Monthly Archives: April 2014

Devrik: A Letter Home

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Devrik sat in his study and contemplated the blank page on the desk before him.

It was a fine piece of parchment, thick and creamy, one of a folio he had purchased the day before from Bartum Hosath, the high-end scribe with the small but elegant shop in the Flames Court Market. During that same visit he had also acquired a very, very expensive bottle of the man’s signature red-gold ink, three black swan quills and some red sealing wax.

He had been trying to put them to use for the last hour. Although, to be honest, he had really been composing this letter in his head for several months now. He needed to get this just right.

With an explosive sigh and a decisive nod of his head, Devrik picked up one of the quills, dipped it in the open bottle of ink, and began to write…

To Equar Brandis Nordaka, Equestrian of the Kildoran Republic
From Ser Devrik Askalan, Knight of the Order of the Silvereye

Greetings Father,

I trust the Lady of Luck has been as kind to you as she has been to me, and that this missive finds you in good health, and also your lady wife an my half-brother Ernell. Have the on-going troubles with the Firilani been resolved, or at least contained enough for construction of the road through the Chevan Gap to be begun? It is a matter dear to your heart, I know.

For myself, my travels since leaving Kerig have brought me to Nolkior, a kingdom I have found to be a most forthright land. Her rulers strive to see their goals of peace and prosperity accomplished through diligent effort and wise counsel – and to reward those who have proven themselves, in not only word but in deed, in the service of those goals.

Though I first came to the attention of His Grace, Lord Clarin, the Earl Kinen, for heroically exposing and capturing a traitor within his own ranks, aided by true friends, my alien birth prevented him from bestowing on me the honors his noble mind felt befitted my actions and my loyalty. Nevertheless, I was pleased above all else simply to be recognized for those actions. I was equally pleased to see my friends rewarded for our concerted efforts.

Fortunately, I have always believed that good deeds are their own reward. Having continued to act in good faith, I am immensely honored to inform you that none other than His Highness, King Maldan I has adopted me as a son of Nolkior and elevated me to a Knighthood, a title which stands side by side with the Kildoran Equestrian, and granted me lands and income to support my family.<

Yes, I am married, Father… to Raven Askalan, a gorgeous woman of the Rethmani tribes of the Pelon Delta, unbridled by the persnickety conventions of “civilized” society. She is a steadfast warrior, true of heart, and though we are forced to spend time apart on occasion, we always reunite with great joy and love. Our greatest blessing (so far) arrived this winter – my son, your grandson, Aldari Rethma Askalan.

The child has already been through a harrowing adventure, courtesy of Kirdik Hanol, the deranged Korönian you inflicted on me in my youth. He has attempted to corrupt me for years, but I am please to say that his insane views of Fire Magic no longer pollute the world. In place of his mad ideology I have been instructed by an Immortal Himself, Kalos, in understanding the true nature of Fire and how it can be used for good, as a great benefit to the world.

I look forward to the day when I will be able instruct my son and induct him into the Yalvan mysteries… truth be told, I think his abilities will be even greater than mine. Nothing would please me more than to have a son who exceeds the expectations and accomplishments of his father.

Your Son, in common bond,
Ser Devrik Askalan,
This 20th day of  Metisto, in the 3019 year of the Salatasic Reckoning

Setting down the pen, Devrik picked up the sheet and read it over. Yes, this was just about perfect… let his father make of it what he would. He sprinkled sand over the page, shook it off, folded it and dropped a blob of hot red wax onto the back. His personal seal, delivered from the old jeweler on Filagree Street just this morning, pressed his new coat-of-arms deep and clear.

As he turned the epistle over and began to write the address on the front, Devrik wondered, not for the first time, what he expected from his father… or, in truth, what he even wanted from the man. He wasn’t sure he really knew… perhaps his reply, if there was one, would clarify the issue…

Aftermath of the Revenge of the Zalik-mal

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With war looming on the horizon, and their own on-going battle with the secret Vortex organization still unresolved, the members of the Hand of Fortune agreed that they didn’t need to go running after yet another enemy. If the Zalik-mal of Shalara were willing to stay out of their way, the Hand would not seek them out either.

