“The one and only,” said Sendarth with a smile on his lips but not his eyes.
“Somehow,” said Ob, “I expected someone shorter.”
“Ha,” laughed Sendarth as he approached Theta. “It was your sword that shaved the back of the Vizier's neck today,” said Sendarth. “Yet you didn't take his head.”
“Nor did you,” said Theta, “though you lurked behind a curtain not six paces away.”
Sendarth smiled. “We were outnumbered five to one. Had I killed the old skunk, we might have lost the Duke in the ensuing battle. That I couldn't risk. I would like to know how you knew I was there, never having looked my way.
“I have my ways,” said Theta.
“You always did,” he said. “It has been a very long time.”
“So it has,” said Theta.
Sendarth extended his arm and they firmly clasped hands.
“Friend of old times,” said Sendarth.
“Friend of old times,” said Theta.
“It figures; birds of a feather,” said Ob under his breath. “I think I'm gonna be sick.”
“Claradon, my list of allies is all too thin,” said the Duke as they retook their seats. “I need people I can trust in positions of power, and I need them to stay alive. After the enemies you made today, you will have a bounty on your head. It is not safe for you to remain in Lomion City. Outside this fortress I can't guarantee your safety. If you pursue your course and go after Korrgonn, the Chancellor's men will surely track you down. I cannot allow that. As you well know, Dor Eotrus has great strategic value, situated as it is between Lomion City and the City of Kern. That trade route must stay open. Your lands must stay secure.”
“My brothers—” said Claradon
“Are young and inexperienced,” said the Duke. “I need you to hold the Dor. Your brothers will assist you. I've sent men to collect Jude and Malcolm and bring them here in the morning. I understand that they've been staying at the Chapterhouse of the Knights of Tyr. It seems young Malcolm has nearly completed his training and will soon be knighted.”
“You’re very well informed, my Lord,” said Claradon.
Harringgold nodded but offered no more. “I know that abandoning your mission will be difficult, but for the greater good you must do this. You must go home.”
Claradon looked dejected and stared down at the table.
“I will send a squadron of my men to escort you and your brothers back to Dor Eotrus, and they will remain there to bolster your garrison.”
“And I will provide a squad of rangers as well,” said Sluug.
“Listen here, Harringgold,” said Ob. “If you think we're gonna let Korrgonn get away with what he did, you've another thing coming.”
Theta pounded fist to table, startling all. “Korrgonn must die,” he said in a slow commanding voice. “That is far more important than trade routes or your petty politics. Korrgonn will be the glue that will bind the Shadow League together. Do you understand that? Do you comprehend what he is, what he can do? He cannot be allowed to roam free.”
“I understand that that is one possibility,” said the Duke. “I also understand that Korrgonn may not be the threat that you think he is. But I agree he must be stopped. I'm just saying that Brother Claradon is needed elsewhere. He will not be the one to stop Korrgonn. That duty must fall to others.”
“I will stop him,” said Theta. “What aid can you offer me?”
The Duke seemed taken aback. He looked toward Sendarth.
“If there is one man alive that can stop any other,” said Sendarth. “Theta is he.”
“Rare praise that is, indeed. Rare praise. Then you have my support, Lord Theta,” said the Duke. “And you, good Castellan? Will you pledge your axe to this quest?”
“You expect me to abandon Claradon and serve under Mr. Fancy Pants?”
Harringgold glanced at Theta's ornate armor. “Yes,” said the Duke with a grin.
Ob looked the Duke up and down with narrowed eyes. “It's because I'm short, isn't it?” he said. “Never judge a gnome by his size, Duke.”
Claradon shifted his feet uneasily. “I—but—”
“Never fear, Claradon, Ob will only be taking a temporary leave from your service—hopefully, it will be a brief one. He can return to his post as Castellan of Dor Eotrus when his mission is complete.”
Ob turned toward Claradon. “Laddie, can you manage without me for a time?”
“I will manage. You and Tanch should go.”
