Tales Of Grimea

by Andrew Mowere

  The man chuckled and whispered, “Yeah, that’s better.” He slipped a small vial into Hwosh’s hand. “Almost didn’t recognize the uniform. The guy is in the hall’s left corner, almost asleep. Just put this in a wine glass and give it to him. Easy, right?”

  “Oh, sure.” The man’s green eyes narrowed, and Hwosh caught himself. “I meant, most assuredly, your greatness... I will see to it at once, and please you greatly.”

  “Enough grovelling! Get to it or we’ll put you back in the slums where you belong. Don’t forget us or our father’s kindness. The man showed Hwosh a bronze medal, ranking him as a low member of Mikhlab, with both impunity and a sickening degree of deprived pleasure. The warrior bowed and left, hand straying to where his string of beads would have dangled right next to his ear, had he been allowed to have his bandanna on with such a uniform.

  This was the first true confirmation the three had gotten that Mikhlab was directly involved in the assassination attempt, for everything before had been inconclusive. Now, they were sure, and Hwosh would be willing to swear it to uncle Salim. Perhaps the old man couldn’t directly combat a crime syndicate, but withdrawing his support would surely deal a heavy blow to their operations. Uncle Salim wasn’t the most respected merchant in town for nothing. All that was needed now was to warn Wdd, get him to rally his guards and leave.

  Once Hwosh was back in the kitchens, he asked the woman in charge for extra glasses on his tray. The portly woman eyed him suspiciously for a second then nodded with a wink, setting her enormous pigtails flying. “You’ve worked hard enough today,” she proclaimed, “I guess you earned a small reward.” As the tanned warrior made his way to the banquet hall, tray laden with crystal goblets and a vial of poison sitting sinister in one side pocket, it occurred to him that madam Sal had thought the extra wine was for him.

  Hwosh was intent in his search, so much so that a few lords and ladies gave him curious glances as he went. At that point, however, camouflage was of minimal importance, and he went hastily to find a man in need of saving. Just as he came in sight of the thin man with his beady eyes and multiple chins slumped over a sofa, a hand grabbed Hwosh by the shoulder. He spun around and came face to face with Percy, who was looking deathly pale. He might have had wide eyes, too, but Hwosh couldn’t tell through his shaded spectacles. Percy dragged the warrior back through the room, taking him through corridors until they came to one which was darkened and empty.

  “I’ve got the poison!” said Hwosh with almost contained glee. “We can save the emissary, prove it was Mikhlab, everything! There was a man with green eyes, and-“

  “No, buddy,” retorted Percy. For the first time, Hwosh realized how badly the man had been shaken. “It’s worse than I thought. They didn’t want to kill him to start war, but to stop it.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “That man, Tamas Wedd. He…” The words seemed to pain Percy, and they left him looking like he’d had some more of Adra’s medicine. “He was planning on starting a war all along. His plan was to rope Lor into Indellekt’s side, and he was going to do it using bribes and psionics. He was going to force them into doing what he wanted, then reap the benefits. He’s bought enough weapons for an army.”

  “…money?” The man nodded in response. This was too much. “But, all this effort to save him. Mikhlab-“

  “They were in the right. I’m sorry Hwosh, but letting him die would have been a right answer.”

  Hwosh shook his head. “So… you want me to do it? Kill him? I can’t do that, Percy.” It went against every justice loving fibre in his body.

  Percy looked almost resigned, but then he perked up slightly. “At least, that’s what I thought until I noticed how drunk the man was. There’s no need to kill him, buddy. I’ll take care of it. I just need you to protect me until I’m done. People will recognize what I’m doing and will try to rush me. Oh, and Adra won’t be with us this time. At least, not until we start running.”

  The warrior thought about everything that had gotten them to this point, as well as how many ways things could go south. They didn’t even have a proper plan, this was all improvised. Then he let it all go, because he realized his trust in Persius Verde was complete. “Tell me what you need,” he said.

