by Randy Nargi
* * *
THE NAME OF THE GAMING HALL WAS RIDDLEDORP AND IT WAS THE ONE VALA WENT TO. Except when Bander arrived at the sprawling, one-story structure on Spoke Street, there was no sign of Vala. Bander strolled through each room in the hall and questioned the proprietor as well as four serving girls. No one had seen Vala. There was also no sign of Hal Deorr.
Bander left Riddledorp and headed south along Spoke Street back towards the Palace District. It was possible that Vala might have been called back to the Falward barracks by one of her men, but that would have required a chance meeting. Too much of a coincidence. And Bander didn’t believe in coincidences.
As he turned the corner towards Bedbury Alley, he caught a glimpse of motion in his peripheral vision. The street was clotted with people, but there was something too purposeful about this movement. Bander was being hunted.
Bedbury Alley was a twisting east/west passage between Spoke Street and Widders Way. It was barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast. Bander turned the corner and moved quickly down the lane. His eyes darted around—looking for the right spot. He glimpsed a rug merchant’s storefront—adorned with a rack of colorful Myssian runners. Perfect.
Bander slipped behind a hanging rug and squatted down, his legs tensed and ready to spring. From his hiding place, he saw the two rangemen from The Plover enter the lane ten yards away. He waited until they got close then struck—smashing his shortstaff with all his might into Bull Neck’s left knee. As Bull Neck cried out and went down, his partner turned and drew a short sword. Bander exploded out and—using the rug to entangle his foe—crashed down on the sandy-haired rangeman. The sword went clattering away, and Bander crushed the man’s head against the cobblestones like a ripe sugarmelon. One down.
Bull Neck lurched about in pain, but he had the presence of mind to loose a weapon from his belt. It was a long rangeman’s whip, with a four yard braided lash. As Bander turned to face the big rangeman, the whip arced out and sliced Bander’s face—barely missing his eye. Bander jerked back and stumbled. Bull Neck grinned and threw the whip out again. This time Bander blocked the blow with his shortstaff, which the whip encircled. Bull Neck pulled back, ripping the shortstaff from Bander’s grip—but that’s exactly what Bander wanted. With the whip encumbered by his shortstaff, Bander launched himself at Bull Neck, closing the distance in one leap. His elbow smashed into the bridge of Bull Neck’s nose. Two down. And done.
Bander leaned back against the alley wall, gulping air. Blood dripped from his cheek in fat splats on the cobblestones. Shopkeepers and passersby stared at the bodies, but all kept their distance. After he caught his breath, Bander examined Bull Neck. The man was alive, but unconscious. Bander turned the man’s head so the rangeman wouldn’t drown in his own blood. After retrieving his shortstaff and the rangemen’s weapons, Bander searched both men. He found several knives, two satchels, and three belt pouches. Everything got tied in a bundle made of Bull Neck’s cloak. Now it was time to wait.
A quarter hour later, two city guardsmen arrived. One drew his sword and approached Bander, while the other stood twenty yards back with a loaded crossbow. Bander stood up and held out his palace brooch.
“I am working with Vala, First Woman of the Falward. My name is Bander and I have jurisdiction granted by the Lord Governor.”
The guardsman with the sword cautiously moved closer to inspect Bander’s brooch. “What happened here?”
“These two Southerners tried to attack me. One of the men is dead. The other is my prisoner. I need him conveyed to the Lawhouse for interrogation at once.”
“Yes, sir!” The guardsman noticed Bander’s bloody face. “Do you require a healer, sir?”
Bander wiped his cheek. “No, but the prisoner will.” Without stopping, Bander made his way to the Falward barracks and asked the captain on duty if Vala had checked in, but was told that no one had seen her today. He went to his bunk room and dumped his makeshift pack on the bed. Item by item he went through everything. There were over a thousand regmarks worth of cut gems in the pouches, as well as enough gold coins to keep the men living in high style for weeks. The knives had a double-headed serpent mark near the hilt signifying that they were from Pecht, a well-known sword smith in Laketon. The whip, satchels, and pouches were made of Steading leather. The good stuff. But there were no scrolls, no maps, nothing that might suggest why the rangemen were so far north and what they might be doing in Waterside. He was confident that Bull Neck might be able to shine a lantern on that particular question.
Bander kept the coins, gems, and a belt pouch then dumped everything else into a chest beneath the bed and headed to the prison across from the Lawhouse complex. He identified himself to the guards manning the sally port and was led inside and down to the cell holding Bull Neck. The rangeman was asleep on a cot with a bandaged face. Attending him was a drawn, wizened Kaarnan healer who introduced himself as Hoorik Embra. He seemed reasonably competent, but he had bad news for Bander.
