by Alex Irvine
And then it became apparent why, as a larger shape loomed behind the hobgoblins, forcing its way up through the sewer opening that was barely large enough to admit it. “Troglodyte,” Keverel said grimly. “The Underdark must be close to the surface here.”
The troglodyte, larger than Biri-Daar, finished forcing its way through the drain and lumbered toward them between the rows of whinnying horses that bucked and kicked at their enclosures as it passed. Quickly Remy took stock before it arrived. The imps were gone, and most of the hobgoblins had fled or were staying out of the way. Some of those that remained fell victim to the troglodyte, which struck out at them with its great stone club on its way toward Biri-Daar and Lucan, who stood to meet it. Kithri, Iriani, and Remy killed off the rest of the hobgoblins from distance while Keverel limped along the wall, wounded in the thigh.
The troglodyte mauler raised its club and brought it down against Biri-Daar’s shield. The dragonborn staggered under the force of the blow, and the troglodyte pressed its temporary advantage, striking again and reaching with its free hand to claw Biri-Daar’s shield away. Lucan ducked in from the side under its looping backswing, striking at its hamstrings.
Kithri scampered up the support beams and crabwalked along the timbers, trying to get a position above the troglodyte while Remy joined the front line, striking low as Lucan had. The troglodyte roared and shifted off its wounded leg, a wild swing from its club shattering the doorframe of the closest stable. It swung again, off balance; Biri-Daar parried its stroke and Lucan drove his sword into its side. Kithri, seeing opportunity, leaped from the ceiling corner and landed on its shoulder. As her feet touched on its shoulders, she lanced the troglodyte’s eyes with twin daggers and leaped away again.
It spun, swinging blindly and missing everything but more timbers. Biri-Daar hacked its right arm mostly off. Remy struck again at the back of its wounded leg. The troglodyte toppled over, its club crashing to the floor next to it. Lucan struck the death blow, opening its throat as it struggled to rise.
In a fury, he was standing over the groggy and terrified stabler Wylegh before the troglodyte had finished dying. “You’ve got some fast talking to do if you want to save your life, friend,” he said, his bloodied sword hovering over Wylegh’s face. “We walk in at your invitation, and the minute we get out of the light there are hobgoblins everywhere. You make a deal with them? Who paid you? What did they want?”
Biri-Daar and Iriani squatted on either side of Wylegh, adding to his fear. Against the other wall of stables, Keverel and Kithri collaborated on ministering to the cleric’s wounds, Keverel whispering healing charms and Kithri sticking on plain old bandages.
“They wanted him,” Wylegh babbled. He was pointing at Remy, who stood a little off to the side and behind the three interrogators. “That’s all they said. Him, the messenger.”
“Who said?” Lucan asked quietly, leaning his sword point a little closer.
“Imps. Imps. They made a deal, they made promises, but it wasn’t just that, once they had me they wouldn’t let go—”
“Fool,” Biri-Daar said. “That’s the only kind of man who makes a deal with anything that comes out of the Abyss.”
“Easy for you to say,” Wylegh said, glaring hard at her. “You dragonborn have got a bit of the Abyss in you, I reckon.”
She stood over him for a long moment, so still that Remy was sure her next move would be a downward stroke to end Wylegh’s life. Yet when she did move, it was to turn her back on him. “Remy, select a horse. Wylegh, tell me how much the horse costs. We will pay you. Then we will make sure that everyone in the market knows what you have done.”
There was a pause. “That’s a death sentence,” Wylegh whispered.
“Hardly,” Iriani said. “You’ll just have to put on your traveling clothes and take one of your horses out on the road. Shouldn’t be too hard. After all, that’s how you got here, no?”
They left Wylegh there while Remy, with Lucan’s aid, selected a horse. It was a fine, large gelding, dappled gray and remarkably calm given everything that had just happened outside its stable door. “How much?” Biri-Daar asked.
“Take it,” Wylegh said. He hadn’t moved from the floor near the tack bench where she had first knocked him over. “Just take it.”
