The Stone Priests Wife
I. Alaira's Date
"Well, how do I look?" Alaira asked. She held her hands away from her sides and turned to show off her dress. It was the red silk number she'd bought with the proceeds from their last job, and it hugged her waist nicely. The slit up the side showed her legs to their best advantage.
"You look great," Belle replied. "You always do. Not that it's going to matter."
"Gods, Belle, do you have to be such a downer?" Alaira turned on her heel and started back towards the Trainer's Area. "Modor appreciates me."
Belle hurried to catch up. "Modor appreciates everyone with a nice set of legs."
"Oh come on!" Alaira said. "That's not fair. Modor's had it pretty rough. But in his heart, he's just like everybody else. He wants to be loved."
"By everyone."
"No. By someone who loves him back. I'm his friend. That means something to him. He just hasn't realized how much yet."
"Maybe," Belle said. She sighed. "I mean, yeah okay, you're not just another one of his fight groupies. I know that. And I know he cares for you. But that won't change who he is."
"That's why we have to hurry!" Alaira smiled at her friend and then pushed her way through the door into the Trainer's Area. Save for the occasional fighter packing up his gear, the room was deserted. It was sad. The night's violence was over, and its place there was only the wreckage of men trying to pick up whatever pieces remained.
Alaira was athletic more than beautiful, but she knew that what she'd told Belle was true. Modor did appreciate her. She just had to make him see how much. To that end, she'd worn her hair combed over to one side and lightly curled—just the way he liked it. Happily, the curl seemed to be holding despite the locker room's humidity. Of course, there wasn't much she could do about the scar on her cheek, but then again, Modor had scars, too. That was one of the reasons she liked him so much.
She took a moment to straighten her dress and to make sure that she was as presentable as she could be, and then she opened the door to Modor's private room. She frowned. Her heart fell. Modor was already in conversation with someone.
Alaira shook her head.
The hussy with Modor was barely more than a teenager. She was also obviously rich. Her translucent silk robe—and the rubies on her rings, bracelets, and earrings—made that abundantly clear. And yet, despite her money, her clothes barely sufficed to hide her well-fed figure. Her robe was so short that it was almost unfit for polite conversation. Unfortunately, she was also young enough that her rich girl's diet hadn't yet gone to her hips. Alaira hated her for that. She might have taken the girl for little more than a provocative innocent were it not for the way that the girl's fingers trailed down Modor's bicep and across his chest when she spoke. As it was, the girl's eyes were just a little too large to be convincing.
Alaira inhaled sharply. She realized that she recognized the girl! By the Gods, Alaira thought, what is Modor thinking? Thankfully, at that moment he saw Alaira and cut his conversation short. He touched the girl's arm, and she turned. She smiled and waved. Despite herself, Alaira waved back. A moment later, the hussy was gone.
"You're insane. You know that, right?" Alaira asked when she and Modor were alone with Belle.
Modor sat down in his favorite wicker chair. His smile told the world that he knew he was always right. "Insane is such a strong word," he mused. "I am... aroused."
Alaira pointed back towards the door. "Do you know who that was?"
"Of course. Don't you?"
Belle interrupted. "I thought that guy had you beat out there tonight."
"Oh come on," Modor replied. He turned to face Belle. "You know me better than that."
"You keep dropping your left, and eventually somebody's going to make you pay," Belle said. "Even the great Modor Ulgoth can be beaten, you know."
"You just want to see me lose. But it ain't gonna happen."
Despite herself, Alaira laughed. It was indeed hard to imagine Modor losing a fight. He stood nearly seven feet tall and was clearly more than human. Bent, cornered ears and a single protruding incisor spoke clearly of an infernal heritage about which he himself rarely said anything. Yet for all that, the man, if a person with a pure-blood demon in his ancestry could even be called a man, had a ready smile and chiseled musculature that made women swoon. Plus, his long-standing success as a prize fighter gave him a notoriety that many found attractive. Alaira knew that she shouldn't have been surprised to find him already engaged in conversation when she arrived, especially given that he'd triumphed in the ring earlier that night, but knowing a thing and being emotionally prepared for it were different propositions. Knowing that she should have been prepared didn't make the actual discovery of a romantic rival any less disappointing.
