by J. L. Ficks
Chapter Eight:
The Kurn Sewers
Shade strode down a long brick walkway following the natural flow of sewer water surging through the center canal. He tried not to look at the raw sewage, but continued on his way. A maze of corridors and canals led off in a multitude of directions shrouding every step in mystery. A pair of walkways ran alongside each sewer canal and wooden boards were used to provide crude crossings. The occasional torch flickered along the walls casting a hazy trail of light that led to the underground markets. He made several turns before passing down the border tunnel that divided the Thieves Quadrant from the Drakor Quadrant.
The sewers were divided into six quadrants—each ruled by a different race. The Thieves Quadrant and Mage Quadrants were ruled by men, while the Doelm, Syssrah and Drakor Quadrants were ruled by their respective races. Lewd’s organization had taken over the Old Mino Quadrant, though the warlord extended his tentacles of power into every other major corridor save the Mage Quadrant.
The Dark Elf glanced across the coursing canal at the opposite walkway and was thankful the Mage Quadrant was not anywhere near here, for hidden in those deep dark corridors lay magic that chilled even his cold blood. A curse laid upon those tunnels…a deadly ward to keep trespassers out.
The assassin rounded another corner and could at last discern the murmur of the crowds in the Black Markets. He thought about all that had changed in such a short time. The Minotaur once ruled these sewers; at least they had held the strongest presence before Warlord Lewd. The sewers had been dominated for decades by one name—Tantarus. The Minolord Tantarus had been a hulking, but cunning Minotaur crimelord that ruled through sheer brute force alone.
The problem with Tantarus’ rule was that it neglected the delicate intricacies of diplomacy. The “wrath of the Minolord” led to an endless series of mob wars. The power shifted on many occasions to the Doelms, then to men, then to the Syssrah, then the Drakor and back to the Minotaur again. The fame of Tantarus had accrued its weight in its ability to simply outmuscle his competition.
Shade was curious to see firsthand the impacts the transition of power had on the Kurn underground. He had not visited Kurn since the power shifted from the Minolord to Warlord Lewd. Of course, the ousting had not stopped at Tantarus. Lewd had eliminated all internal strife by doing away with every other major crimelord and swelling his own ranks with their underlings. He did not execute every member of a competing faction as was often common practice. He simply offered them a new allegiance too rich to refuse. And as Warlord Lewd’s crime syndicate grew so did his power.
The Dark Elf squinted. The sudden strong glow of torchlight illuminated an archway opening up into a large domed chamber. He saw shadowy crowds moving among the subterranean marketplace. The Black Markets, an underground bazaar of illegal trade Kurn had allowed to thrive for hundreds of years for no other reason, but profit. The one place in the entire city that was honest about its own corruption. The assassin stopped at the archway. His glowing yellow eyes scanned the throngs of scum and villainy. He had at long last arrived in the kingdom of his quarry. This would be a visit the Sewer King would never forget…
Shade kept his hood pulled over his head and worked his way through the crowded underground marketplace. His glowing yellow eyes scanned the masses for any hint of danger. Mobs of unruly men mingled among monstrous night mortals that far surpassed the Dark Elven assassin in height, girth and just plain ugliness.
The Black Markets did not have guards in the traditional sense, but thugs from the larger races, who acted more like bouncers than trained soldiers to enforce an unsteady, brittle and barely manageable peace. Bloody scuffles often broke out in the markets. Murders were far too commonplace, but Shade was amazed at the level of order Lewd’s rule had brought to the marketplace.
The first thing that Shade noticed was the notable absence of Minotaur. It seemed even Lewd’s organization was not without its prejudices. It was a strange sight. Thugs of the human races, the Doelms, the Syssrah and the winged dragon-men known as the Drakor worked in conjunction with one another. No longer did they glare at one another from across the divides in brooding ire, suspicion and breathe out murderous threats. Instead of feuding, they communicated with nods and signals to keep a relative order. Shade realized that the interracial coordination of day and night mortals that existed here could be found nowhere else in the world.
