We set out from Al’Veydra using the old portal that Zenith had set up in his rooms to the town of Dayvin, which is on the shore of lake Dal Avar, named for the city it drowned, and has a long history as an adventurer’s town – lawless, but a resting place for groups exploring the ruins beneath the lake in between ventures.
A couple of hundred years ago, during the War of the Robe, one of the various nobles vying for the crown broke a dam far upstream of one of the largest cities of the Bannerlands. The flood enveloped the city overnight, drowning nearly its entire population.
It was this crime, which I believe the fellow we met what feels like long ages ago in the Feywild was seeking to avoid. As the brother of the king, he was seeking to avoid the fate of that city and save its people. But centuries have passed him by, similarly to the passage of my own empire. Much like him, I seek redemption for my own home, though unlike him, I seek a dose of revenge for the fate of my people – the criminal that ended his has long since passed to dust.
Mine still sits upon a throne.
After the drowning of Dal Avar, much later, the town of Daven grew on the shores of lake Dal Avar, a town of scavengers and adventurers who seek out the drowned treasures in the towers and buildings under there. The usual places grew up around the lake, shanties and boats that grew old and dilapidated as the weather and time took their toll. The people, some of them at least, reflected the dwellings, growing old with the town. No one, it seemed, was born there. No children wandered the streets, and the youngest people around were groups of adventurers frequenting the few inns and taverns that belched small quantities of oily smoke from their chimneys. The smoke clung to the streets, drifting between the roofs as though afraid to stray upwards and into the winds above the streets.
The place had grown swampy, muddy, the ground here being unadjusted to the massive amounts of water, it had grown soft and swampy. Rushes and reeds grew all around, in between buildings and in the wet streets. Almost every building had a coating of moss on its north side, thick and green.
In spite of all the age and decay, the place had a friendly smell, smoke and food. The people smiled in welcome as we walked by. We saw several bands similar to ours walking about, none with quite so many scars, but quite often with a similar look in their eyes to our own.
It made me wonder, seeing these groups. They all seemed to share a bond of friendship among them, a camaraderie that went beyond simply sharing a common purpose. That something…that bond, it seemed missing from Fellbane. We just seem…wary of one another. I don’t like it. My unit used to feel the sense of belonging, but among us, among Fellbane, there’s an absence.
I cannot put my finger on it.
Our route would take us from Dayven to the ruins of Banner, en route to Abbor Alz and the Bonegate. Strange, I hadn’t seen the Bonegate since my days in the Turathian army…I was very curious to see what about it may have changed since I’d been there. I suspected the mountains, as always, remain constant, but who could know what villages or other structures could surround the pass now?
In Dayven, we rested at a local inn (the “Boat and Oar”) for a couple of days while gearing up for our venture.
We visited the dry-goods store, picking up supplies for our journey, and there we inquired about where we might find gear suitable for enchantment, or found gear that might be already impressed with the nature. We were directed down to a shop on the shore, a great squat tower of stone. Perhaps twenty feet in height, it was surrounded by a half-moon dock that extended out into the lake waters. The Gilded Anchor it was called, and the sign was a great anchor that seemed to be coated with what might have been gold.
Inside, the building was unremarkable, stone walls to match the outside, divided with another stone wall that ran down the center of the room across from the door. It had an archway of its own, and a wooden countertop that ran parallel to it. An iron stove in the corner threw off a modicum of heat.
A small brass bell sat on the counter, which was otherwise clear of decoration.
Karac reached up and rang the little bell, which had a surprisingly clear note.
From the archway a tall, thin dunkel emerged, carrying a thin clay pipe that oozed blue smoke. His crisp speech was soft. “Help you?”
The dwarf squinted, shaking his head. “Figures it’d be more of them. Just took our leave of Dex for a while, gotta be more of ‘em.”
He looked back up. “Yep, you can help. I need me a throwing axe. Enchanted if you got it, enchant it if you don’t.”
“Yes, hmm. I am Huelbar. You are?”
“Karac Gravelvoice. That matter much?”
“It would if you were intending to purchase something from me.”
Sered stepped up. “Please pardon my companion’s gruffness. His people are very direct.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with his people…and yours, you are…?”
“Sered. We are…”
“Fellbane, yes, I know.”
“How did you…?”
“Small town, not far from Al’Veydra, return of the originators of the group after eighteen months’ mysterious absence, yes, yes, yes. Shall we deal? If I’m not mistaken, I see some of my brother’s things among you?”
Sered looked around. “I don’t understand…?”
“Deepar of Delver’s Lantern is my brother. Is this not gear you acquired in his establishment?” He pointed to a few things among us.
“Deepar? Yes, yes! We were just there a few months ago!” Sered stepped up to the counter. “In fact, we also know your other brother, Jindar of the Seven-Pillared Hall.”
“Shame. Had you mentioned it earlier, I might have arranged a discount.” He looked back to Karac. “A throwing axe, you say?”