“I pay for what I take,” she said. “Name a fair price.”
Wylegh said nothing.
“Lucan,” Biri-Daar said. “What is that horse worth?”
“What’s it worth, or what would he charge for it?”
“What’s it worth?”
“Eighty, ninety,” Lucan said. “That’s being a bit generous.”
“Generosity never goes unrewarded in the end,” Biri-Daar said. She produced a pouch and counted out the money onto the tack bench. “Traveling money for you,” she said. “We’ll be by for our horses first thing in the morning.”
They took rooms for the night in a public house adjoining the keep, where the Council of Crow Fork itself guaranteed their safety and posted guards at doors and windows. “We have been fortunate,” Biri-Daar said. “First, that we have come through these betrayals with so little suffering. Second, that Iriani is known to the council and could get us a hearing before them.
“And there might yet be a third bit of fortune,” she finished. “Remy, for the third time. What is it you carry?”
“I told you I don’t know,” Remy said. “The vizier forbade me to look at it. I’m guessing he put some kind of protection on it to make sure I wouldn’t.”
“I am going to show you a few things that Roji showed me,” Iriani said as he made a gesture over the box. The characters carved into its lid gave off a brief, pale glow. “You guess correctly,” Iriani said. “There are several different charms on it. One so it can be found in the event …” He glanced up at Remy. “In the event that the courier doesn’t finish his errand. Others to prevent scrying its contents or physically opening it. It’s thoroughly trapped and ensorcelled, this box. Whoever is sending it—also whoever is receiving it—thinks it’s very important.”
“And someone involved in the creation of the box and the protection of its contents,” Biri-Daar added, “has added an appeal to Tiamat’s protection.”
Turning back to the rest of the group, he said, “I should have seen this before. It was there to see, but I didn’t know what to look for. After talking to Roji and seeing imps …” He trailed off.
“What about the imps?” Remy asked.
“They tend to appear as emissaries between certain underworld beings and certain corrupt mortals,” Keverel said. “Certain forces are looking for you, or for what you carry. They are mostly looking along the Toradan Road, or we would have seen much stiffer resistance so far.”
“Here’s my guess,” Iriani said. “There are two factions in Toradan. One is waiting for whatever Remy has because they want to use it the way it was intended to be used. The other is trying to prevent it from getting there because they want to use it as leverage for some other goal. Which is which and who is who, that we might find out more about.”
“Either way,” Lucan added with a tap on Remy’s shoulder, “there’s not much interest in keeping you alive.”
“Put another way,” Biri-Daar said, “Philomen is involved with demons. He may not know it, but that is the case. And if Tiamat’s protection has been solicited …” She trailed off, lost in thought.
“What?” Iriani prompted. “Dragonish business, no doubt, but are we going to be seeing drakes in the skies on the way to Karga Kul?”
“No, not that,” Biri-Daar said. “But I fear what might await us at the Bridge of Iban Ja.”
She would say no more on the subject, and after a short meal taken mostly in silence, the party retired each to his or her own thoughts. Remy’s head spun as he lay on the straw mattress. Imps? Tiamat? What was he carrying? Suddenly he wanted very much to go home and forget he had ever met the vizier of Avankil. The Quayside life was for him …
Yet when
he dreamed, it was of places he had never yet seen in waking life.
“The market is supposed to be a sanctuary,” Keverel said with some sorrow the next morning. They were sitting around the central oasis. Once it had been a spring in the desert. After centuries of development, it was a rectangular pool, with stone steps built into all four sides so visitors could step down and fill their canteens while merchants and travelers haggled in the surrounding plaza. It reminded Remy of one of the courtyards of Avankil, where noblewomen under parasols gossiped while flanked by tiefling bodyguards, which were the current fashion in the city. Along one side of the oasis plaza, the keep loomed, extending to the market’s north wall. The other three sides were lined with permanent houses and trading posts maintained by the Dragondown’s established mercantile clans, interspersed with other clearinghouses of families from as far north as the Nentir Vale. In the plaza, Crow Fork Market had the aspect of a city coming to be. A hundred feet in any direction—save for into the keep itself—it looked like a bazaar again.
