"Servant of Empire" - Ch 21

“Ah, we grow closer."

Zur Nav had led us for what I guessed was about six hours now, steadily through the slowly-widening tunnel.

As he said this, we all noticed a reddish light ahead of us, around a bend of the tunnel far ahead. Some time back I had already begun to catch trailing whiffs of coal fires, charred meat, and magic. "I will have to part ways with you here. I go to my palace along a back way. You are certain that I cannot have you visit me now?"

Sered said to him, "We have promised, and must keep our promise here. How may we reach you when the time comes that we are done?" The glow ahead was enticing, and as we approached I noticed a small passage off the right of the tunnel. Totally dark, it yawned like a small mouth in the tunnel side.

Zur Nav chuckled. "I have a man, working for me in a tavern in the foreign quarter. You will find him at a tavern known as the ‘Skin Well.’ Ask the innkeeper for Rust. When you see him, tell him you were sent by Sir Mad Jack. Only you would know this, and I will see to it that he will know and will bring you to me."

I grinned at the reference to the tiny tormentor.

We all nodded agreement, and I shook the giant's enormous, meaty hand. I was rather surprised at how well he controlled his strength, he was able to grip my hand in his fingers, without crushing it. He vanished into the side passage, and we continued on, to the mouth of the tunnel. It opened into an enormous cavern, impossibly high and so broad as to be lost in the distance. The bowl of the floor curved steadily downward away from us, while the roof above curved steadily up and away until it just reached the haze at the limit of visibility. Far out, just at the edge of sight, what looked like an underground sea, a black-on-black mirror forming a shoreline bordering the city.

Sometimes, the sight of something catches your breath. It could be a moment of purest, simple beauty. Indescribable horror can do it. Sights of glory can do it.

Ihnbharan, city of the Fomor, capital of their nation, caught my breath. I could tell from the gasps around me that I wasn’t the only one.

I’m quite sure I heard Nix wretch a little.

This city was none of those things. What stopped me was its overwhelming sense of wrong. Things simply should not look the way much of that city did. Much as its ruling people were warped, transfigured by their exposure to ancient magics, their city reflected that character back, announcing in no uncertain terms that it had no place in a real world.

Towers twisted and turned like malformed glass around and out from enormous columns that joined the floor and ceiling. Buildings rested at odd angles, their oddly-placed windows staring lifelessly upon the streets beneath. In addition to visible sources of light, many of the towers themselves seemed to throw illumination from their very walls, as though made of glowing material. Several had their entrances above ground level, requiring steps – or in one case, what looked like several ladders – to reach them. Streets ran the gamut from wide and straight as though laid down by the finest city planner, to narrow, twisting alleyways that ducked under halfling-sized archways before widening out in their peristaltic mazes.

Construction appeared largely of stone, some carved directly out of columns or into the walls. Some could have been plucked directly from Adelhome’s streets, some looked like a one-eyed dwarf with a bad hangover might have been involved in the building decisions. At least one structure appeared to be constructed entirely from leather, bone, and sinews.

The overwhelming discordance of the architecture was worsened by the very light that revealed it. The red we’d seen around the bend was simply the blended combination of a spectrum of colors that simply shouldn’t exist. The front of one tavern was adorned with lanterns glowing in what I swear was the color of the afterimage of staring at the sun too long. Where some areas were brightly lit, others faded rapidly into pitch blackness.

The city seemed pierced by towers. Obelisks, really, tall and improbably thin structures with dual spires at the top which framed strange globes of Fae-light – each one an ever-burning ball of fire with some form of reflector behind it shaped into flood lights, all slowly raked the landscape with their beams. Visible rays of soft but diseased bloody light spilled from them to the ground, it seemed as if there wasn't a single space within the enormous cavern that didn't pass their surveillance. Other rays of yellow, blue, and green light traversed the city slowly as well, casting shadows that further emphasized the unnatural shapes. It was decidedly creepy to me to see all of these things, though I cannot with certainty say which was the worst of them.

