FRIGHTENED MICE, NERVOUS DRAGONS
The white cat dropped down from the windowsill and strode toward the disheveled merchant. Purring, the cat banged its head against Beneghast's leg.
"Ah, Mourtrue," the merchant said, sagging back against the wall and reaching down to pat his companion. "I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never see anything again. Oh, but they were murderers, Mourtrue. Murderers, I say!"
"Do tell," the cat answered.
Beneghast froze in place, his words catching on the lump in his throat. He slowly lifted his hand away from the animal and shrank back against the wall.
Mourtrue began to grow.
"Please," the cat implored him, "do tell your tale. It is one that interests me greatly."
Beneghast gave a wail and flung himself aside - or tried to. A paw caught him and threw him back hard against the wall, the sharp claws shredding his good vest and overcoat in the process.
"I am not asking," the cat explained, grimacing as popping sounds erupted from all over its body. Bones broke and reformed, and skin stretched and twisted. The white fur shortened, became a bristly coat of fuzz, and disappeared.
Beneghast's knees went weak and he slumped to the floor. Knellict the wizard towered over him.
"You like cats," Knellict said. "That is a mark in your favor, for so do I."
"P-please, y-your magnificence," Beneghast stuttered, shaking his head so violently that his teeth chattered.
"You should be dead, of course."
"But..." Beneghast started, but he was too terrified to go on.
"But my men are dead instead," Knellict finished for him. "How is it that a foolish and flabby merchant could have done such a thing?"
"Oh, no, your magnificence!" Beneghast wailed. "Not that! Never! I struck no one. I did as I was told, and nothing more."
"You were told to kill my men?"
"No! Of course not, your superiorness. It was the masked man! Wicked with the blade, was he. He killed one in the alley that I saw. I know not of any oth - "
"The masked man?"
"The one with the red-bladed sword, and the dagger with the jeweled hilt. He caught me on the street and took my goods - your payment was in there. Oh please, your magnificence! I had your coin, and I wouldn't have been late but for the guards who came and took my gemstones. I tried to tell them that I needed the stones to - "
"You told city guards that you owed coin to Knellict?" the wizard interrupted, and his eyes flashed with the promise of death.
Beneghast got even smaller - Knellict didn't think that possible - and gave a strange squeaking sound.
"You killed my man in the fountain," Knellict accused, trying to break it down piece by piece to get a better sense of it all. Had his men provoked Entreri? Jailiana, who had survived, was just the type to have changed the plan, the impetuous little wench.
Beneghast shook his head violently. "There was no man in the fountain, except that the masked man came out of the fountain."
"The man with the red-bladed sword?"
"Yes," the merchant replied, bobbing his head.
"And that was when you were first accosted?"
"Yes."
Knellict pursed his lips. So, Entreri had betrayed him from the start.
"Please, magnificent sir," Beneghast whined. "I did nothing wrong."
"What of the two guards found at the other end of the alley?"
Beneghast's expression was all the answer Knellict needed, for the man obviously had no knowledge of that pair.
"You did nothing wrong?" Knellict asked. "Yet you were late in repayment."
"But... but..." Beneghast stammered, "but it's all here. All of it and more. And all for you."
"Get it."
The man moved fast, arms and legs flailing in all directions and ultimately doing little to get him out of the corner and off the floor. But then an invisible hand grabbed at him and hoisted him up, right off the ground.
"Where?" Knellict asked.
Hanging in midair, the terrified Beneghast lamely pointed at a dresser across the way. Knellict's telekinetic grip launched him that way, to crash into the drawers and crumble at the bureau's base. He only remained down for an instant, though, to his credit, and he yanked open a drawer so forcefully that it came right out of the dresser and fell at his feet. Clothes flew every which way and the merchant spun back, a large pouch in hand.
"All of it," he promised, "and more."
As Knellict reached out toward the merchant, a movement from the side caught both their attention. Into the room walked the real Mourtrue, looking exactly as Knellict had a moment before. The cat started for his master, but suddenly went up into the air, magically grasped, and flew fast to Knellict's waiting grasp.
"No!" the merchant wailed, lunging forward. "Please, not my Mourtrue."
"Commendable," said Knellict as he held and gently stroked the frightened cat. "You are loyal to your feline companion."
"Oh please, sir," said Beneghast, and he fell to his knees begging. "Anything but my Mourtrue."