Karac turned his frown back from Sered and focused it on Huelbar. Nodded twice.
Huelbar turned and moved back into the darkness through the archway.
From the back room, a great deal of clatter began to arise. A cacophony of metal on metal made its way out to us. Huelbar’s voice drifted out, “Horace! Give me that poker from behind the stove!” A hammering of iron echoed out.
“No, not that one! The other! The one with the meat on it!”
A few moments later, he came out, completely calm and composed. He laid a bundle on the table, silvery cloth around something. “I have this old hatchet, Gorlen the woodcutter used to use this one. To use the turn of phrase in your language, he would swear at it more than by it. Will this suit your needs?”
Karac opened the wrap, and uncovered a well-worn axe with an oak handle and steel wrappings. Its head had a stylized hole cut from it, the kind that generates a whistle when it flies through the air. Karac hefted it several times, made a mock of throwing it at Bingo, and turned back. “It’ll do.”
“And what would you like to offer for it?”
Karac looked a little confused. “Gold do?”
“Gold?” Huelbar seemed disdainful of the thought. “You have nothing else?”
“What, won’t be good enough?”
Huelbar looked resigned. “I suppose it will have to be, won’t it?”
They talked figures for a moment, and Karac dropped a small pile of coins on the counter. Huelbar took up a box from the floor, and quickly swept the money into it from the countertop with a wooden stick. I noticed he was careful not to touch any of the coins. He quickly reached the box through the archway, where something or someone snatched it from his hand.
He turned back to us, his deep skin reflecting a little from light in the windows. “Do you others need something, or is your dour friend it?”
I stepped up. “Yes, please.”
He looked me up and down. “The change is almost done, isn’t it?”
How in the hells did he know? “What?”
“The power is on you, and you are almost finished with the changing.”
Nothing left, so I just went with it. “I’ll need armor, that won’t get in the way. This…” I pulled my chain shirt from my pack and laid it on the counter, “…will get in the way.”
He nodded, and held up the links, looking at the centerpiece. The age-whitened circle glinted back at him. “Yes, I think I might have something suitable.” He walked into the back for a few moments before returning with a large parchment bundle tied with twine. He untied the bow on the package, laying it open in front of us. A harness of leather armor rested in it, with clasps of iron cast in the form of small war-chariots with horses for the hooks.
“This seems more like something that would work for you, no?”
I looked it over. Leather, so I could move more freely, and I could already feel a bit of the dweomer through my hands as I inspected it. I nodded. “Yes, this will do.”
He swept my old chain shirt from view before a second passed. “And the other?”
I held up the bow. “I’ve had this for a very long while, you know.”
He looked at it. “And its former owner certainly has little use for it now.” He arched an eyebrow at me.
“I suppose that’s true.” I set it on the counter.
He picked it up, plucked at the string lightly, tested the weight of it. “And what are you seeking for this? A blade? Wand? An axe?” With this last he looked down at Karac, who was over by the stove lining up a piece of firewood for a good chop.
“A blade would be ideal, yes.”
He took the bow and set it gently down, and from beneath the counter drew another bundle. Some sort of reptile skin, with a leather belt clasped around it. He undid the clasp and opened it to reveal a sheathed dagger. Drawing it, I checked its thin, wickedly-sharp blade. After giving my thumb a good slice, I held the thing up to the light while sucking on the bleeding wound. The hilt was some form of stone, probably marble, while the blade was made of a silvery metal with a greenish tint – similar to the adamantium blades of the dunkels, but with a touch of the feywild about it. As with the armor, I could sense the aura of magic within it already, and looking at the runes engraved on its surface I picked up that this was a Portal Blade, one used for enhancing short dimensional hops, and suitable as a focus for more complicated rituals.
I set the blade down and looked back at the bow. I’d had the bow for such a long while…and it had saved me on numerous occasions.
“And perhaps it may be time for it to save someone else, don’t you think?” Huergar leaned over the dagger, looking at it. “I think this will suit you, but perhaps you think otherwise, hmm?”
I made the decision months ago, this would only be one more step. Breaking with the past might be the only way to forge a future.
“I’ll take it, yes. Thank you.” I pulled the dagger from the counter and stuck it in my belt.
Huergar leaned the bow against the wall behind him. “Now, gentlemen, if there will be nothing else…?”
“One moment, please.” I turned to the others. “Are you sure we’re good with the trade I wish to make here?”
Sered looked at me. “We have no use for the extra blade, or the scale armor. You need the implement you are seeking, do it.” Karac looked over from where he’d split six or eight slices off the wood he had been slicing at. He shrugged from over there, then tossed the bigger piece in the air and with a quick move took another thin bit of kindling off of it.
I turned back to Huergar. “I am seeking a rod, an enchanted rod suitable for a warlock.”
He raised both eyebrows this time. “What have you to trade?”
I drew forth the scale armor we’d brought along. It had been around for a long while, since Ihnbharan, and no one had taken it up. I unrolled it on the counter for Huergar to have a look.
