Shadowblade

by Tom Bielawski

  After what seemed an eternity on the tight spiral staircase, he arrived at the bottom. And here was something Hugh had never imagined he would see in a temple of Qra’z. In a Smiter shrine to some foul demon, maybe. But a temple of the Golden Dragon god? Never.

  Five cages just tall enough for a man to stand, but not wide enough for a man to sit, were positioned around the room. In each was the corpse of a man, eyes large and black and vacant. Among them he noticed his contact, Regari Gnocco, an operative who hailed from Lower Arnathian Plains. The man was definitely dead by the look in his eyes, yet he could not help but notice a subtle twitching movement of the hands. He would have sighed, had he been able, and instead let out a ragged breath through his involuntarily clenched teeth. This was definitely going to end badly.

  This room was adorned with tapestries and paintings as above, yet the subject matter of these paintings was far different from what was above. The tapestries showed shining warriors with golden skin and golden armor stepping from shimmering portals, which Hugh assumed led from the heavens. These must be the mysterious Cjii, the immortal race of people blessed with powerful magic that served the Golden Dragon god. Much was written of them in legends and myths but the position of the church was always one of ignorance to their supposed existence.

  Two altars stood side by side at the opposite end of the room. Above each altar were sculptures of blood red dragons with eyes of gold, not the golden dragons favored by Qra’z. The rest of the room was decorated with dragon’s heads, long razor-like dragon’s claws, and sinister weapons and tools with various hooks and blades and spikes.

  Hugh had studied much of the arcane world and knew what he was seeing in this chamber. It was spelled out in the tapestries that decorated the walls. Invisible hands laid him upon a large stone altar and draped a crimson and gold cloth over his body. He never saw who or what was responsible for depositing him there and assumed that the priests of Qra’z were in league with something dreadful and nefarious. He forced his mind to continue his assessments and calculations, knowing that what was coming was going to be horrible indeed, and it was better to face something like that without thinking about it.

  He laid there for what seemed like hours, unmoving, his joints and muscles painfully rigid and unyielding. Unable to blink, barely able to breath. Hugh tried to think of every possible way out of this mess, but he came up empty. Hopelessly bound to this inevitable course of action he began to accept that he would be unable to change his fate; at least that is what he would let his tormentors believe.

  Hugh was thinking of something he learned long ago during his studies as member of the Order of the Open Palm, a monastic order devoted to Zuhr. There were methods of meditation and mental escape that could help one endure suffering and pain and he was certainly skilled in those. But the monks also taught him something he desperately hoped he hadn’t thought of too late; the surrender. The surrender had been used with success by the monks whose roots went back centuries before the advent of the Order of the Open Palm. In those days of strife and war, the monks had been trusted to carry out highly secret missions for the church. According to his mentors, a few had successfully employed this method to save themselves from horrible torture and to protect the secrets of their god. However, one must define success, he thought, pragmatically. Then, he reconsidered.

  There was no need to define that at all.

  Judging that any fate on his own terms would be far better than having his soul sent to serve Qra’z in the afterlife and his body turned into a willing vessel for one of the cursed Cjii to possess and steal his thoughts, he began the meditation process that he hoped would end his life on his own terms. The surrender had one purpose; to free the soul and send it to join the father of all gods, Zuhr, in paradise.

  For a long time he remained alone in the chamber with the not-so-lifeless corpses watching over him. Dimly he became aware of voices but he efficiently tuned them out and concentrated on surrendering his soul to heaven. Slowly he became tired and concentration became more difficult as his mind tried to wander off into the dream world. But he knew that was a trap for the unwary, and the dream world would lead him to wakefulness and pain and the betrayal of those he trusted most; including his new faith in Zuhr. No, he focused his mind on the goal at hand and the dream world slipped by him. Now he seemed in another place, far from his own world, drifting among the stars. A bright light shined, blinding him, as though a door had been opened to illuminate the darkness. Finally, he could see again and walked toward the door. As he entered the doorway, leaving his mortal world behind, pure knowledge flooded his mind and he understood. Everything. There were no more questions. Now he understood why.

  His vision and hearing and other senses left him then and all he knew was the pure happiness of being with Zuhr. Pain was a distant memory and was gone. He left the world behind then, and nothing else mattered.

  C H A P T E R

  4

  Powyss.

  Zach spent a good deal of time in the Fighting Hens Inn attempting to learn the extent of Morloth’s powers and waiting to see if anyone else decided to try murdering him in his sleep. But he did not learn much that he had not already known in those first few days and encountered no assassins; so decided he would venture out and explore the city. Zach spent the morning walking the streets of the Port of Powyss and otherwise enjoying himself immensely. In the port area, Zach found there were shops and restaurants and inns and brothels and even traveling shows. At one point he thought he saw the familiar form of Bart, the bard, and the other companions he had been traveling with before they were all drawn to their doom at Castle Tyrannus. Zach drifted through the crowd toward the swiftly moving form but lost him in the crowds. The light snow that drifted down in flurries also hindered his sight. Once he even thought he heard the sing-song accent of the Ayresman, but found only a grumbling captain of a fishing vessel bound for Obyn, muttering about stingy fares.