“But we’re not turning a blind eye to their criminal enterprises if they come to our attention,” Mariala added, once the general consensus had been reached the morning after the fight in Rekka’s Arena between the Hand, more than a dozen thieves, two panthers, a gigantic Black Gül and a Death Worm.

“No, of course not,” Vulk had agreed, and the others nodded. “But for now, let’s just leave things to go on as they have for centuries and focus on our own problems.”

Currently, those problems seemed to consist of finding decent interior decorators and/or furniture makers. With the Vortex seemingly quiet and the King having departed two days earlier for the mustering of his army at Kar Urkonis, the Hand was unexpectedly free for a time. While Mariala undertook setting the remodeling of the Green Tower in motion, the others focused on more modest changes to their new homes. Well, except for Vulk, who began to design a sybaritic gambling den motif for Krenden House.

Toran and Korwin drew Devrik into their plan to utilize the acid sacs of the recently deceased Death Worm. The old apothecary/alchemist across the street from Mariala’s place was very excited to have access to the many other parts of the great beast, and took those as payment for processing the acid to Toran’s specifications. Devrik was equally excited at the prospect of creating both a sword and armor that could stand up to his fire magics… the possibilities were extensive!

The city was quiet as everyone went about their business, but a certain tension vibrated in the air, as if people were waiting. People seemed to go about with a certain air of distraction, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop…

King Maldan had done his best to make the city secure, both physically and psychologically – his brother, Ser Koris, had been left in charge of the city, and he had rammed through an acknowledgement of his son, Korun, as the Heir Apparent and Crown Prince while the Succession Council was still gathered together. This relieved some of the anxiety the people had about the new king going off to war, and reduced the likelihood of another succession crisis if the worst came to pass.

Every day the town criers posted news of the gathering of the Army of the East, and the state of the northern marches under the Army of the North, where the Earl Kinen commanded. The North remind quiescent, and once the King’s forces from west and south had finished gathering at Urkonis they would move east to secure the border with Tharkia. Speculation was rampant that the King might actually move to eliminate the threat by preemptively invading Tharkia… he did have a legitimate claim to that throne, after all, and as an usurper, Laravad II had no leg to stand on at all!

It came as quite a shock, therefore, when rumors began to spread through the city on the 23rd of Metisto that Tharkian forces had pulled off a surprise night attack, and the city of Tyendus had fallen! Crowds gathered in the square outside Kar Landsar, demanding news, but no official word was forthcoming.

New rumors, of the fall of Dor Ludolin and Dor Lorethal, began to circulate, and the crowds began to get restive as the anxiety grew. If Tyendus had fallen, that left only a handful of river fortresses to stop a waterborne assault on the capital itself – and Ludolin was one of those keeps! And weren’t the new king’s children, especially his Heir, in Tyendus…?

Finally, as the sun began to sink towards the western walls, an official herald appeared above the closed gates of the castle. In a firm, carrying voice, he read aloud a statement from Ser Koris, Constable of Kar Landsar:

“Citizens of Shalara, rumors lead to fear and panic when there is no cause for such! 

While it is true that the city of Tyendus has indeed fallen to a treacherous attack by the forces of the Tharkian usurper Laravad, on the night of the 21st, the King is already preparing to retake what was stolen from. The Army of the East is assembled, and prepares to march on Tyendus immediately!

And while that theft includes the keep at Ludolin, it does not include Dor Lorethal, which repulsed the attack by Laravad’s barbarian allies! Nor does it include the royal children – word has come that they escaped the city before its fall, and have taken refuge in Dor Lorethal itself, where they are safe and secure.

As is this great city. The garrison is more than ample to hold the walls against an army, never mind against the sort of rabble of sell-swords and barbarians that the criminal Laravad has under his command. 

