Kalo kept to Hasdel’s side. He smiled, though the gava couldn’t see him. He was beginning to appreciate his captor. He reasoned well that he was safer in the gava’s command than if he bolted into the dark on his own. He had seen traces of other torchlit companies along the Riverlok waterfront.
They continued. The farther east they went, the darker the streets became. Only the moon gave them light now. Kalo could faintly smell the musk of damp grasses wafting down from the mountains in the distant east as a brisk wind drifted above the street they traveled. The countryside on the edge of Riverlok had been Kalo’s homeland before he moved into the heart of the city. This was the region of small farms that fed the hungry mouths of the city. Among them were food suppliers who seemed to care more for their customers than their workers, who cultivated the food they sold. Kalo’s memories of this place as a small boy were not pleasant.
The thief and his captor spoke not. Kalo knew the way to the Compound, and he was near certain the messenger trailing a few feet behind him knew the way as well. Kalo glanced back occasionally to see where Hasdel was. He was also looking toward the riverfront and scanning the western skyline for signs of search parties, whose torchlights revealed their whereabouts. The farther east they traveled, the dimmer the distant lights became, much to Kalo’s relief.
The scattered shacks of the rural quarter came into faint view as the stone street gave way to a simple dirt road scarred with deep wagon wheel ruts and holes. No one had planned this part of the city. Instead, structures rose up wherever their builders decided to erect them. Some were large two-story dwellings that had grown to their size and height through a series of haphazard additions. Others were well-conceived houses with outbuildings for the stock, while many were squatty huts built halfway into the earth.
They reached the outer edge of the city, and before them, in the near distance, they could see the lights of the Compound rising up over the wall. The road to the entrance gate passed through an orchard that surrounded the Compound. It was darker without the city lights, but the moon was bright and the road was straight.
As they drew within a hundred yards of the gate, a new fear came upon Kalo. He had never been this close to the Compound before. In the daylight, the guards would have advanced to challenge them. It was well known they were not friendly to uninvited guests, particularly young thieves.
“What will you do with me?” asked Kalo, now trailing behind Hasdel as they drew closer to the gate.
Before the messenger responded, two guards suddenly stepped out of a small building in front of the main gate. Their broad silhouettes, framed in the faint light, looked formidable. Kalo walked stiffly as he slowed and fell in alongside the gava. He felt the gava’s hand upon his shoulder. He readied himself to bolt down the road at the first attempt to seize him. Maybe, he thought, the gava had simply waited to apprehend him when he had guards to assist. Or perhaps the gava thought it would be easier to claim the reward if he brought the thief directly to the Compound.
Hasdel called out clearly and without hesitation, “Messenger of the king!” The two forms did not move, and Hasdel did not stop his march toward them. “It is I, Hasdel. Who are you there?”
Kalo thought the challenge should have come from the guards and not from the approaching stranger, but he was learning he was in the company of much more than a simple messenger.
“Welcome, Hasdel. It is I, Brogan,” replied a deep voice as one of the silhouettes moved toward them. They were both dressed in the blue and gold of the Royal Guard. “Mallivar just came in,” he said. “Were you with him?” The two guards stepped aside to let them pass.
“I, with the septor?” replied the gava. “I thought you judged better of me.” His face could not be seen, though the jest in his voice came through.
A lantern hanging from a peg on the door of the sentry’s hut disclosed Brogan, the guard who had spoken, to be a big man, much larger than Hasdel. His voice matched his appearance. He shook his head slowly from side to side in mock disbelief at the gava’s remarks.
As the guard and the gava exchanged their pleasantries, Hasdel placed his hand firmly about Kalo’s neck and directed him past the guards, through the Compound gates, and into the courtyard. The motion was quick and casual, and the guards never seemed to notice that Kalo was even there.
The walk to Hasdel’s quarters went quickly. Kalo looked about the Compound and thought how small it actually was. He had imagined it a virtual fortress. Instead, he saw a series of simple billets surrounding an unimpressive three-story building.
