Pathfinder Tales- Lord of Runes

by Dave Gross

  “You know just who I mean?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  “And?”

  “No doubt the details will come to me the moment my mind is no longer occupied with this transaction.”

  “I get you.” I knew better than to lean on a wizard, so I counted out the coins until my purse looked puny. Even if Carthagos’s information was no good, we needed the stuff. The moment I paid, Janneke began loading the magic bolts into a cylinder.

  “There was a Varisian man here yesterday,” he said. “Small, affecting a hoarse voice. He did not give his name, but he had a Korvosan way of speaking.”

  “How do you mean?”

  He called the Shoanti ‘horsers’ and referred to gold coins as ‘sails,’ for example.”

  I nodded.

  “He showed me a conjuring brazier, an enchanted figurine, and a scrying orb. They were excellent pieces, but I was disinclined to meet his price. I offered to line up a buyer in return for a commission. He acted as though he suspected a trap. He left at once, and I have not seen him since.”

  “This figurine, did it have a base about this big?” He nodded at the rectangle I made with my thumbs and fingers. “And did this brazier have three round legs?”

  “Just so.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where he would have gone next.”

  “I have a very good idea,” said Carthagos. “He asked where he might find Gadka Burtannon, and I replied that one may invariably find his cart of frauds and overpriced cantrips at the corner of Fever Street and Half-a-Chicken Walk.”

  “You know the place?” I asked Janneke.

  She nodded. I noticed she’d finished loading her ammunition cylinders and had them back in her pack.

  I pocketed the throwing stars and ointment. “Nice doing business with you, Carthagos.”

  “Come again,” he said. “And happy hunting.”

  We hustled down Tarheel Promenade, cut over to Fever Street, and kept our eyes peeled for anything that looked like half a chicken. We spotted the wagon first. I took Janneke’s arm and guided her into an alley across the street.

  “What’s the idea?” she said.

  “Is that Gadka?” I nodded toward the fellow peeling the tarp off of the wagon.

  “Could be.”

  The burly guy kept his brown beard nice and short, but he wore one of those tall pointy hats that actors playing wizards wear. Just above the wide brim, a ring of eyes ran around the cone. They moved, watching the people passing by. Something about him put me off, and it wasn’t the hat. “He’s a dwarf.”

  “What have you got against dwarves?”

  “It’s the other way around. They’re mad at me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “It wasn’t my fault. Anyway, they’re overreacting.”

  “I want to hear the rest of this story, but we’re on the job.”

  “Don’t you ever relax?”

  “Relaxing is how you lose your quarry.” She pointed down Fever Street. “Look.”

  A cloaked and hooded figure strolled in the general direction of Gadka and his wagon. It was too warm for a cloak and too dry for a hood. I couldn’t see much of the face behind a bushy beard and a fat red nose, but “he” stood the right height for Zora. The clincher was the staff he carried. Even with a sack wound over the top, there was no mistaking Zora’s flag.

  “Gotcha, sweetheart.”

  Janneke cranked the launcher on her crossbow. Just as I was about to say it made too much noise, Zora looked right at us. Her eyes went wide. The beard slipped. She turned and ran.

  I plucked a riffle scroll from my sleeve and snapped it off. Janneke stuck the whistle in her mouth and ran, blowing on it. Her cheeks puffed out, but I didn’t hear a sound. Once the running magic filled my feet, I sprinted past her.

  Zora must have remembered my fleet-foot spell from last time. She gestured and said a word, and then she was a blue-gray weaving through pedestrians. She jumped onto a moving wagon, ran across the back of the giant lizard pulling it, and darted down an alley toward the central districts.

  I paused to put some jump in my legs with another riffle scroll. Janneke caught up. I pointed her in Zora’s direction and ran up the nearest tenement staircase, taking the steps six at a time until I reached the roof. Since it never rained inside the Ring, the roofs here were mostly nice and flat. There weren’t any shanties, but there were some support pillars, and here and there a stairway or ramp went all the way up through the ceiling. Still, there was less in my way than there was back on the Shingles in Old Korvosa. This would be easier.

