Even in the gloom of the sheriff's office, the sight of a flying soldier was hard to mistake for anything else. Of course, a human body is generally not designed to sustain such behavior, and this time proved no different. The hapless deputy's choked yell was abruptly cut off, much like the arc by which he was traveling, as he smashed into the stones of the nearby wall. He made no further noise in sliding down toward the floor, where he took up lasting and unmoving residence beside a wooden table.
In the meantime, events were unfolding in the smoky glow of the torches. Two cloaked figures, their hoods thrown back to expose grimy features, stood at readiness in the center of the chamber. The female's hands were empty, her eyes dark, lips slightly parted. Her demeanor suggested that she had just succeeded at an exhausting task.
To contrast that was the poise of her companion, a tall, bearded man. In his hands was a war-sword, appropriated moments ago from the rack close by. His pale eyes swept to and fro, for he was not alone, and certainly not among friends. They had no friends, used no names that could be remembered. They were here pursuing their business, and their business was murder.
Motion exploded anew as Lenny, a young wizard, burst into action. The young man's eye-glasses glinted as he thrust out his hands toward the woman, calling out ancient words in a weirdly pitched voice. His utterance was, however, interrupted as the woman gestured, a single sharp sweep of her arm. Her dark eyes flared with power, and robes swirled as the young man was propelled through the air, as if flung by an immaterial hand. The youngster's two companions did not wait to see his landing, but drew their weapons, grim expressions on their faces.
In the meantime, the woman's pale-eyed companion had wasted no time. Another of the city's guardians, a fellow somewhat slow of wit, was still in the process of drawing his sword when a swift movement of the pale-eyed assassin's sword rendered this action unnecessary. The guardsman staggered and fell, gray matter spraying over the room as his mind was intruded upon by a foot of steel.
Now came Lenny's two companions. Like their opponents they were man and woman - the man known as Tagreth a bald, towering shape in the dim lighting, the woman Illiana slender and deadly. On they came to face the assassins, both striking for pale-eyed man. Swords snapped out like whips, and Illiana's supple rapier flashed in the air as it left her hand. She was shoved out of the path of a retaliatory strike by her huge companion, who drove the assassin back with furious sweeps of his heavy ax. Behind him, the female assassin gestured, striking out with her powers, but Tagreth whirled, striking out with his weapon anew, and her immaterial attack passed him by. She was not that lucky. It was a terrible blow, packing behind it the weight of pounds of metal and titanic muscle. It would not be deterred by links of steel or folds of leather. And for the woman, whose mind-power was now monentarily expended, it was already too late.
Snapping to his full, impressive height, Tagreth spun away from the bisected corpse of the former assassin, to face his remaining enemy. His axe left a trail of red mist in its wake. In the half-light of the room they stood in silence, as the pale-eyed one considered his blood-soaked foe. His shoulders began to slump, his eyes filled with a growing realization of his situation. An instant later, unnatural light flashed, and orbs of lambent energy leapt through the gloom. They impacted on the oaken table and detonated it in a spectacular fashion, sending wooden splinters and charcoal flying.
All eyes turned to Lenny, who slowly drew himself to his feet by the wall. By some sleight of chance, his eye-glasses still rested upon his narrow nose. A small, self-satisfied smile tugged at his lips, only marred by the realization that his own weapon had been on the table. The sudden silence was only interrupted by a slight noise as the pale-eyed assassin carefully placed his weapon upon the floor.
Blood was everywhere in the room. Most of it flowed from the dead assassin, whose body had been literally chopped in two. More came from the slain guardsman. Their combined gore pooled out, too much to be absorbed by the packed earth of the floor.
Illiana had risen, looking about for her rapier, her motions fluid and feline. As she tilted her head, her eyes broke the light in ways not human. Elfkin, the pale-eyed assassin thought, with the sort of cold clarity that lies close to despair. What manner of creature the tall one was he could not tell, but the young man with the eye-glasses definitely showed all the signs of being a wizard.
And then, at the same moment the others did, the stricken assassin became aware of the prescence of yet another player. In the wake of the battle, the confused stillness was almost soothing, in its way. Yet, even though the newcomer leaned in seeming relaxation on the doorjamb, there was something about him that did not inspire the trust of the room's occupants. In particular, Lenny eyed him warily, for some reason instantly disliking the man.
The newcomer was smaller than Tagreth, though this still marked him as a big man. His mane of dark hair was long and unkempt, his visage scarred and mud-splattered. From his scabbard portruded the hilt of a large sword. Upon meeting the stares of the room's occupants, he grinned, a not altogether friendly expression, and waved at them.
"Good day," the stranger said sardonically, and smiled again.
Tagreth, his shaven skull splattered with fresh blood, glowered at the newcomer and shifted his grip on the heavy ax. "Who be ye?" he growled. He paused, waiting. "Must be the strong, silent type," he went on, just moments before the newcomer broke his silence.
"Who I am?" The man's dark eyes surveyed them in amusement. "Tired. 'twas a long journey to come to this place." He shrugged. "As for my name, you may have it for your own." He paused, placidly looking at the bloodstained walls.
Tagreth nodded. "Well, I am known as Tagreth, the elf girl there is Illiana and Lenny here is our resident spell slinger." Lenny inclined his head slightly, his long straggly hair falling forward with the motion.
The man grinned in return, a less friendly expression than some would have liked it. "Those are good names," he said, "as I was looking for you."
