Wind outside the tent whispered of the chill night and the fall of ice. Murmurs of the legion encamped outside occasionally made it past the fur-lined walls.
“So, Commander, what do you plan to do with your life outside of the army?” General Mahar looked up from behind his strategy table at his officer.
“I couldn’t say, sir, I thought to just walk the world for a while – it’s a big world, and I haven’t seen quite enough of it yet.” Azrael scratched beneath his left horn, where a thick scar met with the base of the extruding bone prong. Where the scar ended, the horn showed a lighter shade and a fold, mis-grown over the years.
“We will be sad to lose you. Even with your idiosyncrasies, you are a promising leader – if you ever wish to return, I’ll be happy to discuss terms of a contract.” The general’s eyes smoldered with a dark reddish light as he looked up from under his brows. “Balenor will be most displeased with your defection, even if you are acting within the bounds of your existing contract. I think he had hoped to win you over from the Black Queen’s service and onto his personal retinue. You must realize that you had a very profitable future within his service. Do you not?”
“Sir, Balenor retains my respect as he always had. As do you. But even if I were to accept such a promotion, it would not relinquish her claim on the right to assign my passage. As she has a claim on all of us, even one day Balenor himself.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that. You know how his kind get when you speak of mortality. They all have plans at one or more of the nine thrones.”
“Of course, sir, but when have you known me not to speak my mind? Even the lords to whose throne he no doubt aspires to will one day pass through her sieve, on their way to whatever lies next.”
“You are no doubt right, but with talk like that you wouldn’t last a day in a visible posting. Balenor might serve us per contract, but there is always a price to be paid on both sides. He is bound as our general, but that doesn’t mean he can’t kill the insubordinate.”
“Your wisdom, as always, is welcome sir.” Azrael smiled a bit at the thought. “It is probably such wisdom that I hope to gain while wandering…in a slightly less hazardous environment. Lessons here tend to be on the harsh side.”
“Yes, this is true. So what will you do with your newfound license to roam?” The general put aside the pen he’d been scratching with, parking it in a small ink-pot. He signaled his aide and handed the paper to him. The aide quickly walked from the room, bearing the fluttering paper away.
“I thought I might find a time among the caravans. Although rich ones are hard to come by, I figure with my skills on the battlefield I might be able to elevate a mediocre one to greatness, or failing that at least participate in some interesting travels. Probably head out through Briargate at first until I reach the frontier, hopefully avoid being slain by errant samples of the Blood. In truth I hope to see a few of the layers above and below, perhaps find a profitable arrangement trading, make my own fortune.” Azrael looked thoughtful as he passed his thumb over the pommel of his dagger.
“You? A trader? Unlikely.” The general stood after stifling another laugh and walked to his sideboard, where he extracted a decanter made of polished ivory. Pouring two cups of something steaming and red, he offered one to Azrael, who accepted with a nod. “The victor of the Darl-knade campaign would never take to trading. Not enough action in it for you. You’d make money, certainly, but you’d never be satisfied. Trust me on this, in two hundred years I’ve seen less able leaders leave my service to take up the wagon and cart, and not one of them was ever happy with his or her choice. Would you have my advice on this?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Seek out heroes, Az, for that is what you are. I cannot see whether you will one day turn back to the land of Bael Turath, or if you will find your fortune in some other land, but you will only be happy if your hand is somehow at the tiller of the world’s events. Mind you, if you are concerned about money, few heroes I know of have ever gone hungry, and some aspired to riches that would buy entire kingdoms as pittance. If it is meaning you seek, and you haven’t found it on the field with me, then perhaps your true heart lies in taking action behind the scenes, before the battlefields are ever decided or beneath them.”
“An interesting point.” Azrael felt the warmth of the drink travel through the cup into his hand, the heat of the burning embers in his stomach. A small wisp of smoke rose from his left nostril, vaguely scented of oak wood. “This is fine bravare*, sir – might I ask where it was made?”
