian’s ear. “She’ll need this.” The baron pressed a cold, round object into his hand. Ivrian glanced down to find a second ambassadorial medal in his palm.
“Farewell, friends.” The baron raised a hand as he stepped away. “I hope to see all of you again.”
The humans returned his well wishes. Then, grinning, Mirian held the door and ushered her friends into the carriage. Once everyone was seated, she ordered it onward to her home.
Jekka sat across from his cousin, staring in disbelief. Ivrian wondered if he would ask whether the other dead expedition members might be restored, and readied himself for somber explanations.
But Jekka had other concerns. “I am sorry you missed the lunch,” he said. “There was most interesting food.”
“I was fed at the temple.”
Ivrian passed the medal over to Kalina. “I’m glad you’re back with us, my friend.”
“I am glad Jekka will not be alone,” Kalina said.
“But I am not alone,” Jekka countered. “Mirian is my sister now. We are clan.”
The lizard woman’s head swung to consider Mirian.
“My home is yours, Kalina. If you wish it.”
“As is mine,” Ivrian said.
Jekka cocked his head at him. “Even if you are not a Raas, I think you, too, are clan.”
“Close enough,” Mirian agreed.
“What is this object?” Kalina studied the bronze circle Ivrian had handed her.
“You’re a friend of Sargava now,” Mirian explained. “By order of the baron.”
“I never expected that.” Her eyes bored into Mirian’s own. “Jeneta told me all that you did for me. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Jeneta is the one who preserved your body with magic while we rode. It was her people who called you back.”
“But she said it took many moneys. Didn’t your family need them?”
“Ivrian and I split the cost,” Mirian said. “I wish we could have saved the others, but there was no way to recover their remains.”
Ivrian would rather not dwell on any of that. He cleared his throat. “Kalina, do you remember anything about what happened between your, uh, passing and your return?”
“No,” Kalina answered. “I remember fighting a thing in the water that I did not want to eat, and then I awoke near Priestess Jeneta and other humans I did not know. They were kind to me.”
Ivrian tried to hide his disappointment. “I’d hoped you could tell me a little about what the afterlife looked like.” What he didn’t add was that he’d hoped his mother would pass on a final word to him through Kalina. Or at least tell him that she was all right now, on the other side.
“That would have been unlikely,” Jeneta said. “Most who return cannot recall anything at all.”
“Kalina,” Jekka said, “I have not had much time to study the cones. We have had a mourning day for Mirian’s brother, and for you and Heltan.”
Ivrian bowed his head. The official funerals were to be held tomorrow.
Jekka continued: “There is mention of an island off a coast, and black ships. I must study them in greater detail.”
“Which coast?” Ivrian asked.
“That is not yet clear to me. You will sail with me, to find it?”
“Aye,” Mirian said, and Ivrian nodded agreement.
“Me too,” Jeneta promised.
“That is good,” Jekka said, and let out a long, rattling sigh. Ivrian had never heard the like from him, and he supposed it indicated contentment. The lizard man actually looked relaxed, and Ivrian couldn’t recall ever seeing that before, either.
But there was one last item, one that had plagued Ivrian for the last weeks. He took a deep breath. “Mirian, there’s something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about.”
“Oh?”
Was that a hint of amusement in her voice?
He faced her squarely. “I’d still like to write our adventure down. I can change your name, if you’d like, but I want to tell this tale, or some version of it.”
“Go right ahead. And keep my name.”
“Just like that?” He could scarcely believe it. “I thought you hated the idea.”
“It’s your story now, too.”
There was a long silence before he answered, softly and sincerely. “Thank you.”
“You might want to leave some parts out, of course.”
He chuckled. “You can count on that.” He nodded to Jekka. “I’ll set it in the Laughing Jungle instead of the Kaava Lands, in case you and Kalina ever want to return to the ruins.”
“Perhaps we will,” Kalina mused. “But we would need more explorers, and warriors. I should like to slay the drake and remove the rest of our book cones. For now, though, I am most excited to see the words you will write, Ivrian. If you will read them to us.”
“Whatever you wish,” Ivrian promised.
As the coach rumbled on, Jekka rubbed the circlet now hanging from his neck, then considered everyone seated with him. “It is good to have a medal, and it is good to have drunk sweet wine. But it is even better to have a family, and friends.”
“If we had more wine,” Ivrian said, “I’d raise a glass to that.”
“Then let’s open some bottles when we get home,” Mirian said. “We’ll raise a toast: To friends, family, and our future together.”
Acknowledgments
Without a small cadre of dedicated allies, this book would never have been completed. Rich Howard gave me some valuable tips about diving and life in the depths. James Sutter guided me surely through all the edges of the rough draft and pointed me toward the novel I was really trying to write. Dave Gross combed carefully through the later draft and helped me cut out the chaff and punch up the character moments. My wife Shannon gave me Kalina, and book cones, and laumahks and hundreds of suggestions that heightened description, improved flow, and brightened characters. I sincerely thank you all.
