by Edward Bolme
"Yeah, but I promised myself that I would never steal again," confessed Kehrsyn. "Then, when that sorceress pushed me, I fell right back into it."
"You were cornered. Theft or death. You did what was required to survive."
Kehrsyn sat back in her chair, folding her arms. The chair creaked with age, making a sound of wood snapping.
"But we're supposed to know better," she said. "We're supposed to have values and ideals."
"You do," replied Demok. "You never steal for gain. You steal for survival. Given the chance to make amends, you did."
"But it's still theft, and I still broke my promise," protested Kehrsyn.
Demok considered that, and said, "If you're asking whether you should have died rather than steal, that's between you and your gods. I couldn't fault that choice, either. I don't have the answer to that question. I only have my answer."
"What's your answer?" asked Kehrsyn.
Demok's thumb froze in place.
"I'm a killer," he said, no trace of pride or shame in his voice. "It's my skill. People kill rabid dogs. I kill people. Because it needs to be done."
"That's hardly reassuring," mumbled Kehrsyn.
"If someone were about to use something to cause widespread plague," he asked, "and you had the chance to steal it, would you?"
"Yes," said Kehrsyn.
"Thus you'd use your skills to save a hundred lives," said Demok with finality.
"That doesn't make it any less wrong."
"Doesn't make it any less right," said Demok. He shrugged. "I don't have the answer. Only mine. You find yours."
"Fine," said Kehrsyn, a leaden tone to her voice.
Demok studied her.
"Something still bothers you," he observed.
Kehrsyn looked at him, then looked away, then tried to look at him again but failed.
Demok waited.
"I'm…" Kehrsyn said. "I know it's wrong and stuff, but I just can't help it. Especially these last few times. It's… I don't know, it's, like, exciting or something, breaking in and stuff," she confessed. "I think I'm starting to really enjoy it."
Demok smiled, a grim motion that didn't touch his eyes.
"I know what you mean," he said. "Like an addiction."
The two sat in silence for a long time, lost in their own thoughts as darkness once more descended upon the city.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The waiting was over. In contrast, the bitter winter weather was far from finished. A fresh, gusty wind blew in from the north, whipping people's cloaks and bringing repeated hard showers to rake the land.
It was a miserable day. For most people, it was a miserable night. Massedar, however, was happy to be out. The storms suited his mood, the dark temper that roiled beneath his calm and disciplined demeanor. It was time for revenge.
Massedar rode in a wagon, thoroughly furled in his great, warm cloak. A trusted servant drove the unwilling horses through the darkened streets, quietly and calmly. Midnight was approaching on its own time; best not to attract attention with reckless speed.
The only other passengers in the wagon were a pair of corpses in the rear, each carefully swaddled in oilskin tarpaulins. Rain drummed on the hard fabric, a pleasing sound to the aging merchant prince. He matched the sound and rhythm, drumming his fingers impatiently on the inner folds of his heavy cloak. The lower lid of one eye twitched in barely contained fury.
After all those years, he brooded, all those long years. After I took him in, made him an advisor, a confidante, even a friend, Ekur betrayed me. Sacrilege! He sold himself unto a foreign god and used me, used my house, used my wealth. How many years had it taken for me to recover the Alabaster Staff? And for how much of that time hath he, the traitor, been working behind the scenes, playing upon my faith, my trust, my mistaken impressions of the man?
Massedar worked his jaw back and forth. If he truly were to have his way, he would storm the gathering of Bane-worshiping heathen Zhents with every guard at his disposal, as well as a platoon of Chessentan mercenaries. That way he could ensure that no one left the area alive (or, at the least, that no one survived the painful interrogations).
Unfortunately, he did not have that luxury. The Zhents held the Alabaster Staff, and he had to recover it. That was crucial. He would not let the Zhentarim and their backstabbing servant wrest the staff away from him, not after all that time. But, more significantly, Ekur had been working for Bane, and therefore it was quite possible that one or more other people in Wing's Reach were also Zhent agents. The way the Zhentarim worked, Ekur might not even have known. Thus, Massedar could not trust his own people. Even if he could hire any mercenaries in the midst of the war, it would attract attention. In the end, Massedar was forced to work with Demok and Kehrsyn, the only people in on the secret of Ekur's adopted identity. They would have to be enough. They… and his other friend.
