Once I got past the gate, I took stock of the surroundings. Again tending on the side of paranoia, I got a good long look all around me before walking far beyond the entrance to the forge. With evening coming on, I didn’t want to spend another night in this dark caldera, so made my best effort at climbing the wall of the crater beside the forge itself. Better to circle the city and make it to camp that way than risk the straight-across path.
The climb was a little tough, and having the ability to rift-port saved me a lot of backtracking, so I made it up with an hour of daylight to spare. The sun was setting over the Hastwith desert, a surprisingly lovely sight for such a desolate landscape.
I gave the city a wide berth, not only to avoid creatures that might be making their way up to the top, but also just to dodge holes or crevices that might impose a sudden vertical detour.
Full dark didn’t arrive until an hour or so after sunset, and by then I had a good bearing on Serim’s camp. One of the nice things about Vor Kragal is the flatness of the surrounding territory. With even a little elevation, you can see for what is probably several miles on a clear day.
I circled the camp twice when I reached it, observing my wagon (which appeared undisturbed) and the main fire from several different angles before approaching.
I kept a specific eye out for cats.
When I did turn inward, I dropped a few extra coins into Saldazzar’s bucket, and checked out my tent carefully. The proprietor was nowhere in sight. Things didn’t seem disturbed, so I entered quickly to get out of view. Sleep here or elsewhere…ultimately I decided to pack up and move on right away, just in case my safety was in jeopardy for waiting here. I was almost entirely certain that the messenger devil who had reported my existence to Kaenig’s retinue would be keeping an eye out in order to report back on Kurrian’s return.
I cleaned up in the basin, and made my way over to Serim’s tent. He wasn’t inside, so I tromped quietly over to the big stable-house. The wooden structure had obviously been repaired dozens of times, and was little more than a leaning roof over a framework of thick beams. I saw my horses there, both appeared fine, and there were three others – I assumed them to belong to Serim. Kurrian arrived too quickly to have been on horseback, so I was guessing he’d come in by some sort of ritualized portal.
Serim was there, sitting on a stool next to one of the other horses, smoking a clay pipe and watching it closely.
“Something wrong with your horse?” I asked.
“Hmm?” He turned back to look at me. “Not mine. That’s what’s wrong.”
I looked at it. A rather normal riding animal, it stood and regarded me with calm eyes. “Well, either that means free horse for you, or stabling coin if the owner turns up, in my book.”
He grinned. “Suppose so, that’s true. How did your venture go down there?”
“Saw a lot, learned a bit, came back alive. More than some can ask for, I guess.”
He regarded me carefully. “Yes, I guess that’s true. Checking on your animals, then?”
“Was looking to take them, actually. Can’t stay tonight.”
“Travelling at night, not such a good idea around here.”
“Staying the night might not be such a good idea either – and might not be so good for things around me, as well.”
“Hmm, I see your point. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Do you have a water supply I can use? I’d like to fill up my stores before leaving.”
“I’ve a well over here,” he thumbed in the general direction. “Should put out enough for you.”
I nodded and turned to retrieve my cart-horse.
“One question, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I turned to look at him. Raised my eyebrows.
“Those people, came in right after you and went into the city with you. They make it out okay?”
“One might have. Didn’t see a body, so no telling there.”
He shook his head a bit. “Shame. They paid well.” He stood up, put the stool he’d been sitting on back against the wall. “But there are always more where they come from,” he offered. I nodded at the wisdom of it as he walked back to his tent.
I led my cart-horse to the wagon and hooked him up to the harness, then drew the wagon around to the well he’d indicated. It was there, as he said, and I proceeded to give my arms a proper workout pumping five casks full of water. It’s not just me, it’s the horses that need it as well.
After getting the casks set and re-loaded into the wagon, I walked the horse back to the stable to retrieve my riding horse as well.
The other horse was gone. The ropes that had tied it were there, laying on the ground, but the horse itself was gone.
I thought about this for a moment before I realized what might have happened.
I ran to Serim’s tent, knocked once and stuck my head in. He was seated at a small table, eating some kind of porridge and reading a book by the light of one candle. “My wagon, the cart-horse, they’re yours. I give them to you. Hope they treat you right. They’re in front of the stable.” I removed myself from his tent before he could even answer.
