by Hugo Huesca
“I see,” Ed said. The encounter vaguely reminded him of the first time he had met with Kaga and the Haga’Anashi.
Kes had called the carrion avians cousins, but other than being descended from elves and having wings, avians and carrion avians had some glaring distinctions. Avians resembled winged angels, with long powerful wings that could be pearl white, auburn, or spotted brown. They were agile, militaristic, and their Cardinal Command was a fearsome military force in the island-continent where they lived. From Kes’ description, Ed imagined something resembling Earth’s ancient Greeks or Romans—long, flowing tunics, brass spears and big round shields, and soldiers hovering in formation among the clouds.
Carrion avians, on the other hand, had anatomies closer to that of ravens or crows than elves. Their skin was dark gray, coarse, and scaly. Long black wings hung from their arms all the way to their backs and torsos. Their hands and feet ended in black pointy claws, like a raven’s. They had lips instead of a beak, but their mouths were filled with rows of small pointy teeth. Their sharp features and long noses were framed by small, soft, black feathers, like those of a fowl chick, and they styled the feathers in a way that vaguely resembled facial hair. Their eyes were black and shiny and full of greed.
Unlike the Haga’Anashi—which was a warrior tribe that saw combat as a way to test and improve themselves—and unlike the law-abiding Volantis Enclave, the carrion avians were opportunistic nomads that loved to increase their riches by arriving right at the end of a conflict and either looting the corpses or joining the clear winner. As Kes had explained beforehand, this meant they wouldn’t stay if things started going awry for the Haunt. But it also meant their motivation was simple to understand. As long as Ed showed them a strong Haunt, kept them out of suicidal missions, and covered them in shiny bling, the five scouts would return to their clan and convince them to join the wartime effort.
“So this is a dungeon,” Shrukew said, studying the columns while a couple drones added some carvings and magical torches to them. “Not bad, Lord Wraith. This shall provide sufficient accommodation for us.” He glanced at Kes. “You’ve paid attention, Stranded. The design almost reminds me of home.”
“Stranded?” Ed asked dryly.
“It means one who has lost her wings and, like a coward, has refused to take her own life afterward,” Shrukew explained, speaking slowly, like someone explaining an obvious regional tradition to a clueless tourist. “A Stranded has condemned herself to a grounded existence, banished from the glory of hunting under true sunlight.”
“Is that so?” Ed narrowed his eyes and started saying something cutting.
Kes placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ed. It’s okay,” she said. “I knew what to expect when I volunteered for the job.”
Ed slowly lowered his finger. He wasn’t sure that was entirely the truth, since Kes was the type to wall her feelings far inside her mind and focus on her duty. She was reliable, and more efficient than almost anyone he knew. But everyone had feelings.
“In any case, Shrukew here is a sweetheart compared to the elders,” Kes went on. “I mean, we might have started out on the wrong foot, but we understand each other now, don’t we, Shruks?”
The carrion avian winced at the nickname, but nodded. “It’s true that at first my clan was… difficult with Kessih. But she then proved her bravery after the Hotspring Incident. For a Stranded… she’s a force to be reckoned. If the Haunt has more like her, then we can make our clan very rich, and very fat.”
“Hotspring Incident?” Ed asked Kes.
“Ah, I don’t want to bore you with details,” Kes said, in such a way that Ed wondered if she had spent a bit too much time with Alder learning about dramatic anticipation. “It involved a lot of oil, a ritual celebration going awry, and some wrestling against this local monster, a sort of swamp relative to a drake. Scarier than a Spider Queen, easily. It had powerful jaws, an armored back, faster than it looked. I believe the clan called it a ‘krokodile.’ Seeing it made me want to take a vacation on your home world for a while, Ed. A world without magic surely lacks all the murderous man-eating creatures we keep running into.”
Ed wanted to say a lot of things. He settled for, “You’d be surprised,” under his breath.
