by Adam Thomas
“I wanted to get as far away as I could, so I traveled across Sul. I remember seeing the spires of this city in the distance, but I didn’t dare come close, now that I looked like a full-blooded orc. I continued east through the cold barrenness of Sul until I came upon a dragonborn refugee camp called Hextor. Even though I looked like an orc, the dragonborn welcomed me. They could tell I was broken and lost and without a home. They, too, had been chased from their own land by the rise of the tyrant king of their people.
“After a time, they appointed me to their perimeter watch. On a patrol one day, I spotted a ship coming across the strait from Dragonclime. It was filled with red and green dragonborn, and they were armed to the teeth. I sounded the alarm, and my friends fought them off. I found myself fighting a green dragonborn, a skilled warrior who pulled me away from the thick of the fighting. I was no match for his physical skill, but my magic prevailed in the end. I killed him without thinking about what his death at my hands would mean.
“I became the green dragonborn. The only thing I could do was retreat with the defeated war party. I was now Jeral, and I now had a new life as a soldier of Harringhorn Kasdann. But the high horn was a tyrant, and I had to try hard not to kill anyone, lest I change again. For two years I lived like this until Harringhorn was killed in the Fire Realm. I knew this would spark a civil war, and I fled ahead of it. I made it as far as Kelen, and my friends know the rest.”
Jeral closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “Do you think I’m a monster?”
“No more than the rest of us,” Grail said.
“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Emric asked.
“What would I have said? ‘Nice meeting you. By the way, I’m actually a failed orcish science experiment who was supposed to be an assassin?’”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
Jeral turned to Lord Day. “So, are you going to lock me up?”
“I am not. In fact, I am glad to have met you, for you remind me that a bellicose nation like Ornak tends to victimize its own people even more than it threatens its neighbors. I am sorry for what you have gone through.”
Day stood up and rounded his desk. Dipping a quill in ink, he dashed a name onto a scrap of paper and handed it to Jeral. “I am going to send you to speak to Karfu. He’s like you, a failed science experiment, as you say. He lives in the Shambles of Torniel-by-the-Sea and was indispensable to the League during the recent orcish incursion. He might be a bit difficult to track down, but meeting him will be well worth your time.”
Alurel said, “And what about our audition?”
“You passed with flying colors. If and when the League has need, I will call. In the meantime, please join me for dinner tonight at my home in the Diamond Spire to celebrate.”
“We’d be honored, milord,” Emric said.
“It’s settled then. See you at sundown.”
Lord Day gave them the address and showed them out. As they descended the stairs, Rhys said, “Jeral…I mean, Sorvek...what do you want us to call you now?”
The half-orc half-elf in the dragonborn body turned to his friend. “Call me Jeral for now. I don’t think I’m ready to claim that old part of myself just yet.”
“Jeral, how come you haven’t changed form since we met you? You’ve killed plenty of our foes. You even dealt the final blow to the hag at the orphanage.”
“I haven’t killed a humanoid since this dragonborn,” Jeral said. “The hag was something else entirely. A wicked fey creature, I believe. My magic allows me to turn into other humanoids only.”
“Do you want to stay like this?”
Jeral stopped on the stairs and thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”
Lord Sondal Day wined and dined the companions that night at his sumptuous manor, which was located on the wealthiest street in the city’s wealthiest district. In the light of the setting sun, the Eldasin Sea glowed orange beyond the dining room’s tall windows. Three of Lord Day’s four children ate with them, asking them all sorts of questions about their adventures. The smallest, Denya, couldn’t resist comparing their stories to the ones her elder sister, Elendithas, told her. Elendithas, it seemed, was also part of an adventuring party, which had done all sorts of amazing things.
At table was also the children’s music tutor, a dwarf named Cataran Songsmith. He and Emric spoke at length, and Emric played him a few original songs. Songsmith enjoyed “Forge it Like its Hot,” but after speaking some more, Emric concluded he did not need Songsmith’s approval. The old dwarf was living easy here in the lap of luxury. Whatever musical innovation that might have led to his honor name was long since dormant.
Lord Day offered to put the party up for the night in the guest wing. Never had they slept in such comfort, all save Jeral. In his dreams, the Shadow visited him.
You came very close to sharing our secret, my pet. I don’t care if your companions know about your various faces, but our arrangement is between you and me. If you tell them, I shall become cross.
three years ago
Rosamund at Work
Rosamund Steele had been a member of the Kindred Society for six years before Lord Malcolm Hightower, the society’s wealthiest member, invited her into the inner circle. Westcott Devonshire Price the Third had vouched for her to Hightower. Thankfully, her young would-be suitor understood when she told him he did not have the particular set of reproductive organs she was looking for in a mate. She was glad he decided not to try to prove himself. She did not want to eat anyone from the Kindred Society. Instead, she had gained his undying platonic affection when she said she would help him win Pallas Hightower upon the girl’s coming of age.
