Zach entered the shop and closed the door behind him, gratefully noting the warmth generated by a great hearth. The shop was a malodorous place and seemed to house a collection of mismatched junk resting in random piles; until he reached the back of the shop. An open doorway beckoned, leading to another room deeper into the building. Zach stood in the doorway and was amazed by the contrast with the room in front. Everything inside was neat and orderly, shelved and labeled, and nothing looked out of sorts.
Cautiously he walked inside, thinking there had to be a reason for such strange separation of order and chaos. But it truly didn’t matter.
“Hello?” Zach’s mysterious voice-companion called out. Zach growled in aggravation.
“Hush!” Zach said. “I do the talking. You’re just going to get us in trouble.”
“I am doing the talking!” retorted the voice. Zach just shook his head and hoped that he could find out where this voice was coming from. Was there some invisible companion following him around? The ghost of someone he had wrongly killed? Or was it just in his head?
“Of course I’m in your head!”
“Is anyone there?” called Zach, ignoring the taunt.
“Just a moment,” came a muffled voice from somewhere in the store. Seconds later a short and stocky elderly man with thick glasses wearing a brown leather apron appeared behind Zach.
“I’m Baldric. Can I help you?” he said in a kindly voice that made Zach wonder if he was in the right place after all.
“Yes,” he hesitated, and gripped Morloth tightly under his coat. If the old man became squeamish or acted as though he might alert the authorities, Zach would kill him and move on. Then he removed the charm pendants from his pocket and showed them to the man.
“Oh, my,” he whispered. Then he cast a wary eye at Zach, appraising him. “I see no red sash on you, young man.”
Zach said nothing, looking at the man. The old man smiled and nodded.
“I’ve been in business here forty years. I will deal with anyone whose gold is good, none of that gem currency here. I haven’t stayed in business all these years by asking too many questions and I’ll not start now.” The old man walked to the front door and dropped a bar behind it. Zach wasn’t entirely sure that the bar would be effective, more likely the rotten door would crumble and any would-be assailant could just duck right under the bar.
“No sense in letting some busybody in on our business,” he said as he shuffle stepped his way back to Zach. “Now, sit down at the counter and let’s talk. What do you want from me?”
“I want to know what these items do, and how much you will pay me for them.”
Zach placed the two charm pendants on the counter and slid to the other side while the old man made his way around to face him.
“Hmm,” said the old man, picking up the ram’s head charm and holding it very close to his eyes. “I daresay you didn’t find this in your grandmother’s attic, eh?”
Zach did not reply to the man’s attempt at humor, but it was clear that the elderly merchant knew something of the item.
“There are tiny, minuscule, writings around the horns of the ram,” he said as he peered at the ram’s head charm, holding it this way and that. “Looks like Tayban script.”
“Tayban script?”
“Yes. Tayban is a magical language. It was used by the first practitioners of the magic of the Tides, some say as long as three thousand years ago. But, those early sorcerers eventually discovered the Sigil languages; the superior precision and control of the Sigils over the Tidal forces led to the downfall of the Tayban language. From then its use continued in the writings of prophets and seers, many prophecies pertaining to the loss of the Sigil magic and its eventual return were recorded first in Tayban.” Zach recalled hearing one such Elvish prophecy concerning the return of the Sigils while he was in the Underllars; and that had turned out to be true. That prophecy had been recited by the Silver Mountain Elves, yet he wondered if it had originally been written in Tayban.
“I’ve heard one such prophecy, though it was recited to me.”
“During the time of the Dark Paladin, Tayban became the favored language for a certain discipline of the Shadow Sigil practitioners dealing with the control of immortal beings, such as demons and Cjii. Although not as powerful as the Shadow Sigil, and more limited in scope, the Tayban language offered lesser sorcerers a limited use of the Shadow Sigil.”
Zach was impressed with the man’s knowledge. He was a good judge of character and it was very unlikely that this old man was lying to him. By telling Zach of the charm’s magical powers, he was essentially driving up the price he would have to pay. Unless he had no intention of buying it.
