Untold Adventures

by John Shirley

  Kalev reached out and prodded the stiffening hands, checking the rings until he found the one he was looking for: the sigil of peridot and onyx that belonged to Duke Arisor.

  Snickt.

  Kalev spun to face the door, drawing his right-hand dagger from his sash, and found himself face to face with a dark-haired, bejeweled woman wearing a formal gown of topaz silk.

  Her startling violet eyes darted from Kalev to the dead duke, the ransacked study, and to Kalev again.

  The woman opened her mouth. Kalev crouched, ready to spring across the corpse and muffle her scream.

  “Blast!” she exclaimed.

  The woman shoved the door shut and strode into the chaos, kicking up papers around her ankles. Kalev, for one of the few times in his life, found himself startled past the ability to move.

  The woman went straight to a massive bookshelf that, like the unfortunate Duke Arisor, lay toppled on its face. She dug her fingers underneath its edge and strained.

  “Help me!” she snapped.

  Kalev blinked. “Aren’t you concerned I might be the murderer?”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “If you’d done that”—she jerked her chin toward the duke’s gruesome remains—“you’d be covered in blood. You’re not. If you were one of that lot downstairs, I’d’ve noticed you.” She looked Kalev pointedly up and down. His long black coat, black breeches, black tunic, gloves, and boots would indeed have stood out sharply in the ballroom. “And you’d’ve summoned the guard. You haven’t. So, you’re probably here to steal, which doesn’t bother me, as long as we’re not after the same thing.”

  “Admirably practical.” Kalev bowed his head. She was wrong about his reason for being there, but there was no immediate need to point that out. Kalev stowed his dagger, stepped lightly to the other side of the shelf, and crouched down.

  “On three, then,” he said. “One, two, three.”

  A blur of midnight dropped down between them.

  Kalev fell back, rolled over his shoulder, and came up on his feet, his dagger in his hand once more and a flush on his face for failing to look up in time like some lazy guard.

  A stinking, humanish creature dressed in rags sewn with bones landed beside the duke’s corpse. One hand brandished a notched short sword, the other clutched what looked like a golden statue of a cyclops. It bellowed wordlessly, revealing a mouth full of black teeth.

  Skulk! Kalev leaped backward.

  “Grab it!” shouted the woman.

  “What?” cried Kalev, his voice embarrassingly shrill.

  The woman snatched up a broken chair to swing at the skulk’s head. The skulk ducked, howled, and raised its blade.

  Then it jerked around and jumped head-first out the window.

  The woman dived after it, arms outstretched. She missed by bare inches and sprawled full-length on the floor, sending up a flurry of papers.

  A heartbeat later, shouts rose through the open window. Kalev shoved the curtains open and looked down at the crowd of guards gathered below. Some hared off into the darkness, presumably on the trail of the skulk, which had already vanished. The rest stayed put, probably waiting for orders.

  “We need to clear that lot away, or we’re never getting out of here,” Kalev reasoned.

  The woman understood at once. She scrambled to her feet.

  “Help!” she wailed at the top of her lungs. “Duke Arisor is attacked! Oh, help!”

  Attacked. Not murdered. The guard will come check the study. Smart. Below, an officer barked orders. Half the patrol headed for the walls, the other half sprinted toward the main doors, leaving the space under the windows clear.

  The woman wasted no more time. She leaped onto the sill. There came a loud ripping noise and Kalev suddenly found a mass of topaz fabric flying at his head.

  He knocked the bulky missile aside. When he could see again, the window sill was empty.

  The sound of running feet in the corridor was very loud.

  Kalev swung himself onto the sill, grabbed the ivy, and climbed down until he could safely let himself drop to the ground. He landed in time to see a faint flash of jewels in the lamp light as the woman scaled the outer wall.

  Kalev set off at a run. He seldom lost his way, even in the dark, and quickly found the side gate again. It was still open. He was through and out into the street in time to draw a look of startled fury from the woman—now clad in breeches, boots, and a tight, dark tunic—as she gazed down at him from the top of the wall.