“This man is not responding to my spells. He remains in a deep, unnatural slumber,” Hoorik Embra said.
“Unnatural?”
“His heart beats steadily. His wounds have been treated. He has no injuries to his head. There is no earthly reason why he should not awaken.”
“Poison?”
“None that I can detect.”
Bander thought for a moment. Then raised his short staff to strike the unconscious rangeman. Hoorik stayed his hand. “No need to be so crude, sir.” The healer laid his left hand on Bull Neck’s chest and then, in a single sharp movement, forcefully pressed down upon the man’s heart. Still Bull Neck did not stir.
“No man could remain still against that palpitation.”
Bander couldn’t argue with that. Another possibility came into his head. “Did you examine his body?”
“Only where he was injured.”
“Let us remove his garments.”
It took both of them several minutes and quite a bit of effort to maneuver the big man out of his breeches and shirt. Bander inspected the skin on the rangeman’s chest above his sternum.
“What do you seek?” Hoorik Embra asked.
“Chest wounds, scars—”
The healer shook his head. “There is no siddith within him, if that is what you are thinking. The symptoms of that would be quite obvious, sir.”
Bander remembered the one and only time he saw a live siddith. It was a fearsome parasitic creature the size of a man’s fist with a single unblinking eye. Insect-like and extremely rare, siddiths were used by dark mages as a means of coercion and control. The one he had seen over 20 years ago had been implanted in the chest of an assassin sent to murder Regent Findlyn. When the assassin was captured, the siddith burrowed into the man’s heart and devoured it. That image never left Bander’s mind.
“You may be on the right track, however,” the healer said. He rummaged through his satchel until he found a vial with a red lacquered top. The vial contained a rust-colored powder which Hoorik sprinkled on Bull Neck’s lips and tongue. The healer then adjusted the rangeman’s head and neck to keep his mouth open.
“Ground powdered edgeweed,” Hoorik explained. “It will draw out any of veinworms which may be living within this man.”
“Could veinworms keep him in such a stupor?”
“It’s possible. The venom of the blue veinworm causes that reaction in those with a certain mineral deficiency in the blood. Though I have to confess, I have never witnessed such a thing myself.”
Bander drew close to inspect Bull Neck’s mouth. “I don’t see any.”
“It takes at least an hour for the edgeweed to draw them out. If there are any to be summoned, that is. I will wait.”
“Thank you, healer. The life of a very important person may depend on making this man able to speak to us. I shall return within the hour. If you learn something before then, leave word with the Falward.”
“Of course, sir.”
Bander left the prison
and headed back into the city proper, specifically to The Plover’s Twin. His body was starting to cramp badly—making him regret the decision not to request healing from Hoorik. At the Plover, the red-haired serving girl was still on duty, but she reported that Vala had not returned. He then decided to trace the path between the tavern and the gaming hall, step by step, but unfortunately the most expeditious route Vala could have taken would have been to wind her way northwest through the Bazaar itself. He slowly navigated the maze of stalls, shops, wagons, and tents and pushed through the throngs trying to imagine which way Vala would have gone, questioning merchants as he walked. No one had seen Vala. Or at least no one admitted to seeing her.
It was the same story at the Riddledorp gaming hall. No Vala. No Hal Deorr. Bander could feel his patience evaporate in the late afternoon sun. He was eager to get back to the prison see if the healer had caught any veinworms, but he had to make one more stop. This time he traveled through the Temple District—with its imposing fanes, churches, sanctuaries, and temples. There were far fewer people on the street in this area, and most of the buildings were shuttered and abandoned. At the gala last night Bander had heard bits of a discussion between noblemen about a plan to reclaim parts of the Temple District and convert some of the old churches there to residences. Standing in the long shadows of these edifices, Bander was struck with how profoundly wrong that idea was. This was not a place of joy and light. Not a place for families to live. He looked up to see the largest of the old temples. It was covered with brown vines and roots as thick as his chest. Great shaggy falls of moss hung on its walls. This was the ancient Order of the Gargoyle temple. Empty for over 300 years, there was still an almost palpable atmosphere of malevolence lingering on its grounds.
Bander was happy to leave the Temple District and pass through the Park Gate. Although he knew the answer, he asked the guards on duty if they had seen Vala today. Still no luck. He limped along a wide lane edged by towering ceaon trees, grown gigantic thanks to the shelter of the city walls. Nestled among the ceaons were multistory noble residences and estate houses and then, closer to the Lord Governor’s mansion, a row of guest embassies. The guardsman on duty helped him locate Silbra Dal’s suite at the top of a tower of an old grey-stone consulate building. Bander was out of breath by the time he reached the top floor. The mage’s door opened before he even had a chance to knock.