“Me?” blurted Tanch. “Oh heavens, no, Master Claradon. My delicate back could never withstand such a mission. I must protest. My place is at your side. I—”
“You will go with Lord Theta,” said the Duke. “Such is my command.”
The Duke turned back toward Theta. “As for what aid I can offer, I will have my agents scour the city for any signs of Korrgonn, his men, and that strange carriage. Until they're found, there is little more to be done. In the meantime, I advise that you consult with Grandmaster Pipkorn. He is the most formidable wizard loyal to our cause, and a source of vast knowledge. Sometimes, even Sluug envies Pipkorn’s network of spies. How he gathers the knowledge he does, we may never know, nor does it matter much, as long as shares with us what we need to know, when we need to know it. So speak with him.”
“He guards his knowledge like a dragon guards its treasure,” said Sluug. “He will not give it freely.”
“Nevertheless,” said the Duke, “if any can tell us more of Korrgonn or his followers, it is Pipkorn.”
“Take this talisman,” said the Duke as he produced a curious star-shaped jewel from his pocket and handed it to Par Tanch. “On the morrow, it will lead you to Pipkorn's retreat, though it will likely only work for a wizard. Show it to him, and he will know that I sent you. Until then, enjoy a hot repast and a good night's rest here in Dor Lomion.”
IV
THE BLACK HAND
The last of them went down—cleaved in half by Theta's falchion. Geysers of blood gushed everywhere as the Duke's guards charged into what was once a cozy guest suite, beautifully adorned in the Old Lomerian style, but was now a butchery of flowing blood and spilled entrails, more slaughterhouse than home.
Several corpses soiled the exotic carpet, some still twitching as such are often wont to do. The dead wore the Duke's livery, confusing the guards. The Duke's guest, a hulking foreign knight stood beside the bed, nightshirt drenched red; his face and pants splattered with blood; bloodied falchion in his left hand. His expression best described as annoyed; his aspect, calm. He stood unmoving, staring at the guards with his piercing blue eyes—and there they all still stood when the Duke and his personal bodyguards dashed down the hall to the apartment's entrance. The guards made way, relief on their faces at the Duke's arrival.
Harringgold's mouth dropped open as he entered and took in the sight and the stench of the dead.
“Are these yours?” said Theta, menace in his voice as he pointed to the dead with his right hand. Blood dripped from his sword and made a plopping sound when it struck the red puddle beside his feet.
“What happened?” said the Duke.
“They came to kill me,” said Theta. “They failed.”
“I assure you, sir, they acted on no orders of mine,” said the Duke as he cautiously watched Theta's sword arm. Harringgold motioned to the guards and they adjusted the corpses so that their faces could be viewed.
Harringgold's jaw stiffened when he recognized the first of them. “This one has been in my employ some five years,” said the Duke pointing to a decapitated head at the foot of the bed. “And this one has worked as a guard for a few months, I think, perhaps a year. The other four I don't recognize.”
“Nor do I,” said the guard captain from the Duke’s side.
“Search the bodies,” said Theta, still standing tensed.
The Duke nodded to the guards and they began to search.
“Looking for what?” said the Duke.
“A tattoo, a
scar, a strange coin, or some other such sigil, sign, or token.”
After some minutes, the guard captain reported their findings. “Two bear the mark of the Black Hand on their shoulders.”
“That’s it then,” said the Duke. “They’re paid assassins. Check on our other guests at once.” The guards did so.
“These others each wore a gold coin hung from a chain about their necks,” said the guard captain.
“Put the coins down on the bed,” said Theta as he strapped on his sword belt. He wiped his falchion clean on the sheets before sheathing it.
“The Chancellor wasted no time,” said Harringgold. “I didn't expect this, especially not here. Not in my own home.”
Theta studied the coins for a time, wrapped them in cloth, being careful not to touch them with his hands, and pocketed them.
“It is still some hours until dawn,” said Theta. “I will need another room.”
“Of course,” said the Duke, seemingly surprised at the request.
“One with a bath, and some bandages, and a few guards at the door that you can trust more than these.”
“You will have it. I don't know what to say, this should never have happened in my fortress.”
