by Scott Taylor
He became aware of a soft, off-key humming, coming from further up the tunnel. Syrtuno doused his torch in one of the many puddles in the cave and crept around the bend. There, the stone opened into a large chamber, dominated by a stagnant, softly glowing pool. This chamber, he knew, sat directly beneath the Star Tower of the Wizards. He had arrived at his destination.
A Wizard was seated next to the pool, working on what appeared to be a loom suspended in midair. The Wizard’s features were concealed by a hooded robe. It was black, trimmed in gold, and must have been impressive once, but it was worn and tattered now. The Wizard’s hands moved skillfully over the loom, but with a great stiffness.
Then the figure shifted slightly, and Syrtuno knew that the Wizard had sensed him. His chest felt chilled, and his breath came in short spurts. He was trained in the ways of magic, but the being before him had a direct connection to the sorcerous energies of the distant Afterglow Sea. Syrtuno felt the subtle flame within him giving way before the vast oceanic power within the Wizard. Inside he felt the weight of the waters of the bay above his head, and the magical might of the Wizards in their tower. The two oceans threatened to wash him away.
“It is not often,” the figure said, “that I am plagued with visitors.”
The Wizard spoke in a low and raspy voice, and Syrtuno couldn’t tell if they were man or woman.
Syrtuno took a deep breath, regretted it as the cavern’s stench filled his lungs, and spoke, carefully. “It took a great deal of effort to find you, honored Wizard. Knowing you prefer your privacy, I have obscured the path behind me. Any parchments I consulted were burned, any signs altered, any tongues removed.”
“This is appreciated,” the Wizard said, the reply oozing out slowly, word dripping after word. “So, why have you come? For my pets, I suppose?”
Syrtuno nodded. “You are a Wizard; I am a lowly tome mage. Everything born into your blood, I must struggle for. You call them pets, and gain them effortlessly; to me, they are crucial ingredients, all but impossible to obtain.”
The Wizard ceased working at the loom, and slowly stood. “Not two hundred feet above this cavern, my brothers and sisters sit in their Starry Tower, a much more accessible location. Am I to assume that they were, shall we say, less willing to work with you?”
“None must know my business,” Syrtuno said. “Not until after the fact. Besides, even amongst Wizards, you are one of very few who traffic in souls.”
“Souls,” the Wizard repeated. “Of course.” With a raised hand, he conjured a flock of small, barely-visible wisps of cloud, which rose up out of the pool and circled the cavern in a slow, dignified orbit. “I hope you brought something to trade – and not gold. The last ones brought gold. I laughed for hours, and it took them a long time to drown.”
Syrtuno could not hide a smile as he reached into his pouch and pulled out his most precious cargo – an egg, six inches in length, yellow in color, with blue spots.
The Wizard turned to face the prize. Syrtuno could barely perceive flashing eyes within the depths of the hood. Then slowly, stiffly, it walked towards him; he could hear the Wizard sniffing the air.
“Where,” the Wizard asked, after some time, “did you get that?”
Syrtuno grinned. “Let us just say that, comparatively, finding you was easy.”
The barely audible sound of lips being licked escaped from beneath the hood. “And how many souls,” the Wizard said, after a great silence, “will you require?”
Syrtuno carefully set the egg down on the ground, then reached into his pack again, pulling out three clear orbs. “Three shall be sufficient for my purposes, honored Wizard. I have brought my own means of transporting them.”
The Wizard slowly bent down to take the egg, which vanished into the voluminous robe. He then inspected the orbs, one by one. With another waved hand, the circling wisps floated closer to Syrtuno. “I shall allow you to choose two,” the Wizard said. “The third, I shall choose for you.”
As the misty forms approached, Syrtuno could perceive faint images moving within them. Lives routine and wondrous alike played out before him, and he watched carefully. Soon, he spotted the image of a man on a ship, fighting his way through the dozen men surrounding him; then, another image, of a man coldly torturing a prisoner. He pointed at these two images. The Wizard nodded, and summoned the two clouds to him.