Ahead, he saw that the wagon was approaching the Chariot Memorial. His eyes narrowed. If Demok and Kehrsyn kept him waiting, he would be quite upset.
"Time," said Demok, as he leaned in the front door of the former Furifaxian quarters.
Kehrsyn stopped her pacing, blew out her breath, and said, "Right, let's go."
"Got everything?" Demok asked.
"Yeah, I think so. I don't really need much, do I? I have my rapier and dagger, I'm wearing my armor… and," she added with a smile, "I've got this."
She pulled out a slender, bone-colored wand and twirled it expertly. For the first time, she saw Demok startled.
"What's that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"It's a replica of the staff," she answered. "I thought I'd better bring it along, so if I get a chance to… reclaim the original, I can leave a double in its place, and maybe we can just sneak out of there without getting into a fight."
"Worth a shot," he said. "Where'd you get it?"
"You probably don't really want to know," said Kehrsyn with an uncomfortable smile.
Demok nodded and led the way outside to where his horse waited. The two mounted up, Kehrsyn sitting behind Demok, and the grim guard reined the horse around to head back to the Chariot Memorial.
As they approached the great statue, they saw a wagon waiting in the lee of the huge pedestal. Demok steered the horse for it.
"Art thou ready?" came a familiar voice.
"Always," Demok replied. He halted the horse next to the wagon. "More bodies for the Zhents?" he asked.
"It seemeth to me that none should question one bearing more fodder," Massedar explained. "Ensure thou that such a fate befalleth not me."
"Lead on," said Demok.
The wagon lurched forward in the rain, the horses eager to finish their task and return home. Demok and Kehrsyn fell in behind.
Kehrsyn leaned close to Demok's ear and said, "Good thing you like to kill."
"1 don't," said Demok.
"But-"
"It's what I do, and I'm good at it, but killing I do not enjoy," he said over his shoulder. "Killing is wasteful. Combat I love. Pitting my skill and wits against another with the ultimate stakes. There is no purer test." He turned his head to face forward again, nodding to himself. "I'd wager that's what you find addictive about theft," he added. "Not stealing, but testing your skills in dangerous situations."
Kehrsyn cocked her head and furrowed her eyes as she considered that.
"Got incredible skills," Demok continued after a moment, interrupting her thoughts. "Good heart, too. Question is, can you find a way to use those skills that doesn't break your heart? If you can, you've got it made."
A gust of wind ripped through the street, whipping their cloaks. Kehrsyn pulled hers back around her and tried to huddle down as small as possible behind the shield of Demok's shoulders.
"You did that," said Kehrsyn, finally understanding the source of Demok's quiet self-assurance. "So how did you answer the question?" she asked.
"Killing is a by-product. Didn't want it to be a waste, so I dedicated my life to the destruction o
f the Zhentarim and the church of Bane. If I found someone else who needed killing in the meantime, I didn't have a problem with that, either." He reached for something beneath his cloak, and after a moment's fumbling reached over his shoulder to hand something to his companion. "Know what this is?" he asked.
Kehrsyn took the item and studied it, holding it very close to her eyes in the dim light.
"It looks like a pin in the shape of a harp," she answered. "What does it mean?"
"I'm a Harper."
"So what does that mean?"
Demok paused a moment, then explained, "We protect civilization. Fight the tyrant gods and their followers, strike down those who need it. I came here when I heard Bane was moving on Messemprar. Wing's Reach seemed a likely target. Other Harpers are elsewhere in the city."
"What, right now?"
Demok nodded and said, "We need them. Dark times are coming."
"So why'd you join the Harpers in particular?"
"May not be a home, but it's a family," he said.
Kehrsyn handed the pin back to him. He took it and replaced it somewhere inside his cloak.