Glossary
All Pathfinder Tales novels are set in the rich and vibrant world of the Pathfinder campaign setting. Below are explanations of several key terms used in this book. For more information on the world of Golarion and the strange monsters, people, and deities that make it their home, see The Inner Sea World Guide, or dive into the game and begin playing your own adventures with the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Core Rulebook or the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Beginner Box, all available at paizo.com. Those interested in learning more about Sargava specifically should check out Pathfinder Player Companion: Sargava, The Lost Colony, or explore it themselves in the Serpent’s Skull Adventure Path.
Arcane: Magic that comes from mystical sources rather than the direct intervention of a god; secular magic.
Asmodeus: Devil-god of tyranny, slavery, pride, and contracts; lord of Hell and current patron deity of Chelia
x.
Avistan: The continent north of the Inner Sea, on which Cheliax and many other nations lie.
Avistani: Of or related to the continent of Avistan.
Bandu: Demon-worshiping tribe native to Sargava, focused on slave-taking and human sacrifice.
Bandu Hills: Mountain range in central Sargava.
Bas’o: Nomadic tribe native to Sargava, known for its skilled warriors and hunters.
Boggards: Froglike humanoids that live in swamps and often attack other sentient races.
Chelaxian: Someone from Cheliax, either ethnically or by legal citizenship.
Cheliax: A powerful devil-worshiping nation located in southwestern Avistan, of which Sargava was formerly a colony.
Chelish: Of or relating to the nation of Cheliax.
Colonial: Sargavan slang term for a Sargavan citizen of Chelish heritage, or anyone in Sargava’s primarily light-skinned ruling caste.
Crown’s End: Sargavan port city north of Eleder, known for its corruption and rampant smuggling activity.
Custodian: Alternative formal title of the Baron of Sargava, the nation’s ruler.
Desna: Good-natured goddess of dreams, stars, travelers, and luck.
Desperation Bay: Large bay around which Sargava wraps.
Devils: Fiendish occupants of Hell who seek to corrupt mortals in order to claim their souls.
Eleder: Capital of Sargava and thriving port city specializing in shipping raw resources north to more powerful nations.
Free Captains: The leaders of the Shackles’ legendary pirate bands, paid by Sargava’s government to keep Cheliax from retaking Sargava.
Freehold: Ranching town in central Sargava.
Garund: Continent south of the Inner Sea, renowned for its deserts and jungles, upon which Sargava lies.
Garundi: Human ethnic group consisting of dark-skinned people, mostly found in northern Garund.
Gillmen: Race of amphibious humanoids descended from the Azlanti after that empire sank into the sea in a bygone age.
Gozreh: God of nature, the sea, and weather. Depicted as a dual deity, with both male and female aspects.
Halflings: Race of humanoids known for their tiny stature, deft hands, and mischievous personalities.
Harpies: Predatory and intelligent race of human-headed bird women, who use their magical songs to lure intelligent creatures to their deaths.
Her Infernal Majestrix: Formal title of the ruler of Cheliax.
Ijo: Coastal tribe of native Sargavans known for their skill with boats and fishing.
Infernal Dukes: Greater devils who rule Hell beneath Asmodeus.
Inheritor: Iomedae.
Inner Sea: The vast inland sea whose northern continent, Avistan, and southern continent, Garund, as well as the seas and nearby lands, are the primary focus of the Pathfinder campaign setting.
Iomedae: Goddess of valor, rulership, justice, and honor, who in life helped lead the Shining Crusade before attaining godhood.
Kaava Lands: Jungle-covered peninsula north of Desperation Bay.
Kalabuto: Ancient Sargavan jungle city now inhabited primarily by native Sargavans and ruled by a small cadre of colonials.
Kelesh: Empire far to the east of the Inner Sea.
Keleshite: Of or related to the Empire of Kelesh; someone of that ethnicity.
Laughing Jungle: Jungle in southern Sargava.
Lizardfolk: Ancient and tribal race of intelligent reptilian humanoids; often viewed as backward by humans.
Mulaa: Prominent tribe of native Sargavans known for their farming and ranching.
Mwangi: Of or pertaining to the Mwangi Expanse; someone from that region. “Mwangi” as an ethnicity is a catch-all term created by northern humans to describe the wide variety of cultures found in central Garund.
Mwangi Expanse: A sweltering jungle region south of the Inner Sea and north of the Inner Sea.
Native: Sargavan slang term for the nation’s indigenous peoples.
Oubinga River: Major river in the Kaava Lands.
Pathfinder: A member of the Pathfinder Society.
Pathfinder Lodge: Meeting house where members of the Pathfinder Society can buy provisions and swap stories.
Pathfinder Society: Organization of traveling scholars and adventurers who seek to document the world’s wonders.
Pharasma: The goddess of birth, death, and prophecy, who judges mortal souls after their deaths and sends them on to the appropriate afterlife; also known as the Lady of Graves.
Sargava: Former Chelish colony which successfully won its independence, and maintains it through an expensive arrangement with the piratical Free Captains of the Shackles.
