Fool's Errand

by David G. Johnson

  The D’zarik served the Ayabim god Husam and as such were enemies of all races serving the One Lord and His running dogs, the Malakim. It had long been the policy of the D’zarik lord of his home city, Syythys to raid Adami and other human settlements and take female prisoners for breeding. According to the old scrolls, of which Melizar knew much but believed little, the One Lord created the servant races, including the D’zarik, without souls. Only the human races had this eternal gift. When a member of the servant races perished, they would be gone forever. It was different for chats-enash. Some mystical part of the humans spawned in their bonding with the servant races, and this imbued soul lived on. The D’zarik lord of his home city of Syythys, Lord Yolodyr, who was himself a D’zarik chats-enash, had gone insane with the idea of preserving the D’zarik race under his rule unto all eternity. Breeding with the humans was, in his mind, the means to that end.

  Melizar’s own amah-em or slave-mother had given birth to both he and his younger brother Malandyr. Eventually, however, darkness and captivity drove her mad to the point of taking her own life. Melizar’s father, Muzzif, had treated her well enough, but life deep underground in perpetual darkness did not suit the surface dwelling Adami.

  A few experiments had been tried with other human races as amah-em. Qarahni women were as tough and untamable as Qarahni men were, and the D’zarik males would not sleep in the same house with them for fear of waking with a knife in their throat. The diminutive Mitsar were more suited to underground living, but were so tiny in stature that they were undesirable mates for the proud D’zarik. Mitsar also were a generally non-magic-using race, and thus, the offspring were unsuited to learning kashaph powers so intrinsic to the D’zarik. As a result, Yolodyr proclaimed that only the Adami should be sought as fitting amah-em for the D’zarik.

  He had left all this behind at his father’s instruction when his father was demoted after refusing to seek another amah-em. Muzzif had genuinely cared for Melizar and Malandyr’s mother. Her death affected him deeply. He could not bring himself to take another amah-em and face the absolute surety of another loss.

  The D’zarik lived much longer lives than the Adami, so even if he could find a woman who could adapt to living in the dark depths of Syythys, her life would end long before his. It was a cycle he chose not to repeat. He defied Yolodyr, taking a D’zarik mate and refusing to follow the directives of the high lord of Syythys. Knowing the Lord’s wrath would fall on the family, Muzzif sold all they owned and sent his oldest son, Melizar, to seek his fortunes away from Syythys. Melizar’s younger brother, Malandyr, refused to leave with him and stayed with their father. That was twenty-five years ago, and Melizar had not seen his family or his home since then.

  Melizar, a chast-enash with the same freedom of will granted to full-blood humans, was not bound to the service of the Ayabim. If one believed the ancient writings, thanks to his Adami mother he also had an eternal soul. Still, he knew little outside his own culture and people. He had read much in the ancient writings of the other races and their ways, but his experience told him most of the servants of the One Lord, and their Malakim, would never trust a D’zarik; even a half-blooded one.

  For almost a quarter century, Melizar had been on the run. He wandered Shadowdeep, save for occasional forays avoiding the surface out of fear of what surface worlders do to D’zarik they encounter above ground. For this reason, he kept his identity and race secret from his companions. The mystery of his hiddenness added a certain spectacle to his powers and elevated the perception of the depth of his abilities to the point where most would loathe opposing him. That suited Melizar just fine.

  As the others began to move southward out of the throne room, Melizar snapped out of his reverie and prepared to resume their quest. The continuation was short-lived. Not far beyond the entrance to the throne room, the corridor had completely collapsed. It appeared deliberate. Melizar surmised this likely was near the original entrance to the complex. Given the Hobgoblins’ aversion for the throne room, it made sense they might seal it to prevent anyone entering their hideout from this direction.

  “What a waste of such fine Durgak workmanship,” Duncan remarked. “I should remember this place should I come into my fortunes. It would make a great southern outpost or possibly even a temple on the edge of the Wild Lands in which to station troops to secure stability in the area. A solid crew of Durgak diggers could restore this place to its former glory in no time.”