“Balenor brought me three bottles from his last debriefing in the City of Brass. Where they were made, I do not know.”
“Kind of him. I hadn’t thought he had such attachment.”
“In spite of his self-interest, he is not beyond acts of generosity where it serves his greater purpose.”
“Of course I am not,” the voice was a sibilant hiss, the slithering of a serpent over rough stones.
Both Shadrim turned to the door, where a tall, gaunt figure stood. Where hair would be on a normal man, blue and red flames danced and slid across his scalp, as though he were a torch at the end of its run, napthia guttering as it burned its last. His skin was at present grey, but given to shading to gold or red depending on his mood. His arms, just long enough to appear unreal, were chiseled thin solid, the three-fingered hands ending in rough grey talons. A suit of golden plates glinted out from beneath the many-colored scales that were draped in a cloak over the creature’s shoulders. Its eyes were green as moss, with pupils the shade of a purple sunset, shaped like side-turned hourglasses.
“Lord Balenor,” the general said, as both Shadrim dipped their heads down and left in deference to the fiendish battlemaster.
“General Mahar, Commander Azrael, is there no cup for me?”
“Of course, my lord.” Mahar handed Balenor his own cup, then refilled it from the decanter before preparing a new one for himself.
It drank, and nodded. “I have received writ of your impending departure, Azrael. This is most…disheartening.”
“It comes not without some regret, my lord, and certainly with the utmost of respect.” Azrael raised his eyes to meet the stare of the battlemaster.
“So, to whom or what am I losing you? I heard some talk of heroes before finding this door.”
“The general offered sound advice regarding my choices.”
Balenor glanced over at Mahar. “Did he now?”
“Yes sir, I did. Azrael here had contemplated entering the path of the caravaners.”
“A waste of materiel.”
“As I told him, my lord. I advised him to look into the paths of the heroes, for surely he seems to fit the profile better than any retiree of my legion in the last three or four decades.”
It nodded, silent for a moment. “He certainly does. I do hate to lose good material, Azrael. I am sure that general Mahar has left the door open for your eventual return?”
“He has, my lord.”
“When do you intend to depart?”
“I had planned on a sevenday from now, sir, as we are passing the Breach of Motraine. I will make my way to the Bonegate and from there through Badham’s Wall and down into Banner, see what the Vaer has to offer from there.” Azrael paused to drink again. “I intend Lentan to replace me, and it will take him a few days to reset his own chain of command. I was going to aim for the frontier, but perhaps now that general Mahar has planted the idea in my mind, I am thinking a detour to Nentir would be better.”
“A fair choice, though I fear Lentan might be weak. Mahar, make sure to test him later.” The general nodded in response.
“I perhaps can offer some advice here, for I have cousins who have business in the region. Would you be amenable to perhaps an exchange of services in your new career? I suspect I could provide you with a formidable head start in your efforts, and I would find it most useful to perhaps having eyes, ears, and hands in the service of an adventuring company.” As it spoke, it raised the cup to its mouth and drank deeply of the smoking broth.
Azrael smiled. “My lord is most gracious in his offer. I will consider it with all seriousness, though I must say that my first desire is to make this way for myself.”
“I have heard such refusals before, do not fear to offend me. Remember that accepting my help is no less a choice you make for yourself as accepting the help of a mortal. Mine is simply offered on a more…formal basis. You will always have something I value, and your skills make that much more so. I will be a much kinder lord than any of my brothers, for our shared history here. Is that not right, Mahar?”
“It is, my lord. Azrael, it is true, my service to Balenor has been far more beneficial, and far more comfortable, than before Vestial passed my coin to him.” The general remained aside, observing the quiet haggling between the two.
“I would be lying if I said I had not anticipated such an offer, my lord, but please understand that when I am forced to leave this realm for the next it is my intent to offer service to the Black Queen, if she will have it. While I recognize the value inherent in a more formal relationship with you, I also realize that were I to commit to such a bargain, it would deny me any such option.”