Surprise and treachery have given him a minor, and very temporary, victory. But strength and virtue will send him and his barbarian rabble to the grave soon enough!

So go on about your business, people of Shalara, and don’t let the terrorists win! Buy war bonds!”

The crowds slowly dispersed… if not with fears completely allayed, at least with more confidence that the King had the situation in hand. The night was quiet, thankfully, as a subdued populace generally stayed home.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day a courier arrived at the Green Tower, formally summoning the Hand of Fortune to Kar Landsar in the name of the King. There they met with Ser Koris, the King’s brother and currently in charge of the city.

“I have summoned you here at the King’s request,” he began once everyone was seated around a richly inlaid table in a small private study. “I am instructed to give to all the facts, as we currently understand them, in regard to recent events.

“As we have publicly announced, Tyendus fell three nights ago, to a surprise attack. It seems that a squad of Ethmoniri barbarians were able to sneak into the city during the day, and after midnight they ambushed and murdered the guards on the River Gate. They then opened the gates, allowing a large strike force to cross the Bellanin Bridge and seize control of the whole district.

“With their bridgehead secured, the full army that had been gathering at Kar Olsepor these last tendays was able to enter the city unimpeded. The garrison did their best, as the fighting went street to street, but surprise and the ferocity of the attack – half the “soldiers” seems to be barbarians survivors report – doomed them.

“Apparently the Crown Prince and the Princess managed to escape by the Vinkara Gate before the citadel fell, thank all the Immortals… although Prince Korun was wounded at some point. How badly, we don’t know. The courier raven was maddeningly vague…

We know my nephew and niece, with their guards, made it to Dor Lorethal, only to find it under siege by a barbarian force. Apparently… and this is hard to understand… Princess Miralda, somehow, lead an attack on the enemy’s rear, breaking  the siege… the King fears that this means Korun is more seriously wounded than… or maybe…”

Ser Koris ran his hands through his hair in frustration. There was more gray there than the last time we met, Mariala thought to herself.

“Well, that’s just it – we don’t know! And the King must know, soon. But it is imperative that he strikes quickly, before the Tharkians have a chance to consolidate their grip on our stolen land, and he can spare none of his forces to secure his children.

“Therefore, he asks that you all come, by the fastest means you know,” and here the knight looked slightly askance at Mariala, magic making him uncomfortable, “to Kar Urkonis. He wishes to speak with you privately, about what I’m sure you can all imagine.”

The Hand, of course, agreed immediately, and after a brief consultation with the Mistress of Esoterica for her knowledge of Nitaran gates in both Shalara and Urkonis, they returned to New District to prepare for their journey.

♦ ♦ ♦

Devrik, who had been growing increasingly concerned about the safety of his wife and son in recent days, decided now was the time to act. Using the linked parchment Mariala had provided him and Raven, he concisely outlined his plan, asking her and their son Aldari to meet the group at Dor Lorethal as soon as was possible. A separate note to Ser Alakor ensured a proper escort for mother and child.

Vulk called on Lady Lania, the Countess Kinen, to thank her for her hospitality and explain why they were leaving the city. She immediately seized the opportunity to request that she and her daughter, the Maid Carissa be allowed to accompany them.

“I have been thinking for days that it might be best for us to leave the capital. I know it is unlikely an attack will come here, but I would feel better closer to home, and I know my daughter Thalisa, the Countess Yorma, would be pleased to have us at Kar Urkonis. It would also put us closer to my husband, since he’d rather we not return to Kar Vinkara just yet, given the barbarian troubles in the north…

“Both Carissa and myself have the utmost confidence in you and your friends, and I can’t imagine a better escort on the road!”

“Under normal circumstances, m’lady,” Vulk replied diplomatically, “we would be pleased to act as your escort. But we travel now not by roads, but by… more esoteric paths.”

“Ah, you intend to Gate to Kar Urkonis,” the Countess said, looking momentarily nonplussed. But she quickly rebounded, and nodded her head decisively. “Well, I’ve never traveled that way before, but frankly, it’s even better than risking the roads… assuming five more people would not be a problem?”