  A few minutes later, an old man stood in the middle of the ballroom, a few feet away from Lord Wedd. As the lord slept peacefully, the man’s muscles went lax. He had dark spectacles on his hawkish nose, and a few lords stated that they needed to know where he’d gotten them, but if you could see behind him, you’d notice they went vacant. If you saw his blue robe, you’d wonder why a normal man from Indellekt was in such a prestigious event. However, for the most part, the long haired man was ignored.

  Slowly, the lord stood from where he’d been slumped over, despite the ungodly amount of alcohol in him. People began to whisper as the lord, a lazy man at the best of times, began to stretch almost experimentally, as if he were testing his body. Despite swaying a little, he seemed to be in prime health. Then he walked over to the table, grabbed a glass, and shattered it on the floor with a massive crash. Everyone’s attention went his way, many smiling at the mess he was making.

  “My name,” he announced, “Is Tamas Wedd of Indellekt, Her emissary to Lor,” people began to nod politely, and somewhere some overly enthusiastic soul began to clap. “And I am a traitor to my country, as well as a threat to Lor.” There was stunned silence, and the man who had begun to clap stopped abruptly. You could hear the tension in the air. “Using unlawful methods and against the best interests of my employers, the ruling council of Indellekt and the voting populace, I have moved to set off a war in motion in between my land and that of Regalia.” Gasps came from his ever increasing audience, which swelled as many came from other rooms, prompted by whispers.

  “Impossible!” someone shouted.

  “Not so,” replied the lord, pushing away those of his guards who tried to escort him away. His voice began to raise. “I have proof in my room at Splinter, a Tavern here. Read my meticulous records and you shall find proof against Lords Kharuf, Himar, and Kalb of Lor, as well as Councilmen Ages, Sind…” As the names were announced, each man or woman mentioned either smiled in incredulous rage or promptly left the hall. Shouts began to raise, saying that lord Wedd was under a spell. Fingers began to point towards the perfectly still old man with the starry hat, and guards moved to apprehend him. When the first reached, however, a servant boy shot out of nowhere and smacked him upwards with a tray, stealing his blade and fighting to protect the old man. Guard after guard came, and despite the warrior being nicked here and there, he was able to position himself and his charge well. As guests began to flee in earnest, he stabbed, blocked, dodged, and slashed, fending off one after the other. One particular strike almost took him in the side, and yet he struck the flat of the blade downwards with his own left palm, getting his attacker with his pommel silently. All the while lord Wedd confessed, and when he was done the warrior took his friend, grabbed a rather poorly dressed brunette, and all three fled the premises, leaving the palace in an uproar as smaller groups of guards mysteriously made way.

  When Hwosh, Percy, and Adra first ran, there had to be more than fifty guards after them with pikes, blades and spears. Percy did his best to distract them with visions of obstacles while Hwosh carried him out, and from then on it became a matter of dexterity and Adra’s knack for doing the unexpected. They fled fast, knocking over anything they could find, and sooner or later the three were lost in the chaos and almost a mile out from the city, after having gotten together what they could from the apartments. For Hwosh that meant his armour, blade, and an always ready backpack of supplies. Percy and Adra had gotten almost everything they owned, from teapots to crystals and even extra clothes. They’d fled through the southern gate, turning westward then to draw attention and to leave the sandstorms of Ramlah far behind. Only then could the trio pause and catch their breath for a while, finding a deep canyon to hide withi
n. Red rock rose from both directions, offering safety in darkness. Above, a half-moon could be seen, offering enough light. Their fire was mostly there for the warmth.

  “What now?” wondered Hwosh when he could breathe properly? “Sooner or later, the guards will know who you are.” When the guards search Wedd’s rooms, they’ll find out enough proof to have the man stand a long and arduous trial. War would be averted, and with luck both Lor and Indellekt will take a long hard look at the current requirements for hiring officials. All in all, they had done well, but it came at a steep price.

  “And circumstances aside, we’d be jailed for what we did to an emissary,” agreed Adra. “But it sure was worth it, no?”

  “Aye,” added Percy, eliciting a laugh from his lover, which infected him. Within instants the two were laughing themselves silly whilst Hwosh watched. At long last they quieted, Percy trying to brush dirt from his beard and her hair all at once.

