III. The War Master Morning found War Master Orisis at the edge of the cliff overlooking the Bay of Brega. He had come to decide once and for all how to handle his present commission, but though the place was as beautiful as ever, it didn't reveal to him that which he needed to know. He had been taking his exercises along temple's cliffs for more than two weeks, but despite all of that time and beauty, the answers to his questions continued to elude him. But that didn't matter. Cindar Belam had been more than patience with the weeks that Orisis had spent on "reconnissance," but even so, Belam had made it clear at their last meeting that his patience was running out. Orisis could not afford to fail in any commission, but when the commission was for the High Priest of the Stone God, failure meant more than just disaster for his standing in the Guild. Failure meant death. And yet, even with that thought foremost in his mind, Orisis still could not see how he was going to get into the Tower of al-Kafiri without getting caught. Though Orisis was sure that he could carve a path of blood through the Temple's guards and then retrieve the Eye of Giscaine through simple violence, Belam had been specific that this was not what the job required. Belam wanted it done quietly. He wanted to possess the Eye, yes, but he wanted to do so in a way that would not invite a war between the Stone God's Faithful and the outlanders from the al-Kafiri clan. Anyone could retrieve the Eye via simple violence. Belam had hired a War Master because he wanted the job done right. Orisis close his eyes. Brooding on the problem would not help solve it. He needed to find peace. He needed to meditate. He paced the cliffs for a moment, fighting a feeling of restlessness. Around him, the fire of the morning sky coupled with the sounds of lapping waves below. Orisis breathed deeply, trying to still his mind so that his awareness could flow into the waves' and hence find oneness that he needed. Thoughts of the Tower came to him. Perhaps he could go in through the sewers... Orisis shook his head. It was no use. He would have to take more active measures. He drew his blades. His wakasashi moved first and from his left, blocking out and up. His katana followed, flowing in the opposite direction through the space that his companion sword had just cleared and then out through a short riposte. Orisis closed the circle and brought both his blades back to their ready positions. Then he began again. At first, the movements came slowly, but after a few iterations, his arms and legs began to warm. A quarter hour later he was breathing hard, his body flashing through an increasingly complex series of attacks and defenses that might have left an entire infantry company dead had such tried to stand against him. Throughout that time, he kept his mind focused solely on his movements. At last he felt his mind floating free. As his body whirled and flowed through the motions of battle, Orisis considered the Tower of al-Kafiri from a position of strength. The Tower itself was a tall structure, over ten stories high with a massive courtyard at its base and three large battlements at the top. Even a novice thief would see two primary entrance points. The first was the front door. Orisis could assassinate any one of the Tower's many guards and then theoretically walk right in through the gate wearing the guard's robe-like uniform. The problem was that the Tower was home to one of Brega's more powerful sorcerer's guilds. The Tower's wizards used a Rune of Identity to make it impossible for unknown person's to pass through the front gate undetected. The other obvious way in was through the Tower's upper story windows. But that method presented two problems. First, the Tower was in the middle of al-Kafiri Square, a popular marketplace located just one block from the city's Government District. Thus, War Master or no, it was highly likely that Orisis would be seen breaking in. And then too, if the Tower's wizards could place a rune on the front gate, the gods alone knew what they'd do to protect their windows. Without adequate reconnaissance, Orisis wouldn't know how to defeat whatever traps were on the windows, but any attempts to properly scope the job would be seen by passersby in the marketplace. But there was a third possibility. Orisis could go in through the sewer. That meant exposing himself to the unspeakable horrors of the Brega's human wastes, but it was an approach that would allow him to enter unseen, so he'd have the time he'd need to properly disarm any traps he found along the way. But just thinking about the horrors he'd face in the city's filthy, antiquated sewer system made Orisis shudder. That in turn caused him to stumble, which broke the rhythm of his exercises and dragged him abruptly out of his meditations. Damn it! He thought. There has to be another