‘Um, no, m’lady,” Vulk answered reluctantly. “It stretches things a bit, but wouldn’t be absolutely prohibitive… but Lady Lania, I could not guarantee your safety! You must know that Gate travel is inherently dangerous; I can tell you from personal experience that you do not always end up where you intended! Even the most skilled Gate-travelers cannot be assured of a successful, or safe, journey.”

“It can hardly be less safe than the roads right now, Cantor Ser Vulk. I am willing to take the chance… and I know my daughter will be thrilled to experience real ‘magic’ of this sort!”

Vulk continued to try and dissuade the lady from her wish, but in the end he gave in. It was hard to believe that a year ago she was a frail shell of herself, on the verge of death. Seeing her now, with that steely determination beneath a genteel, matronly exterior, he could understand why the Earl would risk so much to restore her to this.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was early afternoon when all the preparations had been made and the Hand returned to Kar Landsar. They were greeted by both Ser Koris and Derwen Verdeth, the Mistress of Esoterica, who led them up to a medium sized chamber in the tallest tower of the castle. Lady Lania, Maid Carissa, their two maids and a major domo were already there.

“Welcome to the Gate of Shalara,” Mistress Verdeth said as the last person crowded into the room. “As His Majesty has requested, I shall help you open the way Urkonis, and teach you the Patterns for both this Gate and that.”

She didn’t seem to be all that pleased to be sharing such privileged information with johnny-come-lately interlopers – Mariala sensed she felt more than a little threatened by both her and Devrik – but she knew which side her bread was buttered on. And who buttered it.

As Verdeth instructed Vulk and Devrik in the Patterns, Mariala looked over and winked at the Maid Carissa, who was almost beside herself with excitement at the prospect of not only seeing powerful magics at work, but being a part of it all. Only a certain tightness of the mouth betrayed her mother’s tension, even as she smiled indulgently at her daughter.

When all was ready, Mistress Verdeth, with Devrik and Vulk flanking her, one hand placed atop each of her outstretched hands, began a low chant.  Slowly a shimmer seemed to fill the air in the center of the room, expanding outwards until it was three meters across, barely visible even to the trained eye. When Vulk gave the signal, they all moved forward towards the shimmer, and one by one the travelers disappeared. Devrik and Vulk were the last ones through…

♦ ♦ ♦

The Gate of Urkonis was located not in a tower, or even in a wooded grove, but in a large cave beneath the castle. Over the centuries it had been worked and sculpted into an impressive chamber with pillars into likenesses of exotic plants and animals, and a domed ceiling of purple-veined white marble. Great iron-bound oak doors barred the only exit from the chamber, and guards were posted outside, small grates in the wall allowing them to see in and question arriving travelers.

Lady Thalisa, the Countess Yorma, was summoned as soon as the party had identified itself, and soon the Hand was seated in another private study. After seeing to their comfort, the Lady bore off her mother and sister to their own rooms and a private chat. A few minutes after they had left, the door to the study opened again and three men entered – King Maldan I, Lord Sedris Kleftin, the Earl Yorma, and Lord Karsin Tobalin, the Baron Ludolin. They all looked tired and worried, but the latter looked positively haggard.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” the King began without preamble, motioning everyone to stay seated. “I have a task for you, if you will undertake it, one I think your group is uniquely suited to.”

“I’m sure we stand ready to help you in whatever way we can, Your Majesty,” Vulk replied, bowing in his seat. The others murmured assent.

“I wish you to recover my children from their refuge at Dor Lorethal, and bring them here,” Maldan said bluntly. “I can’t spare enough troops to feel certain of their safety, and in any case I understand my son is wounded… very seriously, if he let his sister lead an attack…”

The King looked momentarily distracted, then he shook his head, straightened his back, and continued.

