The Alabaster Staff

by Edward Bolme

And it belonged to someone else.

  The full import of her actions came back to her, washing away her confidence and exhilaration with the undeniable truth of what she held in her hands. She had stolen a priceless item from someone, selfishly taking their valuables to benefit herself, and she had ruined the cloth during her theft, a thoughtless act of vandalism to further her crime.

  Kehrsyn clenched it tightly as the tears began to well up in her eyes. Why did the gods make it so that all her prospects for survival or prosperity could be obtained only by taking that which belonged to others? Why did her benefit have to come at someone else’s pain?

  Why had the gods conspired to force her to break the only vow she’d ever made?

  A loud croak and a rough-edged “Aha!” interrupted her painful musings. She looked up through blurry eyes and saw Eileph hobbling over to her with great excitement, the toad still sitting implacably on his head. He let out a long, covetous sigh that sounded like nothing so much as a death rattle. Kehrsyn barely managed to wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her free hand before Eileph reached her.

  She drew back as far as she could while sitting against the wall, contained by the corner of the room at one shoulder and the dissected cadaver at the other. Eileph’s avaricious eyes bulged out of his head, and his face was blotchy with anticipation. His whole body quaked with excitement, and Kehrsyn could see his trembling fingers flex like a malformed spider. She feared the misshapen Thayan might rupture a blood vessel in his brain just by looking at her ill-gotten treasure.

  Instead of falling over dead, however, Eileph moved with a speed Kehrsyn would not have thought possible. He snatched the small scepter from her grip and held it in front of her eyes, shaking his white-knuckled fist.

  “Do you have any idea what you have?” he shouted, his face and baleful breath mere inches from hers.

  Kehrsyn tried not to wince and tried to shrink back even more, both unsuccessfully.

  “Neither do I,” said the wizard. “Look at this aura, will you? Look at the power throbbing within!”

  Eileph held it in front of his face and hers, rotating it in his hand as if he expected she could see the magical auras as well as he could.

  “Thissss,” he hissed, “is amazing! This is a true relic, an item …” His tone changed to a purr as he stepped away from Kehrsyn and limped for his work table, all the while stroking the wand. “Oh, such craftsmanship. It’s beautiful. A masterpiece! Such runes, such sigils as I have never seen. And the magic embedded within, wrought within the matrix of these symbols, why … why this could be the Staff of the Necromancer!”

  “That’s what you said last time,” offered Kehrsyn.

  “Pah! Speak not of things beyond your comprehension, young lady!” bellowed Eileph. “I did not say this was a necromancer’s staff—well, I did, of course, but that was last time—I said that this might be the Staff of the Necromancer, a relic forged by the archwizard Hodkamset, favored of the God of Death, of which all other such staves are hackneyed imitations!

  “It is said to be carved from the spine bones of a dragon,” he continued in a disgruntled voice. “I’d always imagined it would be bigger. Nonetheless, I could spend a lifetime studying this—” He turned back to Kehrsyn, clutching the staff to his barrel chest—“and I will,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, “as soon as this war is brought to a successful conclusion. You haven’t forgotten that part of the deal, right, wee little thief?”

  “Uh, no, of course not,” said Kehrsyn, forcing a smile.

  Eileph giggled malevolently. “That is wise. It does not do well to anger the Red Wizards.” He stopped abruptly and straightened up as much as his misshapen body allowed. “Hmph. Listen to me, I sound just like one of the zulkirs.” He sucked in his lips and drummed the fingers of one hand on the table. “Must be the excitement of the moment. Calm, now, old boy, you have work to do.”

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. It would almost have been a sigh, were it not so violent and lustful.

  When he opened his eyes again, he was much closer to the almost-personable Eileph that Kehrsyn had met in the plaza.

  “Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he said.

  He sat at the table and pulled the chain down toward him, links clinking on the tabletop as he drew the light closer. He laid the Staff of the Necromancer down on a cloth, and with his other hand he absently peeled the toad from his head. It tried to hold on, pulling at his skin, but Eileph prevailed and tossed it to the side. The ugly beast landed on the table on its back, and its legs flailed in the air as it tried to roll its bulk over.