The spring itself was clear and cold and deep, water welling into it from a series of underwater caves. Incursions from those watery catacombs were not unknown, and the keep kept a detachment of guards on watch around the pool at all times.
“I wish I had come here sooner,” Keverel went on. “Here I can feel the spirit of Erathis moving, creating civilization from the wilderness. But I fear the market’s days as an oasis in the wastes are over.”
“They’ve been over since before I was born, Keverel,” Kithri said. “Any halfling could tell you that. Every month we get merchants coming to us because they’d rather risk the river than take their chances being overrun by hobgoblins at Crow Fork. You just never knew it because you’ve never been here.”
“It’s a problem for another time,” Biri-Daar said. “Today we start moving again.”
They replenished their stores and made a trip through an armorer’s stall before returning to Wylegh’s stable to take their horses. Lucan was annoyed at having to move on without taking advantage of Crow Fork Market’s many opportunities to hoodwink drunken traveling gamblers. “What’s the rush? We handled that filth easily enough. We can handle it again.”
They walked inside the stable, past council guards posted at the door. Wylegh had disappeared, no one knew where; his duties were temporarily in the hands of one of the keep’s grooms. Remy looked around, remembering the previous day’s encounter. The hobgoblins were gone, as was the troglodyte. Part of the stable was collapsed from the troglodyte’s mad swinging of its club, and streaks of gore stained the timbers here and there. Remy was struck by the idea that in a small way he had left his mark in Crow Fork Market. He had become a part of its history.
“That’s exactly the point,” Biri-Daar said to Lucan. “That was a test. Someone is after what we’re carrying. Whatever force that is, it was willing to sacrifice these to find out our strength.” She looked down into the open drain, the stones at its edge chipped and cracked by the troglodyte’s passage. “The next test will be sterner.”
“Then you should go and make sure that there is no one left to offer such a test,” came a voice from behind them.
Remy turned with the rest of the party. A brawny and bearded man, wearing the insignia of the keep council, met their gaze. “Biri-Daar of the Knights of Kul,” he said. “You I know, and Iriani too. Your other companions I do not. I am Zegur of the Crow Fork Council. Your presence here has caused some difficulties.”
“Zegur,” Biri-Daar said with a slight bow. “Whatever difficulties accompanied us were not our doing. The market’s enemies are many.”
“True,” Zegur said. “I would ask you to reduce their number, as you did yesterday.”
He stepped to the edge of the drain and looked down. Then he produced a rolled sheet of vellum from a case at his belt. “This is a map of the highest level of the sewers,” he said. “I would ask that you go in and determine where the hobgoblins and their imp companions entered.”
“We are on a pressing errand to Karga Kul,” Biri-Daar said.
“Wylegh the stabler has been questioned,” Zegur said. “He admits that the ambush was targeted at one of your group. I do not care who or for what reason. I care only that Crow Fork Market was breached. Since that breach occurred as a result of your presence, fairness demands that you seal it again.”
“Crawling in the sewers?” Kithri said. “Not me. I’ll go underground if I have to, but I refuse sewage. Refuse it.”
“All we’ll find down there is a bad smell and boring creatures with too many teeth and not a bit of loot worth carrying off,” Lucan said.
Keverel was nodding. “Without the flippancy, I agree. We should move on.”
Zegur remained unmoved. “The council anticipated your reluctance. You will be paid. If you refuse, your horses will be seized to cover the damage to the stable and the disruption to commerce.” He folded his arms and waited.
Biri-Daar took her time answering, and when she did, her anger was barely checked. “The Knights of Kul have ridden to the defense of this market, and many of our number lie buried in the desert beyond its gates. Even so, you would treat us in this manner?”
“I protect Crow Fork Market,” Zegur said. “Those who bring threats to the market, they must also be certain those threats leave with them. I would be a poor steward if I did not find out where your troglodyte pursuer came from. You owe the market that much.”