Devon brought Rosamund to Hightower one evening during a society dinner party. Hightower was handsome despite his pale skin verging on sallow. Salt and pepper hair and a strong jaw combined with the latest fashions and a regal bearing. He welcomed Rosamund with a kiss on her gloved hand. She thought he might greet her in this manner, and she did not want him wondering about the coldness of her fingers.
“Ah, Miss Steele, I’ve been watching you. Your holdings grow more lucrative by the day. You have a good head for business.”
Rosamund decided not to let the implied “for a woman” faze her. Hightower obviously lived in a bubble where only people who looked like him and had comparable pocketbooks could possibly be good businesspeople.
“Thank you, Lord Hightower. I find patience is my greatest asset.”
“And patient you have been as a member of the Society. New members usually clamor for an audience within their first month. But not you.”
“I have had much to keep me busy.”
“Devon tells me you are all work and no play. I like that.” Hightower offered Rosamund a seat and a snifter of brandy.
She took it and sipped, reminding herself of her practiced progression of tipsiness. She could not become intoxicated no matter how much she drank, but she was adept at playacting.
She swirled the copper liquid around the glass and said, “I have been training Devon in the same. He needs to work a little more and play a little less to be worthy of your daughter Pallas.”
“Indeed,” was all Hightower had to say about his daughter’s prospects. “I’ve asked you here to offer you a business opportunity. You know the Society has mining operations in the north. We are soon to open a new diamond mine, and I would like you to be part of it.”
“I’m intrigued, Lord Hightower. What would be expected of me?”
“Two things to begin. An investment, naturally. And I would like you to renegotiate our contract with Secureswift, which handles all our transportation needs. Lord Pelagius Sindar and I do not have the best rapport, and I would like you to act as the Kindred Society’s intermediary. You are charming. You have a way with people. I would like you to have a way with Lord Sindar.”
Rosamund took another sip of brandy. “Consider it done.”
The next evening, Rosamund called upon Lord Sindar at his manor in the Emerald Spire. It was the largest house around, but was smaller than the smallest residence in the Diamond Spire. The door opened and standing there was neither butler nor housekeeper nor maid nor footman. Lady Serafina Sindar herself stood in the entryway. Her long dark hair fell on either side of her face, matching her dark brown eyes. Her pale cheeks were painted with rouge, but they flushed deeper red when she saw Rosamund. The vampire could sense the flowing blood quicken in Serafina’s veins. If Rosamund’s own heart could pump, it too would have beat faster.
seven
Old Karfu
The next day, the party took a runegate to the city of Torniel-by-the-Sea, the capital of the small country of Torniel east and a little south of Thousand Spires. Tornby, as the locals called it, could have fit easily into a single district of Thousand Spires, but it was still big enough to boast many attractions, including the Eldasin Library, the largest collection of books in all Sularil.
They exited the gateway into the bright mid morning sun, which shone on the towering castle across a wide cobbled courtyard. Craning their necks, they could just make out the flags waving atop the tallest tower. One was light blue with a yellow stripe running diagonally, the colors of the Esris family, who ruled Torniel. The other was the stars and spires of the Sularin League on a field of midnight blue.
“Welcome to the Pinnacle,” a voice said, and they looked down to find a young woman standing beside them. She wore the uniform and the smile of a city guide. “Might I be of any aid?”
Jeral said, “We’re looking for the Shambles.”
“Really?” The woman’s eyebrows scrunched together but her smile did not falter. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Head south through the Fountain district and go over the bridge so you are south of the river. Pass through the shipping district and you’re there. Are you sure you want to go to the Shambles?”
“Yes. Why?”
“It’s just...ah, not the most savory part of Torniel-by-the-Sea.”
Alurel stepped to Jeral’s side. “That’s good because we are not the city’s most savory visitors.” She pressed the reins of her horse into the guide’s hands. “If you want to be of aid, then please stable our horses.”
“Of course.” The guide whistles and a pair of similarly clothed individuals gathered the reins from the others.
As they led the horses away, Alurel said, “Savory part. The nerve of some people. She should see Craterside.”
“That’s where you’re from?” Shonasir prompted.
“Yes. Whatever these Shambles look like, I’m sure the shantytowns are worse.”
They walked south through the arch built into the monolithic stone building that was the Eldasin Library. The facade of the library faced a lush green park with a large, many-statued fountain at its center. People flocked to the street performers who busked around the fountain, but the companions paid them no heed. They moved with purpose out of the park and over the bridge, which connected the two halves of the city. The differences between them could not have been starker. They passed through a thin strip of warehouses – surely the shipping district the guide had mentioned – and then stepped into a slum. The ramshackle buildings bent towards each other over narrow, muddy streets. The people were bent too, walking with downcast eyes as the weight of poverty pummeled them to the ground. Above it all, an indefinable stink filled the air, a stench of too many foul ingredients to name.
“No wonder the guide was surprised we wanted to come here,” Jeral said.
Alurel closed her eyes and let out a melancholy sigh. “Smells like home.”