I double-timed it back to the stable, untied my riding horse from its stall, and led it quickly out to the wagon. I filled my saddlebags with as much food and water as I could, crammed as many water-skins into my haversack as I could, and shouldered my pack up onto the back of the saddle. I mounted, and took off at a reasonable trot.
I rode for an hour before slowing to a walk. That horse, it had to be – I had never heard of a messenger devil being able to transmute up and down the scale of size so dramatically, though. That was quite a feat. I wondered how much time I’d lost in filling all those casks. If the enemy formed a strike team right away I could have only had minutes before their arrival – at best, hours.
I moved on through the darkness, making as good time as I could. I decided to head North again, make best time to Al’Veydra as I could.
After all, I had a barrel of whiskey to retrieve.
* * *
Hours later, we were plodding through sand, the chill of the night only offset slightly by the effort of staying in the saddle. A mild wind was blowing, not enough to be a ‘storm’, but enough that tiny grains of sand were flying into my face and stinging a little. I tied a thin veil of cloth over my eyes, thin enough to see through, but which would keep most of the sand out. The horse was doing alright, but I could tell this was difficult for her.
I kept going, looking back on occasion. I don’t quite know what I was expecting to see – logically I couldn’t see more than thirty feet or so into the dark, and the flying dust and sand made it that much more difficult. If anything was following me, I wouldn’t see it until it was on me. Still, it made me feel better to keep looking back, even if it made no sense. I wished I’d had more experience traveling in the wilds, but I’d make do.
A couple of hours more, and the sky began to lighten with the approach of dawn. I was still on a path, almost a road, so there was at least that. Ahead, in the far distance, I could see the hazy outline of a town.
The place was a similar setup to Serim’s encampment, a bundle of semi-permanent tents surrounding a central fire-pit. A thin line of smoke rose from the fire-pit, and several humanoids were wandering around the circle.
I drew a small spyglass from my gear and got a better look. They looked human – alive, at least, so better than the ghouls that I had been half-expecting. A couple had seen me, and I saw one or two pointing in my direction. I rode towards the place, and dismounted some hundred yards from the perimeter of the place. I walked the mare in, lowering my face-cloth as I entered town.
“Hail, traveler,” an older man called as I came forward. I nodded back at him, and he walked over to me. “Come from the ruins, did you?”
I nodded again. “Certainly did, though my group was not so fortunate as to leave.”
He shook his head. “Damned shame to lose friends to a place like that.”
“We knew the risks going in. I cannot stay, may I buy supplies from you, food, water?”
He looked around. “We haven’t got much here, but yes, we can sell what we don’t need. You might be better off trying in Vanots Kabre, two days’ ride North here.” He pointed in the direction as he said this. Ahead in the distance, I could see rocky crags jutting up out of the desert in the general path he’d indicated. “In those mountains?”
“Just at the edge of them, you can’t miss it. Human town, with a smattering of Dry Elves. Good people, always happy to see someone on the road.”
I considered my own supplies. Two days wouldn’t be a problem, but I could still use some extra, just in case. The old man walked me over to a blue-dyed tent with a canvas cover for a door, and rapped a stone against a large wooden stump before it. The canvas twitched aside and a middle-aged woman peered out around the edge of it. “Hmph?”
“Man would like to buy supplies, Geria, do you have any to spare?”
The canvas fell closed again. “Moro, you know better than to ask. I can never spare anything, especially for strangers. Especially for Shadrim.” She said this last as she darted another look out the door at me.
“Come on, woman, you’ve got to have something for a stranger come in of the road,” the old man was obviously a bit irritated at her reticence. “Don’t make me put a strap to you.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, that you can whip me as you like, and if you try, you’ll eat the end of my broom.” She whipped aside the canvas. “Now I said no, and that’s that.”
I waved a hand in acceptance. “I thank you for the thought. I can make do on the road to Vanots, it will be fine.”
“Well mannered for a Shadrim, I’ll grant you that. That deserves some recognition, I think.” She rummaged about in a small bag at her belt. “Vanots, you say?” She hesitated. “Going to Vanots, are you? When you’re there, ask after Madam Garandes, tell her I sent you.”
She handed me a small paper flower. “Madam Garandes, don’t forget, Shadrim.”
“I won’t forget, Miss Geria. Thank you.”