“You’ve already brought armor today,” he said, nonplussed. “Do you have anything else?”
Well, guess this was going to be a little more of an issue. I drew out the sheath that held the longsword we’d had for a bit. It was not visible – that was its nature. It remained out of sight until it saw use, and was a perfect weapon for those wishing to remain concealed in their attempt until the last minute. I drew it and laid it upon the surface between us.
Huergar took an interest almost immediately. “Oohh, now this is interesting…” He held it up, which looked a bit strange. “A rod, you say?”
“Yes, please, if you have one available.”
“One moment.” He looked for a few moments at my hands. Turned back to his archway and snapped his fingers with a quick motion of his hand. Raised his open hand, and caught something that flew out of the dark to him.
“This, perhaps?” He laid a short, stocky length of wood down. It was wrapped in silver wire, with tiny inlaid leaves up and down its length. “It should complement the blade, I think. Crafted from Feywild white oak, given from an oak from the grove of the White Tree.”
“For the blade?” I pointed to the spot next to the rod where the cloaked weapon lay.
“The blade, and the armor, I should think.” Huergar motioned to both objects.
“That seems a little pricey of an exchange, I think.” I turned to the others. “Anyone of you need something else?”
Sered held out a hand. “Perhaps I do. Huergar, do you have access to any tattoos? I have heard of enchanted skin paints that can be very useful to me.”
Huergar thought for a moment. “Hmm. No, I don’t.” He looked back at me. Then back to Sered. “But perhaps I know someone who can help you. What manner of inscription were you seeking?”
“I’d like to have a knife on my arm, here – something I can produce a dagger from, preferably one with some enchantment on it, so I don’t have to be unarmed where I travel.”
Huergar considered this for a moment. “With such a tattoo, and this,” he gestured to the rod, “…would you consider that a fair trade?” I thought it over, and nodded. He drew a small wooden chip from his pocket, and walked over to one side, closer to the stove. “Mister dwarf, would you please light one of those and bring it to me?”
Karac lit one of the small strips and brought it to him. Huergar produced a small stick of blue wax and melted a splash of it onto the chip. Once enough was accumulated, he pressed a sigil hanging around his neck into the congealing liquid. “Take this to Thall, who has a small shop just uphill. He will help you.”
I took the rod from him, and hung it on my belt. I cast one last look at the bow.
Huergar followed my glance. “Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that it finds a good home.”
I nodded, and we departed.
Outside, we paused a moment. I handed my quiver over to Bingo. “Won’t be needing these, I guess. Feel free. Up the hill a ways probably means there.” I pointed to a rough stone building, solidly built if unprofessionally mortared, with a roof made from a mishmash of tile and thatch. It was half-hidden through the pines, with a trail of grey smoke coming out from one side.
We strolled up to the place – which took considerably longer than I at first surmised. As it turns out, the distance combined with the size of the place had given it an illusion of proximity which deceived me. The place had a doorway that was probably twelve feet in height, and was comprised of split and bound tree boles. A huge handle made of iron, bolted to the doorway, rested at eye level.
Karac looked grimly at all of this. “Can’t say as I’m too comfortable with this Thall, and I haven’t even met him.” He fingered his new axe, shoved crookedly into his belt. “Might be I’d have reason to use this new toy here, hope he doesn’t give me a reason to.”
Sered, tallest of us, stepped to the door and banged on it a few times. A muffled voice inside responded, “Yes, come in.”
Entering, the place was dark – only two small windows, each of which was partially obscured by brik-a-brak and highly piled junk. An oversized table of sap-oozing wood with two matching chairs dominated the center of the room, and a stone hearth with a few smoking logs on it occupied the corner of the far wall. To the right side, shelves and small tables were covered with bottles and tools of a variety of sorts. The left was almost entirely books and scrolls, stacked neck-high to me.
Sitting in one of the chairs was a giant.
Allow me to correct myself – it was an ettin. Two-headed, the stories of their origin lies in a strange experiment with the fomorians, and where members of single-craniumed races tend to at times be conflicted, ettins take this to a whole new level. This one was seated in a chair, arms resting on the table. Its right head wore a monocle of several layers of depth, and its right hand held a long, quill-like tool which it occasionally dipped in a pot of what I could only presume to be ink. With this hand, it was inscribing a tattoo on the left arm, which lay across the table and held in its ginger grasp an open book of normal size, which the left head was reading from with rapt attention. The left head wore glasses, and both heads were devoid of all but a few strands of hair. A large oil lantern provided light for the two of them to see by. The thumb of the left hand deftly flipped a page as we were opening the door.
The place smelled of old sweat and rotten food. Not overpoweringly, but strongly enough to know that staying for a great length of time would be at the very least irritating. The ettin’s skin was a pallid grey, with light brown blotches, and almost its entire left side was covered with tattoos of varying intricacy.
