In the days following their meeting with the King and the bestowing of their new estates, the Hand of Fortune became immersed in exploring and furnishing their new digs, studying the condition of their rental properties, as well as learning the names and occupations of their tenants.
The morning after they had moved their possessions from the Earl of Kinen’s townhouse to their own new homes (were they looked meager indeed, in all that space), the group met outside the Green Tower. Looming 25 meters into the sky, the ancient black stonework was covered in a riot of growing, green plants, many of which currently bore blooms in a rainbow of spring colors, beginning about four meters above the ground.
Mariala led her friends on a tour of the premises, right up to the wide expanse of the rooftop, where they enjoyed a panoramic view of the city. While the Tower may not have all the modern conveniences of newer homes, it did seem to suite the needs of a solitary mage quite nicely. And in any case, Mariala was bursting with ideas for imporvements…
The rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent touring the decadent opulence of Vulk’s Krendan House, the stately comfort of Devrik’s Twin Gables, the fortress-like security of Erol’s Ironstone, and the dark grandeur of Korwin’s Safewell House. The last visit of the day was to Khundari House, a large edifice as yet empty of all furnishings.
Along the way, they met many of the denizens of their new neighborhood, most of whom turned out to be renters of one or the other of the companions – many of the homes and businesses in New District were owned by the six estates.
Among the colorful citizens they chatted with that day were:
Rezik Khordam is a rather elderly but still hale alchemist/apothecary. The apothecary side of things is not his real interest, but he maintains the business both out of a sense of responsibility to the neighborhood, and as auxiliary support for his true passion, alchemical research. He seems a good-hearted man, and he warns the companions of the Zalik-mal influence in the district.
“Though they’ve learned not to try their tricks on me,” he said with a dry chuckle. “Not after a few nasty skin rashes, anyway.”
Alessa Dorind is a plump, middle aged woman who runs a very popular bakery just south of the Green Tower. Her green tower cakes are famous even beyond the city, and popular with visitors coming to see the amazing vertical garden, and she insisted on feeding the friends several when they visited her shop. They were, indeed, quite good.
Bartum Hosath a tall, thin, ascetic man of around 45, is a scribe and seller of boths inks and papers, from the mundane to the exotic, including a red-gold ink of his own creation that is in great demand by the nobility as well as manuscript artists. He also dealt in the illicit Lyrin Oil trade, Mariala noted when she deciphered certain hieroglyphics chalked on his countertop…
Old Belos is a large, good humored man of indeterminate age, who runs a popular cook shop in the Flames Court Market. His bulk belies his tremendous strength, and he is known far and wide for his delicious pot-boil. Indeed, Korwin, once he tasted a bowlful, couldn’t shut up about it!
Brandis Nayfal is a bluff, friendly man of middle years. He is a well-off money changer and usurer. The twin towers of his home/office are well known to all as one of the most secure places in the city – not least because of his twin body guards, Tarim and Karim, exotic ebony warriors from the far southern jungles of mysterious Koruik. One is always with him, and the other always on guard at his home.
Jebin Holdar is a young man who has just recently inherited his family’s candle making business. He keeps the high-end, fancy candles for sale in his own small shop, although most of his regular output is sold to the local chandler. Mariala and Vulk both buy several fancy scented candles.
Raldan Porfur is a middle aged man, bald as a stone, who runs the local chandlery, essentially a one-stop shopping emporium where you pay for the convenience of finding most of the items on your list in one place. A quiet man, but very, very sharp when it comes to business.
Harkem Dhal is a small, ferret faced man in his thirties, he runs a large pawn shop in the area. Not especially popular, his neighbors grudgingly agree that he is honest in his dealings, if personally unpleasant.
Rena Cleftin is a matronly woman in her 50s who runs a largish cook shop on Onyx Street, and is a friendly rival of Old Belos. Rumor has it that the two are secret lovers of many years…
Merik Blezdan is a tall, well muscled man in his forties, rumored to have been a gladiator in the Republic in his youth. Today he owns and operates the local sporting venue, Rekka’s Arena. Although the Taruthani Games are illegal in Nolkior, tourney-like contests are permitted (not to the death, though of course accidents do happen), as are fights between wild animals and between animals and warriors. Merik is friendly and straight-forward, and lives a pleasant bachelor life, taking most his meals at Belos’ cook shop. He invited Devrik and Erol to feel free to use his facilities for sparring, when the venue isn’t open… and the others too, of course, he hastened to add at Vulk and Korwin’s sharp look.