  Before he could say anything, two massive hands yanked him off his feet and slammed him against the wall.

  When his vision cleared, Kalev found himself pinned against the wall an inch off the ground, staring into the brutish face of a battered warforged. Essentially a living suit of armor, the creature had one massive fist cocked back and ready to punch Kalev’s unprotected head.

  “Sheroth!” The woman dropped lightly to the cobbles. “The target’s this way!”

  The warforged—Sheroth—growled, let Kalev drop, and lumbered after the woman. Kalev hit the cobbles, staggering a moment before he found his footing.

  He stared after the retreating pair. What was going on?

  The only way to answer that was to follow the woman and the warforged. Choosing the thickest shadows, Kalev ran.

  Fairhaven was a city of wide avenues and tall spires, famed for its beauty. Duke Arisor controlled the majority of the spice trade on the river and, contrary to convention, had built his main residence close to the docks to keep an eye on his ships and his warehouses. Outside his palace, the district was low, mean, and twisted. The alleys Kalev ran through had more in common with a dungeon than a Fairhaven thoroughfare, and all of his senses were on high alert for footpads as well as for his quarry. Fortunately, this particular warforged hadn’t been created for stealth, and Kalev, silent in his soft-soled boots, had no trouble following Sheroth’s thudding footfalls as the warforged stomped over cobbles and packed dirt.

  Abruptly, the lumbering footsteps ceased. Kalev skidded to a halt at the corner of a sagging timber and brick warehouse. Dagger ready, he eased himself around the corner.

  Someone whimpered. Kalev’s eyes darted left to see a pile of tattered darkness shifting on the other side of a darkened threshold. Kalev peered more closely and saw a slender girl staring back at him, tightly clutching a bundle of rags.

  “Don’t go back there,” whispered the girl.

  “Why?” Kalev stepped up to the threshold and crouched down in front of the girl. “What’s back there?”

  The girl drew a huge breath.

  “Idiot!” cried a familiar female voice.

  Kalev was snatched from behind and once more tossed against the wall. This time his head connected with the filthy bricks and stars exploded across his vision. When his eyes cleared, he saw the woman from the duke’s study barrel past him and collide with the girl, knocking them both into the darkness of the warehouse.

  “Don’t!” cried the girl as she groped backward one-handed, clutching her bundle more tightly.

  Kalev found his feet. The warforged filled the narrow alley juncture. Inside the warehouse, the woman …

  The woman blurred and changed. Then there were two girls, one in rags, one practically swimming in the tunic and trousers the woman had worn. The first girl stared, eyes bugging out.

  Then, that ragamuffin also blurred, and also changed, becoming an orc with heavy arms and a wide, grinning mouth, but still with the bundle of rags clutched in one clawed hand.

  The second girl shifted, and then the orc faced an elf, slim and golden haired.

  “Don’t just stand there,” rumbled Sheroth from behind Kalev.

  Kalev gaped at the warforged, who wore a broadsword on his back and a morningstar at his hip. “What about you?”

  “Too big.” Sheroth looked down at him with glowing eyes. “Not too big to get you, though.”

  Kalev swallowed. It had not been his night.

  Inside the warehouse, the two �
�� beings … shifted and shifted again, becoming human, monster, male, female, beautiful, hideous, by turns. Two things did not change—the bundle of rags held by the one, and the clothing of the other. Which gave Kalev his target, whom had now shrunk to become a bearded dwarf in full armor.

  Kalev gritted his teeth, hefted his dagger, and charged.

  Kalev hit the dwarf with his shoulder and they went down together, rolling and grappling. Despite what Kalev’s eyes told him, his hands felt no mail, or hair, just muscled flesh. Nails raked his face.

  WHAM!