Still, as Belle had pointed out, Alaira was Modor's friend—even when she wasn't his lover.
"You must know that Cindar Belam isn't going to be happy when he learns you've been ogling his newest trophy wife," Alaira said.
Modor leaned back and put both hands behind his head. "By the time I'm through with her, my ogling will be the least of Belam's concerns, trust me. I dare say that he'll be more than merely unhappy... if he ever finds out."
Alaira shook her head. "When are you meeting her?"
"Tonight." He shrugged. "It's a new moon, and she seemed anxious."
Alaira grunted. Without thinking she said, "I should go with you."
Modor sat up abruptly. "Do you want to?" He smiled again. "I'd thought to make it a tête-à-tête, but the lady is a bit of a vixen. I'm sure she'd be up for something more."
Alaira blushed and looked away. "That's not what I meant."
"Are you sure?" Modor got up from his chair and cupped Alaira's face in his hands. She tried not to enjoy it. "I think she would like you, and I know I would love sharing her with you." He paused for a moment. "That's a lovely dress, by the way."
Alaira's blush deepened, and she pulled away. But even as she did, she knew a part of her wanted to go with him. Modor would need help getting into Belam's compound, and that was help she could provide. And more to the point, Alaira didn't want Modor to forget about her while he was off playing with a newer, younger strumpet. Alaira could well imagine the size of Modor's ego after he'd had his way with half of Belam's harem. Despite his vow of celibacy, Cindar Belam, the High Priest of the Stone God in the City of Brega, was reputed to possess one of the finest collections of female flesh in the entire Empire. Cuckolding such a man would please Modor to no end.
"Fine. I'll go," Alaira said at last.
"You will?"
Belle slapped her forehead. "I can't listen to this. If either of you need me, I'll be with Xarian."
It was easier for Belle, Alaira knew. Though Belle had been with Modor for years, she and Modor had never been intimate. Modor had found Belle when she was still a teenager at a monastery at the base of the Alacian Moutains. Alaira didn't know why Belle had chosen to leave the cloister and follow a half-demon across the Empire to the port city of Brega, but she knew that their friendship was a central facet in each of their lives. Still, it was difficult to imagine a more mismatched pair. Where Modor was beautiful, Belle was bizarre. She was whip-thin and bare-scalped except at the base of her skull. There she wore a ponytail of dirty red hair tied closely in a knot. Her eyes were almost unnaturally large.
That made it no easier for Alaira to meet Belle's gaze.
Modor came to Alaira's rescue. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said, "Buck up, kiddo." He pointed at Belle. "This heathen doesn't understand the value of a night of a thousand pleasures. That's not your fault."
"Whatever you say, Boss," Belle replied. "At least Alaira can help keep you from getting caught. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not find you hanging from the gallows tomorrow morning." Belle looked at Alaira. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
"Yeah," Alaira replied, "Thanks."
II. The Journey To Cindar Belam's Harem
Brega, the second city of the great Agathenian Empire, dominated the Empire's southern hemisphere. Located at the mouth of the Silver River, it commanded the largest harbor outside of the national capital zone and was therefore both a major trading port and an important cultural nexus. A dazzling spectrum of goods and persons flowed through Brega's port. And while it was true that there was occasional violence in the city's streets, these skirmishes were related to business deals gone wrong far more often than they were to the eternal struggles inherent in an area where several peoples lived in close proximity. Some racial and cultural tensions bubbled below the surface of Brega's communal consciousness, but these were largely muted by the fact that the city itself had been an important trading port since long before its amalgamation into the Empire. Thus, it was cosmopolitan in a way that most of the rest of the Empire wasn't and couldn't be. That was what Alaira liked best about the city. In Brega, one could find everything.