“My children know you, from our journey south together earlier this month, which is one advantage in sending you. Another is the considerable skill set you bring, both in the physical and arcane realms. But of overriding concern to me now is Cantor Ser Vulk’s healing abilities… if Prince Korun is as badly wounded as… as I fear, then the sooner you can attend to him the better.”

Vulk looked suddenly pale, but wisely refrained from saying anything.

“My mother-in-law speaks very highly of you all,” Lord Sedris said, leaning forward. He was as tall, dark haired, gray eyed, square of jaw and charismatic as they all remembered. “Especially of the healing potions of your comrade Ser Draik. We know he is not with you, but Dor Dür is not far from Lorethal… perhaps, if it is necessary…” he spread his hand in question.

“Yes,” Vulk nodded. “It is possible to contact him, and he might meet us there…”

“Good!” said the King. “Very good! But let me be clear on one point – as much as I appreciate your willingness to use the Nitaran system to reach me as quickly as I needed you to, I don’t wish you to risk such travel with my children. My Master of Horses will outfit you with fast steeds and strong remounts, enough for you all and the children – when the Crown Prince is well enough to travel, in your opinion Ser Vulk, then ride straight to Urkonis. They will be safe here, under the care of Lady Thalisa and the protection of the Earl’s garrison.”

Suddenly the Lord Karsin leaned forward, his eyes red-rimmed and glaring. “And if you can do this, then I have a request, of you and of the King – rescue my children next!” His jaw worked convulsively as he tried to continue, but the King put his hand on his shoulder and eased him back.

“The Baron is distraught,” he said quietly. “And for good reason. The same night that Laravad’s treachery took Tyendus, a similar betrayal allowed him to seize the keep at Ludolin, the Baron’s seat… we have had news just today that Lady Seria… died trying to defend her children. And they have let it be known that the children are alive and prisoner in their own home.”

“So young,” the Baron groaned. “Seria is but 17, and Karsin barely 15…”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning, in the cold, misty hour before dawn, the Hand prepared to ride out from Kar Urkonis. The King was there to see them off, despite the fact that his army was preparing to march. He was already in his armor, and his squire stood a short way off holding his helmet and his battle sword.

“My prayers go with you,” he said quietly as they stood together in a circle of torch light. “It may be that we will finish this quickly, and all of my fears will be for naught.

“I have a strong right arm in Lord Sedris, his men are fiercely loyal to him, and good fighters. And if Lord Clarin can bring even a third of the Army of the North to us in the next few days… Meanwhile, our enemy is disunited – Laravad is as big a fool as rumor makes him, to try to combine barbarians with a civilized army. Although the Lady of Luck has favored the fool so far…

“Cantor Ser Vulk – although I’ve already had the blessings of my own chaplain this gray morning, would you favor me with your blessing as well? Kasira seems to smile on you, and I would not refuse such grace for myself.”

Vulk lifted his baton and as the King knelt before him called a heartfelt blessing down on the monarch, his army, and his family. Rising to his feet, the King seemed somehow lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.

“May the Immortals go with you, my friends,” he said, saluting them. Then he turned and strode back towards his squire, and both soon vanished in the morning mists.

♦ ♦ ♦

It as just after noon the next day when the Hand rode into the village of Lorethal, huddled beneath the gray walls of the keep. It was obvious that war had passed over this small town – several buildings, including the local temple, were burned to the ground, a few others were visibly damaged, and the field before the gates was a churned mess, as if a battle had been fought there.

The patrolling squads of heavily armed soldiers were jumpy and suspicious, but they eventually accepted the group’s credentials, and let them pass up to the keep. There they again had a time convincing the guards of their bona fides, until a commanding female voice ordered the gates opened.

The Princess Miralda looked rather different than the last time the group had seen her. Still tall, dark blond and possessing a face that was perhaps too strong to be strictly beautiful, she no longer wore the fine riding dress of twenty days ago, but instead a simple frock of brown and green wool. Her air of distracted diffidence was also gone, replaced by an aura of steely competence.