The old man shook his head as he led me away. “She used to be much more hospitable, you know, but time has a way of hardening things – skins and hearts among them.” He grinned at this last. “She’s really not so bad, just a bit crusty, you know?”
“She’s your daughter I take it?”
He nodded. “Indeed. Good girl. Her husband is off in Vanots Kabre himself, he sells things.”
I handed him a gold crown as I re-mounted. “Thanks for the directions. One thing…”
He looked up at me from the coin. “Hmm?”
“Others may follow, asking after me. Just cooperate with them, tell them whatever you need to. They’re a dangerous sort, and I’d rather you didn’t take any unnecessary risks on my behalf.”
He nodded after thinking for a moment. “The warning is appreciated. Maybe with that, I shouldn’t ask your name.”
“If we meet again, I’ll give it to you.”
“Best get to moving then, if there are possibly others behind you.”
I rode on, in the direction Moro had indicated. I looked back after a little ways.
The town was gone – the tents, the smoke, the fire, they were all gone. There was no sign they’d ever been there. I looked down at the little flower Geria had given me, it was still there. At least I wasn’t delusional. Well, no more so than usual.
Towards mid-morning I saw a small patch of broken stone, and figured that to be my best bet for shelter here. I drew the horse up and tied it to a large chunk of rock, and set out water for it in a feed sack that I propped against another rock. Drank some for myself as well, and ate a few bites of dried meat.
The rocks were head-high, natural, and rough. I put a blanket over a hollow in them, holding it down with a few extra loose stones, which made for a passable shade for me and most of the horse. Leaning back against the rocks, I lapsed into sleep – which I needed desperately, given that I hadn’t had any all night after a long day of exertions yesterday. I opened my eyes on the evening, not even realizing I’d slept until I figured that the sun had changed position so dramatically.
I rose and assessed how my horse was doing – she wasn’t good, but she’d hold up for the rest of the trip. Perhaps I’d be able to exchange her in this town to which I was traveling.
She’ll make it. The voice finally spoke.
“I’ve been wondering when you’d return to speak with me.”
I never left. I simply had little to speak of.
“And what of now?”
Now you’ll find there is a test ahead. The village you passed through, they were djinn, spirits of the air. This place to which you go, Vanots Kabre, is also more than it appears. Your place there is uncertain.
“What can you tell me of the pursuit? Was I right, to run?”
I would say yes. Though that horse appeared normal enough, its appearance and disappearance would indicate the messenger can appear as more than just a cat.
“So what of this place, what is so different about these people?”
That I cannot say. But if they have dealings with the djinn, there is more to them than simply being a village among the sands.
The wind had died down, the sand no longer blew into my face as it had before. My lungs were still dry, and I covered my face anyway, but the trip was considerably easier this night. The stars were clear points of crystal light, as though someone had spilled a barrel of fine silver dust across the velvet black of the sky. In spite of the rapidly-accumulating cold, the stars were a lovely sight. Always mysterious, and always beautiful. They were so many, and so distant. Perhaps someday I would sail among them, but I thought that day would be a great long distance away, and would have to wait until my duty done.
The cold did grow quickly, and was just as bitter as it had been the prior evening, though for some reason it didn’t quite bother me as much as it had. My mount was fine, the action of walking kept her warm enough.
Tiny lights followed me, echoing the glorious stars above, orbiting me and trailing in my wake. I could smell flowers – jasmine, or perhaps roses, when they approached very closely. Fireflies, or something similar, I assumed.
The moon rose towards the end of the night, its full face pocked with craters like the cheeks of a victim of pox. The bright white light washed over the rocky desert, and the motes trailing me were gone. Across the night, a deep quiet ruled, though I could still make out occasional insects chirruping in the night air.
Through the night and into the next day I traveled, undisturbed throughout. When I did finally pause for a rest, it was already mid-morning, and the sun was rising hot and red into the sky. I stopped, looking at it, thinking it an odd color.
I’m not one to give many warnings, but you are ignorant of this. Run. Best time to this town. Kill the horse if you must. You do not want to be caught without shelter when the storm hits.
Storm? Rethinking my plan to rest, I prodded the horse on northward, urging her into a healthy trot.