  I sprinted across to look down at the Tarheel Promenade. To the northeast, a couple of leather-strapped boys were picking themselves off the ground, cursing at someone who’d just turned the corner.

  “This way!” I couldn’t see Janneke, but I hoped she could hear me. I was starting to think I should have got myself one of those whistles.

  I jumped the gaps between the buildings like they were potholes. Between the fleet feet and the grasshopper legs, I felt ambitious. At a wide street, I jumped in a high arc all the way across to a Tian-style roof. I landed hard. Tiles crumbled beneath my weight. I slid down but managed to keep upright. Looking around, I caught another glimpse of Zora’s blue cloak. She’d doubled back on us and was heading into the next Ring district.

  “Back this way!” I ran out of roof and braced myself for the drop.

  “Sell me your dead!” cried a man pulling a cart below me. “Or bring home a fresh one, no questions asked!”

  I landed on his cart, barely avoiding the gray-green carcasses. “These don’t look so fresh.” I jumped away before the stink made me puke.

  Zora had disappeared again. I knew she hadn’t got past me, and I didn’t see her to the south. I ran north.

  Up ahead, a flat-topped pyramid rose almost to the ceiling of the ring. A parade of worshipers marched past, trampling a blue cloak and what looked like a false beard.

  Zora had ditched her disguise.

  She wouldn’t drop her flag, I bet. Looking for anything like a spear or a pole, I ran to the next intersection. Zora was nowhere in sight. Just as I was winding up a good string of curses, Janneke shouted from the next street inward. “Over here!”

  The bounty hunter had already busted through a group of Vudrani women in bright silks. With that helmet on, she probably didn’t even see them. I ran the gauntlet of Vudrani curses and shaking fists to join Janneke.

  Halfway up the next street, a woman wearing Gray Maiden greaves waved us on and yelled, “She’s heading into Oriat!”

  We ran through a street full of people who whistled and clicked through lips sewed shut. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but somebody had just ruffled their feathers.

  We followed the trail of agitated whistlers to a wider street. There we spotted Zora sprinting through the crowd. She’d held onto her flag, like I’d guessed.

  Zora crashed into a street fiddler, interrupting his song. That didn’t make much difference, since music and laughter spilled down from all Oriat rooftops, along with enough rush light to make the streets bright as early dusk. Now that we’d spotted her, Zora would have a hell of a time disappearing again.

  She ran toward a shop painted with colorful designs—lightning bolts, magic sigils, animals, religious signs, all kinds of stuff. Without breaking stride, Zora yelled, “Blanks coming your way, Bull, looking for trouble!”

  Janneke cursed and swapped out the load on her crossbow. I ran faster, my feet still fleet, but tattooed men and women spilled out of the ink shop to cut me off. Half underfed arty types, half street toughs, they all had tattoos, piercings, brands, or more painful-looking changes to their bodies.

  A couple hard men moved toward me. Behind them, a shirtless half-orc pointed at me. “Leave my kids alone, ’spawn.”

  With a silent prayer to Lady Luck, I poured on the speed and jumped. The magic sent me sailing ten feet above their heads. I gave them a little wave
as I flew past.

  I would have made it if it wasn’t for that one damned kid.

  He wore a pair of bright green thigh-high boots with magic of their own. He leaped straight up and caught me by the ankle. We fell down together. Before we hit the street, I kicked the grin off his face. He lolled on the ground moaning about a missing “toof” while I snapped back onto my feet.

  The other kids closed in, but I swept the legs out from under the first two and cracked the third one’s jaw. That made the others hesitate long enough for me to run again. Without green-boots to stop me, they could only eat my dust.

  Behind me, I heard the snap of Janneke’s crossbow and the clatter of wooden balls pelting the kids. I glanced back long enough to see her scattering them.

  “Go!” she yelled. “Get her!”

  The tip of Zora’s flag disappeared around another corner. I zipped around the corner in time to see where she’d make her next turn. She looked back, face scrunched with worry. Sweat pasted a few strands of black hair to her cheek. She was panting, but she wasn’t running so fast anymore. Her spells were wearing off. Mine were going strong. She must have barely been a wizard.