"You still haven't told us your name, stranger."
"Cautious, too," laughed the man, a short bark. "Well enough. My name is Herún."
Tagreth nodded, the light gleaming across the wicked scar crossing his shaven skull. "Well met, Herún. And why were you looking for us?"
The musical voice of Illiana spoke up. "You would do well to present yourself as a friend before claiming to be looking for us, as others have not fared so luckily." She raised a slim hand, her gesture indicating the fallen female on the floor.
Herún's eyes glittered oddly as he shrugged. "They told me you were capable. If you couldn't even handle these, I would have slain them for lying to me."
Tagreth's expression turned quizzical at the words, while Illiana surreptitiously retrieved her rapier from her ground. Herún's sole reaction was a lazy yawn.
"Who are they?" Lenny demanded, speaking for the first time. "Explain yourself, for my companions only have so much patience."
Herún simply looked at them. "I will await you at the tavern across the street. Dispose of that," he nodded towards the surviving assassin, whom the surviving deputy was holding at swordpoint, "and join me when you can." Without waiting for a response, Herún sketched a mocking bow and stalked out the doorway.
The three intrepid adventurers traded looks. "Strange sort of fellow, wouldn't you say?", Tagreth remarked lightly. Illiana cast a contemptous glance at the door.
"Do either of you know what's going on? Because I'm lost." Lenny rubbed his chin, deep in thought.
The deputy spoke up, his voice significantly less calm. "What in the hell is going on here?"
Tagreth pursed his lips, and when he spoke, it could have been in reply to both questions. "Lenny, my little spellcasting friend, I have no idea."
"We can ask him for answers," the apprentice wizard pointed out, indicating their prisoner. Tagreth nodded, and Illiana agreed. "Ask the man you're holding, deputy." She fixed the assassin with a cool stare. "Yes… what exactly is going on here?"
Their prisoner, not meeting her gaze, shook his head. Tagreth stepped over to a basin on the wall and began cleaning off his blood-soaked hands. He passed the deputy, who was shaking as the battle-fever drained from his mind.
"You'd better speak up, you son of a bitch!" The man's eyes were narrowed in anger at his unresponsive captive. "You killed my friend. I should cut you down, cur!"
Warily, Lenny raised his hand. "Calm yourself, man. He's no good to us dead."
"I will say nothing," the prisoner mumbled, eyes downcast. Bereft of his weapon, he seemed deceptively harmless.
"Well," Tagreth drawled, "it seems like we have a stalemate here."
"You would risk death to protect those who have forsaken you?", the elf woman asked. The man did not respond, staring at the floor.
"Perhaps I can persuade him," Lenny said grimly.
"Yes," agreed Illiana, backing up, "perhaps you can, Lenny."
Lenny strolled over to their captive, who had not moved. And gently, his hand reached out. And touched…
There was a crackling sound, rather like shattering ice, and the room was suddenly heavy with the stench of burnt hair. Pale tendrils of energy curled about the hapless assassin, and his choked scream rang through the air.
As quickly as it had come, the lightning departed. Reeling, the spy managed not to moan in pain. "All right…" he gasped out between his teeth. "All right. I'll tell… tell you what you want to know." He swallowed, then steadied himself. Behind him, Tagreth lowered his hands, slight disappointment in his eyes.
"I was hired by Zhentil Keep to kill you," the assassin began. "They didn't want you to find out they were behind the attacks on the caravans."
Lenny smirked. "And what is your connection to Herún? Or rather, what is his connection to you?"
"Do you know of a meeting after closing hours with a robed man?" Tagreth added.
"Herún was the middleman between Zhentil Keep and us," the assassin explained. "He was the one wearing the robe and mask. He was the one who gave us our orders."
The man looked around at his captors, trying to gauge their intentions. "Please, if my employers find out I'm a dead man. You have to take me back to Suzail where they can't get me!"
Tagreth only laughed at his words, and the other two regarded their captive with similar lack of sympathy.
"We have no reason to help you," Lenny reminded him. "You're the one who tried to kill us, remember?"
"Aye, I doubt we'll be helping you in any way", Illiana agreed frostily.
"Well and good," the assassin hedged, "but find that Herún fellow and get him out of the picture. That way, he'll be out of your hair and he won't be able to turn me in."
The only reaction was a distrustful look from the elf. "Did we not just say that we weren't going to help you in any way?"
"We don't take orders from scum," Lenny put in conversationally. "Deputy, this man serves us no further purpose. Deal with him as you see fit."
"He'll find someone else to kill you!" raged the assassin. "He's a crafty bastard, you won't survive the next one!"
"Here," Tagreth's voice spoke in a low rumble. Something about it quietened the others. "Let me help you." Before anyone had a chance to ask what he meant, their prisoner found himself caught in an immensely powerful grip. Tagreth began twisting, as if uncorking a bottle. His mighty hands clenched, then opened. Limply, the assassin slumped to the floor and did not move.
Tagreth straightened, without seeming to notice the open-mouthed stares of the others. Until now, they had not dreamed of just how powerful their companion was.
"I had enough of his mouth."
"Ahem, I think we should pay Herún a visit, and get his side of the story," Lenny ventured, determinedly not looking at Tag's handiwork.
"Yes I agree," said Tagreth. "Let's just see what is up here."
"Absolutely a good idea, gentlemen," said Illiana.