Within two hours the sun was once again lost to me, vanished behind the angry head of a rising tide of clouds on the horizon. It was still light out, but the view was completely occluded by the obscuring…sand? Clouds? What was this? I was not experienced in matters of the Hastwith, but I had at least heard of mighty desert sandstorms, and experienced my share of hurricanes and monstrous thunderheads.
I pushed the horse faster, though it did resist at first. I would have felt bad for it, had I not the sense of forboding I was experiencing. If we were caught in it, both would die, so if I could save myself at the expense of its life, nothing would be wasted.
Still, I’d rather not lose the animal.
The rocks ahead loomed large, almost welcoming in my sight. Ahead I could make out a large cleft between them that ran deep into the mountainside, filled with shadows darker than any others on the face of the cliffs and ledges the sharp face had to offer. These rocks rose several hundred feet into the air, in some places as a sheer cliff, while at others merely a steep escarpment.
None of them close enough to take shelter behind.
I found a small outcrop still some distance from good safety, and ensconced myself there – it formed a natural edge against the blowing wind that advanced in front of what I now saw was a mass of black dust. Topsoil – a ‘black blizzard’ as the farmers called it – blown into the air from the surrounds around the desert. With various flotsam in it, it swirled like the muddy water of a tributary meeting the clear main channel as it advanced inexorably towards me. Lightning flashed in the darkness, enormous bolts of blue-white shining in sharp contrast to the deep, faceless shadow of the advancing tumult. I could hear its sizzle and crack in the near distance, and the howl of the wind carrying the whole morass this way.
Jogging up to the rock, I noticed small lizards sheltering in the crevices of it, and figured that to be a good sign that this was…well, if not safe, than at least a good bet. I removed the bags from the horse and set them on the ground at my feet, then dragged the protesting animal into as much cover as I could. At least its face and a good portion of its body would be clear of the storm as it passed. I tied her to a jutting portion of the outcrop, in case she attempted to bolt – I might be a good hand flinging arcane spells around, but I make no illusions over my physical strength. The horse, if it so chose, could escape my grasp easily if it really set its mind to the act.
I removed a pair of extra shirts from my packs, tying one around my face and the other over the horse’s, securing hers to her bridle. I then knelt against the rock, holding the bag-strap in one hand and clasping the rock with the other, not sure what to expect.
Impatience got the better of me, and I glanced around the edge to assess the proximity of the storm – to find it practically on top of me. Dodging back into the rock, the storm exploded all around me as though I’d fallen into an angry sea of dirt. Though the horse did panic a bit at first, having it tied down and with a mask over its face kept it from going completely mad.
No, instead it died there, standing in place.
I would later find that its flesh had been scoured where its rump was most exposed to the winds and driven dust, almost as if she’d been eaten alive by a thousand tiny, hungry mouths. An hour after the front hit me, the horse simply fell over. I couldn’t see anything clearly at the time, but after the storm cleared I would see the exposed bone and bloody flesh there.
I kept to my place, occasionally feeling the sting against my cheek, but by and large in safety. I kept having to shift my knees where I sat, as the accumulating dust and dirt would pile up halfway to my waist. I did not want to find myself safe from the blowing wind only to discover I had been buried alive within it, and every so often it would threaten just that, building up in drifts against me that almost reached my waist.
After what seemed like ages, but no doubt was only the course of a few hours, the storm fell off and dissipated rapidly. I stood on shaky legs to have a look around.
The storm was receding at as quick a rate as it had approached, quickly vanishing off into the distance beyond my view. Around me, drifts of dust and dirt were piled everywhere. The body of the horse was half-buried beside me, and the packs I’d removed from it only showed a strap or two. I was sure that I was not the prettiest sight, either, as I was caked head to toe with filth.
When I inspected the body of the horse, I was most amazed by the speed of its decomposition – grubs and worms already infested its corpse, large and fat in the raw flesh that had barely had time to cool. Their skin was black and red, as if they’d taken on the characteristics of the flesh through which they burrowed, and they had the strangely insect-like appearance that reminded me in many ways of pixies or other minor fey creatures.
I decided best to simply avoid them. Shame to lose the animal, but it couldn’t be helped.
I dug out my packs and slung the saddlebags over my shoulder, and proceeded to plod towards the cleft in the mountains ahead. Going was difficult, the ground now covered in a fine powder of black grime that left me coughing when errant clouds of it accidentally passed over my face.