The men of the Kurn underground reminded Shade of the same caste he could find in Jile, only rougher, thicker-skinned and of looser morals. The races of men extended beyond Shamites, Braznians, Tulestines, Grulls, Jinto and Doljinns to the sea-faring black-haired Vespuvians, the light brown skinned Derves and even the ash-covered “witch men” called the Wickovan. He also saw half-breeds such as Half-Elves, Dwarmen and Dragols. Dwarves moved among the taller races, the black-bearded Gutter Dwarves mostly, as they had been so named due their poor hygiene and mouths so foul they made sailors wince.
The markets harbored the usual brand of villainy including mercenaries, poachers, smugglers, pickpockets and just plain criminals. Thieves had a heavy presence here, both from the Thieves Guild in the city proper and several factions from Karus Forest. Black Market dealers sat huddled over musty wooden tables and booths selling stolen goods, the bones of day mortals, scrolls, enchanted weapons and other contraband. Dustdealers weighed out Stardust in tiny cloth bags on scales.
The market chamber itself had been divided into six sections by a series of canals. Long wooden planks spanned one section to the next and were used as crossings. Shade noticed that the natural defenses these divides provided were less guarded than in previous visits. The drainage channels remained active to insure the marketplace never flooded and to prevent odor buildup.
Burning braziers lit the Black Markets. Heavy doors and archways had been built into the walls of the huge chamber on all four sides of the marketplace. These passages led to old maintenance and store rooms that had since been converted into shops, banks, guildhalls, taverns, inns, brothels and other dives.
Shade saw two Doelms rap loudly on a large cast-iron door he knew led to the Slave Quarter. A Shamite slaver opened a slot in the door. His heavily-pierced face peered through. The Doelms whispered a password. The Shamite opened the door and ushered the Doelms into the underground slave trade.
The assassin had heard rumors that Shamites kidnapped poor men, women and children off the streets of their own city. He had even caught ear of an illegal sex trade that went on behind those doors. The Dark Elf supposed those weak enough to be sold into slavery must be weak enough to deserve it, but he always felt deeply unsettled about the matter. He had left his former master in Jui-Sae due to Sadora’s dark tastes for preying on the weak even despite his undeniably impressive strength.
The Dark Elf strolled past the monstrous hosts of other night mortals. He could feel their eyes upon him, the eyes of Doelms, Drakor and Syssrah, but they parted for him. They could not make out his face, but sensed a deadly aura about him. Shade grinned darkly. The Doelms of the Kurn underground were far larger than the runts who took refuge in Jile. Doelms that grew to full size were bred to be warriors, brute savages with only appetite for war. They adorned random pieces of western leather, chain and plate armors, but their skin still showed evidence of self-mutilation and tribal marking from their native roots.
Shade hurried past a crowd of Doelms playing Bones.
The Doelms huddled in a circle and watched in building anticipation. The dealer shook a cloth bag full of bones and spilled it on the ground. The soft glow in their eyes flared as the bones hit the floor. A femur lay across a humerus bone declaring a clear winner to the round. The assassin snorted knowing how rarely the game could declare a clear winner. The rules were simple. The Doelm who bet on the bone that lay topmost the pile won the roll.
The scrawny Doelm dealer let out a hoot of triumph. The other Doelms cursed and cast the coins at his feet. He squatted and began snatching up the gold and bloodstone p
ieces in his greedy fingers.
A Doelm warrior ripped his chainmail chest piece in half. He beat his apish chest. He pointed a finger of accusation at the dealer and roared, “You cheated!”
“I did not,” the scrawny Doelm froze.
“You did too!” the warrior spat back. And that was the end of the argument. The warrior descended upon his weaker kinsman. He beat him savagely.
The Doelm dealer curled up into a ball.
The warrior kicked him again and again hard in the gut.
Shade hastened his steps.
“Squash the runt!” the other Doelms jeered. The mob licked their lips and shook their fists in an epidemic bloodlust.
The sewer guards turned their backs to the beating that is until another Doelm brigand accidently struck another warrior across the face. The warrior shoved the brigand into a group of other Doelms. A full-scale riot broke out. Claws and fists flew. It took two huge Grulls, a tall bearded Braznian man, eight Syssrah and five Drakoran guards to peel the Doelmish mob off one another.
“Order!” the Braznian shouted, “Keep your disputes to the back-quadrants! Any bloodshed in the marketplace is answerable to Warlord Lewd!”
