by Dave Dickie
I wasn’t surprised when the nameless serving girl handed me off to Sariel after we reached the corridor leading back to the front of the temple. Sariel flashed me one of those amused smiles, the more honest looking ones, and took me by the arm. And I immediately wondered if she used the more honest looking smile because she could tell I liked it better than the sultry one. Her skin was warm and smooth, and she leaned against me just enough to let me feel the gentle curves of her body through her dress, subtle enough not to be too forward, but an unmistakable invitation. Sariel seemed to be very good at what she did, and while I wasn’t sure exactly what that was, being a magnetic pole for men’s compasses was definitely somewhere on the list. She said softly “This way, Gur. You don’t mind if I call you Gur?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled me along, walking arm in arm down the corridor. It didn’t matter what my head was telling me, my heart was skipping beats and it was an effort not to wrap an arm around her waist, the unspoken suggestion to do so apparent in how close she was to me, in the way she made sure our hips stayed firmly connected. That I was even thinking about it was a bit off, in the middle of powerful factions in a situation I didn’t understand at all. Glamour was on, then. Good to know.
She found that mysterious spot in the corridor Tessa had touched before, opened the disguised door and led me through to the small room I’d met Tessa in before dinner. Tessa was still inside. Maybe she hadn’t left, but I doubted it, particularly because a small table had two glasses of red wine on it and chairs had been turned to face them. She said, “Gur, please, have a seat. Aster let me know your preferences in wine, and I took the opportunity to find something interesting that you might like, something you can’t buy on the street.” She meant expensive. I took the seat across from her. To my surprise, Sariel did not leave, just moved back, standing behind me. Tessa smiled and said, “And how did your conversation go?” She seemed a little different than she had an hour ago. There were traces of age, although I couldn’t have guessed how old she was. Her eyes were the same blue gray, but less mesmerizing. She seemed… smaller, somehow. The glamour spell, or attribute of Sambhal, had to be off. Interesting.
I said, “So, he’s a client now. And he’s a powerful man. Both of which suggest I should not be betraying his confidences. And, frankly, nothing he told me seems like it would be of interest to you.” I didn’t bother to tell her that, really, he hadn’t told me much of anything yet. Sometimes you let the conversation go where it will and you learn things from the questions being asked.
Tessa leaned back and laughed. “Gur, Gur, Gur, do you think power games are reserved for the Holds and their ilk? Anything that is of interest to the head of Grafton Hold is something worth knowing, and I collect that information whenever I can. I swear to you, I will make sure that nothing you say will be traced back to you. And I can pay in many different kinds of coin. Just name your price.”
She was lying. Not about payment, or preventing Leppol from knowing that I had told her something, but about this being just another piece of information about the Great Holder. It couldn’t be standard procedure to try to bribe anyone who had a private conversation with Leppol, and it certainly couldn’t be Tessa collecting the information. News would leak out. No, she knew something she wasn’t telling me. Perhaps it was just that Grafton Hold was in some political hot water. But would that be enough to justify her direct involvement? I didn’t know, but one thing I did know, and that was to hold your cards very close to your chest if you didn’t know the rules to the game you were playing.
I pretended to think about it. Tessa seemed content to sip her wine. I reached out, picked up my glass, and took a sip. Like the wine at dinner, it hit all the right notes, but this one was more complex in a way I didn’t really understand but made it worth savoring. Kudos to Aster. I’d done it more as a gesture of conciliation than because I wanted it, trying to look undecided. The second sip was just because it was really good. Finally I said, “Tessa, I appreciate that, and I believe you. But I’m not quite there yet. The Lord Holder is no one to trifle with. Give me a little time to think about things and find out what I can say without crossing him.”
Her eyes went icy for just a second. If I’d blinked at the wrong time I would have missed it. Then it was just Tessa, looking a little disappointed but resigned to my obstinance. That fraction of a second when her true soul peeked out from behind that facade told me this was someone you didn’t want to mess with. Tessa said, “As you wish. When you do decide to share something, please stop by. In the meantime, I’d like to offer you a token of good will, with no obligation on your part.” The table, as it turned out, had a small drawer under it, and she took out a four by six inch piece of parchment that looked very much like my original invitation, but all it had was the mark of Sambhal. “Good for anything you want, anytime you want. Just present it at the front entrance and let Sariel, or whoever is on that day, know what they can do to make your day better.”
Tessa slid the card across the table, but I didn’t pick it up. She glanced at Sariel behind me. Sariel walked up to my chair and leaned over my back. I could feel her breath on my neck, feel her breasts against the back of my shoulders. I could smell that floral perfume. This time, my heart didn’t start thumping painfully. Glamour off, check. I was getting some idea of the rules of this game. Sariel said breathily in my ear “Gur, I have a friend I think you’d like. You’ve got a free pass for anything you want. Anything. She and I would love to spend an evening entertaining you.”
I twisted around and looked at her. “Is your friend Kyung-chul?” I asked. Her smile slipped. That would be a no. Then it was back and brilliant as ever. “Kyung-chul it is. Whatever you want, Gur.”