In the background, the deputy stood in mute silence, shocked speechless at all that had transpired.
"Deputy, I presume you will let us continue with our mission?"
The guardsman looked from his daze, his gaze unfocused and rattled. After a moment, he found enough prescence of mind to wave at the door.
It was then that the first sounds of fighting could be heard. Tagreth cocked his head interestedly. They were of steel upon steel, and came from outside of the building.
"More fighting?" said Illiana. Lenny shrugged, and Tagreth winked at her, much to Illiana's annoyance.
"I say it isn't out problem," she said stubbornly.
Tagreth disagreed. "Let's find this fellow and get to the bottom of this."
"I agree, Tag," Lenny said, and turned to follow Tagreth out the door. After a moment, Illiana followed suit, and they left the gloom of the barracks and the dead behind.
Herún left the barracks with a smirk. His heavy leather boots made squishing sounds in the mud outside. Darkness had fallen, the moon a soft, dusky glow on the night sky, the streets empty of life.
Herún's gaze swept over the houses, searching for the inn he knew to be there, and suddenly paused. Without knowing how, he suddenly felt a prickling sensation crawl up his back. He was being watched.
He stood a moment in indecision, turned to look across the streets as if trying to decide where to go. Farther away, his eyes made out the shape of a man, partially standing in shadow. Without pausing, Herún made his gaze sweep over him, giving no sign that he had seen the man. A moment later he began walking along the street. At the first street crossing, he left the main street and, as soon as he was out of sight of the man, entered an alley behind the closest building…-
And halted. Herún's hand went to his sword, and the battered steel slid free of the scabbard. He stood still for a moment, and tilted his head, listening intently. When the first sound reached his ears, he began running back the way he came, sword raised.
There was his pursuer. The man had not been fooled by his trick; his sword was drawn, which swept up in a brutally efficient arc to intercept Herún's blow. The mercenary's eyes shot open as he heard the clink of armor beneath his opponent's red robe. Then his knees bent, taking him below the path of a murderous blow for his throat.
Herún disengaged, noting as he did so how his opponent fell into a practiced stance. A mirthless grin creased his lips. Skilled the man was, but he had faced skilled opponents before. There were things far more important than skill.
Things like rage.
They turned to the side street, the sounds of battle loud in their ears. And as they rounded the last corner, they were greeted with the sight of what they were looking for. At that instant, their suspicions about Herún were somewhat allayed. The red-robed man whom they had been looking for was clearly visible, and in the process of inserting his blade into Herún's side.
Snarling, his lips pulled back in a predatory grimace, Herún twisted aside, preventing the red-robed man's blade from gutting him entirely. His bladework was fast but untutored, and by rights, the economical motions of the red-robe should have quickly spelled his doom… but Herún did not appear to notice. Perhaps it was because he displayed none of the restraint that came of formal training. Perhaps it was that, unlike the other man, Herún was not slowed by thoughts of self-preservation. All that mattered was blood... blood and death.
And so it was that, just as the three companions came into view, Herun threw himself down, and hacked out, his sword blurring for the red-robed man's leg. Chain links parted, and flesh, and bone.
The man in the red robe staggered back and, unable to support himself on only one leg, toppled to the muddy ground.
A cold wind blew over the street. It tugged at Herúns tattered cloak, and drew immaterial fingers through Lenny's sandy, bedraggled hair. Whispering across cobbled stone and muddy ground, its prescence was both palpable and intangible.
"Oh God…"
A scuffle was heard from the prone man as he frantically tried to move backward. His eyes wore an expression of terrified pleading.
"Do not kill me…"
Herún's boots sidestepped the fallen man's severed foot, and proceeded to crack into his side in a vicious kick. Another followed, and another, expelling the breath from the fallen man's lungs in a great whoof and silencing him. Behind him, tall Tagreth raised one eyebrow in amusement.
"You weapon masters and your training." Herún's rough voice held nothing but contempt. "Where is it now, I wonder?" He kicked again, and the fallen man's chest cage made a mute crack. "Left somewhere behind in the dirt when the real world came to visit? Pity."
"Oh God, please don't kill me!" The man's voice was shaken, shrill. Blood coursed from his severed leg. "I'll tell you anything!"
"Hmmm," Herún mused, absently twirling his sword. Dark droplets trickled along its battered edge as he did so. The red-robed man at his feet pressed slippery fingers against his wound, half delirious with pain already. Beneath the mask, his eyes seemed glued by the sword before him.
"Oh God, don't do it!"
Still Herún waited, as if debating the issue. "Interesting question," he said at last. "I'll have a tankard of mead while I consider it." The big man raised his sword and, using a fold of his cloak, took a long wipe at the gore discoloring its surface. Hesitantly, his victim began groping around. A strip torn from his robe proved to be an adequate tourniquet, and with shaking fingers the man managed to apply it.
"Herún!" It was the voice of the elf-maid. "I have questions for this person. Please resist your urge to kill him." Light footsteps sounded upon the cobble-stones, approaching quickly, and as Herún turned he saw the slim form of Illiana warily watching him as she drew nearer.
"Oh, the pretty one," Herún said with an unpleasant grin. "Please, by all means, comfort him. He's… heh… not going anywhere." As an afterthought, he bent low to grasp the red-robed man's sword that lay close to where he had fallen. Grunting with disgust at his luck - the sword being shorter than he was used to - he threw it into the shadows at the corner of a nearby building, just as Illiana's fingers found the red mask of their prisoner.