Sargavan: Of or related to Sargava, a citizen of Sargava.
Scrying: Using magic to view something from a distance.
Sea Devil: Intelligent and predatory aquatic race with a resemblance to the sharks they adore.
Sea Drake: Breed of lesser aquatic dragon capable of breathing devastating electrical attacks, but still less intelligent and powerful than a true dragon.
Senghor: Prominent port city northwest of Sargava.
Shackles: Chaotic pirate isles northwest of Sargava, ruled by the Free Captains.
Shelyn: The goddess of beauty, art, love, and music.
Smuggler’s Shiv: Dangerous island in Desperation Bay known for both its smuggling activity and the many monsters that inhabit its wilds.
Sorcerer: Someone who casts spells through natural ability rather than faith or study.
Taldane: The common trade language of the Inner Sea region.
Tines: Raised fork on which Chelish criminals are sometimes impaled. Also the name of a rude hand gesture from Cheliax, which suggests that the recipient should be impaled in such a manner.
Varisian: Of or relating to the region of the frontier region of Varisia, or a resident of that region. Ethnic Varisians tend to organize in clans and wander in caravans, acting as tinkers, musicians, dancers, or performers.
Venture-Captain: A rank in the Pathfinder Society above that of a standard field agent, in charge of organizing expeditions and directing and assisting lesser agents.
Wand: A sticklike magic item imbued with the ability to cast a specific spell repeatedly.
Wizard: Someone who casts spells through careful study and rigorous scientific methods rather than faith or innate talent, recording the necessary incantations in a spellbook.
Read on for sneak peek at
by F. Wesley Schneider
Available December 2015
Copyright © 2015 Paizo, Inc.
5
Unwelcome Guests Larsa
The night’s fog was already retreating by the time I reached Thorenly Glen, withdrawing as the first shades of daylight bled over the distant tree line. The walk had taken considerably longer than I’d expected. The city’s constables would be on their way soon, following up on Lady Thorenly’s distress from the previous night. I wouldn’t have much time to investigate without interference, or to deal with what would assuredly ruin a couple of guards’ morning.
The blanket of mists receded slowly, and its removal wasn’t flattering. A manor house rose across a lake of weeds and shapeless hedges. Porch sagging, windows blinded by shutters, roof shedding shingles like an old man’s hair, Thorenly Glen lacked anything in common with the pastoral haven its name suggested. A road-worn coach rested in the weedy turnabout just before the mansion’s cracked steps. Whoever the estate’s guests were, no one had bothered to prepare for them.
I circled the manor at some distance, following a line of knotty trees. Unbelievably, the estate was putting its best face forward. The roof over the house’s back porch had collapsed, blocking doors and windows and burying much of the rear in splinters. Ivy crawled through the ruins. The damage was far from fresh.
Lady Thorenly had been discovered raving along the road leading south. Had she actually been living in this wreck? Even more outrageously, had she and her husband actually been charging others t
o board in their ruin? Retreat for the aged indeed.
The baffling nature of what nobles would pay for aside, the house was too still. Were Lord Thorenly, two nurses, and some number of boarders in residence here, there would be some sign—the flicker of a light left burning overnight, a window left open a crack, servants preparing for the day. But instead, nothing. With every window shuttered or boarded over, not even a rustle of curtains or a passing silhouette suggested the manor was anything but abandoned.
I slid out from behind the shell of a disused shed, approached and listened under the windows. There was briefly a noise from inside—an unexpected tromping on the floor above. Booted steps, perhaps. It swiftly faded.
I came upon a servant’s door, its threshold at waist height. A soggy barrel and mismatched crates formed makeshift steps. I skirted them and was headed back to the front when a wordless roar burst from within. Somewhere glass shattered. It certainly wasn’t the sound of a retired landlord turning down his morning tincture.
It also wasn’t anywhere near the servant’s door. I carefully scaled the crates to the entry. No one had bothered to lock the door.
The cramped kitchen within was surprisingly clean, a busy array of pans and cooking implements hanging over well-scrubbed countertops. Several tea services stood ready, but the fireplace’s hearty kettle wasn’t growing any warmer over the ashes. The tromping was louder now, boots practically tumbling down nearby stairs. They passed close by, rattling the cups and saucers. Somewhere a door slammed open.
Someone was in quite a hurry.
I cracked the kitchen’s swinging door enough to see a sliver of the hall beyond. Threadbare carpeting stretched to an open door at the end of a gallery of faded portraits. Beyond, a cast-off sheet twisted in the air, sprawling across a floral divan. Stomping and clattering continued inside.
I slipped out, checking the hall in the opposite direction—doors, bad art in cheap frames, blood. Upon steep stairs a mass of wrinkles and shredded robes, hardly recognizable as a man, no longer bled. I ignored it for now—it was one corpse I didn’t expect to be a threat. I moved on, the clamor from the hall’s end covering the complaints of crotchety floorboards and the hiss of drawing my blade.
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