by JANRAE FRANK
Bright Eyes stretched out, laying his head and shoulders on the ground. Tag could see the riding straps and saddles now. A slender young mon seated in the forward saddle held the reins, he extended his hand, and with help from the gaffer they got Tagalong into the rear saddle between the roc's shoulders.
The young mon secured Tagalong with riding straps so ingeniously devised that even if the roc turned over in the air the riders would not fall off.
Bright Eyes straightened, ran three steps toward the ocean, wings spread. He gave them a snap and they lifted into the air. They flew out over the ocean, then Bright Eyes, anticipating the tug of the reins, veered back making for a point in the far northeast chasing the dawn to the Creeyan Mountains and the fortress of the Grand Master.
* * * *
Carved from the living rock by dwarves, Ishladrim castle thrust upward in harsh geometric patterns, rising in tier upon tier of pinnacles and walls and courtyards like structured insanity. A plateau ringed with spires formed the Grand Master's personal courtyard. Huge flying creatures of all descriptions swooped and circled as they descended to the fortress, creatures of heaven and creatures of hell in an unimaginable flock: rocs, simurgs, fire-breathing perytons, sundrakes, and pegasi. Those Tagalong could set name to, but there were others, some of such terrifying visage that the stalwart dwarf shuddered and looked away. Tagalong had never seen such a tremendous assemblage of monstrous flying creatures in her entire life. They came in from all directions bearing the Grand Master's chieftains to this urgent meeting on which lay, perhaps, the fate of their guild itself as well as the needs of Aejys Rowan. They came to hear Tagalong and make plans regarding the rogue guild.
Bright Eyes dove fearlessly through the host, alighting in the Grand Master's courtyard.
Columns forested the great central hall, supporting three-stories high groin vaults and ribbed arches that merged one into the other in curving conchoidal points. Three inns the size of the Cock and Boar, courtyard quad, stable and all could fit easily within the single chamber carved into the womb of the mountain. The chieftains and their entourages spread through the chambers reminding Tagalong of the way the levies had gathered at Rowanslea in a sea of banners, livery and glittering arms.
On a golden dais wrought in a pattern of abstracted peacocks, their tails radiant with gemstones sat the Grand Master, Takhalme Gee. He wore a deep-sleeved gold velvet aba over a long umber silk caftan and loose trousers. A neatly trimmed, sharply pointed black goatee covered the cleft in his strong chin. His warm brown skin was clear and perfect, his eyes luminous black orbs that revealed nothing of his thoughts. His three high Lord Lieutenants flanked him: Gylorean Galee of the Nordrei, one of the five races of high sylvans; Hanadi Majios the nomad; and the black-skinned giant Mohanja Raam from the jungles of the southern continent, Jedrua.
Hanadi Majios of the Chirkahn Euzadi, a lithe dark woman of average height clad in loose-legged trousers tied at the ankles and a mid-calf tunic with sides split to her waist, sat with her hands folded atop one knee and her head propped on her hands. A huge steel gray beast wrapped around her back. It rose and stretched as Tagalong approached the peacock throne. The dwarf gasped audibly at a legend made flesh: a shadow hound from the demon-haunted lands beyond the Katal Escarpment. The beast, Brundarad by name, stood twelve hands at the shoulder, wiry steel dust coat, deep chested, raw-boned, built as much for speed as power. Two ivory horns curled tightly above its long, hanging ears. A long blunt muzzle extended from its squarish head. Two emerald eyes gleamed with intelligence.
Beside Hanadi and just a little in front and to the left of the throne stood a huge black-skinned Jedruan nearly as tall as Clemmerick, or so he appeared to Tagalong at that moment. Mohanja Raam leaned on a halberd, his broad featured face serene and thoughtful. He wore a lionskin wrapped around his waist over his trousers. The heavy muscles of his huge chest and arms, bare and uncovered, looked capable of challenging even the ogre.
The slender Nordrei, Gylorean Galee, nut-brown skinned, large pointed ears dramatically exposed by the sweep of her black hair, draped herself across the left hand of the throne, whispering in the Master's ear and nodding at Tag.
"Tagalong Smith, also known as Gaertrudin Angtraden, you have long been known to us," said the Grand Master. "You have rescued and succored members of our Guild on more than one occasion, for this we are in your debt. What is it that you wish of us?"