“Captain…” Silbra Dal’s eyes looked tired.
“May I come in?”
“Of course. Have you news?”
“I do, but none good, I fear.”
Her sitting room was lavishly appointed with tapestries, colorful Myssian rugs, and elaborately-carved furniture. The windows stretched up taller than Bander’s head and provided an expansive view of the Lord Governor’s mansion and beyond.
“Would you care for some spiced nampa tea? Asryn brings it in from the Steppes of Choudri. Quite exquisite—”
“Thank you, Mistress, but no.”
“Then sit, please, and tell me of your news.”
Bander awkwardly tried to ease himself into a low settee facing the window. He knew he could not hide his injuries from the sorceress.
“You are hurt.”
“Nothing substantial. Just these old bones protesting.”
Silbra Dal said nothing.
“Vala is missing,” Bander said. “She may have been taken.”
“Taken? By whom?”
“I do not know yet, Mistress. We wished to speak further with young master Deorr—”
“Without a Guild representative present?” Silbra Dal scowled. “That was ill-advised.”
“We sought him out at a pub in the Bazaar. He never showed up. Vala went to check a gaming establishment across the square. That was the last time I saw her. Just after noon time.”
The sorceress shut her eyes in thought as Bander continued. “Two men arrived at the pub an hour or so later. Rangemen from the Underfoots. They too were inquiring about Deorr.”
“Rangemen? You’re certain?”
“Yes. They marked me in the pub, then lay in wait until I moved out into the open. Then they tracked me from the gaming house.”
“And where are these men now?”
“One is dead. The other is in an unnatural slumber in the Lawhouse prison.”
“By your hand?”
“The dead one, yes.”
“Wearing the Falward black is having its effect on you, I see.”
Bander shrugged off the comment. “The healer is baffled by the condition of the second man. We are checking for veinworms.”
Silbra Dal shook her head. “I don’t mean to tell you how to conduct your investigation, Captain—”
“Then don’t, Mistress. My first priority is to locate Vala. My second is to learn exactly what Tobin Leroth was working on. I believe you can help me with both.”
The sorceress moved to the window and spent some moments gazing out. When she turned back to Bander, she nodded her head. “I will cast a divination to determine the whereabouts of the First Woman. She is essential to this investigation. But I will not reveal anything further about Tobin Leroth’s research. My decision is final. And should you attempt to circumvent the Guild on this matter, there shall be repercussions…”
“We’ve already spoke of such ‘repercussions,’ as you recall, Mistress,” Bander said with a half smile.
“So we have, Captain, and I am confident that your respect for the Guild’s power and reach shall inform your judgment in this matter. Do we have an understanding?”
“We do.” As Bander struggled to rise from the settee, the sorceress offered her hand and helped him to his feet with surprising strength.
“Believe me when I tell you that the nature of the Tobin Leroth’s research is not at all germane to his murder,” she said in a softer voice. “I can state that with the utmost certainty.”
“I will take your word as truth, Mistress, for I have no other choice.”
“Good. Now let us locate the First Woman.”
As Silbra Dal made preparations for the divination spell, Bander debated whether or not to assemble a small Falward strike team to help him extract Vala from wherever she was being held. The failing of that plan was the fact that he wouldn’t be able to maintain secrecy among Vala’s men, and by extension, the rest of the palace. So far, no one besides himself and Silbra Dal knew that Vala was missing. If he could quietly rescue her, she might have more options. That was the uncertainty. He had no idea of the size of the force that took her, although he suspected that the rangemen had at least two confederates—maybe three. And, as much as he hated to even entertain the thought, there was a chance that Vala was dead. In which case the rescue mission would become a recovery mission and it wouldn’t matter who knew about it. He elected to wait until Silbra Dal located Vala. He’d make the decision at that point.
“I am ready,” Silbra Dal called from a small library room adjacent to her sitting room. Bander found the mage standing at a thick haldwood desk which was scarred and burned from years of use. Resting on the desk was a silvered glass mirror the size of a serving plate surrounded by an array of powdered reagents. “I need some item of the First Woman’s,” she said.
“I don’t have anything of hers,” Bander said. “Perhaps we should go to her quarters.”
“Do you have anything that she touched? A dagger? Even some coins?”
Bander thought for a moment and then pointed to the palace brooch fastened at the neck of his cloak. Vala had pinned it on him after they dressed. “Will this do?”
Silbra Dal didn’t reply—just unfastened the brooch and placed it upon the mirror. “Please fetch me that candle, Captain.”