  “Hmm,” said Eileph, as Kehrsyn timidly drew closer.

  She noticed that he studied only one side, the side that had not been illustrated in his drawing. Kehrsyn’s eyes kept getting pulled back to the periodic flailings of the toad, and eventually she used the scabbard of her dagger to nudge the hapless beast back onto its bloated stomach. Despite its earlier demonstrations of intellect, it did not acknowledge her assistance.

  As Kehrsyn used the scrap of cut cloth to wipe the toad’s slime from her scabbard, Eileph finally spoke up.

  “The color is good,” he said, “and the stone I can handle, but I wasn’t counting on the gold inlay. Hmph. That’ll take some extra time.” He drummed his fingers on the table again and smacked his lips. “I can have it for you by noon tomorrow. Shall I deliver it, or will you send someone to pick it up?”

  “Um, you’d probably better … deliver it,” answered Kehrsyn.

  “I understand,” said Eileph. “If I’d just stolen this, I wouldn’t want to carry it around, either. I tell you,” he added through gritted teeth, “if someone stole this from me, I’d be testing some creative new ideas I’ve—”

  “I’d just as soon not know,” Kehrsyn interrupted.

  Eileph laughed, then glanced at Kehrsyn with an intense look and asked, “Still at sixteen ’Wright’s?”

  “Yes,” said Kehrsyn, after a mere heartbeat’s pause.

  “Begone, then. I have work to do.”

  Kehrsyn stood, picked up her bag, and headed for the door.

  “Be careful,” Eileph said as she was closing the door behind her. “It’s slippery out there.”

  “Thanks,” said Kehrsyn.

  Once the door was shut, she leaned against it for a few moments.

  “It’s also cold,” she whispered to the darkness.

  Kehrsyn pulled her cloak around her and paused. Eileph’s suite was at the end of a short hallway, and the only guards Kehrsyn had seen were at the gates.

  Why not? she thought.

  She shrugged off her bag and set it against the wall as a pillow, then she curled up in the shadows at Eileph’s doorstep—on her right side, as her left arm was still raw—huddled her cloak around her, and soon fell fast asleep.

  Morning arrived on the butt of a spear as a gruff guardsman jabbed Kehrsyn in the ribs. She mumbled an excuse that she had fallen asleep waiting for Eileph, and if her protestations availed her, she shuddered to think what would have happened to her without them. As it was, the guard merely hauled her out by the collar and ejected her from the Thayan enclave.

  The morning was bright, especially after she’d spent the night in an unlit corridor. Sunlight pierced the thin cloud cover and reflected off the newly fallen snow, which was only starting to be plowed into an indistinct gray mush by the day’s traffic.

  A bracing wind blew steadily from the coast. Kehrsyn took a deep breath of the biting air, clean and free of the strange scents from the wizard’s laboratory. Shading her sleepy eyes with her hand, she scanned the streets. Off to her left, she saw a familiar face: the green-hooded and scowling visage of the gritty-looking man who’d been watching her at the Jackal’s Courtyard, the one whom she’d been trying to evade when the whole nightmarish venture began.

  Obviously, he or his compatriots in the thieves’ guild had been watching the Thayan enclave for her arrival, and awaited her departure. A dusting of snow
on the man’s heavy, hooded cloak attested to how long he’d been standing outside. She drew some small satisfaction that she had made them wait in the cold all night for her reappearance. It was the least she could do to repay them for the difficulties they’d caused her.

  She started to understand why his expression at the Jackal’s Courtyard had been so studious, so calculating. He’d not been interested in her show, nor in her body. He’d been interested in her skill and technique, scouting her out for the thieves’ guild so that the annoying sorceress could “recruit” her.

  Kehrsyn set her mouth in a grim half-smile. The man started to move closer, raising one hand to signal her. She turned and headed in his direction, intending to face the guild head-on and demand her full membership. However, she quickly discovered he was not signaling to her, but rather signaling to someone else about her. As she approached the hooded man, she sensed two large thugs falling in behind her. As she looked over her shoulder at one, the other clamped a heavy hand on her left arm, squarely over the burn. She screamed in surprise and pain and twisted away, the sudden noise and motion startling the thug into releasing his grip.