Slowly, she slid the laquered mask down, revealing a homely, weather-bitten face. The man looked mature, but still youthful in a way that contrasted with his grizzled appearance.
"Not quite the mastermind we had expected, eh?" Illiana spoke sardonically into the silence.
"No, he's not very impressive, is he?" Tagreth said in a bass rumble.
Lenny cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Herún, who had begun strolling away from the scene.
"Mind telling us what's going on, Herún?"
Herún halted, slowly turned.
"Yes, please do," Illiana agreed, her voice as cool as ever.
Herún's reply was a slight shrug. "I'm parched. I'm going to get something to drink." With that, he turned and began walking, before pausing anew. "Coming?"
"Sure, why not." Tagreth's huge form began lumbering after Herún, moving surprisingly fast for so big a man. "I can always go for some drink." Pausing, he walked over to their fallen adversary, and without further ado lifted his body up under one arm, as if it had been no more than a sack of meal. With a glance toward Illiana, he resumed walking. "So what do we do with this turd?"
"At least it's a public place," she replied. "Bring him." Tag's sole reply was to hoist the man up over his shoulder. With various amounts of distrust written on their faces, the trio followed in Herún's wake.
The inn lay close by, and they could see the warm firelight from its windows spill across the street as soon as they had turned the corner. Herún's stride did not falter, and he unceremoniously shoved the door open, to disappear within.
Scant moments later, they found themselves seated at a table by the wall. The barkeep looked at them without any great amount of interest; given his current - not to mention usual - clientele of drunks and degenerates, these newcomers didn't present any appearance beyond the normal. "What can I getcha?"
"Beer, a full tankard," Herún said. "And some grog."
The barkeep nodded, unimpressed. He had seen drunkards before. "You other fellas want anythin'?"
"I'll just have some water," Lenny said.
"And I, nothing," said Illiana.
The barkeep's gaze narrowed. Now those two, he decided, were definitely unusual. "All right. Two beers, one water, and a grog. Be right back…"
"Hey, barkeep, bring one for my stumpy friend here also," Tagreth said politely. The barkeep nodded distractedly and ambled off toward the cellar, while the maimed man squirmed uncomfortably. Tag looked at the others. "What? He might be thirsty," the Whelken defended himself, then gave a gusty laugh that echoed across the room, almost causing the passed-out drunks at the next table to stir. Herún smirked.
Steepling her hands together over the greasy tabletop, Illiana rested her penetrating gaze on Herún. "Now. What exactly is going on?" Her eyes narrowed a little. In reply, Herún returned her gaze with a long, frank one of his own, and leaned back in the chair, his arms crossed behind the head.
"Why ask me?"
"Maybe because you showed up out of nowhere and spouted some cryptic nonsense, and have since been very tight-lipped about anything?" Lenny cut in. Tagreth raised an eyebrow at Herún as Illiana joined in. "My patience is growing thin…"
"Damnit, barkeep, what's keeping you?" Tagreth's roar almost broke the confrontative atmosphere that had begun to gather. Moments later, the barkeep arrived with their drinks, apologizing to Tagreth with the sincerity of someone fearing bodily harm.
Meanwhile, Herún's eyes flicked over to Lenny, then looked away, ignoring him entirely. His next words were directed toward the elf girl, and restored the hostile mood in full. "Too bad. Your patience doesn't concern me."
Illiana uncoiled from her chair and shot to her feet, her eyes blazing angrily. Herún paused, looked at her. "Girl."
"Come," she bit out, as if he hadn't spoken, "let's leave him to his cryptic self."
Tagreth hefted his beer and drained it in one prodigous gulp, while Herún nodded toward their prisoner.
"Oh," Illiana mocked, ignoring the barkeep's appearing at Tag's elbow with new beer, "now you have something to say?"
"Maybe you should ask the idiot over there?" the other said, looking over at the red-robed man, who was fighting desperately and inneffectually to prevent Tagreth pouring beer down his throat. Tag would have none of it, though. "Barkeep, another one for my friend!"
"I see plenty of idiots in the room," she shot back at Herún. There was a spluttering sound behind them, as if someone trying to cough up water.
"No harsh words, please," Herún sneered at her. "It would make me unemployed, and you a corpse." He took a sip from his tankard, then looked up. "Still here?"
Ignoring him, Illiana turned her attention to Tagreth and the legless man. The latter was being thoughtfully supplied some drink, the Whelken's determined grip over his nostrils ensuring that the man would swallow. A moment later, the beer had vanished down their prisoner's throat, and Tagreth raised his head. "Hey, barkeep? What's the strongest thing you got to drink here?" he called. The prisoner looked positively miserable.
"Whiskey," the barkeep replied.
Herún grabbed the grog standing before him. Setting his teeth, he poured it out over his side, drawing up his attire to let the liquor cleanse his wound. A small hiss escaped through his teeth. Lenny turned to the legless man. "Who are you? Who do you work for?"
"Bring us another round of whiskey here!" Tagreth demanded in the background.
"Who do you think I work for?" spluttered the man, his eyes betraying a certain hostility.
"Aaah," Tagreth replied scoldingly, "come now, that's no way to speak to friends." He put an arm around the prisoner's neck in a most friendly manner.
"Yes," went on Illiana, "that was not the answer we were looking for…"
"Hmmm, I dunno, Zhentil Keep, maybe?" said Lenny casually.
