The Rod of Seven Parts

by Douglas Niles

  Badswell finally nodded, lowering his head to start resolutely down the road. By the time we approached the valley floor, much of the fog had burned away, revealing a city considerably less pristine than it had appeared from the heights. A dozen or so drunks lay in an uneven pile off to one side of the gateway, stinking, snoring derelicts who had been haphazardly tossed there the night before. A salt-flavored breeze swept inland across the city, but the stench of human filth and garbage far overpowered any lingering odor of fish or seaweed. The stink was far worse than I remembered from any previous visit, and I wondered if it had anything to do with the fog that still lurked in the lower alleys, extending in misty tendrils beyond the unseen waterfront.

  We passed through a gateway in the midst of a file of farmers bringing the day's goods into the city. The gate was flanked by stone towers wide enough to accommodate a pair of huge wagons or a block of men marching fifteen or twenty abreast. A heavy portcullis dangled overhead, and twin slabs of iron-strapped gates stood to either side.

  Guards lounged listlessly on either side of the gates, some watching the file of people entering and leaving the city, others conversing, gambling, or bickering among themselves. A few scowled at Bads, who kept his head down and simply plodded on through. None of the well-armed watchmen made any move to accost us.

  The maze of streets within the gates further belied the city's grandiose facade. No fewer than five routes led from the small courtyard within the gates. None of these was more than ten or fifteen feet in width, and each quickly twisted out of view amid a mess of shacks and shanties. The mansions and towers we'd observed from beyond, it seemed, did not extend to these reaches around the city's fringe.

  "Which way?" Badswell asked.

  "I... um, let's try this way," I suggested, surprised by the constricted nature of the place. "I guess I was remembering the High City, which is through the second wall. The streets are wider there." Again I was struck by a surprising feeling of distaste. Argenport was far more dirty, ugly, and generally unpleasant than I recalled.

  "I like this part okay," Badswell allowed as we started forward once more. "What'sit here—Low City?"

  "Yup. This is where you'll find the thieves and harlots, beggars and barterers. Good thing we don't have any money. We'd have to keep a real close eye on it around here."

  Nodding sagely, the half-ogre stepped along behind me as I started down one of the stinking, winding alleys. Picking our way along the littered path, we stepped over unidentifiable refuse and nameless derelicts. At least one or two of the latter, I suspected, had ceased to breathe hours or even days earlier, although I didn't take the time to bend down for a closer inspection. Again I was struck by the fact that Argenport seemed strangely squalid and depressing, far more so than on any of my previous visits.

  Tiny doorways, for the most part set within dark, hooded alcoves, led to small and windowless buildings. Shadowy figures moved here and there, darting between covered doorways and concealed alcoves behind us. Fortunately Badswell's size proved a significant deterrent to any potential thief, and I was increasingly glad of this fact as I sensed hostile eyes peering from narrow cul-de-sacs to the left or right.

  "Big place," Bads commented as we moved into a crowded square. Hawkers of trinkets cried out, waving fistfuls of tin bangles. Fruit vendors hoisted melons and citrus, carefully holding the produce to conceal the bruises and scuffs that marked it as inferior goods. An old woman raised a colorful parrot in her gnarled fist, and the bird squawked and shrieked at us, batting broad, powerful wings. Plunging through the crowd, we left the throng behind, taking our choice of several narrow streets departing the other side of the tiny square.

  "Argenport is the biggest city I've ever visited," I admitted. Always before I'd had the company of experienced companions, such as Barzyn, Dallzar, and Benton. It worried me slightly that this time I was the knowledgeable leader, my partner depending upon my experience to see us safely through the maze of civilization. Perhaps that was why the city seemed so much more dangerous than before. At least, I tried to make myself believe this was the case.

  A scream echoed from a small structure at the end of a winding alley—a man's voice, full of shrill terror. We heard an angry outburst from another speaker, jabbering in a strange tongue, and then a groan of pain accompanied by a sickening gurgle. Hastening along, we moved past sounds of weeping from another shack. Arguments echoed from numerous directions as the sun rose higher and life stirred in Argenport's slum.