I turned back to Tessa, who was watching me very, very carefully. "I think I’ll pass on that, but I appreciate the thought.” I could feel Sariel stiffen behind me.
Tessa glanced at Sariel, looking over my shoulder, and something passed between them, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I was becoming sorrier by the minute that I didn’t have weapons on me. Sorrier that Sariel was at my back, because then a weapon probably wouldn’t help much. But instead of going cold, Tessa pulled the card back, put it inside the table, sat back in her chair and smiled, a smile that made her entire face light up, warm, friendly, perfect, beauty that you could only find in a painting, not in real life. When she spoke, her voice was a musical instrument. I could have listened to her talk for hours no matter what the topic of conversation was. Glamour on, check. Of course, that I knew it didn’t mean I didn’t want to spread rose petals in front of her as she walked.
Tessa said, “Again, as you wish. May I ask why? It’s an offer that is not given lightly. Gold Rings from the Holds count themselves blessed if they can get an open pass, regardless of the cost.”
I wondered if I should play dumb and make up some excuse. But that wasn’t my style and Tessa, like Leppol, would not be easily fooled and would likely take it personally if she thought she had been. "The passes to the temple. They’re magicked up with Sambhal enchantments. They’re how you know who is coming and going. It’s how you knew every weapon I was carrying. It’s how you guide people to private meetings. Part of the Sambhal package, am I right?”
Tessa laughed, and it was a joyous thing. It made me want to laugh with her. “Very good, Gur. I said you were a unique and interesting individual, and here you are, proving it. The answer is yes. Accepting the invitation includes a certain carte blanche on our part to read things about you. Only surface things, I assure you, to better understand how to please you. Some of our more cautious clients know, because if they ask we do a full disclosure, and the more important ones, like the Lord Holder, we tell to avoid any implication of impropriety. There is nothing sinister about it.”
And yet, she hadn’t told me. And I suspected the open pass was, as she’d said, something unusual, something that you needed power and money to acquire. Not to mention using Sariel as a giant carrot. Why offer the High Council�
��s feast as a goodwill gesture? It was too much, too opulent a gift. She’d wanted desperately for me to take it. There were undercurrents here I didn’t understand. But one thing I did understand, and that was when someone was offering you a friendly hand to shake while holding the other behind their back, the one behind the back probably had a dagger in it. So I said, “I see that. However, for the moment, until I more fully understand what the Lord Holder wants, I need to follow your example and avoid any implication of impropriety on my part.”
Tessa looked at me with narrowed eyes, clearly not convinced, but eventually she nodded. “I hope that, with time, you will find some way to … soften your position. But I am impressed with both your ingenuity and your code of conduct. So here is a different offer. When you are done with this, come back to me. I could use someone with your skills and sense of propriety. And, as I said, I can pay in many different kinds of coin.”
I believed that. And, in my business, knowing people is worth its weight in gold. And spinning them up was a good way to end up dead. So I stood, bowed, and said, “It would be a pleasure to work with you in the future, my lady.”
She stood as well, bowed rather than curtseyed, and said, “Until next time. Sariel, if you would show Mister Driktend out?”
Sariel guided me to the entrance, gathered my weapons from the front desk, and handed them to me. She gave me a wistful smile. “It would have been fun, Gur. Even with Kyung-chul. I hope you give Tessa a reason to let me entertain you some time.” And she put her hands behind my neck, pulled my lips to hers and kissed me with the glamour fully amped up. My head was spinning when she was finished. She turned and moved away and I couldn’t keep myself from watching that seductive, swaying walk. It was a few seconds before I could finally tear my eyes off her and walk out the entrance onto Aron’s Way trying to figure out what had just happened.
Chapter Six
The next day I was up early. The first stop was the Grafton Hold Ostrog, the local building Grafton Hold members used in the city. There were a couple of wardens outside standing guard, copper rings on their finger, making a great show of their superiority over the delivery men, merchants, artisan enchanters, messengers, farmers, and occasional thief that were beginning to show up on the street. You could generally tell the level of a Holder by how disdainfully they looked at commoners. The higher in the hierarchy, the less they needed to demonstrate their superiority. The wardens, men at arms that provided both a private security service and the city wide organization that enforced the laws, tended to be worse than most. The irony was that wardens were the easiest way to become a member of the Hold, since they had a shorter life expectancy than other Hold occupations and because all the Hold really cared about in wardens was skill at arms.
The Ostrog was on the tip of the peninsula, with the back facing the rough stone seawall that had been erected to protect against the occasional storm driven waves, looking out over the Lanotalis sea but away from the noise and smell of the wharfs. The front, facing the cobblestone street that paralleled the seashore around the tip of the peninsula, was large, having stables, side entrances to small rooms used by Hold members that were in town temporarily, and larger doors for the armory and storehouses that held both goods and the money that was Grafton’s share of the tax collector’s take. Grafton Holders that were in town permanently had housing outside the Ostrog, typically nearby, usually a floor in one of the square stone or brick buildings that ran in slightly jagged lines down the streets. Leppol, of course, had a small mansion with a tall stone wall surrounding it. I’ve been told there are gardens and sorcery-driven fountains inside and that his wife was fond of outdoor parties with small bands providing entertainment. I wondered if the musicians were from the Sambhal temple.