“Go on,” urged the voice, eager for knowledge. Zach, too, was eager for knowledge but the voice’s brazenness might just get him into trouble. Luckily Baldric had not noticed that a different voice was speaking.
“So, this charm is something that allows the user a certain measure of control over demons.”
“Demons,” he repeated numbly. What had that bastard assassin planned for him? A trip to Hades to be devoured by a demon? That thought was particularly unpleasant. Then the voice piped in with its own question, “What would someone do with a demon that had fallen under their control?”
“Oh, any number of dastardly deeds, to be sure,” said the man with a half-smile on his face. “Unleashing a demon on the forces of your enemy would be handy trick to turn the tide of a battle. A demon might be compelled to grant a wish or a boon to the one who called it in exchange for sending it back to its own realm; a tricky thing, that.
“But the most common purpose for an amulet or charm like this is to seal a pact with a demon, strike a bargain which benefits both sides equally.”
“What sort of bargain would benefit a demon?”
“Ah, there is the heart of the matter. A demon’s magic is extremely powerful, more powerful even than that of the Sigils. A demon could grant a person an extension of its infernal power in exchange for something the demon values. The nature of the power granted depends largely on the powers of that demon, as does the nature of what the demon will ask for in return. I have heard of demons demanding to share the mortal’s body, allowing it to walk among the mortals of the world and wreak havoc. I have heard of others demanding the soul of the mortal in exchange for vast power, but those who sell their souls are marked in some significant way by their demon lord.”
Zach wondered if his assailant had entered into such an agreement. Perhaps that was why the body turned so remarkably to dust, perhaps that was its parasitic diabolical host claiming its prize.
“Do you really believe all that?” Zach asked, still skeptical.
“Does it matter what I believe? You wanted to know about this device, and I have told you.”
“Right. What about the other one?” he was excited to think of what sort of powers a demon might offer him.
“That one is made of blue lapis, and has no Tayban script as far as I can see. But it is a pentacle, and that is an important symbol to those who practice magic in any form. If these items were found together, one might have a power that is related to the other. Perhaps the pentacle is a protection device from the powers of persuasion that demons employ?” he speculated aloud. “Only a magic-wielder that understands Tayban would truly know.”
“I see,” said Zach, his hand on the small leather book. As the old man examined the lapis pentacle he wondered if he should ask the man …
“About this book?” interrupted his invisible companion voice. Then, without even knowing he had done so, the book was in his outstretched palm. Before Zach could retrieve the book, the old man grabbed it and held it reverently. Zach frowned dangerously, if he could ever find a way to make the bearer of that voice show itself, he’d kill it.
“No need to get angry, young man,” cautioned the shopkeeper. “This is quite a find. Quite a find indeed.”
“What is it?” he asked, his mood becoming surl
ier by the moment.
“It’s written in Tayban,” he said, thumbing through the pages. “It’s hard to say exactly what. Some of the pages possess lengthy passages; teachings or instructions of some kind perhaps. Others pages are written in poetic form, possibly prophecies or even magic spells.
“I cannot buy these from you.”
Baldric handed the items back to Zach with care. Zach was conflicted. He wanted to sell the items because he needed money. Still, something told him that it would be foolish to let these valuable, and possibly magical, items escape his possession.
“I’m quite sure you saw the man who left here before your arrival?”
“I did.”
“That was a Tartarus Monk,” he said in a low voice. “If I were caught in possession of items belonging to the Nyzyr, especially items taken from a Red Dragon that I suspect is no longer living, I would be savagely tortured and killed. No doubt they would rip my soul from my body and destroy it!”
“They can do that?” asked the voice in awe and wonder.
“Those who deal with the dark powers are capable of many dark and devious actions. Even so, such powers can be deadly to the wielder, even for a dark monk like the one who just left here.”