  "Should we help?" Badswell asked as some truly piteous wailing rose from a nearby hovel.

  "Help who?" I asked, flinching under the growing fear that chaos reigned everywhere in this vast city. "We've no way to know what side to take—don't you see?"

  Badswell looked unconvinced as another cry, thrumming with fear, echoed from a side street.

  "Keep going," I urged at a narrow intersection. "Which way?"

  "Here," declared Badswell, indicating one street, touching his own segment of the rod as confirmation.

  Finally the alley opened into another courtyard, and we saw another, higher wall rising at the far side. A gate, guarded by men in gleaming, silvery plate mail, stood open. Beyond stretched a sunlit plaza, and a suggestion of elegant, flowered balconies extended above a wide avenue between alabaster facades of marble.

  "The High City," I explained, pointing through the gate. "Where the money is."

  "That's where more of the rod is, too," Badswell replied.

  "You can feel it?"

  "Just like all along. Strange magic, but we keep goin' this way."

  Privately I reflected that if anyplace needed an artifact of law, it was Argenport. Thuggery, fear, and squalor all seemed to be running wild in the place.

  A crowd of people moved toward the High City gate, including several robed women, a slave-borne litter occupied by a bejeweled merchant, and several fruit merchants hauling two-wheeled handcarts. I noticed that the latter offered wares that were fresh and well ripened, not like the bruised goods offered in the Low City market.

  Badswell stopped abruptly, scowling. "Wait," he said. "The third piece—it's movin'. Groin' this way." He pointed back toward the slums.

  The crowd filed steadily through the gates in both directions. Abruptly the half-ogre turned, looking across the small gatehouse square, then pointing toward another alley leading into the slums. I saw a half dozen men, unshaven fellows dressed in dark cloaks and tattered leggings, skulk into the shadows there. With a few furtive looks behind, they gathered into a huddle.

  Seconds later a girl followed them, waiflike in a blue skirt and bare feet. I felt a flash of irrational recognition, something in the child's easy, undaunted gait that almost caused my heart to stop beating. Surely she was too adult, too confident to be a youngster. Angrily I told myself that I was dreaming, I must have been mistaken.

  "Hey, stop that!" the girl's voice piped up, indignantly directed at the suspicious-looking fellows gathering in the alley.

  When I heard the high-pitched voice, my doubts were dispelled with absolute certainty. "Saysi!" I cried, starting across the square with the startled Badswell lumbering behind.

  The girl apparently didn't hear me cry out. She marched up to the biggest thug and confronted him with a determined planting of her fists on her hips, a stubborn gesture that I knew well.

  "What is it, brat?" The man's voice, a guttural, menacing threat, emerged from the shadows of the alley and made my heart hammer in fear. Beyond that blue hood, cruel, leering features glared down at the angry girl.

  "You stole that old lady's apples, and her money, too!" Saysi—it had to be her—accused tartly.

  In response, a chorus of men's voices joined the sneering character who had questioned her. "We let her live, didn't we?" chortled that villainous thief. "At's more'n might be said for you, wee lass!"

  I charged into the narrow confines of the alley as the leather-cloaked boor made a grab at the feminine figure. Still with her back to me, sh
e ducked away, but the thug's paw caught hold of her hood and ripped it from her cloak. In a flash of coppery curls—hair like spun metal, flaming brightly in the dawn light—I knew Saysi was alive, right here in front of me!

  Alive for now, at least, but for how much longer? The slight figure tumbled to the ground, four burly thieves looming over her. Goldfinder in my hand, I plunged ahead, desperate to call out, to offer some kind of encouragement. Yet I held my tongue, knowing that my only chance was to take these bullies by complete surprise.

  That, and to hope Badswell wasn't too far behind me.

  In another second, I reached the nearest of the thieves, a scrawny fellow who had sidled around to block Saysi's retreat. Darting past him, I jabbed with my blade, slicing keen metal through his hamstring. He went down with a shriek of pain as I leaped into the air, slashing my weapon across the face of another thug. Then I crashed headlong into the brute who had reached down to clench the tiny priestess by the shoulder.