In a short time, Hasdel led him into a dimly lit room with a modest table in the center and two chairs. A cot with scant bedding was pressed up against the far wall. Coals from an earlier fire glowed faintly in a small hearth in the corner. The gava took a rod and poked at the fire, and immediately flames rose from the ashes. Partially burned logs that looked dead above the ashes suddenly flared up and a soft glow filled the small room.
“Sit,” Hasdel said, gently motioning to one of the chairs. The young Riverman obeyed. Hasdel took two cups from a shelf and poured a small amount of wine. Kalo drank his in one gulp. Hasdel smiled and quickly filled it again.
“May I see the tube again?” said the gava as he turned his back to the boy thief and replaced the carafe of wine on the shelf. Kalo quickly pulled the silver tube from his boot and held it in his outstretched hand just as Hasdel turned around. The gava took it. “It is unfortunate that you opened it. More than likely, the owner will know you have seen the contents.” With that, Hasdel opened the tube, took out the message, and held it up to the feeble light of the lone lamp in the room.
Hasdel looked at the parchment for a time, his eyes scanning the entirety of the writing. He then put it down and turned to the remnant fire in the corner of the room. “The letter is written in an ancient tongue, which I cannot read.” He paused for a moment, then turned to face Kalo. “The man you stole this from was in fact Mallivar, the Septor, the Grand Scholar of the Realm.” The gava turned back and looked at the parchment. “He is the smartest, most intelligent man alive—just ask him.” Then he showed the letter to the young thief from Riverlok, who could not read. “See the mark, the dagger through the square, in the lower right-hand corner?”
Kalo stared at the symbol but did not answer. Hasdel’s quiet voice frightened him.
The gava continued. “The mark is an ancient symbol I learned when I studied the lore of messengers as a young Kingston. It means, ‘Kill the messenger.’” He lowered the parchment and looked at the young boy. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Kalo so softly his voice became barely audible.
“You have been sentenced to die, lad,” said Hasdel. He then crossed his arms and looked down at Kalo. “If it is any consolation, the sentence applies to me also, now that I too have seen the message.” A faint smile came to his face, and Kalo felt comforted for a moment.
“What do we do?” asked the young thief.
Hasdel walked to the fireplace and stood before it. His shadow fell on the wall. “As a king’s messenger, I have training to read some of several languages: dwarfish, elvish, even some sign marks of the gnoll. But I cannot read this message, Kalo. Nonetheless, it is significant, I can tell you that. Mallivar is engaged in some scheme, and it is not good.”
“How do you know?” asked Kalo.
“A message written in an ancient tongue with the mark of death for its innocent bearer is evil, Kalo. It has not been seen in a thousand years, since the time of Cin.”
Kalo had never heard of Cin, but he knew what evil meant. “What are you going to do with me?”
The gava walked over and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Do not worry,” said Hasdel with a smile, which then turned earnest. “I am not among the admirers of the Grand Scholar.” Hasdel quickly rolled up the parchment, inserted it into the tube, and replaced the cap. This time, he slid the tube into his own jacket. He then stopped and looked closely at the face
of the young thief for the first time. “Come over by the firelight, boy. Let us have a good look at you.”
Kalo did as he was asked. He walked over to the light with his eyes down, then glanced up at the gava and revealed the burning blue color and slanted oval shape of his eyes. His skin was a soft mahogany like a deep summer tan. His light brown hair was no longer damp and fell over his ears and face in thick and wavy layers.
“Where are you from, lad?”
“Riverlok,” answered Kalo, but he knew what the gava meant.
“Where is your family from, lad?” asked Hasdel again. “Not from Riverlok, I can tell you. I have never seen anyone who looks as you do here in Riverlok, or in Cayleon, for that matter,” he added.
Kalo blurted out, “My father was a fisherman of the sea from over the mountains.”