“I did happen to meet one of them recently. I heard something happened to him,” said Zach in an even tone. “What else do you know of them and the Nyzyr?”
“’Tis is a dubious privilege indeed to meet one of them, young man,” stated Baldric, his eyes alight with the significance of Zach’s statement. “These Tartarus Monks fell in with the Red Dragons before the Dragons rose to power in Powyss. The monks were fewer and farther between then, almost no one had ever heard of, or seen, a Tartarus Monk. No one seems to know even where they came from; they just appeared among the Red Dragon patrols.
“Tartarus is the name of the founder of their order, a vile man if there ever was one. Some say he was a Frost Elf, others say he was a hurkin, or even a demon or a Cjii. Tartarus revealed to the world that Umber was the Lord of Death, not Grymm. While that is a common belief among the varied sects devoted to Umber, Tartarus had a very appalling take on the matter. He believed that it was his duty, and that of his followers, to send souls to Umber. They were, and still are, keen to send any soul to the Shadowrealms that they deem unfit to live; or any that offends them in some way,” he added with a growl. “Tartarus, was granted the power to cast disease upon those who were deemed unworthy in his eyes. The agony of the afflicted is said to be the penalty for daring to desecrate the world with their unworthiness. Tartarus eventually died and became one of the immortals, or Cjii; perhaps he was one to begin with. Who really knows?
“Since his ascension, as Tartarus Monks call it, all monks are required to bind their souls with the immortal’s spirit. In this way, Tartarus can still inflict death and disease through his followers who in turn gain the use of the immortal’s extraordinary powers!” Baldric glanced cautiously at the door as though it might burst into splinters at any moment, allowing a squad of Tartarus Monks to file in and kill him. “I once saw one inflict his deadly touch upon a beggar, and the man withered away into dust within minutes!
“Sometimes they inflict disease on healthy people just to see if they can survive it! It is even said they can make a woman barren, or cause her to give birth to serpents!”
Zach wasn’t sure he believed all that, but he did believe that the Tartarus Monks held some very unique powers and the ability to wither a body to dust fit with his own experience in his room. He recalled the dark priest in Dockyard City that had accosted him and Carym, that priest had some remarkable powers of suggestion. Perhaps there was something to all of this. Was this book the key to unlocking them? What other mysteries were in that tome? He gazed longingly at the book, as though willing the letters to translate themselves before his very eyes. Whatever else the book possessed, Zach was certain the key to his own powerful future lay within.
“And yet, these Tartarus Monks have enemies?”
“They are not liked by anyone that I know of, and the Lord Mayor himself has had to rein them in lest they deplete the tax paying populace too far. They are largely discouraged from patrolling the waterfront, lest their exploits deter merchants from coming here. There are rival monastic orders devoted to Umber which despise the Tartarusians.
“But their chief enemies are the Nyzyr, an order dedicated to the ancient Cjii known as Baelor. Baelor is a powerful lieutenant of Umber and a commander of his demonic armies.”
“I never knew there were so many factions devoted to Umber,” he said, genuinely surprised. Zach had traveled much of the Arnathian Continent while he served the empire, but never had he known such mysterious orders existed. He found his desire to learn more was overpowering. If the Tartarus Monks could inflict disease with a touch of their hands, what could the other devotees of Umber do?
“In Powyss, it is the Nyzyr who most staunchly oppose the Tartarus Monks. They are the power elite of the Guild of Assassins and are the sworn enemies of the Tartarus Monks. The Nyzyr are followers of the way of Baelor, another powerful and long dead disciple of Umber. ”
“And these Nyzyr are possessed of strange powers as well?”