As we entered, the left head looked up from its book to look us over. “Ohh, visitors! Thall, loo…OW!”
“Well hold still, you page-flipping pansy! I know, visitors, you fool, I told them to come in, or didn’t you hear me?”
“Oh, sorry, you’re right.”
The right head looked over, and its monocle flipped open to show another eye beneath it. “What can we do for you, strangers?”
“Yes, did you come looking for books?!?” The left head chattered, retrieving its arm from the table and slapping its hand on a thigh as wide as Karac’s torso.
“Shut up, Thule, or I’ll pop you one.”
“Of course, Thall, shutting up now.”
Sered looked across at the tattooed arm. “You do good work. I was recommended you by Huergar, who said you could help me with a tattoo.”
Thule muttered, “No one ever wants to buy books.”
Thall gave him a sidewise glance before returning his attention to Sered. “Good man, that Huergar, always trust him to help me find new business. Whatcha thinking of? ‘Mother’? One of yer friends here got a fancy for you?”
“No, something more utilitarian, I think.”
“And?”
“I’d like an enchantment laid on it, and I’d like it on my arm, here.” He pulled his sleeve up on his right arm. “Something from which I can recall a blade, should I find myself in need.”
Thall nodded. “Not going to be a simple job, then. I can probably manage that. Might even be able to tie a bit of a keen edge to it, as well, if you don’t mind it being a little more closely linked to your blood than just skin deep.”
“That would be acceptable.”
“How big a blade? You’ve got quite an arm there, I could fit all manner of things on it.”
Sered pointed at the dagger on my belt. “About that size would do, just the forearm.”
Thall snapped his fingers at me and gestured. I drew my blade and handed it to him, hilt-first. He gripped it in his first two fingers and thumb, snapping the monocle down to get a closer view. “Hmm. Yes, all right, I can do something like that. Got coin?” He looked up to Sered as he said this last.
Sered offered the wooden chip, the blue wax seal standing out even in the dim room.
“That lousy…I hate these things.” Thall took it, looked it over. “All right, he’s good for it. If you want we can start now.”
Sered shrugged.
He handed me back the blade. “Nice knife, by the way. Going to name it?”
I hadn’t even thought of that. “Suppose so, but don’t know what yet.”
“All right, you, make yourself comfortable, this is going to take a while.” He gestured at the table. Sered climbed up via the other chair, and I passed his pack up to him to lean against.
“Excuse me, how long will this take?” I asked.
Thall looked at Sered’s arm. “’Bout two hours,” he looked to Sered’s face. “Unless you want to get picky about colors or somethin?” Sered shook his head.
“Okay, thank you.”
I walked around to the other side, where Thule had resumed reading. “Excuse me, but I would be interested in a book.”
The ettin’s eyes brightened with a flash. “Oh fantastic! What would you like? I have all sorts of great books! No one ever wants to really read my things here, this is just spectacular! Which can I help you fin…”
I interrupted him. “Demons, specifically. In particular I’m trying to learn about possessed items, idols perhaps, and what they might be capable of or used for.”
Thule squinted, looked back over at Thall, who was already lining up ink-pots and some trays of metallic powder next to Sered’s outstretched arm.
“I can’t stand up, forgive me, but yes. See that shelf over there?” He gestured with the book towards one of the bookshelves. I walked over to the one I thought he meant and pointed. He nodded back. “Sixth one up from the floor, on the right. That rolled scroll, the one fastened with blue fabric.” I found the one he was referring to and pulled it down.
I unrolled it and looked it over. To my surprise it was from Bael Turath – it must have been from my own time. I felt strangely nostalgic at this point, and for a moment felt a pang of genuine homesickness. Looking it over, it was part of a treatise on binding demons into objects, so it seemed right up my alley. Complete would have been better, but this was a big step ahead of the nothing I would otherwise be working with.
“Yes, this is good – do you have others like it, or the rest of this one?”
“No, I’m afraid not, that one came only in its current state.”
“What would you like for it?”
Thule scratched his chin for a minute with the corner of the book he’d been reading, indecision playing a visible battle across his face. “Umm…one gold piece?”
I thought this over for a moment, putting my best poker face on. “Hmm…that seems quite expensive, but it is a rare text…it hurts to say this, but okay, I can do that price.” I fished out a gold from my pouch and pressed it into the ettin’s large extended hand. He immediately gave it a bite, and when he was convinced of its reality turned to Thall.
“Ha! See?? A WHOLE gold piece! All that painting you do, and here I am making money! HA! No more rotten potatoes for us!” His left leg shivered, bouncing the both of them in their chair.
Thall didn’t even adjust his head, just swiveled his eyes over to look at his other self before returning his attention to the task at hand. “If you don’t shut up and hold still, I’m going to put your eye out with this needle, Thule.”
Thule immediately went still, with an expression of fear that would have brought tears to the eyes of a child. “Yes, Thall, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m sorry. Can I bring you some tea?”