"You love her?"
"As if she was my child."
"And does she return the love?"
"Oh yes, sir."
"Let us see, and if you are right, then I forgive your debt and your tardiness. In fact, if you have so garnered the loyalty of such a beautiful creature as this, I will return all of the coin in that purse tenfold."
Beneghast stared at him with confusion, not really knowing what to say.
"Fair?" Knellict asked.
Beneghast had no idea what to say, but he nodded despite himself.
Knellict began to cast a spell and Beneghast recoiled. It took some time for the wizard to complete the enchantment, finally waggling the fingers of one hand at the merchant, sending out waves of crackling energy.
Beneghast heard popping sounds - the sounds of his bones cracking and reshaping. The room got larger suddenly, impossibly huge, which confused poor Beneghast as much as did the fact that his breaking bones didn't really hurt.
He felt strange. His vision was black and white, and so many odors floated out at him they overwhelmed his sensibilities. He glanced left and right and saw white lines across his field of vision, as if he had... whiskers.
Mourtrue's growl turned his attention back to the wizard, who stood with gigantic, titanic even, proportions. In Knellict's arms, Mourtrue squirmed and twisted.
Beneghast started to question it all, but his voice came out as a chirp and nothing more.
Then he understood, and he glanced back to see his thin tail.
He was a mouse.
He snapped his gaze back to Knellict and Mourtrue.
"Shall we learn the depths of your cat's loyalty, then?" asked the smug mage.
He dropped Mourtrue to the floor, but it seemed to Beneghast as if the cat never even touched down, so graceful and fast was Mourtrue's leap.
"I guess not so deep," Knellict said.
Knellict left a short while later, the well-fed cat curled up against his shoulder, wondering what in the world he was going to do about this Artemis Entreri fellow.
Tazmikella knew who it was as soon as she saw the lean, late-middle-aged man walking slowly up the hill toward her front door. His threadbare and weather-beaten robes could have belonged to any of a thousand nomads who wandered the region, of course, but the walking stick, white as bone, belonged to one man alone.
A shudder coursed Tazmikella's spine and she couldn't help but wince at the sight of Master Kane. She hated the monk - irrationally so, she knew. She hated him because she feared him, and Tazmikella did not like "fearing" any human. But Kane was a monk, a grandmaster, and that meant that he could all too easily avoid the effects of her breath weapon, her greatest battle asset. Tazmikella didn't fear wizards, not even an archmage like Knellict. She didn't fear the paladin king, nor any of his heroic friends - not the ranger, priest, thief, or bard - save for one. The only humans - the only creatures of the lesser races, the drow included - who so unnerved the dragon were those strange ascetics who dedicated their lives to perfecting their bodies.
And Kane was no ordinary monk, even. In the martial sense, he was the greatest of the disciples in all the Bloodstone Lands and far beyond. So perfect was his understanding of and control over his body, that he could achieve a state of otherworldliness, it was said, where his physical form transcended its corporeal limitations to escape the very bonds of the Material Plane.
All of those rumors and whispers bounced about Tazmikella's thoughts as she watched the seemingly simple man's determined approach.
"Remember who you are," the dragon finally whispered to herself. She gave a quick shake of her head and her concerned look became a grimace.
"Master Kane," she said as the man neared her porch. "It has been far too long..." She meant to continue with an invitation for the monk to enter her home, but Kane didn't wait, walking right past her with only a slight nod of his head for acknowledgement.
Tazmikella paused at the door and didn't look back inside at the monk until she found the strength to wipe the sneer off her face. She reminded herself repeatedly that Kane was there at the request of King Gareth, no doubt.
"To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" she said, a bit too sweetly, as she turned and walked to her seat at the table opposite the monk. She noted his posture as she went, and that too only reminded her that the man was different. Kane did not sit with his feet on the floor, as others would. He had his legs folded tightly beneath him, feet under his buttocks, and with his back perfectly straight and balanced over the center of his form. He could move in a blink, Tazmikella realized, unfolding faster than any enemy, even a coiled snake, might strike.
"Your sister will join us presently," Kane replied.
"You expect Ilnezhara to arrive in a timely fashion?" Tazmikella asked, her tone light and sarcastic, and for effect, she rolled her eyes.