But there were limits.
A polite half-demon wearing all black and carrying a five-foot goblin-steel bastard sword that he affectionately called Fang was one of those things that was odd enough to give even Brega's worldly citizenry pause. On any normal day, Modor would simply have plowed his way through the city's Market District with reckless abandon. He'd have drawn some angry stares, sure, but at the end of the day, passersby would have recognized him as just one more impolite sell-sword in a city teeming with soldiers-for-hire. However, the site a giant dressed in all black and acting sheepish at the slightest nudge made even the most disinterested observers take note. Alaira was therefore hardly surprised when a pair of City Guardsmen peeled off from their posts and began following Modor. Of course, that meant they were also following Alaira since Alaira was walking with Modor, but fortunately for everyone, Alaira was considerably less noticeable.
There was little choice but to leave Modor to his own devices and hope for the best. Thus a few minutes after she spotted their tail, Alaira asked Modor to wait for her at the gate to Belam's compound and then stopped in one of the Market's many shop stalls. The guards passed her by without so much as a second look and continued on after Modor. She considered killing them and hoping that the night's darkness would hide the bodies until she could get away but ultimately decided that incapacitating them would arouse less suspicion. So long as no one noticed their absence, Alaira thought it likely that the guards would not even report they'd been mugged.
She struck from behind long before either of the guards realized he was in danger. She then pulled their limp bodies off into an alley shadow and splashed them liberally from a flask of cheap whiskey she kept for just such occasions. Passersby would see a pair of drunken Guardsmen. That was hardly an uncommon sight.
Half an hour later, Alaira stood before the gates of the Stone God's compound trying hard not to be annoyed. Modor hadn't waited for her. In fact, he hadn't even attempted to hide his entrance! Instead, he'd simply shattered the gate's lock with his sword and then nearly brained the attending gate guards when they came to investigate. She frowned. The compound's walls rose perhaps nine feet on either side of a massive wrought iron gate, but while that suggested several methods of entry to Alaira, the fact that Modor hadn't waited for her made the point irrelevant. She was glad that Modor hadn't killed anybody, but it was a minor miracle that the alarm hadn't been raised. Modor hadn't even shut the gate behind him! She had half a mind to leave him to his own devices right then and there, but the clumsiness of his entrance made her fear for his safety.
With a shake of her head, Alaira shut the gate and pulled its heavy chain back into place. She then pulled a wire from her hair and wrapped it around a link from either side of the chain, tying the links loosely in place approximately the way the lock must have held them before Modor smashed it. Alaira then pulled the lock back into place and secured it with the wire. Her quickie repair job would never stand a close inspection, she knew, but it might fool bored guardsmen until dawn. With that done, she dragged the two unconscious guards around a corner and splashed them with the same cheap whiskey she'd used on the city guards. If the Gods willed it, that would be enough to make them hold their tongues about the whole incident.
Alaira vaulted the walls a moment later and considered the rest of the compound. A row of hedges flanked a reflecting pool directly in front of her. Beyond the pool stood a marble-domed cathedral with the manse and a low building that was presumably the servants' quarters sitting adjacent. All three were carved from solid marble. Alaira didn't know which building housed the harem or even where Modor had arranged his liaison, but she didn't think it would matter. She knew she'd be able to find her friend if she simply looked for him.
A few minutes later she was perched on the roof of the manse watching as Modor "sneaked" towards a small but lavishly decorated building adjacent to the servant's quarters. That must be the harem, she thought. She smiled as she watched Modor try to climb onto the building's second story balcony. She couldn't hear him cursing, but she saw him stomp in frustration after his second attempt to climb the building's drainpipe. Alaira laughed. Then a soft ripple of laughter joined hers, peeling out into the night from an open balcony door, and suddenly Alaira was no longer amused. A rope-ladder made from tied bed sheets snaked down towards where Modor stood in growing frustration. Then the girl in the silk robe appeared on the balcony. Her name was Karissa, Alaira remembered.