Arlin Peltoz is a man in his late 50s who is the proprietor of the Swans Sorrow Inn, the largest and fanciest drinking and lodging establishment in the district. Home of the infamously potent Swantini, they have nightly entertainment of music, dancing or literary readings on the small stage in the main room. Private rooms for drinking, eating and meeting are available. They met him while strolling the booths of the Flames Court Market, where he invited them to a welcoming bash he was throwing that evening in honor of the new Margarve.
“Everyone who’s anyone in the district will be there,” he assured Mariala, kissing her handing true genteel fashion. “And a great many others, too.”
Seria Holdar is a tall, stately woman in her late 30s, proprietress of the Rolling Rock Public House, the main rival to the Swan’s Sorrow, although they have no rooms for over night guests. It is a rowdier crowd, less sophisticated, who patronize her place, although she allows no fights and discourages overtly illegal activity.
The day’s tour ended with a visit to the opulent Blue Lotus Baths, one of the most popular in the city. The manager, Methos Dorukal, is plump, effete and a famous epicurean, and he fawned shamelessly over group, especially Mariala, who was rather shy about the whole thing at first. Devrik tried to make a suit of armor out towels, as protection against Methos’ leers, while Vulk and Korwin took to the sybaritic luxury instantly, and Erol just took it all in stride. Toran spend most of his time in the scraping room and avoiding the water.
It was late afternoon before they all made it back to their new homes, relaxed and mellow, to rest up before the party at the Swan’s Sorrow at sundown. Toran, who was staying at Vulk’s until he could acquire furniture for Khundari House, was the only one who didn’t take a nap, instead using his free time to oil his crossbow.
The Hand of Fortune arrived at the Swan’s Sorrow 15 minutes after sundown, fashionably late, as both Vulk and Korwin had insisted they must be. This allowed Mariala to make “an entrance,” and all heads turned to look as she entered the room. As their host greeted her, there was applause from the other guests, and soon everyone had a drink in their hand and the mingling began.
Several drinks later, as Mariala was chatting gaily with young Jebin Holdar, she was shocked to find the drink she had just been handed dashed from her hand, even as she raised it to her lip! She looked in surprise into the strained, concerned face of Brandis Nayfal. Behind him loomed his muscle-slabbed bodyguard, face as impassive as ever.
“My most sincere apologies, Lady Mariala,” he said quietly, leaning in and turning her away from young Jebin, who just looked bewildered. “I had to act, I fear your life was at stake… a few moments ago, Tarim drew my attention to the bar, where several cups were waiting to be picked up. The servant who gathered them onto his serving tray paused and emptied something from a small a small packet into one of the cups, a very suspicious act I thought. But when I saw him hand you that very cup, m’lady, I knew I had to act! Again, I apologize for such a melodramatic action, but I feared I wouldn’t reach you through this crowd in time…”
Mariala was more than a little buzzed, and she frowned at her rescuer. “But why would anyone try to poison me? and… where is that waiter…””
Again, Nayfal leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m afraid I lost the man in the crowd in my haste to reach you, m’lady. As for the why… in my line of work I have, of necessity, my eyes and ears in the underworld of the city – the best way to forestall attacks on my interests. But just today I heard some faint rumors that the Zalik-mal is wroth with you, over this recent contretemps of the Royal Regalia. No more than hints, that they planned to pay you back, but I had thought to bring them to your attention this evening when the opportunity presented itself. I never dreamed they would move so quickly, nor so publicly…”
With a distracted thank you, and a promise of an appropriate reward for his vigilance, Mariala turned to seek out her friends. As she made her way to the bar, where Devrik and Erol were drinking, she cast Deana’s Perception. The emotional tenor of the room revealed itself to her inner eye, but the cacophony of emotions was overwhelming. Happiness, attraction, anger, lust, envy, sympathy – they all made it impossible to pinpoint the one flash of sharp hostility she sensed, briefly.