“Smells like desperation,” Rhys said. “I remember it from my time in the sweat shop in Kelentir. A far cry from the animals and earthiness of my parents’ farm.”
“This odor is not healthy,” Shonasir said. “How many sick people must there be in this one area.”
“What I want to know is how someone from a place like this ended up having the ear of Lord Day,” Emric said. “Let’s find this Karfu.”
“How do you propose we do that?”
Emric grinned and patted his lute. “We make it so Karfu wants to find us.”
The dwarven bard began at a tumbledown tavern called the Honest Lawyer. Before going to bed the night before, Emric had penned a pair of songs about their half-orc quarry, and he played the first atop a platform in the corner that only the most generous person would call a stage.
Karfu, the upstanding.
He’s really quite outstanding.
His character –full of honor.
He gives me quite a… smile.
His beauty, his grace,
Shines from his lovely face.
His presence brings me joy.
I wish Karfu was my boy!
Emric finished with a series of expert runs on his flute. His friends clapped and whistled, but the bar’s three other patrons stared stubbornly into their pisswater drinks. If they had heard the dwarf’s song, they made no motion of approval or distaste. The bartender, however, banged on the bar with his open hand.
“Don’t know why you’re playing here, sonny, when you should be north river at the Fountainside, talent like yours.”
“Just trying out some new material,” Emric said, flipping the bartender a gold coin. “Thank you for the opportunity. Are there other taverns nearby? I’d like to get a feel for their spaces.”
“The Dishonest Judge is across the street, and the Ambivalent Bailiff is a block down.” He wiped a soiled towel across the bar and then absentmindedly cleaned his nose with the same. “But I wouldn’t waste your time. The Honest Lawyer is a cut above.”
The bartender unbent himself as he said this and smiled, revealing a mouth full of yellow-brown teeth. Emric pursed his lips and flicked another coin to the bartender. “Thank you for the information. Come, friends.”
Jeral slid his untouched stein of pisswater to the center of the table and followed the others out. “Glad I didn’t have to pretend to drink that beer. It was supposed to be beer, right?”
“Barely,” Rhys said. “Beer-flavored water, perhaps.”
“You tasted it?”
“I was thirsty.”
“And now you probably have worms or something.”
If the Dishonest Judge and Ambivalent Bailiff were inferior to the Honest Lawyer, the companions could not tell how. All three bars suffered from a lack of ventilation, cleanliness, and choice of fare. Alurel passed out magical berries to her friends so they wouldn’t be tempted to eat anything else. Each berry was enough to sustain a person for a whole day. Rhys ate four.
Emric played his other new song at the second stop. It had a decidedly different tone than the first.
He’s a mean old soulless husk,
With strange small filed down tusks
And he smells like the ox’s musk,
That mean and ugly old Karfu!
His fires always fizzle,
His thunder’s more like drizzle,
His stench makes my nose hairs sizzle,
That mean and ugly old Karfu!
“So, we’re abandoning the ‘more flies with honey’ approach then?” Shonasir asked when Emric returned to their table.
“We’ll see which one sticks,” Emric said. “If Karfu doesn’t desire to see us because of my flattery, then perhaps he will accost us because of my insults.”
The bard played both songs at the third tavern, and then the party wandered the streets of the Shambles being as conspicuous as possible. By mid afternoon they had circled the whole district and arrived back at the edge of the shipping quarter.
Movement at the far corner of one of the warehouses caught Shonasir’s eye. “Over there,” they said. “Someone’s watching us.”
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Jeral kept his eyes forward. “Don’t look. Keep walking.”
But then a half dozen people dashed from behind the next warehouse and blocked their way. They turned around to find another group behind them. Jeral squeezed his fist tight and pure energy gathered around it. Rhys reached for his swords.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The voice was deep and raspy and coming from the roof of the warehouse. “Please join me inside and see if I really do smell like ox’s musk.”
“It worked!” Emric crowed.
He looked up as the people surrounding the party surged forward and began herding them to the warehouse’s door. Once inside, they watched the old half-orc descending a ladder. No one spoke until Karfu was on the ground. His rough voice echoed around the empty warehouse as he walked toward them. “An inventive way to get my attention, to be sure. Most just look for the signs. The fact that you didn’t tells me you are not members of any number of groups of rogues and thieves. And yet one of you wears the sash of Padraig Duna, who is the south’s most notorious criminal. This perplexes me. I desire to know what is happening in my city at all times and that is why you are still alive.”
Karfu was as tall as Rhys, and he directed the last of his monologue at the Kelenite. Rhys tried to hold Karfu’s gaze, but the half-orc’s neck drew his eyes. A jagged scar began on one side of the hollow in his throat and reached to his ear. “Go ahead and ask,” Karfu prompted. “Then it will be my turn.”
Rhys tore his eyes away from the thick line of stretched gray skin. “How did you get that scar?”
“The high command ordered my mother to slit my throat when it was clear I had no magic. She only made it halfway before turning the knife on herself instead.”