Alaira got up to join them, but then she saw Modor take Karissa into his arms. They kissed. Alaira stopped. This wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to end up alone, either, but try as she might, she couldn't reconcile herself to the idea of watching Modor make love to another woman.
It wasn't fair! She'd looked damn good in that red dress, she knew, and if Modor couldn't see it, then he was a fool.
Suddenly, Alaira needed a drink.
* * *
Belle was surprised when Alaira walked into the Gilded Goat later that night. She could tell that her friend was upset, but Alaira waved her off before she'd gotten close enough to ask what had happened. Instead Alaira walked over to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. This was tossed back without so much as a shiver. Alaira then climbed to the top of inn's central table. Belle watched helplessly. Conversations stopped.
"There ain't a real man in this entire place," Alaira declared. She spat. "Who's gonna prove me wrong?" Several rough looking men started to get up. Alaira pointed to one with her empty shot glass. "You think you can drink me under the table, big man?"
Belle sighed. Then she headed to the bar for another round. If Alaira was bent on self-destruction, the least Belle could do was help the process along.
III. The War Master
The Stone God's compound in the city of Brega was located on prime real estate—on a bluff overlooking the city's bay, far from the noise and traffic of the Docks District. Morning found War Master Orisis at the edge of the cliff looking out over the water for something he knew was mostly likely not out there. He'd come to decide once and for all how to handle his present commission. But though his thinking spot was as beautiful as ever, the answers to his questions continued to elude him, and now time was starting to running out. Cindar Belam had thus far been more than patient with his War Master, but he'd made it abundantly clear at their last meeting that the time for consideration and reconnaissance was ending. Belam expected results, and soon.
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 War Master's 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 retrieve the Eye of Giscaine through main force, Belam had been specific that this was not what the job required. No, Cindar Belam wanted it done quietly. He wanted to possess the Eye, yes, but he wanted to do it in a way that would not invite war between the Stone God's Faithful and the outlanders of the Al-Kafiri clan.
Anyone could retrieve the Eye via simple violence. Belam had hired a War Master because he wanted the job done with discretion.
Orisis close his eyes. Brooding on the problem would not 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. Thoughts of the Tower came to him. Perhaps he could go in through the sewers...
Orisis shook his head. It was no use. His thoughts would not be so easily quieted. 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 simple riposte. Orisis closed the circle and brought both of 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 warmed. 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 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 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 of the Tower's many guards and then theoretically walk right in through the gate wearing the guard's robe-like uniform. The problem with this was that the Tower was home to one of Brega's most 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 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 below.
Then there was the 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, and that would allow him time to 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! He thought. There has to be another way.
Orisis kicked a rock in frustration. It sailed out over the edge of the cliff and into the bay below. Orisi 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 far more comfortably than was his norm. Karissa's bed held him cocoon-like in a state of drowsy luxury the like of which he'd never before imagined. 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. 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, either. Had Alaira been there, Modor was sure she could have handled the problem without issue, but Alaira hadn't shown. Modor had no idea where she'd gone, but he was sure she was okay. Had she been caught by Belam's men, guards would have long since come looking for him, too. The fact that Modor had slept soundly meant that Alaira had made other plans. But what that meant in turn, he had no idea. It wasn't immediately important.
Karissa's smile brought Modor out of his reverie. "Good morning," she said. She rolled over and ran a finger across his cheek. "I'm glad you're still here."
Modor looked towards the balcony. The sun was still rising. He kissed Karissa's forehead and then started getting up. "You're right. I need to go."
Karissa grabbed his arm at the wrist. "Don't leave me." 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 being alone was difficult to contemplate.
He held her face in his hands. "I wish I could stay. But the longer I'm here, the more dangerous it gets."
"Some risks are worth taking." She kissed his chest and then his stomach. Then she winked and began working her way lower.