After a pause, he spoke one last time. "Consider that an offer," he said.
Massedar's wagon led them to the Temple of Gilgeam. During the rule of the god-king, who had taken the throne in the stead of his father Enlil some two millennia before, it had been the centerpiece of all life in Messemprar, where the god-king basked in the worship of the lesser beings of his empire. Everything had changed when Tiamat slew Gilgeam, and even after fifteen years the pillars and capitals of the temple still showed some of the blackened smears from the oily fires that had devoured the lives of so many priests. Ever since the excitement of those first heady days had waned, the occasional new graffito still gouged its way into the pillars and walls.
The great pedestal out front was, of course, still empty.
"I hope we never see Bane's likeness erected on Gilgeam's pedestal," Kehrsyn murmured.
"One way or another," replied Demok, "we won't."
After Gilgeam fell, no one really knew what to do with the massive building. No one remotely associated with the priesthood wanted it. The army used it for a while, hoping the tradition of power that emanated from the building would help them maintain control, but even the soldiers didn't want to be there. As the Northern Wizards consolidated their power, they avoided the issue. In the end, the edifice ended up being used for two purposes: barracking foreign mercenaries, as their very presence would further despoil Gilgeam's memory, and executing criminals, as that activity remained very much in line with the building's original purpose.
The foreigners were left to argue among themselves how best to divide the space, so it was easy to understand how the Zhentarim could appropriate some of the subterranean levels for their own nefarious activities.
The wagon rolled around the great, empty pedestal and pulled up at the base of the grand staircase. The massive marble steps stretched almost the entire width of the building and were carved both tall and deep, specifically designed to make even the tallest visitor walk up the steps in the manner of a child.
At the top of the steps, a group of three or four figures stirred. Kehrsyn could see the telltale glow of a shuttered lantern in their hands.
Massedar got down from the wagon and directed Demok to pick up the larger of the bodies. That he did, working the corpse over his shoulders. The other corpse remained in the wagon as Massedar led Demok and Kehrsyn up the steps. Though clouds were scudding in, no rain was falling at the moment Massedar removed his heavy cloak just as a gust of fierce wind blew through, and the sheer drama of the movement made Kehrsyn's heart thrill.
At the sudden motion, the figures at the head of the stairs flicked one of the lanterns open and shone it fully on Massedar. Kehrsyn saw the Massedar was dressed in priestly Banite raiment, no doubt the robe worn by Ekur himself. The long gown was full and black, with green rays and mystic sigils showing in the lantern light. Massedar had thrown the hooded cowl over his head, and he held his rain cloak out in one arm for Kehrsyn to take. As she stepped up to take it, she saw that he had shaved his beard to better match Ekur's clean-shaven face, and, thanks to the wind, she saw that Massedar had padded out his normally trim form beneath the garment, the better to emulate Ekur's bulky build.
As Kehrsyn took the proffered cloak in her arms, the light flocked off, shuttered once more within the glassy confines of the lantern.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Demok jerked his head back toward the wagon below.
"Once more," he grunted.
Two of the sentries moved quickly down the steps to unload the other corpse as Massedar, Demok, and Kehrsyn entered the Temple of Gilgeam.
Kehrsyn's heart fluttered with fear. She had not set foot inside so much as a Gilgeamite shrine since the day Ekur had killed her mother. Even in the high holy days, when the troops searched the city for stragglers and the impertinent, she had risked her life rather than bow a knee to the despotic thearchy that had taken her parents from her. In a bizarre way, she almost felt that trying to stop the Banites in their plot would be defending Gilgeam's memory, but that thought made her so angry that she shelved it far away, to be dealth with later.
Massedar led the way through the temple, his accursed Banite gown billowing as he walked. Demok moved behind, carrying the heavy corpse over one shoulder. Despite the bulk of the body, and despite the sweat that trickled down his temples and the breath that labored in his lungs, Demok's face was calm and placid. Kehrsyn trailed, holding Massedar's rain cloak. As she passed a convenient lantern alcove, she quickly stuffed it in the nook. She needed her hands free to do her job, and if they were to pass that way again, they'd either have time to search for the cloak or they'd have concerns far more urgent than getting wet.