By the time she was able to explain what was going on to her friends, and they were able to extract Vulk from the private room where he’d been entertaining a new friend, the trail was too cold to follow. The group spent the rest of the party in close proximity, not drinking and watching as surreptitiously as possible for any further attacks. But everything seemed normal, and eventually the party began to wind down. It was after midnight when the friends finally made their way out of the inn.
As they stood in the circle of light cast by the inn’s great entrance lamp, discussing whether or not they should all stay in one house that night, the sudden twang of a crossbow split the air, followed almost instantly by a thunk as a bolt embedded itself in a post less than an inch from Vulk’s right ear. Everyone ducked – too little, too late.
But the would-be assassin apparently had no desire to try again, with the element of surprise gone.
“There!” Toran cried, pointing to a dark shape that flitted into the shadows across the street. They all took off in hot pursuit, Toran, with his dark-adapted eyes, leading the way. They chased the bowman down several alleys, until Toran had a clear shot – a throwing star flew from his hand, and the fleeing man went down with a cry, clutching his left thigh. His crossbow clattered to the pavement, and he ignored it as he stumbled to his feet and limped on.
Toran grabbed the dropped weapon in passing, along with his bloodied throwing star. They were gaining on the fugitive now, and they saw him turn into the shadowy doorway of one of the entrances to Rekka’s Arena. They pelted to a stop before the door, pausing before plunging in.
“This is a trap, of course,” Devrik said. No one disagreed. “And we’re going in anyway, of course.” Again, no one disagreed, although only Devrik was really armed, if you didn’t count daggers and throwing stars, and a crossbow with only the one bolt Vulk had pulled from the post.
Inside the faint light shed by the three-quarters of the lesser moon that hung low in the sky did little to illuminate their surroundings, which seemed to be some sort of training room. But the open door on the far side of the chamber, where the pale rose moonlight shone on the sands of the arena, made it pretty clear where they were supposed to go. Devrik muttered a few words and his sword flickered into fiery life, while Vulk summoned his holy armor and Korwin cast his Frost Blade. And as his friends stepped out onto the arena floor, Erol headed for a door at the back of the room…
The arena was a square space about 15 meters on a side, and once the group reached the middle, there was a sudden flare of light to their right as several torches were lit in the stands above them. Revealed in the flickering light were about a dozen men, all in dark clothes and with masks over their faces, all except their apparent leader. This man, like the Hand, was dressed in party clothes and he wore no mask. Devrik recognized him as one of the guests at the party… owner of a… produce warehouse, he wanted to say?
“I don’t think I caught your name at the party,” Devrik grated out, making no attempt, for once, to modulate the frightening timbre of his ravaged voice.
“No, I made sure of that, you witless oaf,” the man snarled down at him, his own voice a very pleasant tenor, if laced with rage just now. “I am Jerin Kervisan, and you bastards, with your bitch queen leader there, killed my brother. Along with a lot of good men. And now you’re going to learn what it means to cross the the pale rose light! You and your precious new king! I may not be able to touch him – yet – but he’ll find it hard to come by new agents when the city hears the story of your deaths!”
He raised his hand, and two panels in the wall below him, directly in front of the Hand, rose up and from the black holes came low growls. Slowly, two shadows seemed to separate from the darkness, and slink onto the rose-tinted white sands of the arena. They quickly resolved into two huge black cats, panthers of the southern rain forests, whose eyes seemed to glow green. They caught sight of the party, and caught their scent, and crouched down, preparing to leap…
Toran jammed the one bolt into the crossbow, and took careful aim… as the first cat leaped, he fired, and the bolt took the cat in the thigh, spinning it around with a yowl of pain and rage. The second cat was caught in the side by a thrown javelin from the shadows, and also crashed to the ground, thrashing and biting at the pain in its side. Erol stepped out of the shadows with an armload of weapons.
“I stopped by the armory,” he explained. “Thought we might need these.”