A drive made of gravel lead to a section with a slate floor. There was a ceiling over the slate, held up by ornate wooden posts, to allow people to exit carriages without getting wet if it was raining. I walked down the drive to the front door, gravel crunching underfoot. The guardsmen eyed me suspiciously. I probably should have rented a carriage to make more of a grand entrance, but it was only a couple of miles from my house and I like to walk in the morning. It helps clear my head and get me ready for the day.
I nodded politely. “Holder, a good morning to you. I am Gur Driktend. I have an appointment with Lord Leppol Dralusus.” The man in front me, dressed in leather armor with large metal studs, a hardened leather hat, a dark blue cloak with the Hold glyph-embroidered on it, and a very conspicuous but fortunately sheathed longsword, relaxed a bit.
“Citizen Driktend, I have been informed of the meeting. Please, have a seat and I’ll have someone here in a moment.” He gestured to a bench, and I sat. He did something at the front door and returned to his post. I wasn’t sure if it was some mechanical messaging system or if they had one of the Nitheia sound panels that were the rage if you could afford one, but a few minutes later a man in house livery arrived sporting black boots, white pants, bright red jacket with polished brass buttons, and the standard dark blue, glyph embroidered cloak. He indicated I should follow him, leading me through the front door. Inside was a long hallway, perpendicular to the entryway, with regularly spaced doors and marble staircases at the ends. We went left, up, down a longer corridor with more unmarked doors, and finally paused in front of one with two guards standing outside it. They let us in without comment.
The room was what you would expect, a place intended to impress visitors. The floor was marble, alternating squares of grey, white, and pink. The walls were a dark wood polished to a dull luster. The furniture was all custom built with a variety of exotic woods, all subtly different and yet blending together in a way that pleased the eye. The walls were adorned with paintings, mostly of the outdoors. One wall had a set of portraits of Leppol, looking very stately, his wife, looking very stately, and his two children, looking very serious. They must have been recent, because the boy looked to be about six and the girl four, their current age. Several large bookcases stood against walls, full of leather bound books whose titles I couldn’t make out. There was one huge, regal looking chair with a high back and purple cushions standing on a slightly raised dais in one corner. I guessed that was where Leppol sat when he was getting a morning briefing.
I wasn’t sure if I should call it an office or a throne room.
Leppol was talking quietly with two men when I entered, but he finished up quickly and waved for everyone else to exit the room.
Leppol said, “Have a seat, Driktend,” which I took. He remained standing, which made me a little uncomfortable, which he probably intended. Leppol paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts, then said, “Let’s start at the beginning. The consortium funded an expedition to the mountains north of the Pranan City-States.”
That was orc territory and therefore not a place anyone sound of mind would want to go. Worse, it was Ohulhug territory, the high orcs with their battle-sorcery who had led the orc invasion down the plains of Pranan and laid waste to the countryside during the interregnum. Your standard run of the mill low orc was typically five foot tall, green, stocky and strong, but not very bright. They were aggressive and difficult, but you could talk to them. The Ohulhug tended toward seven feet tall, could lift a man in armor over their head, and took to spells like birds to the air. They liked painting their faces in war paint, usually primary colors, and their taste in jewelry ran toward necklaces and earrings featuring the teeth of humans, orcs or other Ohulhug they had personally killed in combat. Fortunately, they had a feral disposition and trusted each other as much as they respected humans, which was to say not at all. It had taken just over two hundred years to drive them back to their mountain strongholds. Since then, what little contact occurred with the Ohulhug was usually by way of the edge of a weapon, preferably one with a long range.
Leppol said, “We outfitted a ship, the Fair Elaine, hired a crew and a small band of mercenaries, and sent five Silver Rings from Grafton, Parch, Nolan, Coslander, and Telbur
n Holds.” That list included three Major Holds and Grafton, the Great Hold. Telburn I didn’t recognize, but there were somewhere north of fifty minor Holds that were part of the consortium that owned Bythe out of hundreds in the entire province. “They recovered something of great value. So valuable the consortium decided to implement several unusual measures to prevent possible detection or interception by interested parties. One of those was a very high level Nitheia spell that obfuscates attempts to use scrying, auger or diviner spells to find the item’s location.”
I hadn’t even known that was possible. Nitheia was the religious order that worshiped Ipdohr, goddess of wisdom, knowledge, and writing. The order maintained the great libraries in Salta, Kuseme and Telen. Blocking scrying spells seemed like a stretch for a goddess of knowledge… but, again, unfathomable ways.
“We also decided that we wouldn’t risk using any of the available teleportals in Pranan,” continued Leppol. “The ship returned to port with the object on board. Pulling into port, however, there was an… incident.”
There was a knock at the door and Leppol glanced at it in irritation. “Not now,” he called loudly. There was the sound of someone moving away.