The Doelms immediately ceased the carnage and the mob dispersed.
The scrawny Doelm crawled off coughing up blood.
Shade was impressed at how quickly the mere mention of the name Lewd quelled brawls. Still, he could not help, but shake his head at the doltish creatures. It had always seemed to him that Bones was just a brigand’s excuse to bust a few heads. But perhaps that was the point. Doelms who did not regularly satisfy their bloodlust were prone to revolts and rioting. It was in the guards’ best interest to permit the occasional bloodletting just as long as it didn’t get too out of hand.
Shamites infested the markets posing as merchants, pawnbrokers, moneylenders, hawkers and members of the Merchant’s Guild. He watched as the richly robed Shamite men haggled and conned even the largest of night mortals. He was always surprised when a night mortal did not rip the piercings off a Shamite’s smug smirking face.
Shade supposed he should not be so surprised. After all, Kurn had originally been a Shamite city before it fell under Doljinaarian rule. He could not abide Shamites, but at times he had to admire how fiercely they chased wealth. Of course, he never saw a Shamite down here without a bodyguard or an entourage or a brute to collect on his debts. In Shade’s book the only thing worse than a Shamite merchant was a Syssrah. True, a Shamite would swindle you out of your life savings with a honey smooth smile and speech like wine, but a Syssrian merchant would slip poison into your cup or stab you in the back.
Shade scowled through his hood at the disgusting, slithering Syssrah. Syssrian merchants, adorned in colored folded linen robes and half-pleated kilts, hovered over booths hissing softly in the customers' ears. Shade saw forked tongues slither out of their mouths and could have sworn he saw the jewels on their white headdresses twinkle with hypnotic effect. Bronze scale armored Syssrian mercenaries and thieves slivered among the crowds, pushing themselves up on their tails to appear taller especially among Drakor. They carried cowhide or bronze shields, sickle-shaped kopesh swords and long spear quivers.
Syssrah were merciless hagglers who most would assume avoid altogether if it wasn’t for their wide array of exotic merchandise. Syssrian booths and tables were filled with poisons and potions, gold trinkets and charms, fine parchment, spices and perfumes, strange beasts and slaves from far off lands, scrolls of the Psionart and Soothsaying, and the finest bronze weapons available in the civilized world. Shade often marveled at the rich abundance of wares from a country that was reputed to be nothing but a desert waste.
Shade passed by a tall Drakoran mercenary as he leaned over the table of a Syssrian merchant. The dragon-man appeared enraged. He unfolded his wings and stretched them out five…six feet. He stood seven feet tall. His magnificent bronze scales glistened in the torchlight. He adorned a menacing suit of plate armor, blackened and charred, as if forged by dragon fire. He cocked his head dangerously flexing the horns that grew through his long oily black hair. A jagged black sword creaked at his side.
“Backbiting snake!” the Drakor roared. He slammed a bloodstained terramite helmet down on the table. The helm’s purple crest signified it had belonged to a Doljinaarian centurion and that it came off with some resistance. He growled and flashed a clawed finger at the Syssrian merchant, “You promised me ten bloodstone pieces!”
“You will get one-fifth the market priccce or you’ll tassste the tip of my ssspear!” said the Syssrah. He pulled out a long bronze spear which had been stowed in a rolled mink rug. He raised his spear menacingly at the dragon-man. He dangled a small pouch in his free hand sending a clear message to the Drakor that the tip had indeed been poisoned.
The merc unsheathed his sword, pointed it at the snake-man’s lips and seethed through clenched teeth, “I ought a cut out that lying forked-tongue of yours!”
“You don’t like my pricce? Then find another buyer! You Drakor expecct to be handed everything.”
“I was there, you forked tongued traitor! I liberated Oreb and Ithsiss from the legions of Doljinaar in the Six Dragon War and yet your slippery kind abandoned us at the siege of Ysalmariya. You left our warriors to die after we bled for your accursed country! Now you owe me! Pay me! Pay me what you owe!” The mercenary launched himself over the table. He seized the Syssrah by the collar.