“We owe the market—” Iriani began. Biri-Daar raised a hand to silence him.
“We will go,” she said. “But it will go hard with you if this delay does harm to our greater mission. Know this before you insist.”
Zegur shifted his weight and nodded toward the drain. “I must insist.”
Biri-Daar turned her back on him. “This is likely an enormous waste of precious time,” she said. “Let us do it as quickly as it may be done.”
One by one they dropped into the drain, landing on a smooth stone floor. As Zegur had said, the passage they found was no longer used as a sewer. Directly below the stable drain, a vertical pipe drained the stable’s waste down and away. To either side of them stretched dry and flat passage. By torchlight they clustered around Keverel as he unfolded the map. “Let’s go this way, toward the wall,” he said, pointing to the left. “The other direction siphons into sewers that are in use. Not even hobgoblins would swim for long in that.”
“We’d fit right in with the rest of the sewage after the way Zegur treated us,” Lucan complained.
“No matter,” Biri-Daar said. “He was correct. If we brought a threat to this place, it is our responsibility to end that threat.”
Moving quickly, they followed the passage. Iriani lit the tip of his wand and illuminated each side passage they encountered. All were too small for a troglodyte to have traversed. Soon they came to what must have been the edge of the market, and there they found a rough hole torn in the passage wall. By Iriani’s light, they saw that a short tunnel had been excavated from the passage to a natural cave. “Now we will have our answer,” Biri-Daar said as she plunged in.
The floor of the cave was ancient silt, and heavily tracked. The hobgoblins and troglodyte had clearly come this way. “Enough,” Keverel said. “Let Zegur send sappers down to collapse this, and let us be on our way.”
“If it was dug out once, it may be dug out again,” Biri-Daar answered. “We must find the outlet and tell Zegur where to watch.”
“Sometimes I wish you were a bit less of a paladin,” Kithri said.
“Sometimes I wish you were a bit less of a thief. Now let’s go.”
The cave was broad and winding, easy enough for all of them to stand up in. Here and there were remnants of long-forgotten camps and graves. They kicked through these to see what might be learned or looted, but found nothing. The cave descended slightly, and water began to seep from the walls. “Carefully now,” Keverel breathed. His holy symbol had begun to glow.
Emerging into a rough oval cha
mber, they saw a flash of movement. One of Kithri’s knives flashed in the magical light as she threw it, but it clanged among the rocks on the far side. “After it,” Biri-Daar commanded, and they picked up their pace. “If it is a sentry, we must not let it get out a warning.”
Kithri and Lucan were the fastest of them, especially in the darkness. They were across the chamber and out of sight before the other four had gotten halfway over the broken floor. Remy stuck close to Iriani, just behind Biri-Daar with Keverel right behind them. Ahead of them the chamber narrowed to a passage whose walls Remy could touch simultaneously with extended hands. “Tight fit for a troglodyte,” Iriani commented.
“It couldn’t have come any other way,” Biri-Daar said.
Shouts sounded from ahead of them, and the clash of steel. They ran as best they could over the slippery rocks, coming into a large flattened chamber just as a thrown spear deflected from high on the wall to their right. Remy saw Kithri dodging and feinting between two hobgoblins, their axes striking pieces of the rocks away in showers of sparks. He closed on one of them and ran it through as it raised its axe for another stroke. The axe flew from its hands and struck him on the shoulder, numbing his sword arm. He cried out and the other hobgoblin lunged toward him—then slipped and skidded as Kithri deftly slashed the tendons at the back of its knee. As it hit the ground, she was on it, cutting its throat.
“Where’s Lucan?” Biri-Daar called. Remy worked his sword from the dead hobgoblin with his left hand and hefted it. He wondered how well he would be able to fight. Waves of pain radiated from the point of his shoulder.
“Gone sinister?” Keverel asked, coming up next to him.
Remy didn’t understand the word, but he tapped the sword hilt against his right arm. “I can’t feel it,” he said, although already sensation was returning to his fingers. “But I think I’m all right.”