Thall sighed with resignation. “No, Thule, I’m busy working, so you can’t bring me tea. Just don’t be so enthusiastic when I’m doing something delicate, please.”
Thule smacked himself lightly in the head. “Of course, I can’t reach the tea, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be calmer, Thall.”
Thall just shook his head and resumed his work on Sered’s arm.
We all milled around, looking at the books some more, and Thule managed to earn a pair of additional golds before Sered’s arm was done. After the second, he actually cried a little with the joy of it, but he was very careful not to let his excitement result in too much movement. Thall would just occasionally shake his head with exasperation.
“Okay, that should about do it.” He handed Sered a surprisingly clean rag. “Keep it wrapped up until tomorrow night. It’s going to feel a little funny, and you’re going to be hungry as hell tonight, because it has to build the dagger from what it can draw from you while the enchantment sets in. Just eat whatever the mood demands, and it should be ready on its own. You’ll know how to trigger it once it’s set.”
Sered tied the wrap around his arm and let his sleeve fall back in place. Small spots of blood seeped through the cloth, but they didn’t seem to bother him at all.
I walked back to Thule. “Before we go, do you know anyone in town who I might be able to consult for more information along these lines?” I waggled the scroll in my hand.
“Hmm…I would have said Jasrim Hook, but he hasn’t been in town for at least six months,” I cursed myself for being a fool and not asking him back in Al’Veydra. “Next best person would be Bad Dray, he’s got a home down in the lake, not much of a wizard, but he knows a lot. I occasionally go to him for help when I get a book that I can’t read.”
“Bad Dray? How will I know him?”
“He lives in a boat called Amanthea, it’s just a few hundred yards from the Boat and Oar inn.” He pointed in the general direction of the inn.
“Okay, that’s easy enough to find.”
Thall rapped on the table. “Take a bottle or two with you. The man likes his drink.”
Evening was already setting in as we left Thall and Thule’s home. Sered shook his arm a bit. “He’s right, I’m famished.”
“I’ve got to get in touch with this fellow he told me of, but that can wait until tomorrow.” I offered.
Karac pulled one side of his moustache. “I could eat. Why don’t we go have a night in the inn, and get started on beers for the night?”
We all agreed this sounded like one of the better ideas of the day, and returned to the inn. The evening passed calmly, happily, and with plenty of reasonably good wine and beer that we all ended up going to bed with a rather optimistic outlook.
As I was drifting to sleep, I wondered how much longer it would be before the change I’d embarked upon at Sybarron’s beckoning finally completed. Was this a key to the prophecy I’d so long ago ignored, the one that cost my people our empire, our future? It wouldn’t be long, I knew, before it would complete out. The arcane nature of my skills, that I’d learned ages ago when I first joined the Cairn Jale, were coming to a head, twisting, reforming, taking tighter hold of the lines of power extended to me through my arrangement with the Fey Court – now with Shan Doresh – and through my subtle tie to the infernal bonds of my ancestry. I could feel them strengthening, almost day to day.
Riftspar. That’s what I would name the dagger I’d acquired today. Riftspar. It just felt right. And its companion, the Feywild rod, that I would call Crownfire.
I entered Dream with a smile on my face.
If I dreamed, I don’t recall, but I slept well and fully, awaking refreshed and ready. We broke our fast with eggs, ham, rashers of bacon and a hot coffee mixed with some sort of bark tea from local trees. Overall it was bitter enough to wake you, and although it was obviously not pure coffee it was quite good. It had an acidic taste, not unlike the smell of a swamp in fall when the acorns have stained the water black.
After we’d eaten our fill, we set out. I didn’t relish the thought of the rest of the group laying eyes on this idol, but there was nothing to do about it – they seemed determined to accompany me, and in the end it would make little difference to me.
Finding the Amanthea was no trouble at all, it was just up the shore as Thule had said. Sered and Karac both accompanied me, quietly muttering amongst themselves.
Amanthea was a rundown old boat, chained to shore – quite the expensive property here, to live on the lake. His reputation for being a drunkard was well-deserved, as there were crates full of empty bottles of all sorts sitting beside the path leading to the short walkway of his vessel.
When I walked towards it, a set of four big mastiffs rose around the pathway close to the boat and set up a howling bark at me. They were all chained, or I suspect I’d have had to fight them off. I fingered Crownfire thoughtfully, but held back from drawing it up.
“You lot! Shut yer lousy traps!” A tall, unshaven man stood on the deck of the boat, holding a cocked-and-loaded crossbow.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” He pointed the weapon at me.
I raised my hands empty at my side. “Information.”
He nodded and raised the weapon vertical. “Come aboard.”
We walked up the board and onto the little boat, which creaked and rolled slightly. He brought me into a small room just inside. A wagon-wheel stood in for a table, and the ledges to either side were stacked with books and scrolls packed tightly in the small space.