“Really? That explains it. I have never been to the sea,” said Hasdel. “Always wanted to, but never have.” The messenger continued. “Well, with apologies to your family, I do not think we can risk allowing you to continue looking like a sea fisherman’s son. You are too easily recognized.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Yes, we can do something,” Hasdel said in a deliberate tone. He walked to the far wall and took down a gray cloak and trousers. From a drawer, he pulled out a gray cloth turban with a yellow braided headband and a trailing gray scarf that protected the back of the neck from the beating sun. “Here, put these on over your clothes. You are now in the Realmsguard, lad.” Without a word, Kalo dressed while he watched the gava buckle on his sword and knife. Sensing the young Riverman’s concern, Hasdel spoke. “We are going visiting, Kalo. Let me give you some advice about keeping your wits. Always probe for humor when you are in a perilous situation. It drains your body of fear.” He smiled. “Come,” said the king’s messenger. “Soon you will have the fortune to use that advice.” And into the night they went.
Chapter 6
One Month Earlier
The earth shook in the early morning hours. Not a rumbling quake, but a sudden jolt that felt strongest in the southeastern hamlet of Chardone, where items toppled from shelves. To the people far to the northwest in the capitol city of Cayleon, it was merely a mild bump in the night. In Riverlok, the major trade city in the east, it caused only enough disturbance that a few people rolled over in their sleep, nothing more. But in the north, beyond the Northern Breaks, it set off an event.
Deep in the northern mountains, a small boulder began to change moments after the quake. At first, it shifted slightly, and small particles of rock began to flake off. In time, larger chunks fell away, revealing a sculpture of a motionless figure bent down on one knee with its head tucked against its chest. It remained in that fixed position for some time, until suddenly the head moved as it looked up. Lidless eyes the color of tar stared blankly ahead as if transfixed by a distant sight. It rose from its knee and stood erect with its arms hanging heavily at its sides. Hairless, sexless, and naked, the man-shaped figure remained motionless, its mottled gray skin pulled tautly over its skeleton frame. In one clawed hand, it held an object, a short, cylindrical silver tube that flickered faintly in the morning moonlight.
Then it took a step forward. It walked stiffly at first, pausing briefly between steps as if it needed reassurance that it was indeed balanced and upright. Soon its rhythm smoothed, and it strode out of the rocky terrain of the mountains, down the sloping hillside, and into the foothills. It moved steadily east.
At daybreak, a gnoll hunting party moving along one of the many deer trails spotted the creature emerging from a dense grove of oak. Intrigued, they tracked it for an hour. Soon enough, the morning sunlight reflected at them, revealing the shining tube in the creature’s claw. The gnolls sent one of their party to snatch the object. The young gnoll moved swiftly into place behind the walking naked figure. Then, abruptly, he darted forward and grabbed for the tube from behind. The creature whirled about with its free hand and snatched the young raider by the throat. The walking figure’s large bony hand tightened its grip, sinking its claws into the gnoll’s flesh until blood burst from the would-be thief’s neck. Instantly, the gnoll fell limp and lifeless.
The creature held the dead gnoll for a time, dragging it over the ground like a child would a toy. The band followed the strange creature throughout the morning, making sure to keep their distance. By noon, the creature had dropped the carcass. No other gnoll made a move to take the shining tube from its claw.
By evening, only a few gnolls from the hunting party continued to follow the creature. It did not show any interest in their presence and did nothing other than walk with the same steady, deliberate pace. The creature turned gradually to the south and soon headed straight for the encampment of men known as Desolation Outpost. As nightfall arrived on the first day, the creature and its followers reached the flatlands. While the outpost was still several days away, the gnolls knew that they were no longer safe without the cover of their mountains. Outriders from the encampment often traveled these plains, and it was not wise to venture into the open. So, with hesitation, the last of the hunting party halted their pursuit and watched the pallid creature disappear into the distance.
Once again alone, the creature walked south for two more days without stopping to rest, or to eat the few berries on the brush it passed along the way, or to drink from shallow pools of water left by a rainfall days earlier. It walked steadily, upright, clutching the silver tube.