It was clear Kes had learned much about herself during her trip. That was the point of travel, after all. It was a small reminder that the Haunt was not the center of the world. He also felt a wistful sort of longing, like nostalgia for a time he had never known. There was so much he hadn’t seen of Ivalis. Even of Starevos. He had never seen Lotia, or the Heiligian archipelago with Elaitra and the fabled city of Galemoor. And these were only three kingdoms of a single untamed continent. There was also far-away Plekth, where Katalyn was fighting the mummies of bygone civilizations and having the time of her life, and the dangerous Akathun, where Assassins reigned and Alder claimed the last kingdom of the elves was hidden. There was Kes’ home, Volantis, and of course there was the Netherworld. And beyond that, there were the innumerable worlds that Kharon could travel through at will.
So many adventures were waiting for Ed, but it seemed that if he stepped away from the Haunt for even a month, he’d return to a smoking crater and a pile of corpses… and that would likely be just from Lavy’s research, long before any Inquisitor arrived.
All those Big Bad Evil Guys sitting in their lairs at the end of a videogame, Ed remembered. Just idling until the Heroes leveled up enough so they could challenge them. I kinda get them now. It’s not that they had nothing to do but wait for the Player Characters—those Bad Guys probably did have other things to do. Handling the Netherworld, surviving assassinations, researching technology, defending against incursions, hiring more minions, training their troops, and so on. Perhaps the Heroes were an afterthought to the villains. Hell, I bet some of them were happy when we arrived to fuck them up. After all, once they died they were finally able to catch up on sleep.
“There are only five hammocks,” said Shrukew. “Shall the Stranded not live with us? I could sustain another mate. My parents would not approve, you being Stranded and all, but I’m more open minded than they.” Shrukew smiled gallantly, revealing rows of brown teeth with strands of rotten meat still hanging there.
Kes made a sound like a hell chicken choking on a bone. “Uh, thanks for the offer, Shrukew. But you said so yourself. My place is among the grounded now. Living among the carrion avians would only make me… ah, terribly sad.”
Shrukew shook his head knowingly. “Of course, you’re right. You poor Kessih. Bravely facing a life among the boring grounded instead of with your people where you belong. I just want you to know that I admire you, really, I do. As I fly the currents of this new sky, I shall hunt a songbird in your honor.” He extended his arms, spread his wings, then ran off to the end of the aviary and jumped off, letting the wind carry him away into the skies where the rest of his people already waited.
The Dungeon Lord and the Marshal watched him go in silence for a while.
“What an asshole,” Ed said after a minute.
“And you don’t know even the half of it.” Kes ran a hand over her face, a motion like washing away some dirt. “He could’ve traveled on the cinderpede with us, but insisted on flying instead, then landing at the last moment because he wanted to impress you.” Alone with her friend, her mask of discipline fell away a bit, letting the real Kes shine through. She was cynical, drank too much, sometimes talked to herself, and had a thing for slime girls that she did her best to hide from Ed, while he did his best to pretend not to know anything about it.
“Well, how about we head back,” Ed said. “The casket of tzuika we left buried last winter should be real nice by now. It’s not a songbird, but we could hunt it just the same.”
“Oh, shut up,” Kes said as they left. “But yes, let’s.”
The invitation rested at the center of the War Room marble table. It was an elegant parchment with letters of scarlet ink so shiny they reflected the dampened light
of the magical torches.
“I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself,” Lavy whined, massaging her forehead. She looked even more disheveled than usual, and her hair stank of smoke and alcohol. She wasn’t the only one.
Of the five people in the room, only two looked any kind of presentable. Kes sat at one end of the table, taking deep breaths, speaking to no one and gaze focusing on nothing. Ed sat opposite her, quietly holding his head in his hands. Klek and Jarlen studied the others, the batblin’s expression showing worry, while the vampire’s masked contempt.
“If you don’t like it,” Klek told the Witch quietly, “why keep doing it?”
“I like it while I’m doing it. It’s what comes afterward that I don’t like.”
The batblin cocked his head to the side. “You humans are so strange sometimes.”
“Where is the Bard?” Jarlen asked. “He’s the only Inner Five minion missing.”
Lavy gave the vampire a stern look. “Don’t call us Inner Five. And definitely don’t include yourself in it.”
“What’s the harm? We are Lord Ed’s favorites. We are the ones who are in most of the emergency meetings. There should be a way for us to differentiate ourselves from common minions.”