I so desperately wanted a bath.
Shortly after nightfall I arrived at my destination – the town of Vanots Kabre. The lights guided my final passage there, the smell of woodsmoke and cooking hastening my footsteps as I drew near.
Vanots Kabre was carved into the cliff-faces of both sides of the deep crevice in the rock-face, almost grown from the ridge itself. Its buildings were various geometric shapes, all angles, curves, and flat faces. Not a rounded edge could be seen in the deepening darkness. Many stairs led up from the bottom, strangely all made of varieties of wood and roped together. Most buildings didn’t even begin until a good five or eight yards up off the floor of the crevice, and I could see chimneys extending out into the sliver of exposed skyline above me.
Signs decorated the various stairs, advertising many businesses – some I recognized and could read, some I was befuddled with – and along the walls I saw what must have been entrances for stables, but their great doors were shut.
Determined first to find a place to rest my head, I picked a stair that boasted an illegible sign with a foaming tankard on it, and struggled up the stairs to the entryway.
The door at the top of the stairs was open, and light spilled out from inside in a muted fashion. Inside I could see a carved tunnel with several off-shooting passages, the sources of the light. One torch near the door gave off a meager glow, but the majority of the lighting was coming from these side tunnels. I resettled the bag on my shoulder and walked in.
Inside the first passage was a small room with three tables and a tiny bar, behind which a fat…goblin (I think…he could have been a cross with a gnome, I couldn’t really make out his species that well) sat and served ales from a large tapped barrel behind him. The next opened out into a wider room, circled with six or eight booths and dominated by a large circular bar. Inside the bar, where two human men served drinks, was a huge wooden cask. It would easily have held an Ogre standing up with arms outstretched if the cask continued into the floor as it appeared it might.
Now that had to be some beer.
Further down, more small drinking taverns branched off the main corridor, each one small and offering a different variety of brew. I noticed as I walked through it that each passageway had a different sign overhead, which I took to be advertising the drink served by the establishment. Fortunately, most were drawn in color, so I didn’t have to guess too much or spend time trying to intimate what the patrons were swilling down. After a little bit, I decided to return to the second one, with the giant barrel and the human servers.
I took a stool beside the bar and laid my bags on the floor beside me. One of the servers looked up as I did, and I asked politely for a draw. He handed me an earthenware mug spilling slightly over with a heavy, yeasty foam, and I sipped at it happily. After three good swallows, it was gone and I was ordering a second.
When it was brought to me, I spoke up. “Any food here? Rooms?”
The man shook his head. “Upstairs. Here we just drink.”
“How do I get upstairs? This is the only place these led to.”
“End of the tunnel, you should find what you need.”
I nodded thanks, and laid out two silvers for the beers. I added a few copper for good measure, and groaned as I slid off the stool. My legs were already cramping up, just from five minutes on the stool.
I hauled myself and my bags down the corridor, all the way to the end, where I found a spiral stair leading both up and down. Taking the up-road, I soon found myself in a similar corridor, except that there were wall hangings of a moderately expensive nature up. I was maybe ten yards above the tavern level, and this hallway was lit by some form of glow whose origin I couldn’t make out – it came from small alcoves set above head-height, and was of an orange hue. Little drapes sat to one side or the other of the alcoves, apparently to darken the hallway when needed.
There were passageways off the main corridor here, as there were below, but looking into them I could see they were just more corridors, each lined with numerous side-passages of their own, and those bordered by large, heavy drapes in various patterns. Up here, the smell of food was considerably stronger, much more distinct. I found my stomach rumbling, and realized I was more than a little hungry.
The hallway I’d emerged into turned right eventually, and I found myself in a broad lounge with narrow windows – I must have been further up along the wall of the gorge. Inside, many tables with benches were laid out, and there were probably a dozen people in all seated around the room. Each table had a wooden box on it with a few glass jars and a cylinder containing various amounts of wooden utensils. Two people, a human man and what appeared to be a hobgoblin woman, moved between the tables with trays. On the far side of the room, a very fat hobgoblin male sat behind a counter that enclosed the entrance to the kitchen and boasted several tapped barrels.
I approached the counter, where the hobgoblin noticed me and held up a hand. “Have a seat, take it up with the woman, I don’t talk to customers.” His voice sounded like the wrong end of a flatulent cow.