  “So what do we do?” Asked Hwosh. In less than a month, he’d been plunged into more mischief than he ever thought possible. Moreover, they’d made an enemy of both the guards and Mikhlab. Staying in Lor would be nothing short than a perpetual wait for death. However, he knew nowhere else.

  “Me and Percy have been thinking about starting a business,” Adra informed him. Her red clothes made her stand out in the light from the campfire they’d made. Hwosh thought them being tracked was unlikely, but he still made sure their camping spot was surrounded by high enough rock.

  “What kind of business?”

  “Candy flavoured medicine,” she answered, taking the man aback. “The idea came to me from how often he tried to pour his medicine down the plant pot. I spoke to a healer and she said that if you make the medicine slightly less effective, other tastes could be added for some of them. I’m thinking of starting small, with pills that you suck to relieve stomach ache, and work my way up.”

  By then, Hwosh was thinking about it seriously. “And how would you do it in Lor without drawing attention?” his beads clattered and the fire sputtered as if in turn. There was a small lizard speared on a stick just above the licking flames.

  “We won’t. Our plan will probably be based in Regalia. Best market for good tastes that aren’t necessarily the best for you.”

  “Regalia!”

  “Take advantage of the continued peace we helped create, you know.” This time it was Percy’s smooth vigorous voice that spoke out, although the man did indeed sound tired. He’d explained that taking control of another man’s actions was no mean feat, especially when the person in question was a psionic, drunk or not.

  “I would think that a plan most wise,” came a voice from beyond their campfire’s orange light. Hwosh leapt to take up arms and Percy went to pour water over the flames, but the person said, “I mean no harm. Please, no violence, and put that bucket away.”

  “Show yourself!” exclaimed Adra, and black shod feet stepped into the fire’s light. The lady was blonde and dressed as a captain, with red stripes down her leather armour. Despite her size, she stepped silently, and she cast a longer shadow than was strictly natural. A pale scar ran horizontally across her neck, and smaller vertical scars crossed that one to mimic bad stitching. Hwosh did not often see black leather armour, but knew that only a specific type of city guards were allowed to wear them it. Was it desert patrols?

  “I am Haq Ramad, captain in Lor’s reserve regiments, assigned to Lor’s special assault corps.” Percy looked confused, although Hwosh and Adra showed signs of dismay.

  “What? Why would someone in the back lines be here?”

  “In Lor, they let the inexperienced fight. We leave our best for last, and only those with exceptional records of service are allowed in the reserves,” explained Adra while Hwosh thought slowly, at once playing with his now returned bandanna and checking up on the armour strapped onto his body. He could hear others behind her, and even as close as his broadsword was, there would be little chance to block multiple arrows. Then he saw something golden and his temper flared.

  “Service indeed,” he spat. “She’s with Mikhlab!” Percy and Adra tensed up, and the lady moved her cloak a bit to the side, showing her claw medallion. “A high ranker, too. Here to get revenge for your failed assassination? You’ve got your tentacles everywhere.”

  The woman grimaced, and Hwosh heard an arrow being pulled back somewhere. His eyes were now better used to the darkness, for he’d avoided looking at the fire and tried his peripheral vision. The assassins, all dressed in dark colours and crouched down, looked more like crawling demons than anything else. They were like shades on a jet black desert, and sent a shiver down his spine. Haq stepped forward, closer to the trio. Her scar now came into painful relief, and Hwosh could hardly believe just how powerful her frame looked. She reached behind her shoulder and pulled out a long, thin sword just as tall as she was. The blade was called a needle, and was akin to an iron spear with sharpened edges. It required immense dexterity to use, added to the sheer strength needed to handle it nimbly. This one was of black pig iron, and ornate writing decorated it in what seemed like faded golden ink. Instead of attacking, the tall woman placed her weapon almost reverently on the ground before raising a fist. The whine of taut arrow strings ceased.

  “You have displeased my masters by interfering with their plans. All of you,” she said, pointing to the three in turn, “are guilty of this. However, there will be peace, and Lor is saved. Moreover, I have a bigger debt here. Larger loyalties.”