With a clatter he dropped the pile of weapons near his friends, holding onto only a trident. Devrik dashed past Erol to put the panther he’d had wounded out of its misery, while Vulk was busy fending off the other one with his staff. Toran tossed aside the now-uelsess crossbow and darted over to the weapons cache, coming up with a lovely battle axe.. a bit lighter than he liked, but it would do!
Mariala cast Resistence on herself, as Korwin stood back and began to marshal his arcane resources to cast Breath of Arandu, while Erol strode over to Vulk and caught the cat he was struggling with a nasty blow to its haunches.
Mariala then attempted a Fire Nerves spell on the massed thieves in the stands above her, but exhaustion, alcohol and fatigue caused it to sputter out ineffectually. Devrik, calculating where the real danger lay, had also decided to take out the men above, and attempted to send a fireball their way, only to have it fizz out in his hand. And to no one’s surprise, Koriwn’s attempt at a killing blast of frost failed yet again…
Freed up now, Vulk considered their position… unarmored, dressed in fancy clothes, and without their usual weapons. Erol’s raiding of the arena’s armory had helped, but they were all tired, a little drunk, and generally not at their best. Fatigue was taking its toll, and at least a dozen armed thieves waited and watched – there was no doubt at all that they would attack if there seemed the least chance that the Hand might escape.
They needed an edge.
Vulk stepped back and composed his mind in prayer, invoking the Goddess’s blessing on all in the arena, and beseeching her to allow his own gift to heal and restore them all to full vigor. He felt the power move within him, and for a moment that seemed to last a lifetime there was perfect stillness. Then a golden light seemed to flare out from his heart in all directions, a ripple in the pond of reality. No one else saw any light, or anything else for that matter, but they all felt the sudden surge of energy, the sharpening of thought and sight, the abrupt lash of clarity.
In retrospect, Vulk thought to himself as he saw the wounded panther Erol was fighting suddenly stop limping, I might have worded that a little more precisely…
Fortunately, Erol was able to take advantage of the big cat’s momentary confusion at its own sudden well-being to quickly put an end to it. As the beast lay twitching in the sand, silence fell over the arena.
Kervisan raised his hand again, and again the sound of a wooden panel being raised echoed off the walls. This time a monstrous Gül-Hovguvai of enormous proportions strode out of the shadows into the moon-and-torch-light. It swung a great iron battle axe before it as it advanced on the group of humans, the hiss of its passage as it sliced the air evil and ominous…
In a sudden blur of motion, Toran ducked under the lumbering creature’s weapon, leaped up it’s body using an outthrust knee as a foot rest, and swung his own axe. The razor edge of the blade met the beast-man’s throat in a crimson arc that sent blood splashing to the sand 3 meters away. With a gurgle the huge form toppled backwards as Toran kicked off against its chest, flipping in midair to land in a crouch, axe ready to go.
This time the silence was… profound.
Kervisan slammed his fist down hard on the stone balustrade before him, and growled out a low-voiced command to one of his lieutenants, who hurried away. For a moment, nothing happened. Devrik was just considering another fireball attempt, while Mariala pondered having another go at frying some nerves, when the ground lurched beneath their feet. Behind the group the sand suddenly bulged upward, and they all backed away, toward the stands and the watching thieves.
Suddenly something massive, purple and with too many teeth and horns burst through the ground, rearing up, and up and up…
“Jhuka-var!”shouted Toran, in fascinated horror. “A Death Worm!”
He had only ever seen rather small ones, in captivity, used for teaching… but he’d heard the stories. One of the hazards of subterranean life, the Death Worms are large, armored worms that burrow through not only soil but solid rock (although the latter takes considerably more time, he recalled).
They derive most of their sustenance from minerals in the dirt and rock that their acid dissolves, but they do require animal protein occasionally, which is why they are known to attack us Khundari, Toran thought. And the Gülvini and any other beings with underground dwellings.