The Wizard picked up one of the orbs, and regarded the man on the ship. “Captain Archibald Blood,” the Wizard said. “You may have heard of him. Scores were sent to the depths of the sea at his hands and those of his crew. He plundered the coasts of four continents in his day, but the wealth slipped through his fingers like sand. In the end, he gambled away his soul to a passing stranger, all in the hopes of buying one more dram of his beloved whiskey.”
Syrtuno nodded, recognizing the name. Over the years, many foolish explorers had tried looking for Blood’s hidden hoard, not realizing it had never existed.
The Wizard then turned to the other floating soul. “This one was Kalanar Creed, a ruthless crime lord. He ruled kingdoms from the shadows, and the streets ran red with blood at his displeasure.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Syrtuno said. “Supposedly, he was a horrible glutton. One day, the story goes, a young man interrupted one of his feasts, and Creed had him tortured to death. Of course, the young man’s mother was a Corsair-blooded witch, and a low-water curse from her tore Creed’s soul from his body.”
“There is some truth to that,” the Wizard said. Then, with deft movements that Syrtuno couldn’t follow, the Wizard drew the two souls into the orbs, before setting them on the ground. Syrtuno reached down to pick them up, and saw scenes continue to play themselves out within.
“Thank you very much, honored Wizard,” Syrtuno said, placing the orbs in his pouch. “And the third?”
The Wizard took no time for consideration. Gestures were made, and, while the remaining orb still sat on the ground, a soul was drawn into it. Confused, Syrtuno reached down and picked up the orb, looking into its depths. Within, he saw what appeared to be a child playing in the streets, clutching a cloth doll in her hands.
Syrtuno looked back at the Wizard. “What exactly is this?”
“Mystina Oceotl,” the Wizard said. “She lived in this very city, some centuries ago. She was sweet, innocent, and beloved, until a plague took her life. I honestly have no idea how I came to possess her, but now, she is yours.”
“Are you mocking me?” Syrtuno asked, his voice raising in volume. “I come here for killers! For souls dark and bloody! And you give me a child?”
The Wizard’s head titled slightly, and Syrtuno found himself unable to breathe again. He could hear the sea around him. He idly wondered what it would feel like to drown in Afterglow.
“Have a care, mortal,” the Wizard said. “You have exhausted the audacity that your offering purchased for you.”
Syrtuno fell to his knees. “Forgive me, honored Wizard,” he said, choking out the words with shortened breath.
The Wizard turned his back on Syrtuno, shuffling towards the loom. “You made no demands as to the quality of the souls given you, and you already have claimed two of my best. A child’s soul has little will of its own. It should be easy enough to control, and will follow along the lead of the other souls. They will suffice you. Now go, and tell no one what you have seen.”
Syrtuno found himself able to breathe again. He placed the third orb within his pouch, turned, and ran from the chamber. He didn’t pause to light another torch for several minutes. The anger and fear he felt within the chamber soon subsided, and he smiled, thinking of the precious things he took with him out of the caves of the apostate Wizard. Soon, vengeance would be at hand.
Even in the old days, the open courts of the Ullamalitzli Stadium beyond the Black Gate had been arenas, where ball games were played before the populace. In hushed tones, credulous barkeeps and mischievous grandfathers told lurid tales of how the losers of such games would be led
off to horrid deaths to honor the city’s rulers, or the old gods, in what was now the Raised Market. Whether innocent or bloody, such times were long in the past. The city of Taux was in the hands of a new populace, new Saints, new games, and new rulers – and it was, in fact, those new rulers that walked through the arena this evening.
That afternoon had seen a match between the Snakes of the Black Gate District, and the Jaguars of the Golden Jaguar District, with victory going to the Jaguars. The Jaguars were the favorite team of Tlacolotl Vash, possibly the richest – and almost certainly the most powerful – man in the city. To celebrate the game, the wealthy Red Pillar threw a lavish party that night right in sight of the court itself.
The city’s elite gathered on appropriated grounds, along with the members of both teams. Long tables were filled with exotic food and expensive drink. Servants picked up trays from the tables and walked strategic routes through the crowd, so that nobody would be too far from refreshment. Vash even provided artifacts from the time before the disappearance – items left behind in the mysterious vanishing of Taux’s old owners, and looted in the mad scavenging dash that followed, now tastefully displayed as works of art. Of course, the images of the old gods carved on the walls of the arena had been covered up, obscured by tapestries of the Six Saints. Vash himself remained in his private box, smiling down at his assembled guests.