She might as well have rolled out of the chair and across the floor, for all the effect her humor had on Kane. He sat there, unblinking and unmoving. Not just unmoving, but utterly still, save the minor rise and fall of his breathing. The dragon paused, even shifted noisily a few times, leaning forward in anticipation, trying to prompt the monk to speak.
But he did not.
He just sat there.
Many moments slipped past, and he just sat there.
Tazmikella got up repeatedly and walked to the door, glancing out for any sign of her sister. Then she sat back down, offering both smiles and frowns. She asked a few questions - about the weather, about Vaasa, about King Gareth and Lady Christine, inquiring how they fared.
Kane just sat there.
Finally, after what felt like the whole of the morning to Tazmikella, but was in fact less than an hour, Ilnezhara arrived at the door. She came in and greeted her sister and the monk, who gave the slightest of nods in response.
"Do take care, good sister," Tazmikella dared to say, for she drew confidence with the arrival of a second dragon. "It would seem that my guest is not in good humor this morning."
"You were not at the ceremony honoring those returning from Vaasa," he said, addressing both.
"I did hear of that," Ilnezhara replied. "Those who investigated the latest Zhengyian construct, yes?"
Kane stared long and hard at her.
"Well of course, information travels slowly from Bloodstone Village to Heliogabalus, and we are not about to take wing."
"By order of King Gareth," Tazmikella added. "We would not wish to terrify half of Damara."
"Jarlaxle the drow and Artemis Entreri are known to you," Kane stated. "They were in your employ before their journey to Vaasa - a journey they took at your request, perhaps?"
"You presume much, Master Kane," said Ilnezhara.
"You deny little," Kane replied.
"We have had minor dealings with this drow and his friend," Tazmikella said. "You know our business. Who better to acquire goods than that pair?"
"You sent them to Vaasa," the monk said.
Ilnezhara scoffed, but Kane didn't blink, so Tazmikella remarked, "We suggested to Jarlaxle that his talents might serve him better in the wilderness, and that perhaps he would find adventure, reputation, and booty."
"There is an old saying that a dragon's suggestion is ever a demand," the monk remarked.
Tazmikella managed a weak grin, and looked to her sister. She noted the exchange of looks between Kane and Ilnezhara, bordering on threatening.
"We know Jarlaxle and Entreri," Tazmikella said bluntly. "They are not in our employ, but we have, on occasion, employed them. If you have come to question their bona fides, Master Kane, should you not have arrived before the ceremo - "
Kane stopped her with an upraised hand, a gesture that had the proud dragon fighting hard to suppress her anger.
"Your accommodations here are at the suffrage of King Gareth," Kane reminded her. "Never forget that. We are not enemies; we have welcomed both of you into the community of Bloodstone with open arms and trust."
"Your warning does not reek of trust, Grandmaster," said Ilnezhara.
"You repudiated Zhengyi's advances. That is not unnoticed."
"And now?" Ilnezhara prompted.
Kane unfolded suddenly, standing on the chair, and dipped a low bow. "I pray you understand that we are in dangerous times."
"You see the world from a human perspective," Ilnezhara cautioned. "You view disasters in the terms of years, at most, and not in terms of decades or centuries. It is understandable that you would utter such a silly statement."
Kane betrayed no anger at the statement as he sat again, but neither did he seem impressed. "The castle was no small matter, was perhaps the greatest manifestation of Zhengyi, curse his name, since his demise those years ago."
"Zhengyi himself was a small matter," Ilnezhara replied. "A temporary inconvenience and nothing more."
Even Tazmikella winced at the obvious and self-serving understatement. Both she and her sister had breathed much easier indeed when the Witch-King had fallen, and not since the time when Aspiraditus the red dragon and her three fiery offspring had flown into the mountains of western Damara four hundred years before had the dragon sisters been that concerned about anything.
"Perhaps we measure our catastrophes in the sense of tendays, or even years, good lady, because that is all we have," Kane countered. "Our time is short by your measures, but eternity by our own. I am not overly concerned about this latest Zhengyian construct, for it is dead now, and I am confident that whatever plagues the Witch-King left behind for us will be handled accordingly by Spysong and the Army of Bloodstone."
"And yet, you are here," reasoned Tazmikella.
"This is how we handle accordingly our catastrophes," Kane answered, and for the first time, a bit of emotion, a dry sarcasm, crept into his monotone voice.
"Then pray tell us of your catastrophe," Ilnezhara stated with a clear air of condescension.
Kane stared at her for a few moments but did not reply.