  He suspected his mind was playing tricks on him, then. It was very unlikely that his companions escaped from the lands of the Black Baron alive. He felt a slight stirring of guilt then, but quickly squashed it with the knowledge that he survived. Considering that it was far more likely someone else would try to kill him, the person he had been following may well have been someone paid to lead Zach into a trap. He decided it might not be a bad idea to create a little confusion among any who might be trying to track him, and knew just the sort of place to start.

  Brothels were a highly regarded source of information for those in the business of collecting it, visiting a brothel might prove a good way to spread disinformation.

  The port area seemed to be the least affected by the roving patrols of Red Dragons. Zach wondered about that phenomenon. It was unheard of in his many years of traveling that a monarch would employ mercenaries, cutthroats at that, to protect the citizens instead of his own soldiers or constables. While the Red Dragons had proved to be effective in their dispensation of justice, they were certainly not liked by the people of Powyss.

  The port area was not unlike its counterpart in Dockyard City, except that the street that paralleled the coastline and the docks was made of stone. The great wooden piers and dockways ran out over the water to his right. Great ships and small boats were docked in various places, the waters of the Port of Powyss were very deep and capable docking great ships. Sailors scurried among the riggings of ships and along the piers and harbor masters walked the docks collecting taxes from those using the port to unload goods or passengers. Gulls and pelicans squawked in great numbers, hovering above a fishing boat as it returned from sea, diving down to catch scraps of fish guts as they were thrown over the side. A giant osprey sat atop a light pole, staring about regally as though he alone were permitting the rest of the world to entertain him. A chill wind blew in from the sea, ruffling the feathers of the regal bird which was apparently immune to the cold.

  Zach was not immune to the cold, however, and pulled his coat tighter about him. He nee
ded to buy some warmer clothes, the dead of winter was approaching and he knew that despite his desire to remain in Powyss he might eventually have to trek farther north to the Everpool.

  On the left side of the main street were the shops and business that made Powyss thrive. Many of the shops were connected, sharing a common building. Some buildings were separated by tiny alleyways that could barely accommodate a waif, yet others were large enough to be a viable escape from trouble occurring on the main road. He certainly hoped that such trouble would not find him before he had a chance to scout the alleyways and see where they led. It was folly to run down an unexplored alleyway when fleeing from trouble and he vowed to himself that he would undertake a thorough exploration of all the alleyways and hidden routes of the Port of Powyss.

  “The greater folly would be to face a danger you cannot conquer in the first place,” came the unwanted opinion of the invisible voice. Zach allowed his usual stoic countenance to engage in a great sneer. The voice seemed to have a habit of intruding on his thoughts of late, offering unwanted opinions. It was a habit that Zach was finding more and more detestable, possibly because the voice often made excellent points.

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he growled.

  “I am your opinion!” returned the voice. A few passersby gave him strange looks and one made an age old sign to ward off evil as he passed Zach. Zach shook his head and returned to his semi-private musings.

  There were smithy’s and fishmongers and bakers and excellent aromas drifting out onto the road. Even though he wasn’t hungry, Zach couldn’t help but stop at a traditional Cklathish bakery for some warm sweet bread. It felt really good to go into a warm bakery after being out in the brisk wind and he dreaded going back out. But Zach had some work to do to throw off any who might be looking for him. He thought of the Spiders then, and wondered if they would begin to suspect treachery on his part and send assassins to kill him. It was certainly too soon for that, but he knew such a time may come. He began to wonder if he was truly far enough away from his past.

  As he stepped out into the cold and made his way back toward his inn, Zach’s attention was drawn to a building painted in bright pastel pink and sea-foam green, stark against the dull browns and greens of its neighboring businesses. It was tall, nearly four stories, easily the tallest building on the waterfront. It may have been bright pink at one time, he observed, but its paint was now warn and faded. Still, the garish appearance had the desired effect and Zach knew without asking this place was indeed a brothel.

  A sign depicting a beautiful and somewhat faded maiden bearing a very lifelike bosom dangled above the door on rusty chains, swinging in the cool breeze of early afternoon.

  The Siren’s Call.

  “A good place to start,” he mused aloud. He paused a moment, to see if the voice would have a comment for him, but none came and so he went inside. He had been very obvious when he made his entrance and stood in the doorway a moment, allowing the cool air to further cool the ladies who waited inside. After an angry shout from the scantily clad woman behind the bar, he closed the door and entered the brothel.

  Inside it was warm and inviting despite the chill of the day which he had intentionally allowed the occupants to feel. The waiting room was large and furnished with comfortable looking couches and chairs situated around a hearth that was blazing at the moment. There was a long bar also and several men sat drinking, presumably awaiting their turn to pass through the double doors at the far end of the room.

  Zach took a seat at the bar and asked for a bottle of rum, placing a pair of Imperial gold crowns on the counter. The barmaid, hearing the sound of coins on the table, immediately attended to Zach.