“Drink?” The man had a salt-and-pepper beard which hadn’t seen a razor in a week or three, and his formerly-black hair was also showing the marks of age in it. His nose had been broken on more than one occasion, it drifted to the left on its long journey out from his face. He was holding a ceramic jug from which he’d popped the cork and poured himself a cup. He was holding poise on a second cup, waiting for my answer.
“No thank you, filled up at the inn.” He nodded and plopped into the seat across the wagon wheel from me. Karac and Sered both stood behind me, silent.
Bad Dray balanced his cup on the outer rim of the wheel and leaned back in his chair. The wheel had no surface, so anything on it would have to balance on the rim or rest across the spars. “So, what kind of information can I supply you with?”
“I’d hoped you could enlighten me about an idol, whose origin I am trying to establish. I want to find out what it is and what it does.” I pulled the scroll from my pouch and rested it on the center of the table. “I purchased this from Thule yesterday, and while it has been enlightening in the sense of the general nature of things, it has been far from specific.”
“Got this idol on you?”
I produced a black velvet bundle from my bag and unwrapped it, setting the mithril idol on the table between us. I heard Sered take a breath, but neither he nor Karac said anything.
“I recovered this from a portion of the Feywild, but I suspect its ties are more closely aligned with the Abyss…and I would like to find out anything I can of it.” Next to it, I placed a stack of five gold coins, and from my bag produced a large bottle of Wynter’s Fall.
Bad Dray grunted, looking at the bottle and coins. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he hefted the bottle and vanished it into a cabinet. The coins went as well.
He picked the idol up and slipped on a pair of glasses – both lenses of which were broken. Probably suffered those breaks at the same time he broke his nose, I suppose. How he could see through them remained a mystery, but if they helped him somehow, I had no objection.
“Interesting. Going to take some time, I think.”
“How much time?”
“Oh, I think just till this afternoon should do. You should probably leave it with me, come back before sunset.” He set it back down on the table.
I wasn’t entirely comfortable with this, and it must have shown. “Look, I didn’t get beachfront property by double-crossing people.”
I supposed he was right. I nodded, and we departed. The other two didn’t speak of where I got the idol, and I didn’t feel it necessary to broach the topic.
The day went smoothly, we picked up the supplies we needed. Our journey, if all on horseback, would take us something approaching two months, assuming everything went smoothly. This was midwinter though, and things rarely go smoothly in the unpredictable weather of this season. I bought us all mounts – the inn and distillery had built up a good income in my absence, and I had plenty of cash to reinvest as well as some to keep for myself. Once the packs and bags were loaded, and I had the innkeep double-check all the horses before our departure in the morning.
Before sunset, we returned to the Amanthea to collect the information I sought.
I found Bad Dray in the small room, with several empty bottles on the floor and a good bender tied on already.
“Trying to curse me, are you?” He slurred over his wet lower lip. “Sic the demons of hell on me?”
I frowned, and looked more closely around the room. The idol was on the ‘table’, resting on the axle hub. My cloth was next to it. “No, not at all. I came with exactly the need I described. What have you found?”
“I used it, all right. Found out quite a bit. Made me sleep, it did. I set a candle and focused it, and it had me sleep. Slept like it was a whole night. Woke up barely a minute after I went down, but lasted a whole night’s worth of dreaming.”
“I don’t see the problem, so far, please…” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
“Oh, sleep’s not the problem, I felt plenty rested. But they are in there.” He pointed his empty cup at the idol. Looked into it, then up at me. “Got another bottle of that brew?”
I extracted another and handed it to him. He dropped the cup, popped off the clasp of the bottle, and swigged straight from it.
“Demons, it’s a conduit. A gate. They wouldn’t leave me alone, everywhere I went in my dreams, there they were. They were begging me to build it, got pretty angry too, eventually, started ordering me, threatening me to build it. I actually laid down a little foundation in there.” He was waving the bottle at the idol.
“I’m not sure I understand, they? A gate?”
He lowered the bottle and paused for a deep breath. “Okay, here you go.” He raised a hand and looked at it, holding it steady to concentrate. “When you use it, you pull a whole night’s sleep into one moment of time. You dream, you rest, you wake up fine. But there’s a link there, a bit of their essence attached to this jigger.” He motioned to the idol again.
“They get you to build a gate, while you’re in your dreams, see? I think when you complete it, it isn’t just dream – you’ll be building this gate in your own mind, and they can come through then.” His accent had become very thick with the drink.
“How many times do you think might be safe?” I asked, while I draped the velvet cloth back over the idol and wrapped it up.
“Don’t know, probably different for any of you lot. But when it’s done, it’ll be the same – they’ll be able to use you as a gate and open the path between you and the Abyss. Whether you’d live through it or not, can’t say. In any case, I don’t imagine it’ll be too much fun.”
I stacked up five sets of ten gold coins for him on the rim of the wheel, and revolved it around so they rested in front of him. His eyes grew a little wider at seeing them.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remember our meeting, or having seen this,” I said.