  Kehrsyn felt the other thug grab her billowing cloak. She tried to wriggle out of the garment, but she had slung the strap of her bag over it, and she found herself entangled between the cloak, the strap, and a pair of large, beefy arms. A strong hand seized her chin and turned it up. She found herself face to face with the grim-visaged man. His eyes no longer looked studious, but had grown weighty with judgment.

  “Let me go,” Kehrsyn said with irritation. “I did what you asked me to do.”

  “Doubt it,” said the man.

  “Sure I did,” she said. “I got the staff just like you wanted and delivered it where you told me to. Now I want to join.”

  The man raised one eyebrow and asked, “You got the staff?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Good. Now let me go.”

  “No,” said the man with a smirk.

  “Why not?” Kehrsyn asked, deeply affronted.

  In answer, the man reached into his vest and pulled out a carefully folded knee-length skirt.

  “This is yours,” he said.

  He draped the skirt around her neck like a cow and untied her rapier from her hip. Her weapon safely in his hands, he tipped his head once, motioning his compatriots to move. The two thugs each grabbed an elbow with the grip of a crocodile and urged her along.

  The foursome walked through the streets of Messemprar, their boss following behind. The only sound audible over the street noise was the wheezing of the thug on the right, who apparently had a bad lung.

  Kehrsyn’s mind was awhirl as she let herself be led along. The man clearly lived or worked at Wing’s Reach. Who else but the one who’d snatched her skirt from her neck would think to return it there? He’d caught her, then, thwarting the guild’s plans. Yet why had he been watching her perform if he wasn’t with the guild? But if he was with the guild, why didn’t he just steal the staff himself? And if he wasn’t, how had he known she was at the Thayan enclave?

  “Where are you taking me?” demanded Kehrsyn, hoping it might shed some light.

  None of them answered, and a variety of scenarios ran through her mind, none of which seemed even plausible, let alone likely.

  What are they going to do with me?

  It all became clear. He was a member of the thieves’ guild, and had infiltrated Wing’s Reach. He had drawn the map of the house. The thieves’ guild recruited her, branded her, and used her for its dirty work, then their infiltrator “catches” her after she’d already made the drop to Eileph. Since she’s branded, the guild can sell her to someone else as a slave, to be carried off to a distant land on a trade ship. Conveniently, they turn a profit, remove the need to pay her for her services, and excise the chance that their part in the theft might be revealed.

  Kehrsyn’s jaw dropped in horror and surprise.

  No wonder the sorceress never told me her name, she thought. She figured she’d never deal with me again.

  Her heart began to beat faster. She knew she had to find a way out of her situation. She walked along placidly for a short distance then pulled hard at her captors’ grips, trying to escape. She accomplished nothing save perhaps bruising her muscles. Their grips were as iron bands.

  “I’m not a slave!” she growled as she continued her futile struggle.

  Kehrsyn felt the hand of the leader clamp firmly across her neck at the base of her skull, fingers pressing into the soft spots behind her ears.

  “Quiet,” he said.

  Kehrsyn relented in her struggles but still kept an eye peeled for an opportunity.

  Partway across town, she saw a familiar group of faces, three in number. She had just enough time for a desperate gambit before they passed by.

  “You!” she called out, straining against her captors. “Tell these men to unhand me! I have the protection of Tiglath!”

  The outburst brought both groups to an immediate halt.

  One of the Tiamatans, a man with a bulbous nose and a high forehead topped with pale brown hair, stepped over to Kehrsyn, his eyes narrowed. Kehrsyn couldn’t tell if it was distaste for her bluff or a posture of anger to cow those who held her prisoner.

  “Morning,” said the man from Wing’s Reach, his tone indicating that he was not cowed in the least.

  “Olaré,” replied the Tiamatan. “I am Horat of Tiamat. What is going on here?”

  “Justice,” said the leader. “She’s a thief.”

  The Tiamatan studied Kehrsyn’s face for a moment then asked, “A thief?”