I took his advice and found an empty seat. Within moments the woman walked up, her tray down beside her. “Get you something?”
I nodded. “Food, a good bit of it, beer, best you got, and a room. Do you have any shapers in the house?”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome to ask. If not, the market would be your best bet.”
“Market?”
“First time here or something?”
“That’s right, I’ve never been here before.”
“Downstairs, in the canyon, every day. Buyers, sellers, the whole gamut runs downstairs.” She moved off to the counter.
I thought it over as she was retreating to get my food. Stood up, and looked out at the room. I raised my voice just loud enough to be heard. “Excuse me! Everyone.”
Most of the room looked over, with the exception of a couple people engaged in their own conversation.
“I’m looking to engage the services of a shaper, one capable of a portal ritual. If any of you are such and interested, I’d appreciate your ear. Thank you.” I nodded around, and sat myself down.
My meal arrived a few minutes later, a tray with bread, cheese, some kind of green fruit, and a large pie that oozed a brown sauce from small slices in its top. I paid the woman the seven silvers she asked for and added an eighth for good measure, then I took a fork from the container at the center of the table and punched a few larger holes in the surface of the pie. Inside was a stew of meat, potatoes, and vegetables, which smelled like the sideboard of an emperor as far as I was concerned.
I let it cool while I worked over the cheese and fruit. Once I got to it, the pie didn’t last long. It was very filling, but I was so hungry that I was already scooping up another forkful before I’d finished chewing the one I’d just put in my mouth. I can remember food I liked better, but I can’t recall the last time I appreciated a meal as much as this day. I think that’s what makes memorable favorites for people – appreciation. There are many places where the food is good but not great, and where people congregate specifically for it. I think the explanation for that is in the appreciation for it.
Anyway, I made my way through my dinner, and no one interrupted me. I had been hoping there might be someone who’d respond to my request there and then. Instead, the human server collected my tray and left me a triangular piece of wood with the number 8 on it. “Your room. It will lead you.” He nodded at the wood as he said so.
“Any chance of a bath here?” I asked, scratching the back of my neck with my tail while holding up the wooden…key, I guess it was.
“Hmm.” He held out his hand, and I gave him the key back. He drew another from his pocket, this one with the number 2 on it. “Nine silvers, sir,” he added as I took the key from him. I fished out the coins and paid him.
Shouldering my bag once again, I stood up and walked back down the hall. Almost immediately the key warmed in my hand, and I looked down at it. The three corners pulsed with a faint blue light, the top one facing away from me pulsing twice as fast as the other two. I weaved one way, then the other, and the double-time pulse made its way to each of the other corners as I did, showing me that it was pointing down the hall.
“Ingenious,” I said.
I walked down the hall until the key pulsed left, and turned down the side passage it indicated. Before long I was standing in front of a curtained hallway with the number 2 carved into the stone wall beside it. I pulled back the heavy drape and saw a thick door of stone before me. In the center of the door was a triangular socket, conveniently the size of the key I’d been given. I pressed it into the depression, and was rewarded by a solid click and the door silently opening inward.
I looked at the other side of the door, where another key-shaped hole resided in the face of it. I drew the key out of the hole, and entered the room, closing the door behind me. Once closed, I put the key into the matching socket of the door, whereupon I heard the corresponding sound of the bolt latching shut.
I turned into the room proper, setting my bag on the floor before the door. It was cozy (which in terms of rooms at an inn generally means small), warm, and well-lit. A reasonably-sized bed was against the far wall, while to the left was a table with one chair, a pile of towels, and a mirror above it. Two small globes of what looked like paper were affixed to the wall above the table, which provided light for the room in a light yellow-orange hue. A quick check revealed a small alcove covered with a curtain, which had a fixed chamber-pot with a constant drain of water passing through it.
On the left, carved directly into the wall, was a bathtub. It was actually inset into the wall a bit, and I could see had a drain that led out the side facing into the room. A small pipe connected the drain to a hole in the floor. The tub itself was long, perhaps five feet, and two to two-and-a-half feet wide. It was another two feet deep. It was empty, though, which was unfortunate. Looking at it in more detail, I saw pipes extending from the wall, joining beneath a small lever between them. Realizing it to be a valve assembly, I fiddled with the lever until I got the water running, and was rewarded with a flow into the tub from the pipes. This quickly warmed up to the point of being comfortably hot, and I concluded they must have had a similar setup to what I used in the distillery in Al’Veydra – somewhere above there must be a large tank heated by a trapped elemental.