  “No doubt,” Melizar answered, “if the Durgak could be enticed out of their mountain city and into the broader world.”

  “I’ll have you know,” Duncan said with an air of indignation in his voice, “that Durgak roamed the length and breadth of Ya-erets long ago. We just prefer stability and security to aimless wandering.”

  Melizar thought of at least half a dozen snide remarks, any one of which would have driven the hot-tempered Durgak into a frenzy, but as amusing as that would be, he desired neither the added attention nor the distraction from their mission at hand. There would be ample time to taunt the Durgak under better circumstances.

  Melizar was not capricious in his antagonism, but found it an excellent analytical tool for understanding someone. When one knew how far to push to drive someone to the edge of violence without pushing them over the line, it gave one an advantage. It also helped one understand and control one’s opponents. D’zarik prided themselves on maintaining their composure in conflict. This made them cold, calculating opponents, who could slay or save with equally dispassionate reasoning.

  Thus far, the youth, Thatcher, seemed simple and naive, easy enough to manipulate. Gideon was steady and reserved, nearly unshakable. There was a hint of something deeper, but the paladin hid it so well that it would take a long time to find the chink in his armor. Goldain was unfathomable. The man seemed a positive idiot, completely unaware of his surroundings and oblivious to subtlety. However, Melizar had seen the transformation when it came to battle. This insipid oaf transformed instantly into a strategic, quick-thinking battle veteran. There were also hints that Goldain understood far more than he let on. The Qarahni was worth watching, as Melizar estimated Goldain to be the most dangerous member of the company by far.

  With their exploration of the hideout complete, it was time to return to Aton-Ri with the news of what they had found. As they exited the structure, Thatcher rearmed the two gobbler traps they had taken down on the way in. The raiders inhabiting this particular hideout had probably all been dispatched in their efforts, but these traps might reduce the forces of any other bands who decided to appropriate this delving as their own.

  Each of Melizar’s companions seemed consumed with quite different things as they picked their way through the mountains, heading toward the bridge at the Moorhead River. The river split upon leaving the mountains and filled the swamplands of Darkmoor.

  Thatcher had asked Melizar if he thought Goldain’s offer of mentorship and friendship was genuine. The northerner did have an open directness about him. Would a northern prince really take a parentless street rat as his apprentice?

  “I would say boy, given what I knew of the Qarahni prince, the offer was likely genuine. Keep in mind, though, Goldain’s general flightiness may make the realization of obligation rather unstructured.”

  “So you are saying I shouldn’t be in a great hurry to complete any training, huh?”

  “If speed is your goal, you might wish to seek a different mentor. I’m not certain the Qarahni has ever been in a hurry about anything.”

  “I’m pretty accurate with a crossbow and know more than a trick or two with fighting daggers. This has been good enough to survive the streets of Aton-Ri, but to have a veteran warrior mentor and train me with the long blade could transform me into a genuine hero.”

  “I can’t help you there, boy. I’m not sure I know what that word means.”

  Further in the journey, Melizar found himself close to their captain. Gideon’s mind was consumed with the shields they had fo
und.

  “So, Melizar, you seem to always be thinking three moves ahead. What is your take on the shields? Are they in some way connected with the missing caravans, or something more dire?”

  “I am not from here, captain. Not knowing more about the politics of your home country, I could not say. I have found, however, that when enough motivation is in play, people can be driven to do things quite outside the range of what they thought possible.”

  “The reputation of Parynland is beyond reproach, but this is carefully maintained by the severe determination of the king to capture and punish any who would tarnish the perceptions of the kingdom. Parynlanders found guilty of things not in keeping with the strictures of the One Lord and the reputation of King Paryn are exiled, and their status as Parynland citizens revoked.”

  “Yet you are concerned this may have proven an insufficient deterrent in this case?”

  “The thought that there might be a traitor in the court is conceivable, but a deeply disturbing possibility.”