Bander complied then watched as Silbra Dal mixed the reagents in very particular measures. She arranged the compound in a small circle around the brooch then touched the candle’s flame to the circle. Bander leaned back—expecting a small explosion. Instead the flame cooled to a blue color, then spread like water on to
p of the mirror. Silbra Dal brushed the brooch aside, then pronounced an incantation. Images swirled and danced between the mirror and the blue flame, but from his vantage point Bander could not make out what they were. The mage’s eyes fluttered and she stumbled back—almost striking her head on the haldwood bookshelves in back of the desk. Bander caught her and eased the sorceress into a chair. “It’s easier when the fetching item belongs to the subject,” she said.
“Does Vala live?” he asked.
“Yes.” The mage’s skin was drained of color. She took a deep breath. “She is locked in the Lord Governor’s prison.”
“What?”
“In chains—”
“Are you certain?”
Before Silbra Dal could answer, there was a loud crack and the door to her sitting room splintered inward. Three black-clad Falward guardsmen burst into the suite and advanced towards the library. “Halt!” the lead guard yelled. “Hands in the air! Now!” His short sword was out and he had a truncheon at his belt. The men behind him both leveled compact crossbows at Bander and Silbra Dal.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Silbra Dal demanded.
“Resisting arrest…” the lead guard called out—not to them, but to his fellow guardsman.
Bander had experienced this scenario before. From both sides. And it wasn’t good. These guards were justifying murder to themselves.
“Down!” he screamed to the mage. Bander snatched up the fiery mirror and flung it at the closest crossbowman just as the crossbowmen loosed their bolts. The mirror splashed its magical flame at the guardsman. Time seemed to slow as the bolt meant for him whizzed past his shoulder while the one meant for Silbra Dal slammed into the chair where she had been a moment before. Heeding his warning, the sorceress dove to the floor.
All at once the lead guard was on him, chopping down diagonally with his short sword. The short sword was a good weapon in close quarters like these, but only if you used it correctly—jabbing and slashing with small, quick movements. The guard was swinging it like a battle axe, going for a killing blow. It was the wrong tactic and Bander planned on chiding Vala for her poor training—if he ever saw her again. But right now he pivoted on the outside of the guard’s swing and smashed the heel of his hand into the swordsman’s wrist. The sword went clattering to the ground just as Bander’s forehead slammed into the bridge of the guard’s nose, crushing his face. The guard crumpled like a scarecrow that fell off his pole.
The two crossbowmen stared in surprise. They were not used to seeing a fellow Falward go down so quickly. As the men began to free their blades, Bander took a long step in towards them and grabbed each man’s cloak below the chin. He then spun, and with all his strength, smashed them headfirst into the bookcases. The shorter man’s face erupted in blood where a shelf caught him on his cheek. The other managed to lessen the impact by bringing his arm up. As the guard staggered from the bookshelves, Bander elbowed him in the temple, dropping him neatly to the floor.
Bander limped over to where Silbra Dal lay and helped her back into the chair. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “What was that?”
“Someone wants us dead. We need to get out of here.”
“I must contact the Guild.”
“Our first priority is to get away from the Falward. Someone has usurped—” Bander interrupted himself. The faint sound of voices yelling from outside caught his attention. He hobbled to the great windows in the sitting room. From that vantage point he saw a dozen Falward guardsmen on horseback gallop towards the consulate.
“Reinforcements! You need to do something. Now—”
“I’m too weak!”
“I don’t care. Try!” Bander toppled over one of the massive bookcases into the doorway, sending rare books flying.
“I could stoneflow a barrier…”
“They’d burn us out.”
“I don’t have the power for anything else!”
“Well then, I’ve enjoyed making your acquaintance, Mistress—” He pushed another bookshelf over, blocking the doorway.
“They must listen to me. I’m the Guild Representative. This is a grave error!”
The sound of men racing up the stairs alerted Bander. He tossed a lit candle on the makeshift bookcase barrier and the dry old books immediately ignited.
“Come on!” Bander dragged Silbra Dal to the back bedroom and bolted the door shut. Wincing with pain, he made his way to the window. The ground was at least twenty yards below, but if they could somehow make it down and steal some horses—
As he turned back to the sorceress, the window behind him shattered and an arrow tumbled into the room. A second flew clear and stuck in the beam of the ceiling with a powerful thunk! And then a volley of at least a dozen more arrows sprayed into the room. At the same time, the bedroom door buckled and cracked as the guardsmen began to force it open.
What a damn fool way to go, thought Bander. Trapped like a mouse in a trap. He raised his hands and prepared to call out and surrender.
But Silbra Dal pulled him towards the window. She muttered something under her breath. There on the ledge they locked eyes for the briefest moment and Bander noticed for the first time that the young sorceress had eyes the color of amethysts.
And then, without warning, they were falling.