She recognized the Hand, of course, and lead them into the Great Hall of the keep as stable hands saw to the horses. Once everyone was seated and servants had poured watered wine all around, they were joined by a man, perhaps 30, who had recently seen hard fighting. Dark hair and brown eyes, he hovered protectively near the Princess.

“The captain of my guard, Borain Loxarin,” she introduced him. “I don’t know if you met when last we traveled together…”

“Not that I recall, Princess,” Vulk said. “But before anything else, I must ask to see your brother – we know he was wounded, and your father asked me to bring my healing skills to him as soon as was possible.”

Miralda looked briefly down, and when she looked back up there were tears in her eyes. “My brother is dead, Ser Vulk. He died the evening of the day we arrived.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” Vulk said, sinking back in his chair as shocked murmurs went around the table. “How… we heard he was wounded in escaping Tyendus,,,”

“Actually, it was after that,” Captain Loxarin spoke up. He looked at the Princess, and continued when she nodded. “The Crown Prince was reluctant to leave the city while there was any chance of repelling the invaders… but when it was obvious the city had fallen, and the citadel was next, I convinced him to… depart.”

“Flee, was how he put it, actually,” Miralda said with a small, sad smile.

“Yes, well, in any case we were able to get out of the keep by the postern gate with our horses, my squad of twenty men-at-arms, the Crown Prince, his squire, the Princess and her maid… and me, of course. We set off across country… and picked up some refugees along the way…”

“Niether Captain Loxarin nor my brother was happy about it,” the princess put in. “But I was not going to leave those poor people to suffer – I saw what those animals did to our people… to the women, even the children…”

“Yes, well, so there we were, slowed down a bit by having to double up to carry the three women, two men and seven children… I figured we had maybe two hours before dawn to get to some sort of cover… which turned out to be about right.

“Unfortunately, just as we reached the shelter of the forest north of the city, we met an outrider patrol of the invaders. Ethmoniri tribesmen, maybe a dozen of them… the odds didn’t faze them a bit, they just whooped in to the attack… maybe they figured the women and kids would hinder us.

“But they were wrong, and we beat them off, killing most of them before the survivors turned tail. But that’s when the Prince was wounded – an Ethmoniri knife in the side. It didn’t seem too bad, at first, but by noon he wasn’t able to stay in the saddle… I carried him in front of me, but it slowed us down even more.

“So it wan’t until the next morning that we approached Dor Lorethal. But we’d encountered some burned out farms, and I had a bad feeling… so I sent scouts ahead. The news they brought back wasn’t good. The town was taken and the keep was besieged. My men had found and killed four sentries, and didn’t think there were more, at least on this side of the keep, but I knew they’d be missed eventually.

“Of course the fortress itself wasn’t in much danger, since the invaders seemed to be about 80 tribesmen with a company of 20 Tharkian knights supposedly in “command,” so they had no siege equipment. But that didn’t help us. I was all for turning back south and west, maybe make for Kar Urkonis –”

“Which would have taken another three days,” Miralda interrupted. “Korun didn’t seem like he had three days. We needed medical help soon. He was already delirious, drifting in and out. I insisted on seeing the situation for myself, and when he couldn’t talk me out of it, Borain, that is Captain Loxarin, made me put on as much of Korun’s armor as possible. It was my idea to take the sword.

“He also insisted on taking the entire troop with us, less one man to watch over my brother and the refugees… one of the women was a midwife, and was doing all she could for Korun. So from the edge of the forest we watched… most of the invaders had gathered in front of the main gate, out of arrow range, of course, and there seemed to be some sort of parley going on.

“It quickly became obvious that the commander of the Tharkian knights had challenged the keep’s commander to single combat… and my idiot half-uncle had agreed! Oh, did I mention that my father’s half brother, Ser Tualth Kalafon holds this keep as the Sheriff of Kinenshire? Everyone in the family thinks he’s a twit, and I’d say this stunt proved it. Except that if he hadn’t agreed to it…

“Well, when we realized what was happening, I had Borain send for the horses, and even go the two peasant men up and armed. I figured it was all or nothing, and my captain agreed… although he was rather shocked when I mounted up and insisted on leading the attack!”