Tagalong bowed gracefully with a sweep of her hand touching forehead, lips, and heart. She schooled the sloppiness from her speech, addressing him in tones that befitted a courtier at a ruler's court. "Your Majesty, I welcome this opportunity to meet with you for the first time. I would that it were on a happier note." She pulled a parchment from her waistband. "This is a copy of a document found on the slain duelist, Farendarc."
"You may approach," the Grand Master told her. When she reached the first step Mohanja Raam took the paper from her and passed it to Takhalme Gee. He read for a moment. Tagalong sensed a tautness come into his bearing though nothing showed on his face. "We have been plagued of late by someone assassinating our assassins. You know who these people are? Where to find them?"
"I am fairly certain that this M is Margrenan brye Rowan."
"To hit that one would bring a war upon us."
"To hit her followers, root out her minions, I think would not," Tagalong replied. "The rival guild must be stopped, do you not agree?"
"I agree, Tagalong Smith. You know where to find these citadels?"
"Not yet, but once we arrive in Rowanslea, I will find them quickly."
"And what is your offer, then?"
Tagalong took a pouch from her side, handed it to Mohanja Raam, which he in turn presented to the Grand Master.
Takhalme Gee poured the gems out onto his palm and the room came alive with whispers at the wealth of flawless rubies and emeralds, gems such as he loved best. "How are my people to earn this?"
"Aejys wants two score of your folk in various guises to accompany her to Rowanslea. At least half of them should be lancers. I know some of your people fought in the Great War. Aejys wants veterans of Jon Dawn's Legion."
Takhalme nodded. "So. There is more?"
"Yes. When this job is done I will distribute another pouch just as rich among those of your people who accompany us. But I want this as an alliance. In exchange for my helping you locate the citadels of the Gold Ravens, your people will use all of their skills and knowledge as assassins to prevent Margren's people from getting to Aejys Rowan and her daughter. My gray mice and I will search for the proof of Margren's guilt. That way Kaethreyn will not blame Aejys or take the field against us. Until I give the word, no one hits Margren."
"That is an ambitious goal. We will need to discuss this amongst our Eldari. You have a friend in the north foyer who will take you to the rooms we have arranged in one of the inns. You have the freedom of the city, but not the palace. Nor are you to leave our city until we send you home. We will send for you when we are ready."
* * * *
"Tag! Yo Tag!" A familiar voice caused the dwarf to turn just as she entered the foyer. The walls were covered in decorative tiles depicting stylized birds and animals in gardens of vivid colors amid flowers that bloomed only in the mind.
Wilstryn Hornbow rose from a mahogany settee. She was dressed all in black leather with a black bearskin cloak. A broad, polished ebony clip caught her dark hair back. She crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to her knees to hug Tagalong.
"Heard Aejys got hurt," Wilstryn said casually as she straightened.
"Farendarc got dead," Tagalong growled low. "Aejys is healin'. We're movin' out in a fortnight."
"Farendarc," Wilstryn's mouth screwed up in a look of distaste as if something foul had passed her lips, "I wish I'd been there to spit on his corpse. He killed three of my people. Took them out one at a time in the course of a single night. Don't know how he knew where to find them."
"Wilstryn," Tag said, "You l
ose anyone I know?"
Wilstryn's good eye hooded, her lips thinned and she grew pensive, pulling in on herself, visibly fighting her own inner demons.
Tagalong reached out and took her hands, "He got one'a the kids, didn't he?"
Wilstryn nodded, she leaned against the wall, her face turned away from Tagalong's, and said in a voice gone strangely soft and gravelly, "My youngest... My son, Sohkoran. He was just ten years old, Tag. My girls took him to the harvest fair. Somehow Farendarc separated him from them, threw him across a horse, and escaped. Tag, you know how rare sons are among my people! I got six daughters and then Sohkoran."
"I know," Tagalong acknowledged.
"What kind of ass-horned gutterscrew would raise something like that!" Wilstryn snarled low.
"He's a Coleth," a deep male voice intruded on their conversation, "I thought you both knew." A short blond human not much taller than Tagalong, clean-shaven, blue-eyed, broad chested and small hipped in blue robes stood beside them.
Tagalong let out a yelp and grabbed him. "Jon Dawn! Ya damned sting-assed mud-dauber! Where've ya been all these years?"