“The Nyzyr keep their secrets closely guarded,” nodded the old man. “They have roots in Ckaymru that go much farther back than the Red Dragons, and yet most are of not of Ckaymrish blood. No one really knows what they are capable of, for very few who meet them survive. It is said that the teachings of Baelor are similar to that of Tartarus, yet the two were mortal enemies. The Nyzyr take great pleasure in capturing Tartarus Monks and killing them, leaving their desiccated bodies lying on street-corners. But when they do, the Dragons inflict severe reprisals. It’s a terrible fight, and one I have survived by using my business wisely. I pay dues to the Tartarus Monks because I have to in order to survive, but I do not serve them.”
“I understand,” said Zach with a great exhaled breath. He wondered if he had made the right decision in coming here with these powerful items. But who could he find to help him understand them?
“What is it you seek, lad?” asked the man, his eyes alight.
“Power!” hissed the detached voice next to Zach’s ear. Zach cringed, embarrassed. The man was looking right at Zach and had to have heard that!
“What kind of power?” asked the old man. Zach was stunned. The old man had looked directly at Zach when the voice had spoken, he must have seen that Zach’s lips didn’t move. Maybe the old man thought Zach had spoken those words.
“Power over death,” whispered the voice. Zach was becoming alarmed at how much that voice seemed to be expressing his own desire. And how no one seemed to notice that it wasn’t his own voice. “I want to live forever!”
“More than a few have achieved that goal, through the use of items such as the ones you carry,” said the man. Zach wondered if he had some way of detecting magical items, if he knew of the dagger that he even now gripped tightly in his hand. “It is not my place to caution you one way or another, young man. But I’ll say this: you should expect that your presence has not gone unnoticed.”
“Why is that?”
“It isn’t everyday someone who isn’t a Nyzyr kills a Red Dragon. I have no doubt that the Nyzyr will be looking for you.”
Zach left Baldric’s shop knowing one thing for certain about the old man; Baldric had not attained a position of trust with both the Red Dragons and the Nyzyr by being foolish. And Zach would be foolish to believe that he was the warm, kind, and caring grandfather that he pretended to be. No, he decided, Baldric must be very formidable in one way or another. Perhaps the man was a retired assassin himself. Perhaps he gathered and sold information about one side or the other, or both. Perhaps he was just a wily merchant who knew when to remain silent and when not to.
But that didn’t leave Zach feeling confident that the old man wouldn’t divulge information about his possessions if it suited him to.
“Should have killed him,” sai
d the voice, reading Zach’s thoughts. “He might tell the assassins about us and that lovely book!”
“And why would that be bad?” he said, feeling surly. “Morloth is getting thirsty and I’ve a mind to let it drink.”
The voice did not reply as Zach realized a gentle snow was falling. He was glad that he had spent some of his money on warm boots and heavier clothing. It seemed that the weather had discouraged even the usual cutpurses from loitering in the cold winter air for he saw none of them as he made his way back to the main waterfront.
He began thinking about what the old man had told him. The temptation of power was intoxicating; he could almost feel the devices in his pocket calling to him. He resisted the urge to experiment with the potentially dangerous items and decided to return to the The Siren’s Call. He was getting short on money, however. He had enough coin to pay for information from The Call or to pay for the next few nights’ stay at his own inn, but not both. He resolved to visit Siren again, and work out a way to get more money later.
When he arrived at the Call, Zach advanced to the bar and ordered some rum. Siren was there and gave him a grand smile. After a few moments of small talk, Zach decided to ask Siren for his turn with a girl. Zach knew that if he came to the Call too often without seeing a girl, it would look suspicious; there were plenty of other places to buy rum in Powyss, most would be cheaper than the Call. Siren seemed to understand and nodded, asking him for his preferences. A few moments later, a pretty Ckaymrish girl who could be no more than seventeen or eighteen with red curls and stunning blue eyes came out to the main room to meet him. She gave him a demure smile, but her eyes lacked the sincerity that her face portrayed. He wondered what would turn a girl as pretty as she to prostitution, surely she could have almost any man she liked.
Her choice, he thought to himself with a shrug.
“Definitely her choice,” said the voice. Zach became angry, and embarrassed. He knew the girl had heard the voice and gave him a confused look.
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