I know what you’re thinking – no, none of the flaming tower lights was an eye.

Threaded through it all, giants of fantastic variety strolled along the main ways. Almost all were obviously Fomor, but all were different. Their heights varied from twelve to twenty feet, their girths from half to double that. Features varied as much as their size, misshapen limbs and faces only added to the stubbornly alien nature of the place. In addition to the giants, a number of relatively normal-sized humanoids populated the city, weaving between the enormous natives.

Above the city, great bats flew with the casual grace of herons, circling around, riding on unseen updrafts and adjusting course with lazy flapping of their wings. I could just make out harnesses on them, and riding the backs of these bats, wicked-looking Fae goblins with a variety of weaponry guided their mounts with reins that ran to small bits locked in the jaws of the flying beasts. They also had tiny cords that reached out to the bats' wingtips, I assumed so they could use them to pull extremely tight maneuvers with them.

Occasionally one would stop at a tower, and throw something into its flame – incense, or fuel, I couldn’t tell. If these were bindings of elementals, it could very well be tribute or payment. My people would have used elementals with a permanent binding, but I don’t think Shadrim were consulted in the construction of this place.

We descended from the ledge we’d emerged upon, and walked into the streets of the city. As we passed through buildings and streets, the first building we came upon a stout but wide structure with a sign-board out front, fungal wood with a charred spiral on it. It was built in such a way that it looked like a normal building had been set on its side, and never lifted to vertical. All its windows were wider than they were tall, and the walls had a very crooked appearance.

We fell into the street traffic smoothly, the smells and sights too overwhelming to allow us to speak among ourselves with any sort of weight. We passed several shops, some selling food, others had stones, some even pottery.

“Maybe we can re-provision here,” Cannon said. “Food eats, long as we know what it’s made from.”

I nodded agreement, but before I could speak, a hand took my arm gently. I looked over, and then down to see a wrinkled little dwarf tugging at my sleeve.

I stopped and looked down at the little fellow. “Yes?”

“You’re Shadrim, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I am, yes.”

“Your clothes, your armor, this is Shadrim make?”

I nodded again, staying aware of my purse in case this was a distraction for an accomplice to rob me.

“How can I help you?” I asked.

“I sell,” he said.

He sells trinkets, Sybarron whispered. Be careful.

I wasn’t sure what manner of warning that was, but I didn’t ignore it.

“You wish to sell to me?”

“Yes, yes, I sell.” He stepped toward a narrow shop-front, gesturing with his hands towards it.

I followed him in, Rendo following a short distance behind. “I’ll let them know where you’re going,” he said. “Don’t want to get separated here.”

I gave him a brief thumbs-up, and he went to rejoin the others.

Entering the shop behind the tiny old man, I was greeted with a candlelit interior decorated with a variety of leather and metal goods hanging from the walls and ceiling. The dwarf was on the opposite side of the room, rummaging through a trunk and muttering to himself. After a moment, he uttered a triumphant grunt and stood up.

He turned toward me with a bundle in his hands, and gestured toward a chair I hadn’t noticed. “Sit, sit,” he said.

I sat, wondering what I was in store for.

“I have old Shadrim relic here, maybe it is right for you.” He pulled a table out of nowhere and set the bundle on it, unwrapping carefully.

Within the wrapping, a few white sticks rested. Each one was embossed with gold, about the size of a large carrot. The writing upon them I recognized as Shadrim High Speech. The words looked like a binding enchantment. A chill settled into the room, quiet and sharp.

But I didn’t recognize the sticks.

“Roots of the Ivory Tree of Winter,” said the dwarf. “The tree may be long dead, but these roots still hold memory of their former self.”

“What are they for?” I took one gingerly off the table. It was definitely cold to the touch, and I could see frost forming on its surface.

The Dwarf shrugged, pursing his mouth and shaking his head.

Channels, Sybarron said. Channels for power. A binder can use them to enhance his spells.

“One use each?” I asked.