  “Right away, sir!’ she said with a sly smile, her ample cleavage visible above a nearly see-through shift. She returned a moment later with a bottle of rum, the label indicating it had come from the Hother Islands. ”Visiting our lovely town, are you?“

  “Yes,” he said, feigning sadness. Then he extended his hand and said, “I’m Levius of Western Vola, but my friends call me Levi.”

  “I’m Siren,” she purred with a very fake smile. “Nice to meet you, Levi. Tell me all about your trip.”

  And so Zach wove a rich tale about being an Arnathian lord from the province of Western Vola whose passenger ship had been waylaid by pirates and he ended up in Powyss to await transport back to the empire’s main city. The barmaid pretended to be impressed and listened patiently while Zach told his story. He told her he was staying in room “5-F” of the Royal Best, a higher priced inn near the Fighting Hens, and casually asked if her staff made “outcalls” at other inns. She nodded and offered Zach his choice of “services” but he declined, casually slipping an Imperial Crown on the counter. It was then that Siren seemed to understand that Zach was telling her all this for a very different reason.

  “Who runs these gods-awful ports anyway?” he asked dramatically, as though the question were rhetorical. Even so, he palmed another crown on the counter and the barmaid deftly covered it over with a bar towel and made it disappear. “They ought to be fired!”

  “The Red Dragons run everything in Powyss,” she said pointedly not being disrespectful. “They are the keepers of the Rhi’s peace and they do a fine job.”

  “They run everything?”

  “Aye, even the Lord Mayor is one of them,” she said. “They come in here often enough too, if you take my meaning.”

  Zach took her meaning well enough; the Red Dragons frequented the Call to collect taxes and obtain information about the goings on of Powyss. Which also meant that the Dragons could enter the Call at any moment. Judging by her expression, the Dragons probably insisted on sampling the wares free of charge and were not well liked by the staff. And that made this a place he should return to for his own information collection, as long as his money was better than everyone else’s.

  “Don’t trust her. She’s a snitch, Zach!” whispered the voice, very low, as though not wanting to be heard. That surprised Zach, because he had begun to think that no one else could hear the voice.

  “What did you say, Levi?” said the barmaid from the other end of the bar, as she took an “order” from another patron.

  She heard it! he panicked.

  “Uh, I said this weather is too cold for a witch!” the woman seemed to accept that she hadn’t heard him properly and nodded her agreement. Deciding he had better leave before that voice got him into more trouble, Zach dropped a few gold coins on the counter and put his coat on to leave. The barmaid swooped down on the counter and snatched up the coins before anyone else could do so. He smiled at the woman and said, “Share those with the girls, please.”

  “We are a very discreet group, you know,” she said, reaching across the counter to grasp Zach’s arm. “Come back anytime you like. No one will know you are here.” Zach immediately understood what the woman was telling him; it seemed his gold was indeed better than those who paid her to tattle. That was one good thing about using Arnathian gold, it had a reputation for purity that other petty kingdoms could not match.

  “Miss,” he said, leaning close, “I would very much like for you not to be discreet about me and where I stay,” he said, handing her another crown. She smiled and nodded and let go of his arm.

  While Zach emerged from The Siren’s Call, a few Imperial crowns poorer, he was satisfied that he had planted the seed well. He hoped that if Siren told anyone of his whereabouts he would learn very quickly who they were and why they were after him. So, he resolved to continue his exploration of the Port of Powyss while his seed grew, and then he would visit the common room of the Royal Best and listen for news of the pour soul staying in room “5-F.”

  Three days had passed in Port of Powyss while Zach learned the layout of the streets and a little of those who held power, besides the Red Dragons. Zach was pleased to learn that nothing untoward had befallen the occupant of room “5-F” at the Royal Best. That told him that the barmaid at The Siren’s Call
could be trusted, to an extent. Although no one else had tried to find him in his own room, he almost wished someone had; he was in a mood for murder.

  So Zach ventured out into another blustery day in Powyss and decided to continue his exploration of the dingy maze of alleyways that led away from Port of Powyss to other sections of the vast city. With the odd charms and book of spells in his coat pocket, he searched the seedy sections of Powyss where he hoped he might find the type of shop that would be interested in the trinkets he had taken from the corpse of the Red Dragon assassin.

  After wandering the back alleys, and threating a few would-be cutpurses with his dagger, Zach came across a shop that he thought would serve him well. The shop was a ramshackle one-story building, weatherworn and faded, with few windows. The door was dark and seemingly rotten and above it a sign swayed on rusty chains; Baldric’s Artifacts and Relics. The door to the shop opened just then and Zach, hand still on his dagger, saw a monk with a red sash slithering out of the store and into the shadows of the alleyway. The man came straight toward him and Zach thought might have to kill the monk. But as the hooded monk approached, Zach saw that the man was looking down at something in his hands and apparently had not seen the Cklathman.

  After the monk passed, Zach put his dagger away. He now knew that this was the shop he needed to visit. If the Red Dragons’ assassins frequented this shop, the knowledge he needed would likely be found here. But would the shopkeeper report him for possessing these items which came from a Red Dragon? However, he really didn’t know for a fact these items were unique to the Red Dragons. It was a risk he was willing to take.