"Pray tell us why you have come to see us," Tazmikella intervened, guessing correctly that the monk wasn't willing to label the purpose of his visit as such.
"That this drow and human in your employ walked out of that castle, while King Gareth's niece, a knight of the order, did not, is worrying," the monk admitted. "That this drow and human walked out of that castle, while Mariabronne the Rover, a hero of the realm by all measures and a student of Olwen, did not, is worrying. I would be ill-serving my king and friend Gareth if I did not investigate the circumstances of his niece's death. And I would be ill-serving my friend Olwen if I did not investigate the circumstances of his student's death. It is no mystery why I have come."
The sisters looked at each other.
"Do you vouch for the character of the drow and human?" Kane asked.
"They have not disappointed us," Tazmikella said.
"Yet," added her sister.
Tazmikella looked from Ilnezhara to Kane, trying to judge the monk's response, but reading his emotions was like trying to find footprints on hard stone.
"We are not well acquainted with the pair, truth be told," Tazmikella offered.
"You were not responsible for importing them to Damara?"
"Certainly not," Tazmikella answered, and Ilnezhara echoed her words as she was speaking them. "We learned of them in Heliogabalus, and decided that we could put their talents to use. It is not so different from the methods of Spysong, and I am certain that if we had not hired the pair, your friend Celedon would have."
"They are talented at what they do," Ilnezhara added.
"Stealing?" asked Kane.
"Procurement," Tazmikella corrected.
Kane actually offered a bit of a smile at that equivocation. He snapped up to stand on the chair again, and dipped a low bow. Without another word, he turned and walked out of Tazmikella's house.
"Those two are going to get themselves killed," Tazmikella remarked when the monk was far away.
"At least," said her sister, with more concern than Tazmikella expected. She glanced over to see Ilnezhara staring at the open door and the back of the departing Kane.
Indeed, Tazmikella thought, few creatures in all the world could unnerve a dragon more than a grandmaster monk.
"You have heard about the fight at Great Fork Ford?" Ilnezhara said, obviously noticing Tazmikella's stare. "Two reds and a mighty white seemed about to rout one of Gareth's brigades."
"And Grandmaster Kane rushed in," Tazmikella continued. "He dared their breath, fire and frost, and avoided it all."
"And even deceived the dragons into breathing upon each other," Ilnezhara added.
"The white - Glacialamacus, it is rumored - was severely burned, and none know if she has survived her wounds. And both reds were wounded, by the frost and by the blows of Kane, followed by the charge of Gareth's warriors."
"It is all rumor, you know," Tazmikella remarked.
"Perhaps, but a plausible rumor, no doubt."
After a long pause, digesting the implications, Tazmikella added, "I grow weary of those two."
"Jarlaxle troubles me," Ilnezhara agreed.
"Troubles?"
"But he is a fine lover," Ilnezhara went on unabated. "Perhaps I should keep him close."
Tazmikella just rolled her eyes at that, hardly surprised.
From the outside, the black hole in the mountainside seemed like just another of the many caves that dotted the region of towering stones and steep facings of the high peaks of the Galenas, east of the Vaasan Gate. Anyone who entered that particular cave, though, would find it to be much more, full of comforts and treasures, inviting aromas and magically lit walkways.
Of course, anyone who entered it uninvited would likely find himself dead.
Chased from Heliogabalus after the fall of Zhengyi, Timoshenko, the Grandfather of Assassins, and his mighty advisor Knellict, had moved the band to their remote, well-defended location. Suites of rooms went far back into the mountain, some carved by hired stonemasons and miners, and many others created by Knellict's magic. Timoshenko's band lived in comfort and security, but were not too remote from their dealings in Damara, for Knellict and his mage companions had also created and maintained a series of magical portals to strategic locations within Gareth's kingdom.
Through one of those portals, Jailiana, the mage who had survived Entreri's betrayal at Wall's Around, had arrived back at the citadel, trembling with outrage. She had delivered her report quickly, and had asked for support that she might go right back to Heliogabalus and slaughter the traitor. As angry as she was, however, Jailiana knew better than to act without the express permission of Knellict, and so when he had ordered her to stand down, she had quietly gone, sulking, to her chambers.
Knellict came out into the sunlight on the natural stone balcony of the cave, staring west along the northern foothills of the stony mountains. He still held Mourtrue, and had taken quite a liking to the purring cat, and was even considering creating a magical wizard-familiar bond with the animal.