Modor lay back and let her work. He knew he should get up, but somehow he couldn't. He had no idea how he was going to get home in broad daylight, but Karissa was right. Some risks were worth taking.
* * *
After his exercises, Orisis walked back towards the compound's main gate. Though his present commission weighed heavily in his mind, he had other things to think about as well. For one thing, it was the Sabbath, which meant that the morning's supplicants were about to arrive. And although it was not strictly a part of his duties, Orisis made it a habit to observe the compounds guards at such times. 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 services rendered. And then too, Orisis had no way of knowing what his next job would be. Belam had many enemies both inside the city and beyond its borders. It was entirely possible that one of these would become Orisis's next patron. In such a case, the War Master's familiarity with the temple's routines would be an 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."
Orisis turned to see who amongst the herd would dare call out to him. His eyes went wide. The speaker was Gustav Moeller, the leader of one of Brega's most powerful merchant syndicates. Though white-haired and wrinkled, Moeller's eyes were sharp. His body was wiry and strong.
Orisis bowed and smiled. "Why good morning, Mr. Moeller. May the Peace of Stone be upon you."
"I wasn't aware that you'd found faith," Moeller replied.
"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 the comment. "Of course." He turned away from the cathedral and began walking back towards one of the compound's many gardens. "No doubt Belam's got plenty to keep you busy..."
Orisis gestured towards the cliffs and the bay. "I am just here for the view."
"Sure you are."
"But I am!" Orisis 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's 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. "My wife is buried in that one."
Orisis let his eyes fall to the ground. "I'm so sorry. 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 was not surprised. Moeller had never been a man of vice. Instead, Orisis decided, he must have literally worked through his grief, with evidently good results if one judged by the rumors running around the guild house. Orisis put the thought aside for later. "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. "Listen. Why don't you come see me after your commission here is ended. 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 me," Karissa said. It sounded almost like a whine. "You could stay the day. We could—"
"Gods woman! Is there no pleasing you?"
"It's not that." Karissa looked away. "It's certainly not that. It's just..." She got up and began pacing. "I get so lonely here. None of the other girls like me very much, and there's never any fun. You don't know what it's like to be somebody's plaything." Karissa looked down at her feet. "I'm a neglected toy."
Modor struggled to contain a retort. His time with Karissa had been more than pleasant, but they both knew that he'd stayed too long. At that moment, he'd gladly have stuffed her into his backpack and taken her home if that would have guaranteed the safety of his escape, but that wasn't possible. He needed to be away and soon.
"Listen to me, 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, "But I'm a poop who cares for you. 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."
"You would do that? Really?"
"Really," Modor replied. He tried not to let 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!" She pulled Modor to the window and pointed down towards a nearby garden. A lone white-haired man wearing the white robe of a supplicant was walking amongst the stones below. 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 worshippers."
Modor grabbed her and kissed her soundly. "Gods you're beautiful!"
* * *
War Master Orisis was looking at the broken lock on the front gate 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. And he wasn't even a supplicant. How had a white-haired geezer like that managed to destroy the compound's iron lock? Orisis wondered. Then he saw the man's face.
Blades of Fire, he thought. "Put that man down now!"
"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'll be dead by next week. I will personally carry out the commission."
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 and scanned the area. He didn't immediately see anything suspicious, but that didn't mean there was nothing to see. He looked beyond the gate. Again, he didn't see anything. Several groups of worshippers were walking away from the compound. Beyond them a single, muscular man was shedding his robe. None of that seemed out of the ordinary. Then Orisis noticed that the man was carrying a sword.
"What do you want us to do with him, your Excellency?"
Orisis waved his hand. "Put him in my quarters. I'll be back shortly."
* * *
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 swordbelt back onto 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 him.