  The building shuddered around them as Sheroth—a living battering ram—slammed against the doorway. Praying the warforged didn’t bring the aging building down on top of them, Kalev stabbed down at his opponent. The pseudo-dwarf howled as the dagger struck home, and he kicked straight into Kalev’s belly with both feet. The wind left Kalev in a rush and he catapulted backward. A second figure leaped over him, slim as a girl but with white skin and ivory hair tinged with lavender. The being wore the woman’s tunic, trousers, and jewels, and wrapped its bare hands around the other shapechanger’s throat. The shapechanger choked and growled, and reverted to a bundle of dark sinewy limbs and snarling hatred.

  Wheezing hard, Kalev forced himself back into his fighting stance. The shapechangers spun round, grappling. Sheroth pounded the narrow doorway, making a deafening thunder over the fight. Kalev looked frantically for an opening as they rolled on the floor, snarling and screaming, and found none.

  But he did spot the bundle of rags lying on the ground.

  Kalev snatched up the bundle. It was heavy, and about the size of a loaf of bread. Gold gleamed under the tattered sacking.

  “Who wants it?” Kalev held the bundle high.

  The shapechangers froze and Kalev found himself facing two pairs of eyes, one murderous and dark, one furious and shining amethyst.

  “Mine,” croaked the skulk. “Mine or I kill it!”

  Kalev had no time to make an answer. The other combatant took advantage of the skulk’s inattention and gouged at its eyes with hooked fingers. The skulk bellowed and threw the other backward so hard she flew through the air and hit a pile of empty barrels with a cry.

  “Vix!” Sheroth slammed its bulk once more against the doorframe. The whole building groaned. Wood and brick gave way with a splintering crash. Sheroth rocketed into the low-beamed space.

  The skulk howled and leaped and Kalev found himself tumbling head over heels. He stabbed out, then felt his dagger catch and be ripped from his hand, followed by the bundle.

  His arms were empty and the skulk was bounding for the much-enlarged doorway. Sheroth planted himself in its path, but it dived straight between the warforged’s massive legs. Kalev tried to scramble after it, but tumbled over one of the barrels dislodged by Vix’s impact and turned another undignified somersault to slam up against Sheroth’s shins.

  The skulk vanished into the night.

  Sheroth shook his head and set Kalev on his feet. Then he shuffled past, almost on his knees he had to crouch so low.

  “You all right, Vix?”

  “Just about.” Vix sat with her head in her hands, her wild white hair sticking out in all directions. When she looked up, she caught Kalev staring at her.

  “You’re a changeling,” he said.

  “And you’re a fool.” Vix spat blood and dust and wiped her pale mouth.

  Kalev shrugged. “Possibly.” He reclaimed his dagger and sheathed it. “But my name is Kalev.”

  She glowered at him with her bright amethyst eyes. Kalev knew some changelings didn’t think of themselves in terms of human gender, but he couldn’t make himself think of the pale being in front of him as a “he,” much less an “it.”

  “Do you want to tell me what this is about?” Kalev gestured around the warehouse.

  Vix shifted her weight uneasily and glanced up at Sheroth. Sheroth shook his heavy head.

  “I’ve already saved your life,” Kalev pointed out. “You at least owe me an explanation.”

  Vix eyed Sheroth. This time Sheroth only shrugged, the plates that formed its shoulders grating together.

  Vix slumped forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “It’s not that complicated. A piece of property was stolen. It was traced to Duke Arisor. I was … hired to get it back. Quietly.”

  “Hired?” Kalev arched his brows.

  “More or less.” The changeling rubbed a smear of cobweb from her pale forehead.

  “And would I be correct in assuming this piece of property is more than just an ugly statuette?”

  Vix studied her fingertips a moment before she met Kalev’s gaze. “It’s called the Memory Eye and it’s a magical artifact. Other than that, I don’t know, and I’m dead anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

  Kalev arched his brow. “Dead?”

  “Metaphorically speaking. I hope.” Vix got to her feet, using Sheroth’s arm to steady herself. “I can’t believe I let it get away!” With surprising gentleness, the warforged laid a hand on the changeling’s slim shoulder.

  “Do you even know what that was?” asked Kalev.