"Where is that whiskey?!" Tagreth shouted, causing the prisoner to cringe slightly. An instant later, the barkeep had returned with his order.
"Aaah. Thank you, my good man."
"Sorry, sir," the barkeeper replied, "I only have two hands."
"Anyone care for a whiskey?" Herún raised one hand, and promptly recieved a glass. "Obliged," he smiled, darkly, at Tagreth. Illiana, less interested in chatter, snatched up a glass of her own and downed it like water.
"Come on Lenny," Tagreth coaxed, "try it, you'll like it!"
"I'd prefer to keep my head on straight. No thanks, Tag."
"Thought so, Lenny," Tag said, and raised his glass to Herún, who returned the salute and knocked the glass back. Tag followed suit, and, thoughtfully remembering their friend, forced a glass of whiskey down the red-robed man's throat.
"Ahhh…" Herún rasped. "Good, strong stuff."
"Hits the spot, does it not?" Tag chuckled, while his unwilling charge coughed and pounded his chest. Herún nodded, and recieved a smile in return from his huge companion.
Lenny bent over the legless man, snapping his fingers under his nose to command attention. "Hey, buddy, I don't hear any answers coming from you. My friends here have very little patience."
Illiana joined in. "Again, who do you work for?"
"I work for the city up north," he replied at last, his speech slightly slurred.
"Ah, there we go, my good friend," Tag said with a jovial smile. "What city be that?"
Herún just grunted, face sullen, eyes slightly misty from the effects of the whisky.
"Daat'd be Zhentul Keep," slurred their prisoner.
"And in what capacity do you serve?"
"Capaacity…?"
"What do you do for the city, friend?"
Herún drew himself up. Walking over to their prisoner, he noted dispiritedly that no pouch hung at his belt. He sat back with an annoyed expression and resumed his brooding.
Meanwhile, a slightly puzzled expression flitted across the man's face. "Waat shity?"
"Zhentil Keep," Tag patiently repeated. "In what way do you serve Zhentil?"
"Zeentul Keep?" The man looked confused. "I dun werk fer Zh…" He caught himself. "Yeh, I werk fer the Zhentils. I'm an ashashin."
Four pairs of eyes met over the table. Lenny's eyebrows rose, while Herún merely smirked. Illiana just scowled in suspicion.
"And who is he," she gestured at Herún, "to you?"
The man's gaze slowly trailed over to Herún's visage. His eyes shot wide open. "Daat's da guy dat cut up my leg off!" he shouted hoarsely. Herún favored him with a kindly smile.
"And what else?" Illiana pressed.
Lenny nodded. "What were you doing before he cut your leg off?"
"'e wuz talkin' wit' you's guys. I figgered I better take 'im out." Herún's grin widened at this. Tag looked around at the rest of the party.
"And why is that? Did you want to take us out?" Lenny said. The man looked frustrated, as if trying to explain magical theory to a five year old deaf mute.
"Eah, cuz you ain't supposed ta find out 'bout who's 'tackin da caarvans."
"And who is attacking the caravans?" Illiana asked. Lenny cut her off, smelling blood. "Because Zhentil Keep doesn't want us to find out? Or because your boss doesn't want us to find out?"
The man wagged his finger with a sodden smile. "You ain't 'upposed to find out."
Tag pulled the man closer. "Hey look, you're in pretty bad shape. We just want to get you home and some help. What city did you say you are working for?"
"Yes," Illiana chimed in, "wouldn't you like some medical treatment for your leg?"
Herún suddenly surged to his feet. Reaching out, his fist closed around the man's collar. "Dog! You don't recognize me?" he growled. "I was sent to replace you. Were you not told?" He paused. "Who's your commander, you piece of filth?"
"Whut? I… you…? Commander?" The man struggled to think, while Herún growled low in his throat.
Illiana watched curiously as Herún shook the man. "No answer, no pay, you cur!"
"Wait…" the legless man gasped, "you mean Sydney?"
Herún made a disgusted sound and relaxed his grip somewhat. "That fool? I suppose this isn't your fault after all," he sneered.
His prisoner looked indignant. "Shydneys's always been a gud comandur!"
Herún's lip curled. "Of course. He could almost be good enough to work as a common guard."
Lenny spoke up. "And Sydney command the Iron… what was it again?"
His question was wasted upon the captive, as the man was spluttering with anger over Herún's words. "'ey! Dun you talk dat way 'bout Shydney! 'e 'ulways 'ad a gud buzness sense 'bout 'im! Never let da bosses down!"
Ignoring the man for a moment, Herún turned to Lenny, smiled, and pitched his voice low. "Shut up, boy, or I'll break your fucking neck." The young wizard's eyes shot open, then narrowed, shooting daggers at Herún, who turned away from him as if nothing had occured, and continued his interrogation.
"Maybe I just remembered the wrong fellow. You mean the man who worked for the Mountain earlier, right?"
"Mountain? Wut in 'ell are ye on 'bout?"
He grunted. "So you're telling me this is some other Sydney, who never worked for the Iron Mountain?"
The man looked perplexed. "Nobuddy in da Iron Throne dun werk fer no Mountain!"
Herún relaxed. "Of course," he forced out, "I was wrong. Sorry. More beer?"
"Shure, why da 'ell not?"