Maybe. More likely they are attached to a blasting rod or staff, a permanent charm or token.

“Interesting.”

“Hmm?” The dwarf looked at me quizzically.

“What do you want for them?” I asked.

He smiled. “Not so much,” he said. “Coin or trade?”

“If I offer trade, what do you see that you want?”

His eyes darted about, looking me over. They settled at my side, and he reached out to point at the dagger on my hip. “May I look at?”

I drew my dagger, a service weapon I’d had from the Caern Jale. There was nothing particularly special about it, I’d had it for years. There was just enough enchantment on it to hurt an elemental and keep the edge keen without attention, but that was it. I offered it to him, hilt-first.

Shadrim-built weapons are definitely a unique variety, as we tend towards an aesthetic of sweeping curves and serrations. He looked it over closely, inspecting the hilt, running fingers over the serrated saw edge on the back, testing the edge on a piece of leather. His mouth was set in a thin line, brows furrowed with concentration.

“This is Shadrim make, yes.” He looked back to me. “What about sheath?”

It was my turn to shrug. “It was made for it, yes,” I said. I unstrapped it from my belt and extended it to him. The leather was worked a little, but generally it was as utilitarian as the blade.

He turned them over in his hands, then slid the blade into the sheath before setting it on the table. “You offer me great gift,” he said. He wrapped the roots back up and pushed them toward me. “Cannot be all,” he said. “You wish something else?”

It dawned on me almost at the same time Sybarron said, That knife is sixteen hundred years old to him. It’s a perfect-condition antique of the Voruscan Empire. Enchanted, no less. He’s a surprisingly honest merchant, to offer you more.

“I have no knife without it,” I said. “Perhaps you have a suitable replacement?”

His eyes brightened up right away.

“Yes, yes!” he said, and turned to the wall on his right, running his hands over a set of weapons hanging from pegs embedded in it. He found what he was looking for and grabbed it from the wall, laying it down on the table.

“Not magic,” he said. “But very good make. High Elf blade, moon-silver etching.”

I drew the thin weapon from its sheath and hefted it in my hand. It was very well balanced, held a good weight, and the blade was very pretty. Thin lines of silver filigree followed vine-like trails across its dark, steely surface. The edge was very sharp, with a long, fine point ending a very gently-curving blade. The metal was not steel, but something else, a deep burnished look to it with a hint of coppery hue.

“Roots and knife for this,” he pointed to my dagger. “That knife very strong, never dull.”

I considered it for a moment, then nodded. I still wasn’t sure what I’d do with these roots, but just that they were cold seemed useful enough, and the dagger he offered in exchange for mine was really quite nice. Probably better make, though I’d have to find a way to get it enchanted properly.

He smiled, and my dagger disappeared beneath the table. From somewhere, the old dwarf produced a small tea-pot and cups, filling both with a strong, bitter tea colored the grey of hard stone.

He drinks to strike the deal formally, Sybarron said.

I took a cup, and waited a moment while the dwarf raised his. I shot the contents of my cup in one gulp, while he sipped his. I could feel the heat of it going down, and recognized some alcohol in it. I smiled and stood, and he did the same.

“I must re-join my friends,” I said.

“Yes, your friends,” he agreed. “Please tell your commander I am almost finished preparing his order,” he said.

“My commander,” I echoed.

“Yes, yes,” he followed me as I made my way to the door. “A good customer, he is.”

“I’m sure,” I nodded agreeably.

I finished attaching the elvish blade to my belt and turned to offer a small bow to the little merchant. “Many thanks,” I said.

“Thanks be to you, and good fortune.” he replied.

I took my leave and walked on up the street in the half-light. “Shit, I should have picked up some extra arrows,” I said.

Enough time for that coming, Sybarron replied.

“And what’s up with you? How come you’re so talky now?”

Seemed like the time, it said. Fae knight, Fae city, doing my part to be helpful to my new master.

“Have you ever been here before?”