“Jarlen, Lavy, let’s argue later,” Ed said. “Whenever sound stops being painful.” He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “Alder ran away as soon as he heard about the invitation.” Through dungeon vision, Ed could see the Bard talking excitedly with Viorica and the other seamstresses, although Ed could not hear what was being said. “Knowing him, he’ll be back whenever he judges the moment most dramatically appropriate. In the meantime, I want to hear your opinions on this dinner deal and Korghiran’s warning.”
Kes crossed her arms. “Don’t do it. It’s too risky. Even with Vaines’ protection in place, if every Dungeon Lord is as abusive to Objectivity as you are, someone is bound to find a way to have a go at you.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now that I think about it, you’ll probably manage to get in trouble yourself, no outside help needed.”
“I respectfully disagree with Marshal Kessih,” said Jarlen from behind her veil. “The party is a golden opportunity to find out about your enemies, make allies, and learn what you can about the dangers of the Standard Factory. Besides, Korghiran ordered you to attend, and it’s a mistake to go against the wishes of your Dark Patron.”
Ed’s temper stirred. “If I go it is because it’s helpful to our cause, not Korghiran’s. You should get your loyalties straight.” The vampire had been a servant of Korghiran for a time. The Regent had granted Jarlen to Old Jiraz as a reward. Now she was Ed’s minion. Jarlen, though, still served the Regent of Secrets as best she could. “Remember which side of the Netherworld your coffin is in.”
The vampire gave what passed for a courteous bow for her and said nothing.
“Look,” Lavy said quietly. “It pains me to say it, but I kinda agree with Jarlen. This is our best shot at finding out if our preparations for the Endeavor are enough, or if we’ll need siege weaponry. A friendly chat among Dungeon Lords is not that dangerous. I heard some of them even end without anyone dying.”
Ed scratched the bandages on his forearm. “Klek, what do you think?”
“Both of you are right,” the batblin said, glancing nervously at Kes and Lavy.
“Yeah,” Ed said. “So it’s decided. I go, see what’s up, stay out of trouble, then leave after dessert.”
Kes relaxed her back against her chair. “I’ll tell Andreena to get the infirmary ready. And the carrion avians will be waiting nearby to fly you out when the chaos starts.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, but thanks,” Ed told her. “Now, the invitation is for a Dungeon Lord and a plus one. Anyone fancy some free food?”
Klek raised his hand.
“No offense, buddy, but Ed needs someone who will help him stay out of trouble,” Lavy said, “not someone who will grab the nearest fork and stand next to him as soon as he starts a fight.”
Klek lowered his hand, disappointed.
“That leaves you or Jarlen,” Kes said. “I’m a fighter, not a talker, but you two are Lotian. You know the customs, some Dungeon Lords and their minions, and can advise Ed on what cutlery to grab when they serve the salad.”
“Vaines likely won’t appreciate me bringing an undead to her party,” Ed said. He turned to Lavy expectantly. “What do you say? A perfect excuse to show off a fancy dress, isn’t it?”
“Sounds like a bad idea,” Lavy said, crossing her arms. “I’m not going.”
“Why?” Kes asked.
“Vaines is my aunt,” the Witch said. “Technically. Remember? Heines was my father. Family ties can get… complicated when minionship pacts are involved. Vaines may demand that Ed ‘returns’ me to the family.” She bit her lip. “Better if I stay away from her.”
“Well, shit,” Ed said. “Sorry, Lavy, I should have remembered that. Well, I guess that leaves Jarlen—”
The vampire, though, turned to Lavy with clenched fists. “You are royalty?” she asked the Witch, incredulous.
Lavy raised one eyebrow. “That’s why I said ‘technically.’ Heines only thought he was my father. My mother revealed the truth shortly before she died. My real father was a talented Warlock. See, Jarlen, I don’t need royal blood to be special.” She tapped the side of her head. “This here is all that counts.”
“Blood is everything,” Jarlen said savagely.
The Witch and the vampire stared at each other. Tension filled the room in a way so palpable that Klek grabbed a fork and inched his way toward Ed.