  “What debt?” Asked Hwosh. He looked to his companions, and both seemed confused. “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

  “I did not say the debt was to you. But it is large, and demands immediate service and my life, if need be. Here, take this. It is from Murata. You may leave with your friends if you so choose, but neither have you been recognized today. I think his offer is worth considering.” She handed Hwosh a piece of paper. “The other two must leave, and may return when the stones have settled back and water runs clear.” As she spoke, Hwosh read the letter. It was an invitation from Murata for him to go on expeditions west for the man, three months at a time, and to bring him ingredients from the caves and wastelands there. There were also signed papers from the tavern owner for three separate supply, weapon and armour shops, vowing to pay for anything the warrior takes from them. It was a tremendous offer, as if a star from the black sky above had descended and brought him its boons. And he didn’t know what to do. “The way I see it, you can go with them as a friend, or take this job and live your own life. It is up to you to decide which the path is. Decide with the light of dawn, and if you re-enter the city, we will know what you have chosen.”

  For a few seconds, no one said anything and Haq picked up her weapon, satisfied that her job was done. When she turned to leave, however, Percy remarked, “I think you’re lying.”

  The woman froze. Turning deliberately, she stated, “That is not true. Upon my honour, your safety outside Lor will be-“

  “Not that.” The man began to stroke his beard, thoughtfully and slow. Adra shifted in her position. “About your masters being upset. There have been too many coincidences. Why did Wedd choose Murata’s tavern? Perhaps to mask his hate of Regalians, but we all know how much he cares about decency. Why was Uncle Salim allowed to warn me? And the sheer coincidence in Mekhlab never going after us, then Hwosh suddenly stumbling into the grand plan? Hah!” The man clapped his hands together. “Each man and woman I questioned had never heard of me, so I never thought anything of it. But everything fits in place if someone had been playing us the whole time, giving everyone just enough information for me not to notice. It was old Salim, no? He needed to help them, but never wanted the assassination to succeed, so he arranged for a psion from Indellekt to expose a psion from Indellekt. That way, the discrimination would be minimal.” For once, Percy actually took off his spectacles, and his blue eyes showed open admiration. “That coot actually made me into a pawn!” Hwosh could not tell if Haq was fur
ious or impressed with Percy, stony as her face was, but at least she didn’t order anyone to shoot him. Adra, silly as always, thought it a proper time to clap.

  “That settles it, these ones here wouldn’t kill us,” she said with a shrug.

  “Don’t be too sure,” retorted Haq quietly, cutting the gambler’s mirth in half.

  There was one thing Hwosh didn’t understand, though. It was like one last crucial piece of the puzzle, and he looked into the fire as if to find it there. “Why would she side with uncle Salim over Mikhlab?” he asked.

  “She said it herself. Owes her life to him. Apparently, honour is bigger than criminal organizations. Maybe I should say it’s gratitude, though. Want to show him?” This question was aimed at the woman, who sighed and took a glove off after glaring, showing off a white ring. It was just like the one Hwosh kept in his pocket. The warrior was speechless.

  “How could you?” he asked finally, “How could you be in Mikhlab? That’s not what uncle would have wanted! Don’t you know anything about him?”

  That seemed to strike a nerve, and the level headed woman snapped. “Enough!” she yelled, taking everyone aback. “It’s you who doesn’t know anything about him!” apparently catching herself, the woman went back to her calm mannerisms with sudden and terrifying speed, “You must decide by morning. I have wasted enough time here already. I bid you all goodbye, and wish you many bounties. And you,” she added to Percy, who was looking curious, “Would do best to leave that mind of yours out of such things. And my mind!” with that, the captain walked out from the circle of light, and with her Hwosh felt the presence of those shadows withdraw.

  For the longest time, nobody said anything. There was too much to think about, and not enough time. Hwosh was almost starting to catch a headache, and barely knew what foundations he stood upon anymore. There were life changing choices to make, added to Haq’s words about uncle Salim. He was a pebble jostled along, and there were so many secrets that he couldn’t even tell where the river started or would flow. He needed years to figure everything out.