By an hour after sundown, most of the guests had arrived. The sounds of laughter and spirited conversation did not quite drown out the music. Vash’s personal guards, dressed in gold and red livery, stood solemnly around the perimeter. The rich and the beautiful danced, ate, and engaged in deep conversation. The most heated of these discussions was between Chaplain Damon, devout follower of Saint Amanda of Virgins, and Lady Enalya Paige, known to support the ways of the Old City, and rumored to worship the Death Cult of the Moon in secret. She was dressed somewhat scandalously; wearing a long skirt, but with only a piece of silk to cover her top, in what she claimed was the style of the old ways. Few of the young males watching questioned her historical accuracy. One such male found himself so enveloped in the discussion that he stopped paying attention to where he was going and slammed into a nearby servant, knocking to the floor the two serving trays the poor man had been carrying.
This sent Wenintal, Major-domo to the Vash family, running over. Wenintal was a Kin, and looked exactly like what many would picture one of the Earth-touched Kin to be – short and stocky, skin dark as an opal, with pearl-white swirls running in patterns up his arms. His eyes, sapphire-blue, had a tinge of rage to them, though his bald head didn’t have a drop of sweat on it. He helped the clumsy onlooker to his feet, and then glared up at the unlucky servant as the scent of newly tilled earth pervaded the area around them.
The servant in question was a Jai-Ruk, and did, in fact, look just as many of those gathered would expect a Jai-Ruk to look. He was tall, muscular, and square-jawed. His eyes had a somewhat vacant expression to them, and his mouth hung slightly open, giving a glimpse of the small tusks that were a telltale mark of his race.
“Oaf!” Wenintal hissed, standing a few inches away. “Be more careful where you tread!”
“Sorry, Boss,” the servant said, looking down at Wenintal.
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped,” the Kin said. “What is your name, servant?”
“Me Thock, Boss,” the servant answered.
“Right, Thock, very well. I need you to clean this mess up.”
The Jai-Ruk smiled. “Aye, Boss.”
Wenintal shook his head. “And it is not ‘Boss’, it is ‘Sir’.”
Thock knelt down to start clearing the mess. “Aye, Sir Boss.”
Wenintal sighed, then turned towards the sound of nearby giggling. Several of the female servers were gathered around a fetching young man, also dressed as a servant, who was amusing them with his conversation. Fuming under his breath, Wenintal walked away from Thock and grabbed the man by the arm, spinning him around.
“Am I missing something important?” the Kin asked.
The young man’s cheeks flushed red, as the girls he had been addressing swiftly found other places to be. “Ah, Sir. I was just, you see, making sure these young ladies knew their duties.”
“Ah! So you enjoy management, do you? Good. Go over there and manage to help good mister Thock clean up the mess. Make sure he doesn’t eat any of the food – or silverware - either, would you? Very good lad.” Wenintal gave the young man a hard shove towards Thock, then resumed his rounds, on the lookout for the next looming crisis.
The young man shrugged, and bent down to help gather the errant bits of food. The Jai-Ruk glanced over at him.
“How long do I have to maintain the illusion of complete imbecility, again?” Thock asked the young man.
The handsome servant shrugged. “Hopefully not too much longer, Dethocrates.”
The Jai-Ruk coughed. “Please, Andril. Not until the job’s over.”
“Sorry,” Andril said. “I wouldn’t worry, though, ‘Thock.’ You’re giving a great performance.”
Thock smiled. “I’m not even all that sad that Taux’s rich and powerful see a Jai-Ruk and expect an idiot. The only one I was worried wouldn’t fall for it was Wenintal – and actually, I’m still a little worried. For all we know, he’s gathering some guards to throw us out.”
Andril turned a platter right side up, and started piling food on it. “If so, we’ll deal with it as it occurs. Any sign of Pelantus yet?”
Thock shook his head. “Nothing. I’m growing concerned about this plan of yours.”