  He went down in a tangle of curses and punches, squealing rather like a pig when my blade ripped into his soft belly. Rolling free, I bounced to my feet to see several more of the ruffians closing in. Saysi—it was Saysi!—regarded me with wide, panic-stricken eyes.

  "Kip?" she gasped, in the most delightful sound I had ever heard. She smiled with such a sudden sense of contentment that it would have melted my heart, if not for the deadly fight raging a sword's length away.

  "Run!" I cried, gesturing toward the mouth of the alley.

  In response, she picked up a piece of stick that lay beside a nearby shack, whipping the makeshift club around to smash a thug in the knee.

  A hulking shape loomed suddenly, and Badswell was there. Fortunately he didn't stop to ask questions. Instead, he plucked a hefty thief up by the shoulders and pitched the fellow into a darkened corner of the alley, leaving him sprawled insensate on the muddy ground. Another man went down under the hammerblow of Badswell's mighty fist, and two more staggered dizzily after the half-ogre bashed their heads together.

  Darting to Saysi's side, I took her hand and pulled her back toward the street.

  "Kip! How did you... what's—who's that?" she asked, standing dumbfounded between Badswell and me.

  "Later!" I cried, spinning to face the half-ogre. "Follow us—and that was real good work, Bads!"

  We raced out of the alley. With a guttural growl and a glare that froze the bandits—those who were still conscious, at least—in their tracks, Bads retreated slowly after us.

  "That poor old lady!" Saysi said, stopping suddenly. She marched back to the thug who was in his death throes from my stab to his stomach. While Badswell glowered at the other thieves, she reached for the wretch's belt and pulled away a small purse, while the other thieves looked on malevolently. One or two made a noise to object, but when the half-ogre smacked his lips and growled, they quickly reconsidered their boldness.

  "Come on," I repeated, tugging at her arm. "Let's get out of here!"

  "Well, it was wrong," she told me righteously and as firmly as if we had never been parted. "They stole her money, and I'm going to give it back."

  "I know you always despised thievery," I replied, looking nervously over my shoulder as we moved down the street. Fortunately nobody appeared in the alleyway; Badswell had thrown a pretty good scare into the band of thieves. "But don't you think that's carrying it a little far? Those guys would have killed you without thinking twice!"

  "It was still wrong," she repeated.

  I laughed. "You know, it really doesn't matter. The important thing is, you're alive!" I embraced her, feeling her arms close around me in return, forcing myself to speak around the lump that grew solid in my throat.

  "I—I thought for sure you were dead. I looked for you in the alley, back in Oakvale. One of those monsters, the kakkuu, came out, and you were nowhere to be seen."

  "I went down a manhole," she explained cheerfully. "The bite of that... kakkuu, you called it? It made me kind of dizzy. I passed out down there for a while, till well after sunrise. By the time I came out, the monsters were gone, but so were you. I was afraid that you'd been eaten or captured or something!"

  "No," I admitted miserably. "I just left. By Patrikon, I should have waited. I should have looked more carefully!"

  "Don't say that," counseled Saysi. "We're together again now, and I'm sure we have lots of adventures to talk about. First, tell me, who's your friend?"

  The half-ogre bowed with elephantine grace as I made the introductions and described my meeting with Badswell. "His mother had another piece of that black stick, like a part of the one I bought in the Red Garter. Bads has his mother's piece now, and we've been traveling together ever since. We came to Argenport to try to find the third piece."

  "You mean this?" asked Saysi, pulling a stub of familiar-looking ebony from a pocket of her robe. Dumbfounded, I saw the geometric patterns on both ends, recognized the sheen of perfect obsidian blackness. Sure enough, the piece was a trifle longer than Badswell's and seemed to continue the trend of getting wider at the end away from the tip.

  "How did you get that?" I was astounded by her possession of the piece, amazed at the pattern, the strange sense of order that seemed to be falling into place.

  "I found it. It was on the ground in the middle of a bandit camp, near the road out of Oakvale. All the bandits were dead... killed by some kind of disease, I think. But when I saw it, I remembered the one you got in the dragonfire game back at the Red Garter." She looked at me, her eyes misting as she gave me a quick hug. "I guess I took it because it kind of reminded me of you."