Once, a long while ago. I was a guard for a diplomat who visited here.

“That wasn’t what resulted in you being imprisoned, was it?”

No, my crime was later.

“May I ask, now?”

I don’t think so. I may one day tell you, but it’s not pertinent.

I stopped at a hut offering carved meat from part of a beast I could see was not bipedal, which I took on my own plate. Walking on, I observed passers-by and more of the architecture as I ate my food in silence. I found myself shaking my head regularly, astounded at the twisted semi-logic of the buildings around me, and the similarly-shaped denizens of the city.

I caught sight of the others, far up the street, but before I could catch up a voice brought me up short.

“Shadrim!” It came from behind me, and was shouted from some distance.

I turned to look for who it was, and saw two people – normal-sized people, not giants – hustling to catch up. I took one more bite of my food and set the plate on a ledge next to me, set my pack down beside it, then wiped my hands on my trousers. I gauged the distance to the others as close enough that I could run to catch up if I needed them.

The two came closer, both roughly human-shaped beneath their armor. One was encased nearly head to toe in a dark leather, even including a faceplate with a crystal visor. The other wore chain, and shuffled to keep up with his companion. Both were armed, but thankfully their weapons were not drawn. The man in chain looked mostly human, but his skin had a strange scaly quality that gave away a different origin. I couldn’t make out the leather-clad one yet.

“Shadrim, what are you doing out of quarters?” The scaly man asked.

“Quarters? I don’t have quarters,” I said. “You’ve made a mistake.”

“The mistake is yours, don’t play the fool. You are not permitted to leave the perimeter.” He said. “Return with us now, and the punishment for your violation will not grow.”

He rested his hand on the pommel of a sword at his side. His companion still remained quiet. My gaze raised from the hilt to his eyes, and I let myself get slightly angry as I met his gaze while I responded.

“I will repeat for you, slowly, since you obviously didn’t understand the first time. You have made a mistake. I will not take umbrage at this point if you leave me alone, but if you draw your weapon then this fight will be your last.”

I rested my hand on Sybarron.

The leather-clad one finally spoke. “You belong in quarters.” Its voice was definitely feminine, and as she said this she pointed at me. “You know what the rules were when you took the badge.”

“Badge?” I looked down at myself. Then I realized – my chain shirt, it was my old officer issue, and had a Caern Jale insignia on each shoulder.

I pointed to one of them. “You mean this?”

She nodded. I looked them over more closely now, and saw that they each had an identical harness to one another, over their armor.

The combat harnesses. They weren't just harnesses.

They were uniforms.

Even as I noticed this, I saw the female lock eyes with me. Beneath the visor, I caught a glimpse of green eyes that shone, almost glowing. I realized at the same instant that it wasn’t a leather skull-cap or helmet she wore – it was her hair. It was made of thin, slowly writhing serpents. Without that visor I might have never recovered from that gaze. I felt slower, colder for just a moment.

A second later I saw it.

The badge - the badge on her shoulder.

I hadn’t been dreaming when I thought I’d seen it when we had been prisoners of the Lamia, Liss. They’d really been there.

The badge was definitely from the Caern Jale.

“Who are you?” I asked slowly, a smile spreading across my face.

The man stopped short, dumbfounded at the question.

“How do you not know the enforcers?” The woman asked.

“What enforcers?”

“This grows on my nerves,” she said.

“I repeat, who are you?” I broadened my stance, sizing him up. Right-handed, his swing would pass beneath my arm just outside of danger, and my counter would open his arm from elbow to ribs, following in under the arm into the softer parts.

“Come with us, now,” said the man. He drew his sword and took a step towards me.

Before he completed the step, I had Sybarron out and leveled at the man’s throat, knees bent at just the right distance. The sweeping purple after-image of Sybarron’s passage caught up with it, and the glow highlighted the surprise in the man’s eyes.

“Put your weapon down and you might live through this,” I said.