He recalled that they range in color from a pale violet, in their youth, through a deep eggplant color in old age, with a cream-colored underbelly that glows with a faint phosphorecent light. They have an average life span of 20 years. This one looked the color of a nicely ripe aubergine, and must be 12 meters long or more… hard to be sure, since its lower half was still underground, but at least four meters seemed be swaying above them…
Their segmented armor makes them difficult to kill, Toran thought desperately, although they do vulerable points – what were they, damn it? Yes! A a spot just under the “chin,” and between plate segments… although the latter points are only vulnerable when the creature is in a sharp flexing position.
They attack with swinging head butts, bites, the two horns that protude from each side fo the head, and with an acid spit. This last, while relatively short range, can be devestating to both armor and flesh, Toran knew. Which is why he was ready for it when the monster turned its almost-blind head in his direction (they have an amazing sense of smell, and know the scent of Khundari quite well), and was able to leap aside as a wad of acid phlegm sizzled into the sand were he had been.
As stunning as the unexpected sight of an immense armored worm was, both Mariala and Devrik remained focused on the longer term threat. As Erol leaped to forward in a blur to attack the beast, they turned and gestured toward the watching men, who were grinning now in anticipation of a nice blood bath. For eight of the thieves, those grins turned into agonized rictus’ as a particularly potent Fire Nerves spell (perhaps fueled by an adrenaline rush caused by the sight of the Death Worm) sent them to the ground in paroxysms of pain.
Even as their remaining comrades turned in shock towards the fallen, Devrik’s Orb of Vorol flew past Kervisan, who dodged it, and exploded in fiery sphere of sparks. The rest of the thieves, including their leader went down, singed and dazed… all but one rather young-looking fellow (if his size and over-large hands and feet were any indication). For a moment he just stood there, paralyzed with shock and fear. And then he bolted for the exit…
While all this was going on, Korwin had tried to cast Effluvium, to encase the worm’s head in a sphere of magical water, and when that had failed, he’d fallen back on Breath of Arandu. Sadly that, too, had fizzled out without so much as a snowflake. By the time he was ready to try an third spell, there was no point…
For Erol, the world slowed as he moved in to attack the great worm, giving him that special high of clarity and calmness that he loved. Toran, having dogged the creature’s acid spit, swung his axe at its belly, only to have it bounce off without even leaving a mark. From a long way away, Erol could hear the Khundari yelling about vulnerable spots between the armor segments and under the chin, and without much conscious thought his hand shifted the angle of the trident even as it speared toward that glowing white belly.
It slid between the plates, and he felt it bite deep into soft flesh. The trident was almost ripped from his grasp as the beast reared up, with cry of pain that was almost ultrasonic, but he managed to wrench it out and plunge it right back in between two other segments of armor, while himself in mid-air. Erol came down, knees bent, weapon whipped around and ready for action.
At that moment Mariala, hot off her success with the thieves, threw another Fire Nerves spell, this time at the worm. It’s screams went entirely beyond the range of human hearing, and it began to tear up great chances of dirt as it thrash wildly in agony. Dark violet blood was oozing from the two wounds Erol had inflicted.
Devrik dove in to attack, dodging the whipping head that tried to smash him, but his blow glanced off the monster’s armor.
“Under the chin,” he heard Toran yelling, and even as the creature hurled a wad of burning spit towards him, Devrik hurled himself forward, under the acid ball, and drove his flaming sword into the vulnerable spot with a horrendous crunch of cartilage and bone. The weapon was whipped from his grip as the Death Worm convulsed in its own death agonies, and he himself was thrown over two meters to land in the sand with a thump.
When the monster was at last still, after giving one final shudder, Devrik put one foot on the great head and pulled his sword out with no little effort. As he turned towards the stands, ready now to take on whatever Zalik-mal that might still have any fight in them, he saw Vulk approach the spot directly blow Jerin Kervisan, who was staggering to his feet and patting at his singed hair, putting out a few last sparks. Several others were also beginning to rise.
“Here,” Vulk called out in loud voice. “Catch!”
And he threw his staff up toward the head thief.
Still perhaps a bit stunned form the Orb, the man reached out to grasp the rod, and was horrified as he felt it shift beneath his hand, turing into a living, writhing snake that instantly began to twine itself around him. In seconds Jerin was in the same position as his late brother had been, completely immobilized and barely able to breath.