“You are right, it shouldn't have,” said Theta, giving the Duke an ice-cold stare.
“I will stand the watch myself,” said the guard captain, “with your permission, Duke.”
Harringgold nodded.
Servants led Theta to another room, two floors up. Ob appeared along the way and walked beside Theta.
“You hurt?” said Ob.
“No.”
“Good, but it’s not over, laddie. The scum won't stop coming. Once The Hand has a contract, they never give up. Not ever. They took five years to track down old Par Tandar in Minoc—he was hiding out as a cobbler—but they got him—hung his head from a lamppost out in front of the Tower of the Arcane. Not one witness. Theta, your only chance is to head for the hills and not stop until you're back home—wherever it is you hail from.”
“What makes you think they're only after me, gnome?”
Ob paled. “I—just figured you had crossed the wrong sort somewheres about, that's all. You think the Alders set them on you? On us? This fast? Bloody hell; that’s all we need. If you’re right, we're really in the deep stuff.”
“I will deal with the assassins as need be, but it won't be by running. Let's focus our attention on tracking down Korrgonn and Mortach—they are the real threats. Everything else is unimportant.”
“Don't underestimate the Black Hand, Theta. If you do, you just might get dead.”
“Don't underestimate me,” said Theta.
V
TO PIPKORN WE WILL GO
The guards that escorted the Eotrus men were helpful guides and kept them from getting lost in Dor Lomion’s halls, which were vast, even cavernous, and made Dor Eotrus—a large fortress by all accounts—feel small and provincial. In the morning, the Eotrus group gathered in one of Dor Lomion’s well-appointed lounges to break their fast and have council. Each man in the group attended the breakfast in casual dress; no armor to be seen, though each girded a sword or axe at their hips.
The round room in which they gathered was at the very top of one of Dor Lomion’s turrets and had a high peaked ceiling of exposed timbers and very tall glass windows that looked down upon the city far below—an incredible view matched by few windows in all the city. The room's walls were paneled in thick wood and gave it the feel of a rich manor house, not a musty and cold castle. Leather clad chairs, thick wooden tables, a large hearth with a crackling fire, and exotic carpets populated the room, which was accoutered with silver wall sconces and oil lamps, candelabras, bookshelves, maps, and a well-stocked bar, which Ob enjoyed sampling. Not a room offered to casual guests or commoners, was this. The Duke no doubt felt guilty over the previous night’s events.
Meticulously dressed and well-mannered servants laid out a buffet of pastries, fresh breads and butter, local fruit, and drinks, including mulled wine and hot cider, before exiting the room, leaving the group in private.
“Jude and Malcolm are expected to arrive later his morning,” said Claradon. “The Duke has us scheduled to set out immediately thereafter for the Dor. I'm just not sure what to do. Do I follow Harringgold's orders, go back home and hide under the bed, or do I go after Korrgonn, with you?”
“I'm not much for following orders, as you well know, laddie,” said Ob, “but this time, maybe it's for the best. Me and Lord Bigshot can take care of Korrgonn.”
“Lord Theta,” said Claradon. “I would ask your council as well.”
A steaming mug of hot cider in his hand, Theta leveled his steely gaze on Claradon. “Your path does not lie on the homeward road.”
“Are you saying that I should come with you? I would be going against the Duke's orders.”
“Don't confuse the boy, Theta. He belongs at the reigns of the Dor, in his father's stead, not fighting such as Korrgonn and his ilk.”
“You seek to send him home to protect him, to keep him from harm's way,” said Theta, “but he needs no protection, and he's no boy, in age or experience. He proved his quality in the Vermion and again against Barusa—of that there can be no doubt. His path lies with us.”
The hairs on the back of Claradon's neck stood up and the blood drained from his face. “Once, not long ago, you told me that those who share your path are not long for Valhalla.”
Theta smiled a thin smile. “Nevertheless, such is your path.”
“Meaning no disrespect, Lord Theta, but I beg to disagree,” said Tanch. “I think Master Claradon should head home; he mustn't go against the Duke's orders. Stopping Korrgonn is no longer Claradon’s first priority. His other duties must take precedence.”