I caught sight of the woman doing something with one hand, producing what looked like a whip. She reared back her hand and I debated whether to lunge and skewer her, when she was stopped by another voice.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am,” Rendo said. He had his bow drawn, arrow pointing at her midsection, unwavering. “Seems to me that you’re being awfully rude, and all he did was ask you who you are.”

The woman – a medusa, I was sure of this now – stayed frozen in place, but spoke cautiously.

“I am Natha, and this is Cor, we are members of the company Shal Rava.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Rendo said. “Cor, you gonna put that away before my friend here gets testy?”

Cor took a step back slowly and sheathed his sword.

“Shal Rava, that’s a good one, Devil’s Due.” I said. “You’re a mercenary company?”

Cor nodded.

“Got a lot of Shadrim members, then? That why you thought I was one of you?”

He nodded again. “Almost all Shadrim. But you are a member, that’s our badge.” He gestured at me.

I shook my head. “Not so. This is an insignia of the Caern Jale, the military of the Voruscan Empire. In which I held the rank of Commander.”

I was pretty sure I could see some color drain from his face after what I said registered.

Natha held up her hands. “That is not a weapon we issued.” She tilted her head, examining me further. “I accept that you are not one of ours. You are correct, we were mistaken.”

I motioned Rendo to lower his own weapon. He relaxed his pull and took the point out of line, but kept the arrow knocked.

“Mistakes happen,” I said. “They did not cost blood today, thankfully.”

Cor nodded.

I sheathed Sybarron as well. “Who is your commander?” I asked.

“Mahar de Torrione is our commander.” Natha replied.

I froze. “Would you mind saying that again?”

“Mahar de Torreone is our commander,” she repeated.

“That can’t be.”

“What?” Cor said.

“Can you take me to him?”

Rendo put his hand on my arm. “What are you doing?” He asked me. “Wait. Mercenaries…” he looked at them, away from me, “…you serve Lady Flay Gaz, don’t you?”

Cor nodded.

“Shit.” I said. “This can’t be happening.”

“What is it? What’s wrong with you?” Rendo was genuinely concerned.

I turned to look at him. “I think I know him.”

“What are you talking about? This guy? How?”

“No, the commander they mentioned. My commanding officer in the Caern Jale – in the Voruscan army – was General Mahar of the house Torreone.”

“No shit?...Oh shit!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, oh shit,” I said. I turned to the two mercenaries. “You are returning to your commander to report this, yes?”

Natha nodded, cocking her head. “We had business down the street,” she pointed the way I’d come. “But this, I think, deserves a report.”

As I asked this, I slowly reached into my pack and drew one of the last two bottles of wine from it. While I did, I had the passing thought that if I kept giving it away, I might never actually get to drink this stuff I'd bought a couple months and sixteen hundred years ago. I still had two more back in Adelhome, but great stars! I liked this wine! At this rate, I wouldn't have any left for myself. "Please, give him this. I am Azrael of House Ashemdion, formerly of the Cairn Jale, and I was responsible for the victory in the Darl Knade campaign. When you give it to him, mention I would have sent along some Badham's Beer, but I did not bring my cask on the journey. It is imperative you mention that. He'll understand."

Natha remained still, her head bobbing from side to side, the confusion evident even without seeing her face. Cor barely reacted at all. His eyes tracked our movements, but he remained still.

I held out the bottle.

As Natha reached for it, I took her hand gently. “If he is who I think he is, he and I fought together, side by side, a long time ago. Remember that.”

She accepted the bottle. I looked over to Cor, who followed the bottle with eyes that looked at me with a little fear in them.

“Can one of you repeat to me what I have just told you?” I used my orders voice, on the suspicion that if they were associating me as a peer to their commander, they would respond as good soldiers do.

“You are Azrael of the Caern Jale,” Cor mumbled.

“Darl Knade campaign, Badham’s Beer,” Natha continued for him in a much clearer and steadier voice.

“Very good, thank you. And be careful with that,” I pointed at the bottle. “There aren’t many left, and sixteen hundred years can leave a mark.”