The creature’s path brought it to Desolation Outpost from the rear east side of the lone street into the encampment. Few beings were fully active this early in the morning; an exception was Weiser, the elderly shopkeeper. Weiser struggled to pull water up from a cistern well. For leverage, he placed one hand on the rim of the well. With his other arm, he pulled the crank handle to turn the rope drum and draw up the bucket deep in the well. The groan of the rope and wheel were the only sounds. Weiser was bent with age. His back was curved such that he needed to lift his head to look ahead. His walking stick lay against the cistern wall.
The creature saw the moving figure to its right by the well. It turned abruptly and walked up behind the old man. With the rising sun from the east as a backdrop, the creature’s form cast a huge shadow over the bent man at the well. Weiser’s stiff neck forced him to turn his whole body to look back. His mouth fell open when he saw the creature, but he did not utter a sound. The creature thrust out its free hand and grasped Weiser about the neck as it had done to the foolish gnoll only three days earlier. The beast from the region of the gnolls then lifted the man inches off the ground with one arm. The old man’s feet danced for a moment and then went limp.
The creature rested the body of the strangled man on the lip of the well and studied him. It dropped the silver tube from its clutched claw to the ground, then reached forward to steady the dead body before it. It turned the body so the dead man’s frame lay against its breast and then fell facedown, the creature on top of the body of the man. The creature’s form began to brighten, then glow. A minute passed, and when the bright light faded, the walking creature from the mountains was gone. Slowly, the bent form of the old shopkeeper rose from the ground. Then from the eyes of the standing man, a brilliant green light flared, and the transformation was complete.
An ancient beast had returned to the realm. A doppelganger, once dreaded by the Monks of Melda as the terrifying Diremorph, now roamed the world once more. When the transformation light faded, the being that had risen and descended from the northern mountains was no more. In its place stood Weiser, the old shopkeeper.
Chapter 7
The new Weiser retrieved the silver tube and tucked it away in his garments. He resumed the activities of the shopkeeper by fetching the bucket of water and carrying it into the store through the rear entrance. He quickly surveyed his surroundings and realized he had entered the old man’s living quarters in the rear of the shop. He set the bucket down, passed through the veiled curtain, and entered the main floor. As he a
ssessed his new environment—the objects on the wall, the material on the tables and in the display cases—the mysterious power of the doppelganger took over and assimilated the knowledge, mannerisms, and skill of the former occupant of this shell to easily pass, this time, for Weiser the shopkeeper.
The Diremorph was innately deceptive. Deceiving another was its essence, so it was an effortless matter for old Weiser to engage the officers at the Outpost in conversation to learn what he needed to continue his mission. The doppelganger was driven to find the one worthy of receiving the great gift he bore, the silver tube.
The officers, believing they were engaging in trivial talk with the elderly shopkeeper, made it clear Mallivar, the Septor and Grand Scholar of the Realm, was the one the Diremorph needed to find. Mallivar was perfect. The few disparaging comments the officers had made about Mallivar were the exact qualities the ancient Diremorph had been instructed to seek out: knowledgeable, intelligent, arrogant, ruthless, feared, and above all, clearly disdainful of the rulers of the Realm of Man. It was a short step to learn where Weiser could find Mallivar, and just a little more cunning arranged transport courtesy of the Realmsguard officers of the Outpost.
The Diremorph boarded a Realmsguard wagon train bound for the city of Riverlok the same day it had taken over the old shopkeeper’s body. The trip was uneventful as the small party made its way south, following the Green Provide River through the rich and fertile land of the realm, protected from the beasts to the north by the legendary Realmsguard. The journey took four days, and while the Diremorph was eager to meet his target, Mallivar, this provided him the opportunity to observe and learn the nature of the land and the inhabitants, useful knowledge to hone his deception.
Finally, the journey neared its end as dusk fell and the new Weiser studied the buildings of Riverlok as they traveled along the northern edge of the city. They passed through the thinning orchard the driver had earlier described to him. He now saw the Compound, where the Realmsguard had presumed Mallivar would be quartered. The facility was entirely enclosed in a wall of timber poles twice the height of a man, which stretched for hundreds of yards in a meandering circle and disappeared into the darkness. The facility had a strong military appearance, but it did not look particularly defensible. Perhaps, thought the Diremorph, it was all show.
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