  “I would say, captain, that this is only one of many possible explanations. I would not rush to judgment until more is known about the situation. Following false conclusions is a road to destruction.”

  With time being long and the travel here relatively safe, Melizar decided to renew his experiments in finding the Durgak’s breaking point.

  “So, master Durgak. Do you find this foray has been all you had hoped?”

  “Hmph,” Duncan snorted. “Exactly what in this whole business is recountable in a valor quest examination?”

  “Perhaps I don’t understand your culture well enough,” Melizar probed, “but aren’t you a priest and healer? I fail to see the purpose in expecting a priest to recount deeds as though he were a warrior. It would be like asking a rabbit to recount his thoughts on hunting.”

  “Granted I am a priest of the One Lord,” Duncan responded, his voice a rising crescendo and his face reddening, “and as such smashing about like a warrior is not expected. I don’t expect a kashaph wielder to understand this, but Durgak as a race are known as mighty warriors and even we priests are trained in battle. It seems thus far I have proven to be little more than an advisor on Durgak architecture. This will make a poor witness as a tale of valor. My three year valor quest has just begun, but it is off to a less than auspicious start.”

  “Well,” Melizar said with a wry grin hidden behind his darkened hood, “perhaps you will get lucky and an architect will be assigned as one of your examiners. I’m sure they will find your observations fascinating.”

  Melizar fell back in the formation as he heard Duncan mumbling sputtering noises under his breath. The mage had not found the breaking point yet, but he had gotten close with this exchange.

  Goldain, seemed unconcerned about their expedition, but gave every indication of thoroughly enjoying the journey.

  “Mel, have you ever seen such gorgeous green? It goes on forever.”

  “Actually, it does not, but since one can only see the horizon several miles away, it gives that appearance.”

  “You are a real killjoy, aren’t you mage?”

  “What joy is there in grass?”

  “Having grown up in the Clan Lands, frozen tundra much of the year, I see lush green only for a month or two out of the year. Now here are hills, valleys, mountains, swamps, and grasslands covered in that mystifyingly beautiful color.”

  “Very little green where I am from as well, but I still fail to grasp the attraction.”

  “You from up north as well?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well Wolf Clan lands sport some brownish green struggling through in the springtime, most of which is quickly gobbled up by the grazing herds. To the far west, near the Bear Clan borders, lay the evergreens of Ketarynne Forest. But even that is nothing like this bright and vibrant shade, bursting with the spirit of life. It seems to endlessly roam the wilds of Rajik. This beauty is worth any journey just to experience such color.”

  “I’ll leave you to your grass-gazing then, and shall endeavor to dwell more deeply on ways to share the appreciation.”

  Melizar spent the rest of the journey quietly contemplating his new companions and his future. The opportunity for work had emerged soon after his arrival in Aton-Ri. This was the first time he had experienced any prolonged interaction with surface dwellers other than his amah-em.

  The reaction of the group to Thatcher’s challenge concerning the money had shocked Melizar as much as it had obviously surprised Thatcher. These light-walkers were nothing like he expected of those who served the Malakim. The D’zarik mage was a long way from trusting them just yet, but their drastic divergence from the stereotypes he had been indoctrinated to believe typical of the surface-dwelling races warranted closer investigation. Were these surface dwellers exceptions to the rule, or were the teachings of his childhood more propaganda than truth? Time would tell.

  The rest of the journey took several days and passed without encountering any further evidence of recent goblinoid raiding parties. The companions talked little and spent most of the time in their own thoughts. Gideon had divided the gold and silver they had found, portioning out a fifth minus a tenth to Thatcher. There had been a grand total of eight-hundred silver and two-hundred gold pieces, leaving Thatcher with a net of one hundred forty-four silver and three dozen gold pieces. This, for him, was more money than he would see in half a year of picking pockets and scraping the streets of Aton-Ri. Hardly a retirement sum but Gideon hoped it would be an adequate start to the lad’s adventuring career. There was hope for this boy, if Gideon could only find a way to reach him and show him the light before the darkness of Aton-Ri’s underworld dragged Thatcher back into its depths.