  Zora ran northwest, toward the Ring’s outer wall. A fresh breeze lifted the streamers and pennants hanging from the corners of every building. She hesitated before a fire-blackened monastery surrounded by a low wall. She looked afraid of the place, which I had to admit looked pretty scary. She looked back at me, made a decision, and vaulted over the wall.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, girl,” I yelled. “I just want my cards!”

  Zora made it halfway through a crumbling courtyard before three blurred figures intercepted her. Three men in brown robes and black leathers stood in fighting stances, half crouched. I didn’t recognize their style, but they were definitely monks.

  I ran up and grabbed Zora by the arm. She flinched like she expected me to hit her, but I pulled her back and put myself between her and the monks. I sank into the stance my evil old master taught me back in Quain. The fact was, all of my best moves died with the devil body I was wearing back then, but these guys didn’t know that.

  “You will never reach the seal,” said one of the monks. He peered at me, all judgmental, from under a blue-and-black headband. “We were warned of your attack, Scions.”

  “Who’re the Scions? We were just—”

  I caught more movement out of the corners of my eyes. More brown-robed monks appeared, fading into view as they stepped out of the shadows of the ruins. They formed a loose circle around the five of us. I noticed two things then, both at about the same time, both too late to stop what happened next.

  First, the newcomers had yellow headbands instead of blue ones.

  Second, one of the new arrivals—a scar-faced redhead—appeared like magic right behind the monk I was talking to. He was already drawing back a knife, leaving a bright red smile under the blue monk’s chin.

  “Eámon!” yelled another blue monk. “Traitor! Murderer! Wretch—”

  A yellow monk caught him in a chokehold. A couple more closed in on the other blue monk, who turned to keep them at bay.

  “Aldair will do,” said Red. He flipped his dagger like a dandy and caught it like an assassin. “What about you, hellspawn? Or do you want to know what’s behind the seal?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Zora.

  “Ah!” said Aldair. He spun his dagger again, the point on the tip of his finger, which told me he had great balance, a flair for the dramatic, and a knife that needed sharpening. “For hundreds of years, the Brothers of the Seal obeyed our elders’ orders without question, defending an ancient seal that lies deep below our monastery. Eventually some of us began to question what was behind it—what was so important as to require our constant devotion and protection. And when we did, our elders said, ‘Do not ask why. You are sworn to obey, not to ask questions.’ Tell me, what would you do in our place?”

  “Listen,” I said. “We’ve got nothing to do with this … this whatever-it-is. If it’s all the same to you, we’ll just be on our way—”

  “Ah, but it’s not the same, is it?” said Aldair. “One does not come between the traditionalists and the Scions without making a choice. Even the Duskwardens know better. So now you need to choose.”

  “What?” said Zora.

  Aldair offered me his knife. I got the picture. His buddies dragged the blue monk over, pulling his head back to give me a good shot at his throat.

  “No!” shouted the blue monk’s last pal. He’d kept the Scions from grabbing him, but he couldn’t reach his buddy.

  Aldair watched me looking down at his knife. The tip might have been dull, but the edge did a neat job on the man he’d just killed.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Zora. “It’s murder.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, sweetheart. I grew up on Eel Street, where it took two murders to pay rent. If you were real lucky.” I drew the wings of Desna over my heart, hoping she’d get the message.

  She recoiled from me, but her eyes flicked down. Maybe she got it. Maybe she didn’t. With or without her, I was going to need that luck.

  Aldair smiled and shoved his knife at me. I waved it off, and his smile vanished. Before he could get riled, I tugged the big knife out of its sheath.

  “This is what we call a knife back in Egorian,” I said.

  Aldair smiled at that. I smiled back at him. Then I smiled bigger, and he yelped.

  Zora pulled lose the strap holding her flag closed. She whipped out the staff and caught one of the Scions holding the blue monk. At the same time, I flipped a throwing blade at the other one. His head snapped back, blood spouting from his eye. Blue monk gave them both an elbow to the gut and broke free.