“Wizard, you are as shallow and simple as a one-eyed drunken dwarf,” said Ob, a large goblet of mulled wine in hand.
“What say you?” said Tanch, outraged.
“Harringgold wants Korrgonn dead as surely as we do,” said Ob, “even though he doesn't believe he's the threat that Theta says he is. But the Duke wants us to take Korrgonn's measure so that he doesn't have to. We are to take the risks, not him and his. That's why he pushed you and me both to head off with Theta.”
“If we kill Korrgonn and come back heroes, we've served his purpose and we're all best pals—as he will have backed us. If we get dead, that will give the Duke a good measurement of Korrgonn's strength. He will use what he learns to put his own plan together, with his own men, to stop Korrgonn. We're the fodder, magic-boy—make no mistake of that. We’re to be pushed out in front, to test and probe the enemy. Expendable assets we are—pawns, just like in Mages and Monsters.”
“And if we do end up dead, Claradon will come to rely that much more on the Duke, bringing Dor Eotrus more under his influence—under his control. That is his plan; I have no doubt. You can never fully trust a politician, and that's what the Duke is, and that's the truth.”
“You're mad to think that Lord Harringgold is so manipulative,” said Tanch.
“And you're a fool not to see that he is,” said Ob. “Harringgold is a crafty one. He didn't get to be Archduke of the greatest city of Midgaard by his good looks alone.”
“He is the Duke,” said Tanch. “Deserving of respect and—”
“The Chancellorship deserves respect too, but Barusa is still a snake,” said Ob. “Open your eyes, Magic Boy, and see the world the way it is. You're walking around in a fog.”
“I don't know if I'm cut out for this,” said Claradon. “I'm not ready, not yet, anyway.”
“That is much of what the Duke is after,” said Theta. “To take your measure, not just to have us take Korrgonn's.”
“My measure? What do you mean?”
“He means that at the duel yesterday, the Duke learned you're a warrior to be reckoned with, so he wanted to learn more,” said Ob. “To size you up, to see if you're made of solid stuff or slippery slop. Any man can judge strength
that's in his face. But you showed guile yesterday, pretending the fool and coward until your opening came. That takes smarts and discipline. The Duke didn't expect that from you. He wants to learn more. That's why he asked us here—it wasn’t just to hear our tale of what happened in the Vermion.”
“I don't know what more he could have learned about me from our discussion,” said Claradon.
“He learned that you rely on your comrades,” said Theta. “That the guile you displayed at that duel may not have been only of your own making.”
Ob raised an eyebrow. “I hadn't thought of that,” he said. “Another reason to split us up. Easier to read the boy and control him without us hanging about. Mayhaps Harringgold is up to even more than I thought. Could he want the Dor for himself?”
“I can't believe that,” said Claradon. “He was a good friend to my father. He wouldn't betray us.”
“There is no doubt that the Duke has an agenda,” said Theta. “Most of which he's kept hidden.”
“Hmm—dark times,” said Ob, a pensive look on his face. “Dark times.”
“I have much to consider and little time for consideration,” said Claradon. “No matter my decision, I can't go with you now. I must await my brothers and have council with them.”
“In the meantime,” said Ob, “we'll go track down Old Pointy Hat Pipkorn in whatever hole he's hiding in and see if he can help.”
“You have no respect at all for anyone, do you?” said Tanch. “Not even for the Grandmaster of the Tower of the Arcane.”
“Nope,” said Ob.
Somehow, while holding the ensorcelled talisman, Tanch knew which way to turn, though he knew not their destination, nor their full route. He led the group through the fair districts of Lomion City and then down into a seedier neighborhood called The Heights. There, the broad avenues gave way to alleyways, narrow and grim. The streets became a maze and all manner of ruffians, beggars, and vagabonds prowled the ways. A far cry from the beautiful, tree-lined lanes of the High Quarter or the Mercantile District, but no worse than the coarser sections of other cities of the realm.
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