way. Orisis kicked a rock in frustration. It sailed out over the Bay of Brega. Then he turned, snapping his weapons back into their scabbards. He was not going to go into the city's sewers, and that was that. There was another solution. He just didn't know what it was yet. * * * Modor awoke slowly and a good bit more comfortably than was his norm. Karissa's bed held him cocoon-like in a state of drowsy warmth and security. Her body spooned into his, adding a sense of companionable softness to his already lush surroundings. A red haze of early morning sunlight streamed in through the room's long glass. The light reminded Modor that he should be up and about. He had gotten into Belam's harem safely, but he still had to get out again, and that task would not be easier once the sun was fully alive in the sky. Modor stirred a bit and considered, rolling from his side onto his back. Just as he hadn't had any real plan for getting into the compound the night before, so too he had no firm idea of how he was going to get back out again. Had Alaira been there, Modor was sure she could have handled the problem without issue, but Alaira hadn't shown up. Modor had no idea where she had gone, but he was sure that she was okay. Had she been caught by Belam's men, guards would have long since come looking for Modor, too. Thus, the fact that Modor had slept soundly meant that Alaira had simply made other plans. But what that meant, he had no idea. It wasn't immediately important to him. Karissa's smile brought Modor out of his reverie. "Good morning," she said. She rolled over and ran a finger across Modor's cheek. "I'm so glad you're still here." Modor turned and looked towards the balcony. The sun was still rising. Its red fire would soon turn to yellow daylight. He kissed Karissa's forehead and then started to get up, saying, "You're right. I do need to go." Karissa grabbed his arm at the wrist. "Don't leave me," she said. She stuck out her lower lip, pouting outrageously. Beyond her pout, Modor sensed a kind of wistful sadness. He thought he understood it. Compared to the closeness of the night before, the idea of returning home alone and of perhaps never seeing Karissa again was difficult to contemplate. With that thought in mind, he turned back to face her. "The later I stay, the more dangerous it gets," he said. "Some risks are worth taking," Karissa replied. She kissed his chest. Then she winked and began working her way down. Modor lay back. He had no idea how he was going to get away from Belam's compound in broad daylight, but he was sure that the problem could wait at least a little longer. * * * After his exercises, War Master Orisis walked back towards the compound's main gate. Though his present commission weighed heavily in his mind, he had other goals that morning as well. It was the Sabbath, and the morning's supplicants were about to arrive, and although it was not strictly a part of his commission, Orisis wanted to observe the guards while they performed their duties. He considered the observation a kind of investment in professional courtesy, especially since that courtesy was being rendered to a wealthy and powerful patron who was as yet not overly pleased with his services. And then too, Orisis had no way of knowing what his next job would be. Belam had many enemies both in Brega and beyond its borders. It was entirely possible that one of those enemies would become Orisis's next patron. In such a case, the War Master's familiarity with the temple's routines would be a significant asset. As Orisis watched, the temple's guards hustled a crowd of white-cloaked supplicants in through the compound's gate. A dozen guards monitored the ingress of perhaps four score worshippers. "Morning War Master," said a voice just off to Orisis's left. Orisis stopped. He turned to see who among the herd would dare call out to him. Then he felt his eyes go wide. It was Gustav Moeller, the leader of a powerful merchant syndicate. Though white-haired and wrinkled, Moeller's eyes were sharp, and his body was wiry and strong. Orisis bowed politely and smiled. "Why good morning, Mr. Moeller," he said. "May the Peace of the Stone be upon you." "I wasn't aware that you'd found faith," Moeller retorted sharply. "I am but one of the curious," Orisis admitted, "But I know that you believe, and I have always found it a good practice to respect the beliefs of my patrons. Or potential patrons." Moeller waved his hand away, dismissing Orisis's comment. "Of course," he replied. He turned away from the cathedral and began walking back towards one of the compound's many gardens. His steps took him closer to the cliffs where Orisis had done his morning's exercises. Moeller gestured for Orisis to follow him, saying, "No doubt Belam's got plenty to keep you busy..." Orisis smiled. "Oh Mr. Moeller, how you jest!" he said. He gestured towards the