“With the booze I’ll be puttin’ away this evening on some of this money, be lucky if I remember you at all,” he replied.
I socked away the idol in my bag and rose with a nod.
So…this little idol turns out to have been more dangerous than I assumed. I was glad I had been keeping it shrouded rather than handling it directly. This also gave me ideas on how it might be useful – though I would not want to use it much myself, the ability to create a portal into the Abyss could be of great value to someone.
For instance, if the Infernal Legions wished to launch a strike into the Abyss through a surprise path, they might have a minion use this idol to construct the gate, destroy the demons that initially come through, and then funnel a counterstrike invasion through the created gate.
Which could be very useful in drawing away forces from a power base at a key moment in time.
Valuable indeed. An ambitious fiend might also pay a great deal for something like this, either in favors or more hard currency. And once I found out which demon and where it was within that churning maelstrom, this little object’s value could escalate further.
The evening passed, once again safely and with little fanfare.
We traveled out of Dayven the next morning shortly after dawn, the chill air biting hard at exposed skin and our breath leaving in clouds of fine mist. South we’d go, some fifteen to twenty days before reaching the ruins of Banner, then on further into the Hastwith Desert, another two weeks to reach Tarsis, city of a Thousand Tents. After that would be almost thirty days more before reaching Abbor Alz. I found myself wishing for a few of my brighter lieutenants from the Cairn Jale…our travel rituals would have made short work of this journey. But that magic was already denied me on this new path, so we would go as best we could.
A day into the journey we found ourselves confronted with a broken-down wagon in the road, and a family of people clustered around it. A woman came around the back and saw us, and immediately set up an alarmed cry, “Oh my gods, bandits!”
Bingo broke off and started off into the woods to the left, and I kept my eyes wide, looking around us. Before too long I realized that it was us she was referring to, not some batch of highwaymen that might have startled her. Sered came to the realization about the same time I did, and raised his hands, calling out “No need for alarm, ma’am, we aren’t here to rob you. How can we help?”
The woman had brought her husband out from behind the wagon, and was sheltering herself behind him. We approached slowly, keeping an eye out. We got to within about twenty yards of the wagon, and Sered called out “Look out, ambush right!” At the same time, I realized the children at the wagon…weren’t children. They were gnomes, dressed in little children’s clothes.
The gnomes charged, closing ground between us. The woman – a man, actually, now that he’d broken disguise – and her ‘husband’ had drawn weapons and were following the gnomes.
Sered, Karac and I charged up the right to the trees where Sered was pointing out two men waiting with bows. Their arrows went wide as we moved in. I got there first, sliding up alongside both and uttering a phrase I’d been given by Shan Doresh. A vortex of grey mist and chips of ice sprang up around me, and both men vanished in an instant – banished to Taer Dian Loresh. I dashed back to the cover of my companions, and I heard the soft susurrus of the icy wind slowing down behind me. Both men appeared moments later, hair gone completely white and their faces pallid with fear. I could see tiny slices drawing blood on the face of the closer one, his haunted eyes barely registering the pain of the lacerations.
One of the gnomes had pulled out a tiny drum, and was beating a hasty tune on it as he closed with us. Both Sered and Karac recognized this as a focus of some kind, and lit into the tiny humanoid like a rabid dog. The creature’s drumming arm was actually severed as it closed, Sered meeting it head on with a long connecting swing from his greatsword. The little limb tumbled through the frosty late-afternoon air, leaving small streamers of blood behind it.
A man on horseback rode out of the woods nearer to the wagon, calling out “’Ere, boys, pull away, get out get out! These aren’t easy marks!” Half his face appeared skinless, muscles and tendons working in the crisp air for all to see.
Sered saw the fellow riding out, and with a rush of swirling robes he closed the many yards in a mere instant, grabbing the gang-leader and then pulling him along on his semi-substantial path some distance away. The half-faced bandit leader was pulled bodily from the saddle and Sered dropped him on the ground where his vaporous charge ended. Seeing the setup, I immediately used Riftspar to cut a hole in reality, stepping through and out directly behind the bandit leader.
When the man looked up at me emerging above him with weapons in hand, his face twisted up into a grimace and he called out “Parlay?”
Sered connected with a swing just as the word made its way out, and anything else the man was going to say was expelled in an enormous *huff* of breath from the force of the blow. The man’s armor kept him from being cut cleanly in two, but the force of the blow drove him to his knees.
I approached to deliver a follow up to his skull with the hilt of Riftspar, but the man had pulled another of those small drums out. He caught my eyes with his, “I would have parlayed!” he shouted as he completed the little ditty on the drum.
When he finished it, the ground beneath us rumbled fiercely, and it took all I could to remain on my feet. Around us, four great insects, each probably a full arms-length in width and who knows how long they were – most of their bodies remained below ground – burrowed up out of the earth around us. I saw one almost immediately spasm off to the left side of the road, two of Bingo’s arrows protruding from its head and thorax.