“You have any other message for him?” Natha asked.

“Just that we’ll be at the Skin Well for a time, and he can ask for me there. I’ll arrange to hear when my name comes up.”

They turned and walked away. I looked down at Rendo and smiled.

“Mind telling me what in the Hells that was about?” He asked me.

“Not at all,” I replied. I leaned on the wall for a moment, suddenly a little dizzy. Finally, a link that might get me home. “Hungry?”

He nodded, and I walked us back towards where I got my dish.

“Mahar was my commanding officer. If I read the behavior right, he’s in charge and they know at least some of his background. Which means if I served with him, then I’m as big a deal to them as he is, historically speaking. Maybe he even knows how to get us home.”

“So what, you’re just going to buddy up and be pals again?”

“Not in so many words, in fact after this long I’d be surprised if he still remembers me.” I thought it over. “Sixteen hundred years – maybe he found a way here like I did when you brought me.”

We reached the stand and I ordered two more helpings. When I offered to pay, the shopkeep surprised me, shaking his head when I offered to pay with a gold scepter from Adelhome. When I realized my error, I sifted through my purse to come up with three silver coins, which he accepted. I apologized and turned back to Rendo.

“Why wouldn’t he take your money?”

“Not the money specifically, the gold. Fae can glamour things to look like gold, but they can’t do silver.”

“Why’s that?”

“Not sure,” I said.

Our magic can fake gold easy because it’s of the Earth, and that’s something we can manipulate. Silver is tied to the moon Maure, symbolically the gate of magic, and they can’t use magic to deceive itself. Sybarron said.

“Hmm,” I sighed. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Rendo asked.

I paraphrased what I’d just been told. “At least, that’s how it was explained to me.”

“That is interesting. Good to know, in case I buy anything,” he said.

I paused, thinking it over. “Maybe he took the long way,” Rendo mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Huh?”

“Your old commander. Maybe he just got here the old fashioned way, year after year.”

That left me feeling a little cold. “If he did, and he’s giving orders then he’s joined a Legion and been good at it, so he’s not one to be trifled with.”

“Legion?”

“A lot of Shadrim in my time formed their own personal contracts with Infernals, to further their own personal prowess. We were all destined for Hell, but some Infernals chose to make deals directly to improve their position, but at greater cost. They’d be served in life and then after death they’d serve their Legion.”

“Sounds unfair. Greater cost? When you’re going to Hell, that’s pretty much as bad as it gets, isn’t it? You all live what, same as us, right? About a hundred years at best? So this guy has been serving for fifteen hundred more?”

“Different contracts hold different periods, can be extended, and so on. Each one is usually different.”

“Still, hardly a fair exchange.”

“Hell isn’t about fair, it was about what you could get on your own or with help. Besides, it’s possible he’s finished his term and is operating on his own now.”

“So you can get out of being in Hell that way?”

I nodded. “In a worst case, if you’re not useful, your spirit or soul gets rendered in Hell, to feed the engines or other use. If you prove yourself useful, you can improve your lot a great deal.”

Rendo shook his head a bit. I couldn’t tell if he was scoffing or just confused.

We finished our food and wiped off the dishes.

“Better get back with the others,” Rendo said.

I agreed, and we started walking in the direction we’d seen them going.

“How does that work? If he’s done, wouldn’t they just withdraw his power?”

“An infernal is never really ‘done,’ they all serve the King in the end, and it’s up to him whether they keep what they have.”

Rendo signaled his understanding with a short grunt.

Along the way, he stopped to look at some shops, picking over gems and trinkets of interest.

You might do well to watch your back. If those mercenaries make the connection that you’re a member of the group they were supposed to stop the arrival of, you could be in serious trouble if they turn up. Sybarron’s reminder struck me as rather sensible, and I mentioned it to Rendo.

“Yeah, right, we should go a bit faster.”