cliffs and the bay. "You know I am just here for the view." "Yes, of course," Moeller replied, clearly unimpressed. "But I am!" Orisis replied in turn. He put a hand to his heart as though Moeller's comment had wounded him. "I have been taking my exercise out by the cliffs for the better part of a fortnight. It is quite lovely, you know." Moeller's face grew grave. "I'm a bit too familiar, I'm afraid." He gestured towards one of the more elaborate gardens and said, "My wife is buried in that one." Orisis let his eyes fall to the ground. "I am sorry," he said, "I did not know." Moeller grinned and patted Orisis on the shoulder. "It's okay. It's been almost a year now. I'm managing." The War Master could have guessed as much. Moeller had always been a hard worker, but rumors in the Guild said that his trading fleet had grown a good deal larger in the past year. Moeller had never been a man of vice. Instead, Orisis decided, he must have literally worked through his grief, with evidently good results at least when measured financially. Orisis put the thought aside for later. He said, "I will light a candle for her." Moeller nodded. "Thank you, War Master. That would mean a good deal to me." Then Moeller paused a moment as if considering something. At last he said, "Listen. Why don't you come see me after your commission here is finished. I've a new contract with House Il'Danati, and though the Stone God knows you're not the cheapest member of your Guild, I could use a good hand to guard my ships on the journey. Can you make some time in your schedule?" "It would be my honor, Gustav," Orisis replied. "The Isle of Fire can be a dangerous place without the proper guardian or guide." Moeller smiled. "Excellent. Now if you'll excuse me..." Orisis nodded at the dismissal. "Of course. Thank you, sir. I shall look forward to seeing you." * * * "I still don't understand why you have to leave," Karissa said. It sounded almost like a whine. "You could stay the day. Then we could--" "Gods woman!" Modor exclaimed, "Is there no pleasing you?" He turned away and looked out the window. His time with Karissa had been more than pleasant, but he knew that he needed to be away and soon. "It's not that," Karissa said. She looked away. "It's certainly not that. It's just..." She got up and began pacing restlessly. "It gets so lonely here," she said, "and none of the other girls like me very much. You don't know what it's like to be somebody else's plaything." Karissa looked down at her feet sadly. "I'm a neglected toy," she said. Modor struggled to contain a retort. Just then, he'd have gladly stuffed her into his backpack and if that would have guaranteed he could get safely away. But that wasn't possible. He pulled himself away from the window and looked Karissa in the eye. "Listen to me," he said, "This is dangerous. I've got to get out of here. Can't you help me?" Karissa turned away. "Karissa? Please don't be like that." "You're such a poop." "Maybe I am," Modor said, wrapping his arms around her. "But I'm a poop who cares for you. Surely that's got to mean something." Karissa brightened. "Of course it does. I just don't want you to go is all." "But I can come back... as long as I get away clean." "Really?" "Really," Modor replied. He tried not to let the relief show in his face. "Just help me get out of here, and I'll come back to see you as soon as I can." "That's great!" Karissa exclaimed. She pulled Modor to the window and pointed down towards a nearby garden. A lone white-haired figure was walking amongst the stones. He had clearly broken away from the main throng of morning worshipers, though Modor had no idea why. Karissa said, "Getting out is easy. All you've got to do is get one of those white robes. Then you can walk out after the service is over with all the other worshippers." * * * War Master Orisis at the front gate looking at the broken lock when the commotion started. He turned to find several of Belam's guards hauling an unconscious man up towards the gate. Orisis sneered. He couldn't yet see the man's face, but he could already tell that the man reeked of cheep booze. Still, he had surprisingly expensive-looking clothes. And how had a white-haired geezer like that managed to destroy the compound's heavy iron lock? Orisis stopped mid-thought and looked closely at the supposedly drunken man. Blades of Fire, he thought. "Put that man down now!" Orisis commanded. "What?" said the nearest guard, the one holding the man's feet. He looked confused. "Ain't this the guy what busted the gate down last night? We was just gonna take him outside and dump him in the street. Weren't gonna hurt him none." "Fool," Orisis replied, "That's Gustav Moeller. Dump him in the streets, and I guarantee you will be dead by mid-week. I will carry out the commission personally." The guard blanched. Orisis smiled thinly. But though intimidating