Karac, I couldn’t even see – he was surrounded by humans and one of the insects. A third was about halfway between the wagon and Sered, looking around and making way towards him.
I reached down and grabbed the man by the jerkin and held Riftspar up to his eye. “Call them off! Call them off!”
He shook his head and waved his hands helplessly, “I already did! You kept attacking us!”
Frustrated, I reversed my grip on the dagger and brought the hilt sharply against the bandit’s skull. He collapsed like a pile of limp rags.
As if on queue, the bugs re-burrowed and dispersed, and the remainder of the bandits quickly took up the chorus about their leader being down. They made best speed away, but not before Karac and Sered could drop another of their number.
We bound the ring-leader, and harnessed up their horses and left the wagon – it was truly broken, and none of us felt like fixing it.
Once we’d gone an hour or two down the road, we set up camp for the night with a shielded fire. The ringleader had awakened somewhere along the line, and though he didn’t protest much, he obviously knew he was in trouble.
Once we’d unloaded the horses, Karac pulled the bandit down from the horse we’d slung him over, hauled him over and dropped him near the fire.
Sered took on the questioning. There was obviously some anger there, but I stayed clear.
“What is your name?”
The man scratched his face – the scarred side – and looked up at him. “I’m Del Clim, the Smiling Bandit.”
“How many others have you attacked this way?”
“I don’t know, I don’t really count. Things down here are a little dicey, you know? Not much in the way of pickings to choose from.”
“Why shouldn’t we just kill you and be done with it? Pelor’s justice is on you now, so make it good.”
“I don’t know, maybe because I didn’t kill you?”
“You were going to. Those bugs you called up certainly would have.”
“Yeah, maybe true. But you don’t know if I’d have called them off before they did you in.”
I piped up, “How did you figure that trick out, anyway?”
He looked over at me, and grinned with a full set of teeth, waving at his scarred head. “Wasn’t easy. Old trick my father knew.”
Sered smacked him, hard, across the scarred side of his face. “This is not a time for jokes.”
The man held his face. “Apparently not.”
I continued. “Tell us where your camp is, and lead us to your cache, and we might think towards the merciful side of justice here.” Sered cast me an angry glance at that.
“Won’t find much there, anyhow, like I said – pickings are slim this far south.”
“We’d find your companions, though, wouldn’t we?” Sered asked with a lot more malice than I thought his passionless people were capable of. What was in him tonight?
“Maybe, but I’d guess if they saw me go down, they’re all gone to secondary spots tonight. We arranged for that in case someone ever got captured, we don’t regroup in the same place twice.”
Sered paused for a moment. “You’ve no doubt murdered who knows how many others along here. Probably the prior owners of that wagon.”
I jumped in again. “We don’t know that.”
Smiling Del Clim pointed to me. “What your friend said, you don’t know that. Could very well have been that I’d have let you all free after robbing you.”
“For your crimes, your life is forfeit, Del Clim.” Sered drew his greatsword from its sheath across his back.
Del Clim didn’t seem very phased by this. “Whatever makes you happy, there. I told you what I’m going to, and I was dead from the moment you captured me.”
I looked this situation over. “He didn’t kill any of us, and we’ve broken his reputation with his gangmembers here. Death might be a tad on the harsh side, don’t you think?”
Sered looked over at me angrily. “You would let this man free to continue to prey on the weak and defenseless?”
“No, but killing him outright seems a little excessive. Particularly since he never attacked us directly. Is there some other thing you can do which might accomplish the same goal, and perhaps do more?”
He thought about it, and turned back to Clim. “You keep your life, but you lose your hand. You’ll not raise it against another.”
Before I could even register the motion, with a deft flick of the tip of his blade, Sered had buried it in the ground next to Del Clim. The bandit’s hand lay on the ground next to him, twitching slightly. His wrist pulsed blood, red in the dimming twilight. The bandit let out a fierce grunt, doubling over his new stump.
“You’re free to go.” Sered said calmly.
“Ahhh, shit…” Clim whispered under his breath.
I arced a dose of eldritch knitting at the stump, stopping the bleeding as best I could in a way Sered wouldn’t notice. The bandit rose slowly to his feet. I walked over and unbound him.
Smiling Del Clim never let his eyes leave Sered. “Know this, angel-born: you’ve earned an enemy tonight. I won’t rest until I regain my vengeance upon you. I’ll dance on your ashes.”
Sered made a dismissive gesture and sat by the fire.
“Maybe it’s best you leave.” I suggested calmly in a voice only Clim would hear.
“I’ll find you, mark my words.” He pointed at Sered one last time before vanishing into the shadows.
I picked up the severed hand and wrapped it in a rag, before stowing it away. Never can tell, the legends of the Hand of Glory don’t really say whether the criminal in question should be hung before or after the hand is taken.
Not sure quite what to say, and not exactly sure what had happened to Sered today, I sat across the fire from him and started cooking my dinner.