“He’ll show,” Andril said. “Don’t worry, Thock. We’ll have the rubies and be gone before anyone’s the wiser.”
Thock grabbed up the dirtied plates and walked through a nearby entry reserved for servants. “I’d at least feel better if I had my bow.”
Andril followed with his own armload. “If all goes well, there will be no need for weapons. Besides, if you were so worried, you could have smuggled a in a sling or something.”
“I hate slings,” Thock sniffed. “Useless little trinkets, not good for accuracy or penetration, just for annoying people. Might as well fight a Razor with a butter knife. I swear I’ll kill Savino when I see him…”
“What?” Andril asked.
“Nothing,” Thock replied.
Andril shrugged and they arrived in a room filled with water basins and dirtied plates. Andril set his down, and said, “Even without weapons, we’re always armed. You have your wits, and I have my luck.”
Thock groaned. “Why can’t you be like a normal scoundrel and simply claim to be the greatest swordsman in New Kingdoms?”
“Because I’m not,” Andril replied. “I’m competent with a blade, fast on my feet, good with my hands and tongue, yes. But my best trait, as you well know, is my luck.”
“Then why is it,” Thock said, becoming quieter as they returned to the courtyard, “that you never seem to win at gambling? Or that your horses run away, or the myriad of other unfortunate happenstances you’ve come across?”
Andril waved a hand. “Unimportant. When all depends on it, when my life or others’ lives are in the balance, Saint Erik watches over me.”
Thock rolled his eyes. “Not once have I ever seen you pray to the Saint of the Thousand Faces.”
“Even so,” Andril said, “He must be with me. I even won a duel pitting my luck against another!”
“Please, not this again.”
“Why does it bother you? He and I were both hanging from ropes. They both snapped at the same instance. I landed on branches about ten feet down, and he plummeted into the canyon.”
“That,” Thock insisted, “is not a duel!”
Before the conversation could go any further, trumpets rang out, and they could hear Wenintal’s voice echo through the courtyard.
“Presenting the Wise and Esteemed Pelantus, Arch Pyromancer and Magus to Red Pillar Tlacolotl Vash!”
Andril and Thock’s eyes turn
ed toward the other side of the courtyard where the guests entered. Not quite able to see from their position, they drifted through the crowd until they were close enough to observe the man in question. Pelantus was one of the Eldaryn, which made him difficult to spot; he was smaller even than Wenintal, though his fiery red hair, spiked straight up and touched with blue at the tips, helped him to stand out. His people were attuned to pure Fire, just as the Kin were attuned to pure Earth, and Pelantus dressed to remind people of this; he wore elaborate red robes, golden rings studded with topaz and sapphire, and a necklace of nine rubies around his neck.
“He’s wearing them, just as you predicted,” Thock said, his eyes on the larger central-most ruby in the chain.
“Remember, only the central one is magic – the rest are just expensive. Though I’m sure that even without it he’s got all he needs to cast his spells in case of an emergency,” Andril observed. “Most tome mages do.”
“I just don’t get, given how quickly Vash goes through mages – Pelantus, Gezel before him, Syrtuno before that – and how limited the abilities of a tome mage are, why doesn’t he just try acquiring the services of an actual Wizard?”
Andril smiled. “You want to row out to the Star Tower and convince one of the Wizards to concern himself with mundane matters, in exchange for mundane currency? Best of luck to you.”
Thock chuckled. “Good point. So, the plan is, I sneak up and obtain the rubies, and you provide a suitable distraction to enable our escape?”
“It’d be best if you could get the whole necklace off of him. If that can’t happen, just get the center ruby and we’ll…”
At that moment, a hideous shriek sounded in the night air. Out of the blackness of the night, a creature descended on leathery wings. The thing had the color and stench of grave dirt. Aside from its wings, it also had four legs, with sharp talons on the front pair. Three long, sinewy necks extended from the front of the creature, and at the end of each was a gruesome head, dominated by bulging eyes and a maw of fangs. Guests and servants alike scattered as it landed, some knocking tables over in their haste. Red Pillar Vash was pushed to cover by his guards, but he quickly shoved past them to keep watching.