It pleased Knellict to know that one of those who had tried to deceive him was making his way through this creature's intestines.
"Jailiana trembles with anger," came a voice behind him, one of his lieutenants, a dependable if unremarkable fellow named Coureese.
"I have a spell prepared that can cure that," Knellict absently replied. "Of course, it would freeze her solid in the process."
"She knows that she failed you," Coureese said.
"Failed?" Knellict turned, and Coureese looked at him, at the white cat, with obvious surprise. "She did not fail."
"She was to ensure the death of Beneghast."
"She was to witness the loyalty, or lack thereof, of Artemis Entreri," Knellict corrected. "She did not fail."
"But he got away, and two men were slain."
"Where can he run, I wonder? And we lose young recruits almost daily. There are always more to take their places, and if we did not lose so many, then how would we ever know which ones were worthy of our efforts to train them?"
Coureese's lips moved, but he didn't say anything, and Knellict smiled at the man's confusion.
"Perhaps I should go and tell Jailiana of your feelings," Coureese offered.
"Perhaps I should telekinese you over the cliff."
The man blanched and fell back a step.
"Let her stew in her anger," Knellict explained. "It is a fine motivator. And let us set an order of elimination on the head of dear Artemis Entreri. Perhaps our female friend would seek the coin."
"She would go after him for free," Coureese replied. "She would pay us for the opportunity."
"Well, that is her decision to make. She has seen this man at his craft. I would expect that a woman wise enough to dabble in the arcane ways would also be wise enough to recognize the difference between opportunity and suicide."
Coureese wagged his head for a few moments, digesting all of that. Finally, he asked, "The bounty?"
Knellict considered it for a moment, thinking it might be a good training exercise for the younger members, and a good way to truly measure the prowess of Artemis Entreri. "Fifty pieces of platinum," he replied.
Coureese licked his lips and nodded.
"Your thoughts?" Knellict prompted, seeing, and expecting, his discomfort. After all, a man of Entreri's reputation - even the little bit that was known in Damara, which was likely only a very minor piece of the intriguing killer's history - would normally bring a bounty of ten times that offering.
"Nothing, my lord Knellict. I will post the order of elimination." He bowed quickly and turned to leave. Before he reached the cave, however, the magical stone door slid out from its concealment at the side, sealing the entrance in a camouflaged manner that made it seem as if no cave existed there. Coureese spun back to face Knellict, for he knew that the archmage had closed that door with a minor spell.
"When I ask for your thoughts, you would do well to offer them," Knellict explained. "All of them."
"Your pardon, master," Coureese begged, bowing repeatedly and awkwardly. "I only..."
"Just speak them," the mage demanded.
"Fifty pieces of platinum?" Coureese blurted. "I had thought that I would try to collect this bounty myself, but to go after this Entreri - who walks beside a drow! - for such a price is not enticing."
"Because you are intelligent."
Coureese looked up at him.
"Only a fool would go after Artemis Entreri for this price, agreed. So let us see what fools we need to remove from our ranks. Or I should say, let us see what fools Entreri will eliminate for us. And in the process, perhaps he will leave a trail of bodies that King Gareth cannot ignore. We can only gain here."
"But Entreri will not likely be killed," Coureese dared to remark.
Knellict snorted as if that hardly mattered. "When I want him to die, he will die. Athrogate is close to him, do not forget, and the dwarf is loyal. Better to enrage Entreri - or should I call him 'Sir' Entreri? - and embarrass King Gareth. And perhaps one of those who seek him out will show unexpected promise and actually slay him. Or perhaps several will prove resourceful enough to work together to win the bounty."
Coureese began to nod, catching on to all the potential gains.
"Every so often, we must put such a test before our young recruits," Knellict explained and shrugged. "How else are we to know who is worthy and who should be dead?"
Coureese offered a final nod then, hearing the door magically sliding open behind him as Knellict simply waved a hand, he bowed and took his leave.
Knellict chuckled and stroked the purring Mourtrue. "Ah, cat, how am I ever to survive with such fools as that serving me? And he is one of the better ones of late!"
He went back to the ledge and stared out over southern Vaasa. He missed the days of glory when Zhengyi had occupied the troublesome Gareth and the Citadel of Assassins had thrived.
He hated living in a cave - even one magically furnished.