The door opened violently, making everyone jump in surprise. Kes reached for her sword, and Klek brandished his utensil, but then Alder burst in, arms spread out to his sides, eyes glinting with excitement.
“What’s this?” the Bard exclaimed, exactly like an actor monologuing in a packed theater. “At the height of dramatic tension, when everything seems lost, a hero appears bringing a solution?” He strolled his way over to Ed.
“How long have you been eavesdropping outsi—?” Lavy began.
Alder set his arm across Ed’s shoulders. “The brave Dungeon Lord has run into a problem he cannot bash into splinters. This adventure shall require someone with Charm, wit, sophistication, and a silver tongue! If only there was a man such as that here, in this very room!” He strolled dramatically to the center of the room. “Someone who can seduce his way to the heart of a tortured Dungeon Lady, or navigate the treacherous waters of backstage politics, or entertain all guests with enticing tales! Ah, if only… there was a Bard!” He gave a very exaggerated bow.
Klek began to clap, then stopped, and looked confused.
“Alder, you’re a Heiligian,” Lavy pointed out. “I… I genuinely don’t know if you’ve realized it yet, but our countries have been at war since before you were born. The people in that party will not be happy to see your blond ass.”
Alder waved her concerns away. “Trivialities.” He took from his pocket a black ball of hair that resembled a cleaning duster. “With this Official Infiltration Disguise from the Thieves Guild, a dash of my incredible illusion magic, and my encyclopedic knowledge, I shall be indistinguishable from a cultured Lotian noble.” To punctuate his words, he turned his eyes the same shade of violet as Lavy’s, put on the black ball to cover his blond locks, and mimicked a nobleman’s petulant expression. “Indeed, indeed.”
“Alder, that is a wig,” Lavy said, a note of hysteria in her voice.
“Indeed. Yet, that is not all. Now, Viorica, show them,” Alder called outside the room, and soon Viorica and another Starevosi seamstress entered, both smiling ear to ear. They were pushing a tailoring wooden frame with two elaborate suits hanging from it.
The seamstresses set the frame next to Alder. “The black suit is spidersilk and velvet,” Viorica announced. “It is made to measure, and shall fit Lord Wright’s body perfectly. Each suit has spidersilk padding to protect against stabbing, a sm
all hidden pocket enchanted against magical detection that can fit a couple of runes, and there is also a dart with sleeping draught beneath the brass button of the sleeve. The cut is from the latest fashion among the Lotian elite, according to our research.” She beamed at the stunned Dungeon Lord and his friends. “I wish to thank Master Alder for the opportunity to showcase our skills. Please use these suits to bring terror to the enemies of the Haunt,” she added fiercely, then saluted, and left looking proud.
Ed got up and studied the clothes. Viorica hadn’t exaggerated—each was a complete set with trousers, leather belt, and shoes. “Alder, these take months to make. No way you set all of this up in only a couple minutes…” he trailed off. “You had them made months ago, didn’t you? In case we got invited anywhere.”
Alder smiled apologetically, confirming Ed’s suspicions. Kes barked a laugh that came close to a kaftar’s and said, “This is on you, Ed. You encouraged everyone in the Haunt to scheme to their heart’s content. Well, now you know what happens when a Bard schemes.”
“Trust me, Ed, this will work,” Alder said excitedly. “I’ve been waiting so long for this. It will go without a hitch, I just know it!”
Well, Ed thought. He is the most prepared among us for a bit of palatial intrigue, even if he gets a bit carried away sometimes. He acted perfectly when we first met Oscor and the smugglers—probably saved our asses there. And Pris and Karmich can make that wig look convincing. I hope. “Ah, what the hell,” he said aloud, placing a hand on the Bard’s shoulder. “Let’s do this.”
9
Chapter Nine
The Feast
They made the trip to the Xovia Citadel and took a Portal from there into Lotia, with Korghiran handling the expense. Kes, Shrukew and two other carrion avians remained near that second Portal in case things got hairy. The Marshal also rented a room in a nearby Xovian inn for Andreena and had the Herbalist set up with all the tools she’d need for emergency treatment.