  "That's great! You've got the third piece of the rod!" I cried ecstatically.

  "Can we stick them together?" the halfling priestess wondered.

  "No!" Bads and I barked in harmony.

  "That is," I explained, "I don't think that would be a good idea." I told her of the disappearance of the second part when we had tried to do just that.

  "We came to Argenport because we sensed that was where the next piece of the rod was. Each piece, it seems, lets you know where the next bigger one is," I continued, then paused as I was seized by a sudden thought. "But what brought you here to the coast?"

  "I... I don't really know," she said, her curved brow creasing into a very attractive frown. "It was just sort of a feeling I had, as if I should be going in this direction. Say, you don't think...?"

  She looked at me quizzically, letting her question hang in the air.

  "That the fourth piece is here, in Argenport?" I concluded excitedly. "I'm sure that's it!"

  "And I know just where," she continued breathlessly. "I found this place in the High City. It's like a grand mansion, surrounded by a wall. Almost a fortress of its own, with square corners and lots of towers. Every time I wandered around the city, I found myself drawn to the place. I'd just stop in the street, standing outside and staring at it. I didn't understand why I kept going there... until now!"

  "This mansion—can you take us there?" I pressed.

  "Sure. As I said, it's in the High City," she said, and then a look of concern clouded her otherwise perfect face. "Do you have someplace to stay in the city? I've been staying at the temple down near the waterfront. The high priest let me have an apprentice's cell for as long as I want to stay."

  "We don't have lodgings yet, but let's see this mansion first." Urgency compelled me to haste.

  "Okay. I have to give this money back to the old lady, but she was in the High City anyway."

  Saysi started toward the gates that led to the wealthier portion of Argenport. Bads and I fell into step behind her, and my mind churned with a whirlwind of new discoveries—Saysi's presence, her possession of a piece of the rod, and the hope that a fourth piece might be found just around the corner.

  CHAPTER 14

  PARNISH FEGHER

  "About Badswell," I whispered to Saysi as we approached the looming gates leading to the High City "Do you think he'll have any trouble from the guards?" I remembered t
hat the upper-class district of Argenport had been considerably more diligently guarded than the slums.

  Saysi shook her head, turning to look affectionately over her shoulder. The half-ogre ambled along a few steps behind, giving us a chance to walk arm in arm in privacy.

  "I don't think so. Before, sure, it seems they would have been alarmed by someone like him. But have you noticed? Argenport seems, somehow, kind of wilder than before. Like the laws don't mean much to anybody."

  I nodded grimly, but decided not to say that I had reached the same conclusion. "About this mansion, the place where you think the fourth piece of the rod is. How often have you gone to look at it? Have you seen anyone going in or out? Do you think you've been observed while you were there?"

  "First, I don't think the piece is there, I know it is," she replied tartly.

  "Of course."

  "And I don't know how often I've gone there, but I've never seen anyone going in or out, so naturally I don't think anyone has seen me."

  As she led us onward, I looked around, remembering immediately that the High City was much nicer than Argenport's outer quarter. The streets were wider, lined with plants and bright with blooming flowers, and the scattered drunks much more well dressed than the ragged beggars we'd encountered outside the lofty walls.

  "Here's that fruit seller." Saysi crossed the street, extending the small leather purse to a stooped, frail-looking woman who stood beside a cart of apples. The elder's wrinkled and toothless face broke into a disbelieving smile as she took the purse, nodding thanks as the priestess turned back to join us.

  "Bless you, child!" called the vendor as we started once again along the street.

  "That was nice," Badswell said, looking back at the woman, then over to Saysi. "You helped her good."

  For the most part, the people on the streets kept their eyes downcast or looked furtively after us as we passed. No one seemed inclined to accost anyone, or even acknowledge a stranger's presence. Armed guards paced before the gates of several stately houses, and when a patrol of the city watch tromped by, we stepped to the curb. From the protection of their tight formation, the guardsmen's eyes watchfully probed each alcove and alley.