  “Thank you!” he shouted. “My name is Balthus.”

  “I’m Ordun,” shouted the other one. He took advantage of the surprise to kick out the knee of one of the Scions after him. “We will not—”

  A Scion cracked him on the back of the skull with a roundhouse kick. He didn’t finish what he was saying. The way his head hit the stones, I didn’t figure he ever would.

  I was ready for Aldair to move on me, but he slipped away instead. One of his mooks came for me. I caught his hand and bent his wrist. One kick to kneel him, one to take his breath, and one to knock him out. So far, so good.

  Somebody I didn’t see coming kicked me in the breadbasket. Another one planted a knife in my thigh—nowhere near an artery. I kissed the air to thank Lady Luck.

  Turning, I tried to kick the one who stabbed me, but Zora hit him first quicker. She whirled her flag around. The cloth snapped out like a living thing, wrapping around the Scion’s ankle. By herself she was too little to move him, but the momentum of the flagstaff was enough to pull his leg right out from under him.

  In the same motion, Zora whipped the flag up and over to my other side between me and another Scion. The four eyes of Desna—sun, moon, and two stars—looked back at me.

  The Scion’s fists punched into the banner but only made shallow dents, like he was punching into a curtain made of chainmail. There was some big magic going on there.

  “Hit him, Radovan!” said Zora. “Through the flag!”

  I didn’t think about whether to trust her. I just did it.

  I punched through the fabric. Instead of a hard curtain, my fists pushed through like there was nothing but thin cotton between us. My first punch broke teeth. The second made a hollow thunk. Zora snapped up the flag. On the other side, the Scion lay unconscious on the courtyard.

  “Look out!” she said, whirling away to defend herself from a couple more monks.

  I turned, hopping to spare my injured leg. Another Scion cartwheeled toward me, which looks great but gives the target lots of time to move. Only I didn’t move. Catching his rhythm, I closed in just before he got into kicking range. One hard boot to the kidneys, and he went down.

  “Hold it right there!”

  Everybody stopped figh
ting as Janneke leveled her crossbow at one of the Scions. Beside her stood Kaid and three of her mercenaries. Six more were running up from the Warrens.

  The Scions ran for it, except for two who couldn’t stand. Ordun finished off the fallen with two swift stamps to the neck. After the first one, Zora screamed, “No!” That didn’t stop him. Considering what the Scions had done to the his buddies, I wasn’t going to judge.

  “I said hold it!” yelled Janneke. With her helmet on, her voice sounded scary enough that I’d have obeyed. On the other hand, I’d seen her shoot that crossbow with the helmet on, so I took a couple big steps away from Ordun.

  “You have no authority here, Maiden,” he said. He put a fist against an open hand and bowed to me. “Thank you for your help, brother. Return to us when you are prepared to defend the Seal.”

  He ran deeper into the ruins while Kaid’s girls grabbed Zora. They took away her flag, a couple of belt pouches, and six concealed blades.

  “Gimme those.” I took the pouches from the mercenary called Stiletto and found my harrow deck in one. I kept my deck and showed it to Zora. “That’s all you had to do. There wouldn’t have been all this trouble if you’d just given them back in Korvosa.”

  Arni woofed from down the street. Behind him came the boss and a man I didn’t know. They both looked like they’d been through the wringer, but the boss had it worse. His shirt was wet, and hung open under his coat. When they got closer, I saw that his eyes looked too dark, the irises too big and the whites bloodshot.

  “How’d you find us?” I said.

  “I followed the sound of riots.” His voice was weak, but it was definitely a joke.

  At least he still had his sense of humor. But I couldn’t see so much as the shadow of a smile on his face, and his eyes stared through me, not at me.

  “Eando Kline, this is my man Radovan.”

  Eando gave me a nod. I gave him one back, wondering whether he’d been fighting the boss or fighting beside him. The boss introduced the mercenaries and then turned to Zora.

  “I presume this is the notorious burglar of arcane artifacts.”