  “Almost pinched her red-handed,” came the immediate reply, which, Kehrsyn noted, made no mention of her having leveled him with a kick. “Tracked her to the Thayans. Got her just now.”

  “Do you have others who will stand witness, mister …?”

  “Demok of Wing’s Reach. Yes, I do.”

  The Tiamatan’s eyebrows went up and he said, “Wing’s Reach, you say? Very well. Now we know … where to inquire after her welfare.” He started to turn away but paused for one last moment. “Tell me, if you would,” he asked, without turning back to face Demok, “what was it that she stands accused of stealing?”

  “That’s private,” said the other.

  “Really?” said the Tiamatan, with evident interest. “I see. Olaré, thief,” he said as he glided away to rejoin his compatriots.

  “Make them let me go!” implored Kehrsyn. “Tiglath gave me her protection! Are you going to let them handle me this way?”

  The Tiamatan stopped and turned back around slowly. He held up two fingers, as if giving absolution.

  “No,” he said, waving them side to side, “Tiglath gave you her sufferance in a moment of weak whimsy. Having once received mercy, one is unwise to test the bounds of one’s fortune again so soon.” Kehrsyn started to interrupt, but he cut her off. “However, I shall be certain to communicate your grievance to Tiglath when I return from my errands this evening … if she’s still awake, of course. I see no need to disturb her rest.”

  He turned and left, his companions sniggering at Kehrsyn’s plight.

  Kehrsyn hung her head and walked the rest of the way docilely.

  Despite Kehrsyn’s apprehensions, they did not bring her to the slave market, nor did they take her to the Halls of Justice, where, with the tacit approval of the Northern Wizards, judges installed by the god-king Gilgeam still dispensed punishments in accordance with tradition. She breathed a sigh of relief, for she knew that it was a buyer’s market for slaves and a seller’s market for punishment.

  Instead, they brought her back to Wing’s Reach, to the center of the third floor, where, she recalled from her map, the master had his rooms. They brought her to a small reception hall paneled in light wood, a fine room of the sort used for an intimate dinner with close friends. A series of pedestals ran along both side walls, each pedestal bearing a single piece of art,
be it a sculpture, or a piece of pottery, or an ancient bronze helmet. She had been led in through one side door at the foot of the hall. Another door stood opposite her, and double doors stood in the other two walls, one pair the main guest entrance for the hall, and the other pair leading to the master’s study. A very ornate table and chair sat in front of those doors. That, then, would be the location of her interview.

  They removed her bag and slung it aside, then took off her cloak and the skirt-turned-cowl, bundled them up beside the bag, and placed her rapier atop the pile. They positioned her in the center of the room facing the far door. A guard opened a small trapdoor at her feet that concealed a set of stout bronze manacles anchored to a ring sunk deep into the flooring.

  As her escorts fastened the manacles to her slender wrists, Kehrsyn heard their gruff leader say, “Careful. She’s tricky.”

  They clamped her in well and drew back to stand along the walls. She expected that she would be left there to sweat and dread for a while, but instead the far door creaked open almost at once and a man of average height and trim build entered the room. He took no notice of her as he entered but nodded to the various servants at either side and took his seat. The bald man, Ahegi—apparently a key advisor—followed him in and stood against the wall to one side, his arms folded across his chest.

  Once he’d made himself comfortable, the seated man laced his fingers together, rested his weight on his forearms, and regarded Kehrsyn frankly. He sat like that for some time, studying her, and thereby giving Kehrsyn time to study him in turn.

  He had curly black hair flecked with gray throughout, short except for a longer lock in the center of his forehead. A thin, closely trimmed beard stretched from ear to ear, though it did not extend far enough down his neck to conceal his pronounced larynx. He had thin hands that had clearly never done much, if any, hard work, though Kehrsyn did see the permanent stain of ink on the fingers of his right hand that indicated he was a man of letters. Piercing blue eyes beneath his high brows likewise gave evidence of his sharp intellect. He had a straight nose, severe without being truly hawkish, and his lips were squared, almost exactly the same thickness from one end to the other. Kehrsyn could not decide whether that last feature was grotesque or compelling.