We stepped into the main street, following in the wake of a cyclops dressed in sharply-contoured leathers and carrying a heavy-looking pack. The creature’s strides were long, but we kept up with him fairly easily.

After a while, we caught sight of the others, who were seated around a couple of human-sized tables and drinking from mugs.

“Where’ve you been at?” Cannon asked.

“Getting a lay of the land,” I said.

“Az might have met someone he knows here,” Rendo said.

Sered’s face creased. “Here? Why does that come as no surprise to me?”

“It gets worse,” I said. “If this is who I think it is, he was a General in the Caern Jale, my superior officer when I was in it.”

His expression went blank. “Remind me – are you still a member of that force, or were you discharged?”

I thought over the question and the several possible answers I could have.

“It’s complicated, but no, I don’t hold my old rank.” Now I’m just the Emperor, I thought.

“You met this person face to face?” Nix asked.

“No, this is where it gets worse. The force of mercenaries serving Flay Gaz, they’re headed up by him. Which means they have a very competent commander and are likely a well-trained group.”

“How well trained?” She raised an eyebrow. When she did, her ear also raised up slightly, which for some reason I found a bit funny. Not funny enough to laugh out loud, but it caught my attention.

“He trained me, and I won more than my share of fights.”

“This keeps getting better,” Cannon rumbled with a frown.

“Did you all find anything out?” I asked.

“The Skin Well is up the street a bit,” Sered gestured. “So we know where to contact Zur Nav.”

“We also found out the disposition of the royals. It’s apparently something of a betting situation for the commonfolk here.” Nix said.

“And?” I asked.

“We already have what we have on Flay Gaz,” Nix continued. “We got the right info from Bloodmilk, Dorad is signed on supporting her.”

“What about the other royals?” I waved at an old grey-skinned woman with unnaturally thin arms and magnificently fat legs who was wiping a table down. She looked at me with an empty expression until I tapped Nix’s mug and held up two fingers. She nodded and disappeared into the back.

“Gazul Kill is a son of Recks, and is competing for the throne with her. He had been the most powerful until Dorad gave up his claim and threw in with Flay Gaz. She apparently owns Dorad now, or something like that. That changed the odds a lot.”

“Okay, so he’s still got power then?”

“Apparently, but he’s beginning to show weakness, and might surrender his claim.”

“Hmm…okay, next?”

“Remember Bloodmilk named Hak Azuth, too?”

“Yeah, vaguely.”

“Well, he’s dead. Rumor has it that Gazul Kil did for him. Hak Azuth is also the one that threw Zur Nav into the wilds to die. As it turns out, he had been secretly allying with Flay Gaz.”

The drinks arrived, and I passed one to Rendo after paying the misshapen lady.

“Okay, got it. We know Zur Nav, wasn’t there one more?”

“Yes,” Nix said. “Baim Fuss. She was the youngest of the siblings, but she was killed shortly after King Recks’ death. No one knows who got to her.”

“So…the only live ones are Zur Nav, Gazul Kil, Dorad, and Flay Gaz. Dorad’s with Flay, and we don’t know about Gazul Kil. Did I get that right?”

“Correct,” Sered said.

I took a long pull on the drink. It was cold, clean, and I sensed some sort of aromatic, like an herbal distillate had been added. It made it almost minty.

“Our list of possible allies is rather short then, I guess. Unless we want to bargain with Flay Gaz to get Dorad.”

Nix shook her head. “Might as well not even consider it. If they’ve entered a bargain, she can’t really break it, and even if there’s a double-cross or a loophole, why would she give up one of her best assets?”

“I guess we should find out what we can get from Zur Nav then,” Rendo wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. His mug was completely empty.

Where halflings stuff all the food and drink they take in is beyond me.

“Sounds like it,” Cannon agreed.

I shrugged. “Anyone else have a suggestion?”

Nix shook her head again, and Sered simply raised empty hands.

“Shall we go, then?” Nix asked.

“No time like the present,” I said, without a hint of irony.

We finished our drinks and walked up the street towards the Skin Well.

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