Whether or not the remaining thieves would have turned on the Hand, or fled into the night, will never be known, for at that moment a large group of torch and pitchfork wielding citizens poured up the stairs behind them, led by an enraged Merik Blezdan. The man was furious at having his establishment hijacked by the Thieves Guild for its own murderous purposes, and had come to put a stop to it.
But his anger was, at least momentarily, abated as he gazed down into his arena. The dead panthers and giant gül hardly registered next to the immense bulk of the dead worm, whose dark violet blood was soaking into an ever widening circle of sand. His followers fell suddenly silent as they took in the sight, as well… and the Zalik-mal took that moment to make a break for it, which broke the awed spell.
Some of the thieves did make it through the mob, but at least half of them, including Kervisan’s lieutenants were captured and restrained. Kervisan himself was unable to escape the coils of Vulk’s snake, and was beginning to turn blue before the cantor finally released him into the waiting arms of Erol and Devrik and some handy rope supplied by Merik Blezdan.
♦ ♦ ♦
Down on the arena floor, Toran stood looking at the corpse of the Death Worm, Korwin beside him.
“You know,” he the dwarf said thoughtfully to the water mage, “their acid sacs are quite highly prized by alchemists, apothecaries… and the weaponcrafters and metalworkers of my people. We use the liquid to temper metals to a hardness that is difficult to achieve by other methods… well, dragon blood, of course, but that’s really rare… anyway, it’s one of the secrets of Khundari armor and weapons…”
Korwin raised an eyebrow. “Should you be telling me this?”
“Eh, there are secrets, and then there are secrets,” Toran shrugged. “This more in the way of being a little-known-fact, really. You’re not the first Umantari to hear it, and in any case I’m sure I can trust your discretion in not bandying it about in public. Right?” He looked blandly up at his companion.
“Yes, yes, of course,” the mage answered rather absently. “But tell me more about the monetization prospects for this corpse,,, and how do we get these acid sacks you speak of out?”
♦ ♦ ♦
The next day, with the captured Zalik-mal securely locked in Mariala’s dungeon, and the story of their latest adventure burning like wildfire throughout the city, the Hand met to discuss what to do with the prisoners. As Margrave, Mariala had the right of Low Justice in the district, but the attempted assassination of a noble was a capital offense, and would have to eventually be turned over to the King’s Justice.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t interrogate them a bit first,” Erol pointed out. “Find out what we should expect next, if this “Thieves Guild” is really prepared to go to war over this…”
“Yes, that’s part of the reason I asked you all over here today,” Mariala said, lifting a sheet of parchment from the table in front of her. “This came early this morning, delivered by young street urchin. It’s a letter from the Guild Master of the Zalik-mal in Shalara.”
Everyone looked surprised at that, and listened attentively as Vulk took the letter and read it aloud. It ran thusly:
My dearest Margrave,
I warned my captain not to seek such a foolish revenge, there being nothing for our Guild in it… but his one great quality was always loyalty to his family, and I am afraid his brother’s death quite overwhelmed his good sense.
As I expected, you and your valiant companions had little trouble in dispatching poor Jerin – I hope the quiet word I had put about concerning his plans helped put you on guard? Although I did not know the specifics, of course, or else I might have been able to stop last evenings bloody performance before it went so far…
And now, my Lady, I offer you and your friends a truce. You have eliminated two of my best captains, and decimated their organizations. But please believe me when I say that you have barely scratched the surface of our organization.
As I told Jerin, revenge is bad for business, and I would prefer to move on from this whole unfortunate affair (whatever did possess that fool Hardel to try and steal the Royal Regalia, I wonder?). But if you insist on pressing the matter, I have a great many resources yet that could be brought to bear.
Our beloved monarch, in his years as Constable both of Kolosür and this city, failed to do more than inconvinience us, and with far more resources than you possess. So, you go on about your business, and I will go on about mine, and I promise you we shall have no cause to cross swords again, upon my word.
And while you may look down on the word of such as I, in my line a man must be known to keep his word, or else control becomes ever so much more difficult. If you desist, than so shall we.
I remain your affectionate servant,
The Guildmaster
After taking a minute to digest this, the debate began in earnest…