  As they crossed the grasslands to the north of Darkmoor heading east toward the Sea of Zimri, the high walls and towers surrounding Aton-Ri far off on the horizon greeted them. Gideon wondered if any of the other patrols had encountered raiders and more vitally if any had found shields from his homeland among the treasures of the bandits. He hoped the reports from the other group leaders might lend light to the mystery before him. Bound to the mayor of Aton-Ri for the duration of his one-year contract, Gideon determined that if his work in the service of the city did not permit him to journey home and inquire further into these shields, then it would be his first priority upon completion of his term of service.

  Council in Aton-Ri

  The immense meeting hall in the Aton-Ri city council building was abuzz with excitement. Much had transpired while Thatcher and company were off in the Wild Lands that now required discussion and action. In the room were commanders from Aton-Ri’s regular army forces, a few other emissaries and dignitaries from Rajik and Darkmoor, several important-looking Durgak representing Stonehold, richly clad merchant bosses eager to find the underlying cause of the increasing humanoid raids on their westbound caravans, and two other very remarkable individuals.

  The first appeared to be a chats-enash of a type Thatcher had never seen before. She had humanesque features mixed with some type of feline race. The striking female was covered head-to-tail in short, sleek black fur. Beautiful and human in her facial features except for her feline-like ears, she was a positively stunning woman if one didn’t mind a little extra fur. This fur to some degree offset her scarcity of clothing, consisting of a breechclout covering around the waist and some ornate jewelry attached to a minimalist top housing her athletic but modest bosom. Thatcher could hardly take his eyes off her.

  “What sort of being is she, captain?”

  “I suspect,” answered Gideon, “she is part Zafirr.”

  “Aye, lad,” added Duncan. “Zafirr are a race of feline humanoids who live in the Djarmangara Jungle on the southern shore of the Sea of Zimri. Their patron is the Malakim named Elisheva, mistress of the hunt. The feline races are mentioned but not named in the Book of Beginnings.”

  “Aton-Ri is not that far from the Djarmangara. Why have I never seen one before?”

  �
�Zafirr seldom stray outside of their homelands,” answered Gideon. “She is the first I have ever actually met.”

  “Me too,” Duncan affirmed, “but I am comfortable with her presence as a member of one of the races serving the Malakim.”

  Goldain seemed indifferent to her strangeness if not to her physical attributes.

  “We have a race of Zafirr in the Clan Lands, but they don’t live with the Wolf Clan. The white ones, Snow Leopards we call them, live in the lands ruled by the White Wyrm Clan. I’ve never actually met one, but the White Wyrm Clan have an alliance with them.”

  “Are they allies with your clan?”

  “Quite the opposite, but under my father’s guidance the Wolf Clan Qarahni will trade with most anyone who comes in peace, so discovery of new races and possible trading partners is part of my mission as an emissary of the Wolf Clan.” The northerner bent close and whispered to Thatcher. “Given her beauty and form, I certainly would not mind an opportunity to liaise with her to discuss relations between our people.”

  Thatcher sensed much more than trade agreements occupied Goldain’s intentions. Melizar remained quiet and indifferent, but Thatcher observed that the strange female intently examining Melizar, as if she was not sure what to make of the covered and hidden person sitting across the table from her.

  Arreya, the Zafirr chats-enash, was as interested in the five adventurers sitting across the table as they seemed to be in her. She knew her appearance drew strange looks from most Adami, who seldom encountered those of her mother’s race. Arreya also knew her features were striking by Adami standards. This drew a different kind of interest, at least from the male Adami she had encountered. She heard the others refer to the ebony-skinned warrior with deep, calming, azure eyes as Gideon. The dark warrior captain bore a crest upon his breastplate. She wondered if this marked him as some great chief or leader. Whatever he was, he showed more self-control than most Adami males in her presence. Gideon seemed immune to her feminine attributes more so than the others.