I stripped down while waiting for the tub to fill, and set my clothes aside on the chair, tossed my armor on the table. I’d wash them when I was done with myself. I had weeks of road-dust to wash off. I found a small package of soap on the table, and practically leaped into the tub once it approached being full.
The hot water was amazing. I felt muscles all over me loosening up that I’d forgotten completely about. Almost immediately the water became grey, which encouraged me to scrub harder with the soap. I drained out the tub once and refilled it while I was in it, and once again when the water tinted over. Only on the third wash did the water retain some level of clarity, and I finally let myself relax in it.
I almost fell asleep right there in the tub. Once the water started to cool, I stepped out and dried off. My tail positively vibrated with being clean, and I set to with my clothes and the soap in the tub water. Scrubbing them reasonably well, I let the tub drain while I hung my wet things on the chair. I put my rod and dagger on the table, and looked over the armor. I could probably find some leather oil in the market tomorrow, though fast transport home was the primary concern.
I was about to head for bed, when I looked in the mirror.
My eyes. The Smith had mentioned them, but I’d forgotten.
Where a normal human will have a white with a colored iris, Shadrim tend towards monocolor eyes, as if the iris were the entire eye, and no discernable pupil. Mine had been a very light silver. The outside of them still was.
But I had bronze centers in them now. Still no pupils, but unmistakably metallic bronze shone through the center of my eyes now. I actually reached out to the mirror as if to touch my face before catching myself. I knew it was in my blood, but my eyes?
All the better to see you with, came the voice. Sorry, cultural reference. In those who came before, we were exposed to the air and could perceive in that way. In your blood I would be blind except for those instances where you might be injured, and that wouldn’t do at all now, would it? So through your eyes, I also see.
“You keep saying ‘I’ where before you said ‘we,’ why is that?”
Only room for one of me in here.
“How did you determine which of you would join me?” I shook each globe to lower its light as we ‘talked,’ and made my way to the bed.
I seemed the most appropriate choice. And, I wanted to go.
“Why?”
Do you have any idea how boring it is to listen to the constant mutterings of a thousand vengeful infernals? There are quite a few in there, and even though some of us can be terribly creative, you tend to run out of ways to bitch about things after a while.
“I’d heard that our joining would grant me a certain measure of your power. The fellow ages past was said to be able to punch through steel with his new arm, I assume Kaenig is gifted similarly.”
I wouldn’t recommend the punching trick, your bones wouldn’t take it well.
“Then we should spend a little time getting to know one another, I’d hate to die while the tools that could save me are in my own blood, as it were.” I sat upon the bed and lay back, reaching up to gently touch my eyes beneath their lids, then to test how sensitive the centers were. Still itchy, it seemed.
We’ll come to know one another soon enough. Besides, after a fashion we’re already familiar.
“I don’t understand, unless you’re referring to your knowing my insides better than I do.”
No, not at all. We’ve met.
“I know no members of the Legion who were resident of Vor Kragal. Certainly not any who were sentenced to dissolution there.”
Not in your time, no. I was sentenced long after your disappearance.
“My disa…how do you know about that? Who are you?”
As I said, we’ve met – but we met a long while back.
“I know you aren’t Balenor, he resides in Avernus now and is an aide to Bel.”
No, I’m not Balenor, though I know him too.
“This makes no sense. I didn’t fraternize with the infernals back then, not even in the Cairn Jale. Who are you?”
Silence. Well, technically it was already silent, but I received no answer. Not while I was awake, at least. When I slept – which was almost immediately after I put my head down – I dreamed. I was in a dark coliseum, empty of spectators, and the moon shone above me. Snow drifted upon the ranks of seats, though the floor of the stadium was clear. Across the expanse a figure stood, who then approached me. As it did, it extended a hand, palm-up. A small fire ignited there, enough to light its way.
I knew its face. Smiling with his fanged mouth, the weapons-master of Ille Macreane approached closer.
Good to see you again, my great-great-great grandfather said. Yes, it’s me – Voedle.