In the distance, the reflected light of fires danced along the walls like will-o'-wisps. They heard the sounds of a bawdy Chessentan song reverberating through the temple. The regiment was trying to liven up the dreary evening, but the hollow way the tune echoed among the huge walls of slab marble twisted their cheerful lark into a mournful, ghostlike sound.
Near the center of the great structure, Messedar quickly located the ramps that serviced the lower levels of the temple. One level down was the actual Chessentan base camp, a solemn, military place. Messedar led them lower still. On the next level, the Chessentan officers made their encampment next to a platoon of Thayans. Kehrsyn mused that Thaytans had been called in to help ensure the safety of the enclave should Messemprar fall to the pharaoh's forces.
They continued down, past a prison level left empty by the foreigners, save only for a few rowdies held under guard for infractions. A desultory guard stood watch, in all likelihood a punishment in itself, doubly so for the whispers of the cloying stink of death that skulked around the still air at that level.
Two soldiers in full armor and Zhentish tabards stood at the top of the ramp that continued down.
One of them saluted as the group filed past, saying simply, "Ahegi," in respectful greeting.
As they descended, the butcher's smell of the dead grew with every step. They debouched into the bottom level, and Kehrsyn saw that it was dedicated wholly to torture. She realized also that the wide, open ramps would help convey the sounds of the damned to the heart of the temple itself, warping and twisting the screams to provide a macabre backdrop to the worship ceremonies.
The room was very large and open, and lit by a matrix of blood-red candles suspended in black iron chandeliers. The whole of it was filled with a bewildering array of devices of every sort imaginable, and many others of which the operation was so invasive, so cruel, that Kehrsyn's innocent mind could not in the slightest imagine what they actually did.
Between these instruments of torture, the floor of the room was stacked with bodies neatly arranged like firewood. They seemed incongruously peaceful when contrasted with the sinister mechanical shapes of the devices. Two aides staggered at the edge of th
e stacked remains, carefully placing another corpse.
The torture floor itself was sunken some three feet. A walkway circumnavigated the room, eight feet wide and without a rail. From the walkway the priests of Gilgeam could oversee the torture without having to step in the fluids of the maimed. Steps periodically descended from the walkway to the floor itself, in case a priest saw fit to intervene personally. At the time, though, a large number of Banite priests occupied the walkway, their black-and-green robes whispering and hissing across the stones. None stepped down the stairs, leaving the few workers to finish the arrangement of the bodies.
Behind the walkways on each side were galleries, outfitted with ornate stone seats for those witnesses who grew weary of the victims' resistance. Those stood empty at the moment.
Kehrsyn roused herself. Massedar and Demok were already moving onto the walkway. Kehrsyn marveled at Massedar's ability to disguise himself so thoroughly. Even his gait had become Ekur's. Demok followed behind with perfect ease, apparently unconcerned to be carrying a corpse among a cabal of those he said he'd sworn his life to destroy. Unbidden, Tiglath's words came back to her: no one is what they seem. Kehrsyn wondered how far she could trust the self-proclaimed Harper. Unfortunately, in her current situation, she had no choice.
No choice. It was becoming all too common a theme in her life. She hurried after her two companions, doing her best not to look awkward or rushed as she did so.
Massedar stopped toward the far corner of the room, while Demok continued around to where, judging by the ornate design of the robes, the senior cleric stood talking with his subordinates. Demok stepped down onto the torture floor, unwrapped his burden, and lay it on top of a stack in front of the chief priest. With a deft move, he draped a cloth over the corpse's face. Two guards entered with the other body.
Massedar whispered to her, "Tell thou the guards to place that body here before me."
She passed his message along, and, with as much of a shrug as could be managed while hefting a corpse, they placed the body where she indicated. When they unwrapped the oilcloth from the corpse, they saw that the body had been carefully wrapped head to toe in a mummy's bindings. A smell of dust and mildew graced the already inhospitable odors of the room.