The fiend shrugged. “Yes, I see this – but also remember that she may simply turn you away, another soul directed through her funnel. I don’t know what she has done to earn your devotion this way…she certainly does not deserve it. I will offer that you would be high among my advisors, a general of your own legion in my service – this is a significant head start above the common plebe who seeks my favor.”
“May I ask, my lord, is this offer to remain open as well?”
“In some form or other – but I cannot guarantee it will be as favorable in the future.” If it had eyebrows, the tone of its voice indicated that they might have raised.
“I understand, my lord. I will always defer to those who can exceed my capabilities in your service.” Azrael bowed slightly.
“You were named aptly, commander. Your capabilities will rarely be exceeded, I think. Not many others have been able to provide me such victories against your Arkhosian enemies or in training against your own people. Given the aspirations you have related to me, perhaps the Black Queen will give you the opportunity to replace the one who originally took the name you now hold.”
“You flatter me, sir. I simply apply assets against one another to accomplish my missions, and when that requires I usher another on to its next path, so be it.” Now it was Azrael’s turn to shrug.
“I speak the truth. Of course, you realize that while I consider you a friend, should we ever come to cross purposes I will be forced to consider it a purely professional encounter?” This time, Balenor’s voice carried a hint of stone beneath its soft words.
“Of course, I would expect nothing less, sir. I will try to see to it that such an occurrence never has the opportunity to arise.” Another bow.
“See to it. Meanwhile, here – Mahar, a toast to our departing commander. My thanks for the victories you have brought us, and the fine soldiers you have trained. May we one day fight side by side again, young Azrael.” All three brought their cups up, and drained them. As the fluid uncovered the embers at the base of the cups, flecks of hardened resin came into contact with them, burning and casting a deep scent of myrrh into the air.
“My thanks, lord. Should it come to pass that we are in the same region, I would ask that perhaps I might be welcomed at the table again to share in our stories?”
Mahar spoke this time. “I am sure we can find a bunk and a seat at the table for our visiting comrade. But you may have to work off your meal with a training session for a squad or two the following day.” Balenor nodded.
Balenor spoke out. “I will admit your departure is not completely unanticipated. After your team enabled our victory against Murdhu and his legion in the last games, you seemed preoccupied. In my age of service with your people, I have seen that look often enough to recognize it.”
“Sir?”
“Let me finish, this is difficult enough. It is not often that I am taken to fits of kindness. Mahar, bring it here, now.” The general moved to a long chest and pulled a wide, hide-wrapped bundle from it, handing it to Balenor, who extended it to Azrael.
“I know of your fondness for the drink of the Dwur, Azrael, from your men’s tales of your exploits in the taverns of Mal-Kanhaidden years ago. When I divined that your departure was imminent, I secured this from an old acquaintence of mine. He once traveled with a hero of legend, whose skill at brewing became somewhat legendary in and of itself – and as a conjuror, he found a way to refresh his supply of his compatriot’s brew.” As Balenor said this, Azrael unfolded the hide cover to reveal an iron-bound ale cask.
“This will refill itself daily, and I suggest you keep it cool. Though it may have been a long while back for him, this friend of mine is as close to a living memory of the flavor of the legend as you will ever find. So many have tried to emulate it over the years, and what this cask makes is, according to him, the original. He is an accomplished wizard, and not given to dishonesty, so I will accept his word.” A quiet smile played itself over Balenor’s lips as he said this.
Azrael’s eyebrows raised. “Are you saying what I believe you are saying, my lord?” He turned the cask slowly in his hands. “This is truly a gift beyond measure, sir. I do not know how to thank you.”
“You do not need to, for this is my thanks to you for your service to Mahar, and through him to me. You are now in possession of the only source I know of outside of the Isle of Paleor in the Astral Sea of this brew, so treat it kindly and appreciate it. For the ale this cask produces, is none other than the original Badham’s Beer.”