“Shock doesn’t cover it,” the captain said dryly. “If she hadn’t already started to charge I’d have pulled her off that damn horse and sat on her… as it was, I had no choice but to follow her! The gates of the keep were open, Ser Tualth was advancing with his squire to meet Ser Goren Veldaran (as we later learned), and the invaders were totally focused on the upcoming sport.

“The sight of this berserker warrior woman, screaming and waving her sword as she plunged into their rear, must have stunned them – we cut down a dozen before they started to get their wits about them. I’ve been training the Princess since she was 15, at her father’s command, but even I was surprised at her skill and focus in battle.”

Miralda blushed and shrugged. “Daddy always said I should know how to protect myself in a hard, cold world.”

“Yes, well in spite of all that,” Loxarin continued, “we’d  have been lost soon enough if Ser Tualth’s own guard captain, Jefar Hamdon, hadn’t been on the ball. He had tried to talk his lord out of, but the Sheriff insisted it was a mater of honor. He demanded that Hamdon abide by the agreement if he lost, and surrender the keep. I gather the man had no intention of doing that, however, and he managed to convince the Sheriff to allow him to have his men mounted and ready in the courtyard in case the enemy proved less honorable than himself.

“So, when we hit the enemy from behind, Captain Hamdon ordered his own 40 men to the attack. Even in the heat of battle, I have to say the Sheriff’s look of shock and outrage as his men streamed past him was priceless.”

“He’s still sulking in his rooms,” Miralda added. “He can’t argue with the results, but he insists his ‘honor’ has been sullied. Twit.”

“We were still out numbered, of course,” Loxarin went on. “But not by much, and surprise is a tremendous force multiplier. We routed the motherless bastards, killing 55 tribesmen and nine Tharkians, and captured 11 knights. No Ethmoniri let himself be taken alive, and the survivors melted into the forest. I’d have liked to hunt them down, but –”

“Wasn’t practical,” Miralda said firmly. “We lost seven men, the garrison lost nine, and we had my brother to think about. We got him into the keep and in a proper bed, but there was little the Sheriff’s doctor could do… infection had set in. And the local cantor had been killed when the barbarians torched the temple, so there was no one to even preserve him at the moment of… when he died that night.

“Unfortunately, I’d had them send off a message by raven as soon as we were secure in the keep – the last raven, as it turned out, So when Korun… later, there was no way to send the news. But maybe that’s not so bad after all… it would be awful for Father to hear the news that way…”

Everyone was silent for a few moments as they contemplated this amazing story. Finally Vulk broke the spell, clearing his throat.

“We are very sorry for your loss, my lady,” he said gravely. “It is a blow to the whole realm, to be sure. But you are the Heir now, and and our duty to your father remains clear. We must get you to the safety of Kar Urkonis as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I don’t know about the Heir thing,” the princess shrugged. “Father had the Succession Council agree to my brother while he still had them all in one place, and the fear of war was fresh in their minds. Now… the situation has changed. War is upon us, and if anything were to happen to the King… Agara forfend that it does… well, who knows what would happen?”

“Nonetheless,” Vulk insisted. “You are the Heir Apparent, and your father’s orders are clear. How soon can you be ready to go?”

♦ ♦ ♦

As it turned out, not the next day. Which was just as well, since it wasn’t until the next morning that Raven, Aldari, Black Hawk, Draik and 20 Hand of Vengeance mercenaries arrived at the gates. Devrik’s family reunion was everything he’d hoped it would be, and that night they let Uncle Black Hawk babysit his nephew while they got… reacquainted. Several times.

Vulk was thrilled to see his old friend again, and after a good meal and several drinks, Draik pulled out a leather satchel and showed of his latest advancement in the field of Baylorium. Opening the satchel, he pointed to two rows of six vials each, held firmly in place by leather loops.

“Behold,” he said dramatically. “The very latest in miraculous medical magic – Baylorium-7!”