Lenny snickered. "Nice interrogation, dipshit," he said under his breath, as Herún helped his new-found friend to some more beer.
"So whooos dese other guys?"
Herún shrugged, a bored expression on his face. "Them? Oh," he waved his hand toward Tagreth, "just my cousin there, and that there's my daughter," he continued, nodding to Lenny, "and that's just a whore I picked up earlier," he concluded, courteously not pointing his finger at Illiana. Lenny made an obscene gesture in his direction, while Illiana's eyes grew glacier cold.
Their prisoner sat bolt upright. "'Ey! Dese are da guys we's 'upposed ta be aftur! An' we weren' 'upposed ta let 'em know who we werk fer! Ye let 'em know!"
With a shrug, Herún leaned back. "True that. More beer?" Tag was having difficulty remaining in his chair from laughter.
The red-robed man knocked away the proffered tankard and stumbled to his feet. "We's gotta keel 'em now! Gimme mah shword!" Tag, ever helpful, handed the man a broom that had been leaning in the corner. Snatching it with murderous intent, if very little skill, the irate assassin hacked at Tag's seated form, missing completely. "En garde!" he shouted over the sound of Tag's laughter.
Herún, until now sullenly nursing his drink, suddenly sprang to his feet. His sword flashed clear of the scabbard and described a blurred path through the air. As the room plunged into silence, Herún stood motionless. The man in the red robe slowly tipped forwards, blood spurting from his opened throat in a wide spray.
"Damn," Tagreth commented. "I was just about to have some fun."
The barkeep yelped in shock and threw himself down behind the bar, while the patrons miraculously waking from their stupor found it prudent make discrete exit. Eyeing Herún warily, Tagreth rose to cut off the escaping customers from the doorway.
Uncaring about the surroundings, Lenny scowled at Herún. "Ok, asshole, now here's where you answer the rest of our questions, since he's no use anymore," he said with heavy sarcasm.
Herún smiled back at him. "Of course, girl. What do you want to know?"
"…you know what? Fuck you. Let's get out of here. I'm tired of dealing with this clown."
"Farewell then." Herún smirked. "Although I'll follow you anyway."
"You…" Lenny gritted, and then halted, looking at the door, where three rough-looking men eyed Tag darkly as he blocked their path.
"Get out of our way."
A shadow fell over them. A very large shadow. The ogre grunted and stared down at Tagreth with piglike eyes. He raised brawny arms and his huge hands flexed experimentally.
Tag shrugged, out of options. "How about a round for everyone on me?"
Considering, the Ogre halted his advance. The three men brightened noticeably. "Now that's more like it." As one, they moved for the bar, leaving the doorway empty.
"Ho, Tagreth!"
Tag, not noticing Herún's call, had reached the bar. "Barkeep, set up my friends here with whatever they like."
The barkeep gulped loudly, glanced at the bloody corpse, and nodded once, eyes downcast.
Upon hearing footsteps approaching from behind, Herún turned slightly to see Illiana's fist heading for his jaw. He had an instant in which to decide what to do, and chose to shrug it off. After all, how hard could she-
Pain blazing through his cheekbone, Herún staggered back. He managed to keep from falling by hauling himself upright against a bench. His head rang from a blow that would surely have felled a weaker man.
Tag spat out beer from his mouth, laughing loudly. "She is fiery, that one is!"
"Call me a whore again, and it will be my sword or my arrows that find your head!"
A rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of Herún's mouth. "That… hurt. Don't do it again."
"Yeah? Kiss my ass, Herún." Illiana turned and stalked off.
Herún smirked at her back. "Oh, really? How much do you charge for that?"
Lenny looked over at the bar, where Tagreth was busily telling the Ogre the tale about the Ogre, the Cleric and the Dwarf that walked into a bar. "Tag! Let's go!" Meanwhile, unnoticed by all, the body of the red-robed man began quietly sliding down the table's edge, leaving a bloody smear as it went. The thump of it striking the floor was drowned out by the Ogre's laughter at the punchline.
Herún chuckled, watching them leave, and wiped blood from his split lip. "Good night, girls! See you on the morrow!" He looked at Tag, who was following the others after having paid for another round. "Ho, Tagreth."
Tag turned, looking at the other.
"Find me by the sheriff's office at daybreak, if ye wish."
Then, a voice filtered in through the open door. A very irate voice.
"What in the Nine Hells is going on here? There's bodies all over my town and you people are right in the middle of it!"
With a grin and a wave, Herún turned around in search of an exit.
Outside, the mood of the companions was fast deteriorating. On top of everything else, being verbally assaulted by the local authorities had not done wonders for their disposition.
"It's not our fault that people are trying to kill us, Sheriff," Lenny protested.
"One of my deputies is stone dead!" The sheriff shouted, not brooking any argument. "I want all of you locked up!" He paused, continuing in a slightly calmer fashion. "Now you can either come quietly or be dragged like dogs."
"Locked up?" Illiana was politely incredulous, her eyes betraying fury. "We are the ones being trifled with at every step in this town. Can you not protect your borders Sheriff? Simple dignitaries are attacked at every step… and you lock us up?"
Lenny added, helpfully, "We didn't kill your deputy, Sheriff. The dead fellow did."
"You know what? Maybe I would have cared four buckets of blood ago, but right now you should be thankful I don't have you all hanged right now!"
Illiana just looked at him. "Might I remind you that we are the reason you yourself weren't killed?"