the guards was enjoyable, it didn't answer the question of what had happened to Moeller. And where was his robe? Orisis turned quickly and scanned the area, but he didn't see anything suspicious inside the compound. He looked beyond the gate. Again, he didn't see anything immediately. There were a several groups of worshippers walking away from the compound in small knots of conversation. Beyond them was a single large man already shedding his robe. None of that seemed out of the ordinary until the large man had the robe completely off. Then Orisis noticed that he was carrying a massive sword. "What do you want us to do with him then, your Excellency?" Orisis waved his hand back at the gate guard dismissively. "Put him in my quarters," he said. "I'll be back to check on him in just a few minutes." * * * Modor's mood improved immediately once he was outside the compound. He dropped the old man's robe in an alley trash heap and put his sword's baldric back on his shoulder. He silently congratulated himself on getting away clean. "Cuckolding the High Priest of the Stone God is a dangerous proposition." Modor turned at the sound, ready to do violence to its owner, but the man who had spoken backed away before Modor could grab his collar. "Tell me," the man said, "Can you think of any reason at all why I should let you live? I feel certain that Cindar Belam would pay me for your dismembered gonads." Modor tried hard not to let surprise show on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about, War Master," he said. "I'm just out for a morning stroll. Why should that concern the Stone Priest?" The War Master stepped in close and looked directly into Modor's eyes. He said, "I am not a fool, Modor. I saw you dump a white robe back there in the alley. And I know your reputation well. I also know the man from whom you stole that robe. So tell me, was she worth it?" Modor took a step back. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the War Master. He also wanted time to remember the War Master's name. "What do you want?" Modor asked, "Whatever chance you had to kill me quickly was gone when you gave up the element of surprise. Without that, not even you could best me before the City Guard shows. So this must be about something else." "Perhaps this is simply about knowing whom I am to kill later," The War Master replied. "After I have discussed the matter with Cindar Belam and secured a paying contract for your execution." "My crew won't let you just kill me like that. You'd have to kill all of us." "What of it?" Modor swallowed. "But that doesn't make any sense. You must want something. Can't we help you somehow?" The War Master smiled. The expression was nasty. At last Modor remembered that the man's name was Orisis. He was an utter mercenary, even by the brutal standards of his particular Guild. "As it happens," Orisis said, "I think there is perhaps something you can do for me. You have heard of the Tower of Al-Kafiri? Yes, I can see that you have. Well, High Priest Belam retained my services explicitly for the purpose of retrieving a certain artifact from within the Tower, the Eye of Giscaine. It is no more than a trinket, really, but Belam wants it, and he's paying. "I was going to go there myself and retrieve the item personally, but as it happens, now I have you to do the job for me. I find that desirable. The job requires discretion, you see, and you have no known ties to the Stone God. Do you follow?" "So we break into the Tower and steal the Eye, and then we're square? That's it?" Orisis nodded. "Fine," Modor said. He smiled. "I just need something to pay my crew." "Then I suggest you steal enough from the Tower to cover your costs," Orisis replied sharply. "You will do this job for free, and after it is over, you will thank whatever gods you choose for the opportunity to continue breathing." "Don't push me, War Master," Modor said, "We can be on the next ship to Agathon if we need to be." "And? Belam would pay me to follow you to Agathon, surely." "That's ridiculous. If you think--" "Mind your mouth, Modor. I am your employer now." Orisis paused and considered for a moment. Then he continued, "And tell me the name of your lover while you're at it. I think I shall extract some concessions from her as well." "What? No!" Modor cried. That went way beyond simple bargaining. "I'd rather die than betray a lover and risk my friends' lives for nothing." Orisis looked at him. Modor could tell that the War Master was studying him, trying to decide if what Modor had just said was true. Well, Modor thought, let him look. It is true, and if that bastard thinks he's going to just kill me where I stand, he's in for a rude awakening. At length, Orisis seemed to realize as much. He nodded and said, "Very well. I shall give you three crowns per man. But I want the name of your lover in return. Are we agreed?"