“Very nice,” said Erol, picking up one of the vials. “Looks like… curdled milk.”

“And smells like chicken that’s been left in the sun too long,” Draik replied, taking the vial back. “But that’s not the point. The point is, the healing properties are the point. It’s designed for open wounds – cuts, abrasions, punctures… even burns. Used as a topical, the base doubles the healing rate of such wounds. Which is great, of course, but hardly miraculous, right?”

His friends nodded in agreement. Toran poured more wine.

“But, when you add a drop of your own blood…” Draik paused for dramatic effect. Mariala rolled her eyes.

“…and let it sit in a warm place for 75 hours… it attunes itself to your specific biological structure! And then, when you apply it to a wound, the healing rate is somewhere between 10 and 12 times normal! A wound that would take a tenday to heal normally is healed in a single day, or less!”

That got everyone’s attention. Vulk picked up a vial and looked closely at it. It did look a lot like curdled milk… with a…  was that a faint blue tint?

“And I’m really excited to see what it does in conjunction with your psionic healing ability, Vulk,” Draik went on. “My theory is that it could boost the efficacy of the Baylorium-7 by an order of magnitude – a hundred-fold increase in healing rate for the keyed version!

“I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to use it on the poor Prince…”

“Still, it should come in quite handy in our line of work,” Erol said thoughtfully. “How long does the keyed balm stay potent? Ot the base version, for that matter?”

“Well, at the moment, the base retains full potency for about a month, decreasing in potency by 20% for every five days after that… so less than two months before it’s just a foul smelling cream. It turns an increasingly dark shade of blue after that first month, until it’s almost black.

“Once you’ve added blood to it – just a single drop is enough – and it’s “cooked” for three days, then it remains fully effective for a tenday. Potency drops by 20% every day after that. By day 15 it’s gone from the pale pink of full potency to the red-black of uselessness.”

“This really is amazing, Draik,” Mariala said. “This will change everything – military medicine alone will be revolutionized!”

“Mmmm, well, maybe someday,” Draik shrugged. “But at the moment it’s difficult and time-consuming to make, doesn’t last very long, and it doesn’t travel well in bulk– large batches tend to lose efficacy more quickly than small ones. These vials are the optimum size, so far.  Oh, and extremes of both heat and cold renders the stuff inert. It’s also not exactly cheap. But I’m working on all of that –”

“What is the temperature range?” Vulk asked, carefully replacing the vial in its proper slot.

“Down to just above freezing, at which point it turns to a crystalline mush, and up to a really hot summer day, when it liquifies completely. That’s why I had this special satchel made for me by an Avikor mage I know in Tyendus.” Draik frowned as he recalled the fate of that city, and wondered if the woman was still alive. “Regardless of the ambient temperature around it, it keeps the interior at normal human body temperature. Which is about the perfect temperature for “cooking” the keyed version, by the way.”

“How many doses are there per vial?” Korwin asked, while eyeing the satchel and wondering if he could reverse-engineer the spell that made it work.

“Depends on the size of the wounds and the amount of tissue damaged, really. I’ve found that I can usually heal three “average” life-threatening wounds with a vial. With lesser wounds it would go farther, obviously, but it’s an expensive way to treat scratches.

“In any case, this is for you,” he concluded, handing Vulk the satchel. “I’ll try to have more ready for you in a month or so, assuming this damn war doesn’t interfere.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day, the 28th of Metisto the group set out from Dor Lorethal for Kar Urkonis shortly after sun-up. The Sheriff had deigned to come out to see his niece off, but remained aloof and apparently depressed. Draik wished them all well, gave the baby a last avuncular kiss, and headed north with his Hand of Vengeance escort.

The group now consisted not only of the Hand of Fate, but one princess, one maid, one wife, one baby, one brother-in-law, one Guard Captain, 13 men-at-arms, and 15 remount horses. Putting the rising sun on their left, the party set out on the road to Kar Urkonis.

Revenge of the Zalik-mal

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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…