  “It was a skulk. Foul thing.” Vix spat again. “Must have been a mesmerist. That kind can cast an illusion on its victims. A lot of people think they’re shapeshifters, which just makes life more difficult for those of us who truly are.”

  Kalev nodded. A lot of people did not like or trust changelings, believing that their ability to change form made them inherently devious.

  “But skulks aren’t thieves,” said Kalev. “They’re predators. Why would this one give up the chance for a kill for this … what did you call it? Memory Eye?” Arisor had been involved in some shady dealings, but according to Kalev’s information, he’d never dealt in magical artifacts.

  Vix cocked her head toward him. “You know a lot for a sneak thief.”

  “So do you,” countered Kalev.

  “You never did say what you were doing in the duke’s study.”

  “You said you didn’t care.”

  Vix waved a hand, acknowledging the point. “Well, thanks for the rescue. Time we were going, Sheroth.”

  You’re not getting away that easily, he thought. “We could help each other,” said Kalev with a feigned casualness. “You want to find the Memory Eye. I want to find out why it was stolen by a skulk, and what Duke Arisor was doing with it in the first place.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m insatiably curious.”

  Vix watched him carefully for a moment. “Why should I work with someone who’s lying to me?”

  “I’m not. I’m just keeping my own secrets. There’s a difference. I’d think a changeling could understand that,” he added.

  Vix glanced up at Sheroth again. Kalev wondered how long the two had traveled together.

  “All right,” said Vix. “But I can’t start yet. Meet me at the Arena of Unparalleled Wonder at dawn. I’ll be coming off shift then.”

  Kalev straightened up. “You work at the Arena? I didn’t know House Phiarlan hired changelings.”

  “Neither do they.” Vix’s form blurred and Kalev again faced the graceful, dark-haired woman.

  “We’ll see you at dawn.” Vix picked her way through the ruined doorway and into the alley. Sheroth gave Kalev a hard glower before shambling after the changeling.

  Kalev waited until the pair had vanished and nothing remained but the sound of the warforged’s heavy feet. Then, using all the skill he had at moving undetected, Kalev followed.

  The Arena of Unparalleled Wonder was House Phiarlan’s greatest theater, and even by Fairhaven standards, an incredible sight. From the alley mouth, Kalev stared at the sparkling edifice. It took up an entire city block and its mass of glittering domes and crystal spires towered over its neighbors. At least one performance was always in progress on one of the dozen public stages or the six or eight private performance spaces. The finest actors and entertainers fought for a chance to play there. And why wouldn’t they? Queen A
urala herself attended the shows at least monthly.

  Kalev was not seeing the Arena from its best angle. He was watching one of the many side doors where Vix and Sheroth stood talking. He itched to know what they said, but dared not get closer. At last, Vix touched the warforged’s arm in farewell, and went inside. Sheroth took a post beside the door.

  The streets around were busy, as the cream of Fairhaven’s society enjoyed a night’s carousing. The place would have been a pick-pocket’s paradise if not for the sharp-eyed members of the public guard standing on the street corners. Queen Aurala felt that if petty crime ran rampant through her capital, it would reflect badly on her work toward a peaceful, stable realm, and in this at least, her brother the governor shared her opinions.

  Kalev considered his situation. He now had more than one mystery on his hands.

  Despite Vix’s assumptions, he was not a thief. He had been given the task of finding the skulk that was slaughtering the city aristocracy. Normally, such beasts were relatively easy to track, once you knew what you were looking for, but this one had not been exhibiting normal skulk behavior. Skulks were clever, but not subtle. They worked with none but their own kind, and they were cold killers, interested only in maximizing carnage. But after the third death, it had become clear the targets were not being chosen at random. Each one of the dead had recently provided the queen’s intelligence services with information. Kalev had been in Arisor’s study to search for signs the aristocratic smuggler might have gone into the information trade. Instead, he’d landed in this business with Vix and the Memory Eye.

  Kalev fingered the medallion he wore beneath his shirt. Actually finding a skulk was a surprise. He’d expected to find a human trying to make the deaths look like a skulk’s work.