The Syssrah and the Drakor tumbled head over heels. Sword and spear clattered to the ground. The pair rolled over one another swapping bitter punches. The two night mortals wrestled one another and reached for their weapons. They broke apart and scrambled to their feet. They stalked each other in slow steady circles. The mercenary fully unfurled his massive wings projecting the illusion he doubled in size. The Syssrah pushed himself up on his tail and brought himself to eye level with his foe. The Drakoran merc licked his jagged sword. The Syssrah raised his spear with an unnerving hiss.
“Break it up!” a third figure growled.
Shade felt a gust of air and suddenly a light-armored Drakor entered the scene. To the assassin’s surprise, the newcomer extended his legs and sent his fellow dragon-man flying with a double-legged kick.
The Syssrah laughed, but his new adversary cracked a leather whip. The whip whirled around and caught the snake-man by the wrist. The new Drakor’s muscles gleamed as he pulled the Syssrah face-first into the pavement with a hard yank.
The mercenary shook his head. He sat up dazed.
The Syssrah raised his head and stared up at his new foe.
The newcomer also wielded a jagged black sword. His breath seethed hot like dragon fire, “I said break it up or I’ll put a permanent end to this feud forever!”
Shade stopped to get a better look at the new arrival. This Drakor’s burning gaze was less bestial, but finely honed and housed a dangerous intelligence which made him of keener interest to the Dark Elf. His tightly cut physique boasted of his grueling conditioning and training. He wore a thigh-high skirt of iron-studded leather that protected his abdomen and pelvis. His chest was bare, though he wore black spiked plates on his muscled shoulders. He was an assassin. Shade recognized that immediately. Then it dawned upon him. Here before him stood Lewd’s personal assassin—otherwise known as Lewd’s Hand.
Lewd’s Hand stalked over to the mercenary. The merc was still rubbing his head. The Hand grabbed the mercenary by the collar and squeezed hard. He shot a glare back at the Syssrah and snarled, “Didn’t I tell you two last week to leave your grudges back in your own black countries?”
The merc knocked the Hand’s fingers away. He rose groggily to his feet and sneered, “Backbiting Syssrah!” He turned his back on the Syssrah attempting to cool himself.
The Syssrah rose as well. His slitted eyes stirred with treachery. Shade could almost see the ideas rolling around in the Syssrah's treacherous snake eyes.
Lewd’s Hand turned and recognized the look as well. Shade f
ound it strange that the Hand was reduced to policing the warlord’s streets. Then again…was this any different than the work Shade often did for Gordwin back home? In fact, it made perfect sense. Turn the Hand loose on the public streets…let him use a few blades on a few miscreants and the streets would shape up mighty quick.
“Hold your forked tongue, Snake!” Lewd’s Hand warned.
“Drakoran coward!” the Syssrah called to the mercenary, “If your dessspicable kind had any ssspine, they’d fight their own battless!”
The Drakoran mercenary turned back around and roared. He spread his great wings and with one mighty flap he was upon his enemy, but he was too late.
Lewd’s Hand had already slit the Syssrah across the throat.
The merc landed on the dead Syssrah. He jumped back in shock as his enemy’s blood washed over him. He realized what had happened and smirked devilishly. He rose and nodded his approval, “Served him right!”
“I warned you too, Groulbag!” the Hand said coldly. He slashed Groulbag across the chest. Groulbag’s face froze in shock as he tumbled over the nearest divide. He fell into the sewer water dead. Lewd’s Hand kicked the Syssrah’s body over the ledge. It splashed into the murky water and floated downstream.
The Hand put his whip away. He wiped the blood off his sword with a black cloth. He made slow work of the cleaning. He raised his blade and shouted, “Anybody else have a quarrel they can’t put a leash on?”
The passersby went back to their business. Only Shade’s eyes dared linger on the Hand. He looked more out of curious appraisal than out of any immediate need to challenge Lewd’s Hand.
The Hand’s serpentine eyes traced over to the Dark Elf and for a moment they exchanged glacial stares. Any ordinary mortal would have shivered out from under the weight of those stone cold glares, but these two weren’t ordinary mortals. The Hand too knew an assassin when he saw one. Shade was the first to look away, not out of fear, but to make sure he did not betray too much in their wordless conversation. He set back towards the far northwestern corner of the markets.