As the sheriff opened his mouth to answer, his partner emerged from the doorway. "Another corpse, Sheriff. Barkeep says one of them did it."
"Bullshit!" Lenny exploded. "That other asshole did that!"
"Not us… that other one!" Illiana agreed.
The Sheriff closed his eyes wearily. "That's it! You're coming with me right now! I don't want to hear another peep!" He took a few step, halted. "And find the other member of this merry little band. I want him brought in too!"
Lenny had not moved. "Sorry sheriff, we can't do that."
"Can't do what, boy?"
"This is the last time we save your life, Sheriff!" Illiana vowed.
"We can't come with you, because we didn't do anything wrong," the young mage said reasonably.
"We can't go with you," Illiana said, making a strange elven gesture. "We are not the ones you should be looking for…"
Red-faced, the Sheriff leaned forward. "You will come with me and you will do it now!"
"I'm sorry, we will not…" Illiana retorted.
Livid, the Sheriff looked around, assessing his chances against the group. Finally, his shoulders slumped. "You wait until the Purple Dragons get here! Then you'll see!" He stormed off, the deputy trailing dejectedly in his wake.
"Hey, Purply Smurply?" Tag called after him. "You want to see my pink willy?" The Sheriff didn't stop or turn. In fact, his pace quickened slightly. Tag looked at his retreating back. "So do we stand here, or get the hell out of town?"
"Let us 'get the hell' out of here," Illiana opted. Lenny agreed. "I don't know what the Purple Dragons are, but I don't wanna find out. The legless one said he worked for the Iron Throne, so we should go pay them a visit, and get proof that they're attacking the caravans."
"Good call, Lenny," the elf said. "Anywhere but here really…"
"I guess we out to get the caravan and head out," Tagreth concluded. He stood there a few moments more, lost in thought, then followed Illiana and Lenny. Illiana paused, frowning.
"Wait. Don't you think they will be watching our transportation?"
"Hmm, maybe. What do you suggest?" Lenny stopped, drew a hand through his hair.
Tag stretched. "Maybe we should find some stables and take some horses?"
"Might as well, Tag. I don't want to hang around here any longer than I have to."
"Maybe we should inqure about horses and be off then…" Illiana decided, as Tag headed straight for the stables.
"Come on, you two!"
The stables were warm and dry, the horses still sleepy. As the others entered, they saw Tag busy making friends with a horse. "Come on, I found some horses that will do." After fastening saddle and bridle on the biggest one, Tagreth mounted it. "Are you two going to stand there all night or what?"
Illiana, spying a number of saddles, got to work saddling a horse of her own. Shortly thereafter, the three were mounted and on their way. The moon rose behind them like a specter.
And they rode, the town dwindling behind them. Despite the light of the moon, it was a dark night, and tendrils of mist seemed to rise before them, as if they rode upon an ethereal sea. A chill wind snatched at their cloaks.
The trees grew more numerous, and the darkness beneath the canopy of leaves was inpenetrable. It was not long before they were forced to halt. Beneath the branches of a great tree that rose like a giant toward the star-strewn sky, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and fell asleep, not risking a fire. They ate nothing, and talked but little. The day's activities had been strenous, to say the least.
Only Illiana was woken by a deep snuffling sound from the darkness. The moon had gone, and without its light the night was impenetrable to mortal eyes. Not so for Illiana. A dim, huge shape was crouching over her feet, apparently sniffing them. The others seemed fast asleep, and their horses were not to be seen, apparently having done the smart thing and walked off earlier.
A glass trickled past, and then the creature rose. Illiana saw the eyes glitter slightly in the light only she could percieve, recognized the silhouette now. The brown bear, apparently satisfied with the condition of her feet, turned and ambled off, still snuffling to itself.
Breathing out slowly, Illiana turned over, and was soon fast asleep again.
Day broke slowly, its first questing tendrils filtering through the leaves. By now the fog had vanished entirely, and the air was crisp and smelt of rain. The group woke quickly, all things considered. Though they were rested, they had brought no food, and hunger is a motivator without compare.
"Let's get going," Lenny said, drawing tight the straps of his saddle, "I don't want the sheriff and his Dragons catching up."
"Sounds like a smart idea." Tag patted his horse absently, then mounted, while the huge creature munched on some grass. "Okay," Illiana said, looking enviously at the eating horse while swinging herself up on the back of her own.
Herún's eyes came open. The room was dark and stale-smelling, and for a moment, he had no idea where he was. Then, memory returned. He rose, inscrutable eyes sweeping over his companion. Her naked limbs were pale in the gloom of the room.
Dressing quickly, he left without a word, leaving most of his coins behind. He had a horse standing by, and what were horses for if not to be used? A friendly merchant was all too happy to inform on where the Iron Throne could be found, and he was soon in the saddle.
He had not ridden far beyond the outskirts of the city when a rising cloud of dust informed him of approaching riders. Smirking, he spotted a fork in the road, and took the smaller one. After the turns and twist had taken him out of sight, he ducked into the undergrowth, and waited.
They were armored soldiers, at least a score of them. Their emblems marked them as Purple Dragons, the standing army of Cormyr. Herún waited patiently until they had passed, a dark smile tugging at his lips. Then led his horse upon the road, and rode back the way he came.
The weather had steadily improved, and the sun stood just past noon, when the trio reached a toll station at the border of Sembia. A soldier, chainmail gleaming in the sun, raised his halberd in greeting.