"I run a caravansary out of Tovante these days," he told her. "Remember Aevrina Coleth's two bastards? Ma'aramlasah unknown, sire unknown? She had them recognized at the Saer'ajan's court. Year before the war."
Wilstryn's expression grew savage even as the color faded from her cheeks. "Then his father was..."
"Waejontori, that's the rumor anyway. One source during the war claimed the father and 'lasah were either banewitches or sa'necari," Jon Dawn supplied, looking up to regard the tall chieftain. "I must have missed part of the conversation. You look like you need a drink."
For the first time Tagalong Smith saw the assassin chieftain deeply shaken. Tagalong seized the woman's arm. "There someplace we can sit and have a drink? Jon's right, ya need one."
"I have a house on the third tier down, northwest side," Jon told them.
"Good enuf!" Tagalong replied, steering Wilstryn behind him.
Jon Dawn guided Tagalong out of the keep to the narrow streets of the lower sections of the city of Havensword. Crowds thronged the avenues and lanes, drawn together from dozens of entourages now dismissed for the day while the chieftains met with the Grand Master. Jon Dawn turned down an alley. Stray dogs bolted from their diggings as the three passed. Now and again children peered at them from behind iron-barred gardens. Jon Dawn led them down one twisting way and up another, his quick stride daring Wilstryn's long legs to keep up with his shorter ones and forcing Tagalong to trot.
At a small iron gated yard Jon Dawn pulled a key from his pocket and let them in. The gate creaked slightly, announcing them to a small herd of dogs of various sizes from tiny to huge.
"Jon? That you, honey?" A deep, rich timbered, female voice greeted them.
"It's me, all right, Nara," He answered.
She stepped into the garden from the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron; a large, round woman who easily made more than two of John, round faced and red complexioned with guileless blue eyes that appeared ready for whatever pleasures she could capture in life. Nara caught him in her arms and swung him off the ground. "Ah! My wee Jon! I knew ye'd be back again when wind of this shindig got out."
Jon nodded, "Nara! Nara! We'll have some days now. But for the nonce my friends and I need a private space and a solid bottle."
"I've stocked the liquor cabinet, my man!" Nara said with a wink and kissed his mouth hungrily. He responded for a long moment, and then turned, leading Wilstryn and Tagalong into the house. Tagalong wondered what it was that Jon saw in plump women, for she had never seen him with a thin one. They settled into an upstairs study. Jon got the small fire in the hearth blazing, and then poured out a double Iradrim whiskey for Wilstryn and wine for himself and Tagalong.
Tagalong pulled the letter out of her pocket and slid it across to Wilstryn. "Now give me all ya know, old friend."
"I have part of it, myself," Jon Dawn said, pulling two small disks on thongs out of his pocket and laying them in front of the others.
Tagalong picked one up. It was the three Rowans of Rowanslea held in the claws of a dragon. "Where'd ya get this?"
"I had three of them," he said, pushing one toward Wilstryn. "One is now with the Grand Master."
Wilstryn's face turned to steel when she saw it, her voice grew soft, an edge creeping into it. "Waejontor and Rowanslea? It makes sense. After Sohkoran was taken, his sisters and half my units wanted to go after Farendarc."
"Sohkoran? He's your youngest right?" Jon Dawn put in, "He must be getting big now."
Wilstryn took the whiskey and downed in one swallow. "He's dead."
Jon Dawn sucked in his breath. "I'm sorry." He glanced from Tagalong to Wilstryn and back again. "How?"
"Farendarc," Tagalong hissed, signaling him to wait.
Wilstryn continued. "I allowed my two eldest daughters to track Farendarc, but not to engage. They followed him to Dragonshead above Rowan Castle and lost him. A week ago they found Sohkoran on the north bluff above Dragonshead. He'd been dead for several days. Whoever Farendarc served had butchered my child."
"Ya think it's Margren?"
"I know it's Margrenan Rowan. In my gut I know it. I can't prove it. We found nine other bodies butchered in the same way. Sohkoran was a touch healer, his powers just starting to show. The Mage School at Sharatier had accepted him for training. Sohkoran would have been the first lifemage in my family. Imagine that..." Wilstryn's voice caught. "A lifemage from a long line of life takers... The three we could identify were touch healers too. Lifemages of great power. My guess is they all were. Why is beyond me."