"Welcome, travellers! Where are you headed?"
"We are ambassadors from Suzail," Tagreth said. "We are on important business."
"Ambassadors?" The guard's expression grew confused. "We already have Cormyrian ambassadors."
"We are a special delegate of diplomats on our way to see the leaders of the Iron Merchant Trading Company."
"You mean the Iron Throne?""Yes, Iron Throne." Tag nodded.
"Funny, I should have been informed," said the guard, pulling out a piece of parchment. "Let me take your names down."
Tag's glance flicked over to Lenny and Illiana momentarily. "Yeah, we have to pick up some important trade agreement papers in the East," he said fleetingly.
"Well then, you have some documentation, right? Can I see it?" Wordlessly, Illiana handed the papers over.
The man began skimming the text, but stopped. "Hey," he said, looking closer, "it says here you're ambassadors to Zhentil Keep."
"Yes," Illiana cut in, "but our travels have led us here on our way. And we will only be staying a short while."
He didn't seem very convinced. "How did your travels lead you here? This is completely out of the way. You can't even get to Zhentil Keep from here without going through the Dalelands."
Keeping her voice reasonable, Illiana elaborated. "We have recieved word while we were in Emmerasea that we should come to the Iron Throne to conduct business and see about trade agreements, then continue on…" Her demeanour betrayed contempt at having to tell her business to a guard.
The man digested that, then slowly nodded. "All right, I guess that makes sense."
"Thank you, Sir," she said , spurring her horse ahead. The others followed.
"Hold on a moment!"
The three paused, looking slowly back at the guard. "Yes?" Illiana said, her voice cool.
"If you want to see the Iron Throne, go to Selgaunt. That's where they're headquartered, but I guess you already knew that…" he trailed off. "Good travels!"
The elf woman actually smiled back at him, and waved. "Thank you…"
"I have no idea where Selgeaunt is," Lenny said as they drew closer toward a village. "Maybe someone in this village can help us."
Tag smirked. "Sounds good." He pointed toward a small building. "Shall we head for the store?"
The village was small. In fact, the travellers would have been surprised if there lived more than forty souls here, and the store was small enough to reflect it. As they walked in, they were greated by a smiling, elderly gentleman.
"Hello there," Tagreth said with a friendly grin.
"What can I get you folks?" the shopkeeper asked.
"Do you have any camel toes?" Tagreth inquired.
The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Tell me what a camel toe is and I'll tell you if I have any," he said.
"Eh, nevermind," Tag said with a slight cough. "We could use some food and direction, please."
"Now that I can provide."
"Thank you, kind sir," Tag said. "We are looking for Selgaunt, could you tell us how to get there?"
"Sure, just follow this main road East and you'll be there in less than two days by horse."
"Thank you, friend."
Illiana walked over to a shelf, hungrily eyeing some provisions.
"If you don't mind my askin', why would you want to go there? Nothin' but rich elitists up there."
"We have some… business to take care of," Lenny put in.
The man put up his hands. "Well, far be it from me to pry into other people's business."
"Can you tell us anything else about Selgaunt?" Tag inquired. "Anything a stranger to that city would need to know?"
Scratching his head, the man was slow to answer. "Hmm… don't try and sell anything. Don't piss off the merchants. That's about it."
Lenny perked up. "Don't piss off the merchants? Is the place controlled by the Iron Throne?"
"All the merchants. They control this whole damn country." Lacing his hands behind his back, the man walked over to the wall and absently looked at a slab of cured beef. "The Iron Throne's a bad bunch, though. Powerful, but all but chased outta Sembia. They made a killing supplying weapons in the last Zhentil war, but they been implicated in some nasty stuff and the other merchant houses want 'em outta here."
Illiana nodded. "What kind on incidents have they been implicated in?"
"Hell, everything! Murder, monopolizing, price fixing, arson, you name it!"
"Is there any proof of this? I'm not sticking up for them, just asking," Lenny hastened to add.
"Not really, but there's enough speculation that the other houses just want them out."
"Sounds nefarious to me…" Illiana muttered.
"What are some of the other houses called?"
The shopkeeper gave a few names, none of which Lenny recognized.
"Any of them headquartered in Selgeaunt?" Lenny wanted to know.
"Yeah, a lot of 'em. Maybe even a majority."
The man gave him a curious look. "How come you're so interested in the merchant houses?"
"Like I said before, business. We have business with the Iron Throne."
"Ok." He nodded easily. "Yeah, Selgaunt's pretty much the center of Sembia, even though Ordulin's the capital." A thump resounded as Illiana dropped a sizeable sack of provisions on the counter.
"So if we go straight East down the main road, the first place we'll come to is Selgaunt?"
"Well no," he started as he checked the provisions out, "Daerloon's the first city you'll come to. It's not far. Good sized city."
"And after Daerloon?"
"Then it's a straight shot to Selgaunt."
Lenny nodded gratefully. "Thanks so much for the information, you've been very helpful."
The man waved it away, the clink of Illiana dropping coins loud in the small room. "Ah, no problem."
Evening had almost come upon them when the city of Daerloon came into view. Hoofbeats sounded behind them, and they turned as one.
Lenny's expression grew sour. "Oh, great."
"Look's like it's your favourite person, you two." Tag grinned.
"Purple Dragons are coming," Herún called as he came within hearing distance. "The won't be delayed forever."