Tagalong nodded, her face grim yet thoughtful. "I've never lied ta ya, Wilstryn. I wish I could now. But I can't. Sohkoran and the others... Waejontoris probably's got their souls bottled up. That's how they make baneblades ya know ... tie a soul onto it. Where'd ya find that thing, Jon?"
"It turned up in my caravansary. Mon traded three of them for a drink," Jon poured a second round. "Said he got it off some trolls attacked the caravan he was with near the ruins of Aralyn. Cut them to pieces before the Beltrian Guard arrived."
Wilstryn inhaled sharply, her mouth twisting as she tried to fight down the expression of her grief. "Sohkoran! Aroana, sweet God! What do I do, Tag? I know nothing of such sorceries."
Jon moved to stand beside Wilstryn, slipping an arm around her shoulders. Tagalong stood in her chair and hugged Wilstryn across the table. As they closed around her in sympathy, Wilstryn slipped one of the two charms into her pocket. She turned into Tagalong's embrace and knocked the other one onto the floor. Later when Jon looked for them he would just assume that the second had gotten knocked off also and would be found eventually.
"If it's any comfort," Jon said, "I have never heard of them using children's souls on those blades..."
"Aejys and me, we'll take care of the Waejontori." She tapped the letter. "We think Margren's leagued with him or her. Whether the Mar'ajan Kaethreyn will agree that this proves it remains to be seen."
"What can I do?" Wilstryn asked.
"Aejys is lookin' ta hire about two score of yar people. Between ya, me, and the doorpost I'm lookin' ta make an alliance. There's a rogue guild in Rowanslea. I help ya get them, ya help me get Margren. Aejys ain't in on this last bit. I'd appreciate if ya didn't bring it up ta her."
"And Sohkoran?"
"If that gritchin demon-witch got his soul I'll set it free. Father of Stone be my witness!"
"I'm a long way away these days," Jon Dawn said, "but if I can do something, just send word."
"Thank you, my true friends," Wilstryn said, "My very true friends. I dream constantly of Sohkoran. I hardly sleep. But it will be better now. So what can I do to help you, Tag?"
"Support me when I see the Grand Master, and, if he permits, lend me some back up in Shaurone when and if I need it."
"So be it. We kept all the things we could take off those bodies, rings and s
uch, maybe you could identify them or know someone who could?"
"Cassana Odaren be my guess for gettin them figured out."
"Can you get them to her?"
"She's with Aejys right now."
They sat late into the evening around a fireplace. Nara brought dinner up. When they finished eating, Tag asked, "Jon, what became of Aevrina Coleth's second son?"
"No one knows what became of Mephistis. But there's a rumor she had three."
* * * *
Isranon sat upon a square of stone surrounded on three sides by bushes. The concealment comforted him, lending him an illusion of safety. If he allowed himself to think about it, then he would lose the illusion, so the youth worked hard at maintaining it. His father used to tell him that so long as he could play that flute and enjoy it he would never become a monster. He built castles in his mind to wall out his awareness of what went on around him. So he sat and played. The first songs were sad and troubled, but slowly the music lifted him out of it and the notes changed until they were as pure and sweet as birds.
The sounds of a lute came from nearby and Isranon raised an eyebrow at that, but did nothing. He continued to play and now he could hear the minstrel coming nearer. He saw, from the corner of his eye, Juldrid settle near him and he gave her a small nod. Isranon did not want to frighten her away by attempting conversation: She knew what he was, and he knew how she felt about sa'necari: she hated them. They sat and played together in silence until it began to be dark, then she rose and left him without speaking.
* * * *
Aejys opened her eyes. At first glance there was no one in the room. She rolled onto her good side and tilted herself out of bed. A wave of dizziness hit her and she hesitated, letting it subside. Then she reached for her clothes draped over a nearby chair. She clutched at her shoulder and arm, doubling over with a sharp intake of breath.
"Are you not being a little premature?" asked an unknown voice archly. "Look to your shoulder. You are bleeding again."
Aejys looked down and saw a red stain spreading across the bandaging. The shoulder throbbed painfully. She pressed her palm hard to the wound, her eyes closed and she fought down a wave of nausea. "You are?"