"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. "I am not a fool, Modor. I saw you dump a white robe back there in the alley. And I know your reputation. 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 quick 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—after I have discussed the matter with the High Priest 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 Eye 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. "You will do this job for me 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. 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 put a finger to his lips. "And tell me the name of your lover while you're at it. I think I shall extract a few concessions from her as well."
"No!" That went way beyond simple bargaining. "I'd rather die than betray a lover and risk my friends' lives... especially for nothing."
Orisis looked at him. Modor could tell that the War Master was studying him, trying to decide if what Modor had said was true. Well, Modor thought, let him look. It is true, and if that bastard thinks he can just kill me where I stand, he's in for a rude awakening.
At length, Orisis seemed to realize as much. "Very well. I shall give you three crowns per man. But I want the name of your lover in return. Are we agreed?"
IV. Xarian Awakens
Despite having what promised to be a legendary hangover, Xarian woke up happy. This was because he awoke between two beautiful women. And though they'd both spent the night with him, they could hardly have been more different in host of other ways. The girl on his left, for instance, was no conversationalist. Her fiery red hair, generous curves, and enthusiasm for her work more than made up for it, of course, but still, it was one of the ways in which she was entirely unlike the girl on his right. Plus, Xarian knew, the girl on his left would leave when it was time for her to go. This too was not likely to occur with the girl on the right. For the girl on the left, the whole affair had been nothing more than a job, and one for which she was well qualified. Reticence, enthusiasm, and professionalism were desirable traits in a working girl, after all. And after she was gone, Xarian wouldn't miss the girl on his left. The girl on his right, however, was a different proposition all together.
Just looking at her made Xarian smile.
Xarian hadn't expected his night to end so well when it had begun. He had, in fact, been deep into his cups when Belle had found him at the Gilded Goat. She'd arrived in a foul mood that might have killed another man's evening. Fortunately, Xarian had had little desire for conversation. The two friends had therefore drunk in a sort of mutually acceptable silence that others might have found off-putting. And both had been surprised when Alaira had showed up later in the night. Belle had immediately gotten up to greet Alaira, but Alaira hadn't been interested. Instead she'd loudly challenged all comers to drink her under the table, finding no shortage of would-be champions. Xarian couldn't remember who called it quits first, but he knew that the game itself had endeared Alaira—and by extension the group—to the rest of the bar's patrons. He'd soon found himself telling tales of their exploits to any and all who would listen. Alaira had hung on his arm while a small army of hearty scoundrels listened in rapt attention.
As the night wore on, Xarian inevitably began thinking seriously about suitable female companionship. He'd surveyed his audience and decided on the buxom redhead, only to discover that he hadn't the coin to retain her services. Dismayed, he'd grown quiet again. However, Alaira had again come to his rescue, getting Xarian to admit what was bothering him and then flatly refusing to allow him to go home disappointed. After a brief dicker, they'd decided to split the woman's costs as well as her services and another bottle of whiskey. Xarian didn't know what had happened to Belle after that, and he didn't care. He'd had Alaira, and Alaira had had the redhead, and as far as he was concerned, it had been a magnificent evening all the way around.
Xarian enjoyed watching Alaira sleep. He'd been worried about her when she'd arrived at the Golden Goat, but now she slumbered peacefully. Whatever had been bothering her, he hoped she'd gotten over it.
A moment later, Xarian's door crashed inward. He sat up in bed just as a bolt of pain exploded behind his eyes. Xarian's dreams of staying in bed all day died instantly.
"Wake up!" Modor cried. "We've got a job!"
For a moment, Xarian was dumbfounded. Modor had lost his mind! "What the Hell's the matter with you?" Xarian asked. Then the pain in his head hit him full force, and he could do little besides cradle his face in his hands.
"Bah!" Modor replied. "We've got work and no time for your bellyaching."
Xarian watched in horror as his friend walked towards the bed.
"Modor no!" Alaira cried, finally coming to her senses. But it didn't matter. Modor gripped the mattress firmly and smiled like a hungry savage.
"Wait!"
But it was too late. Modor ripped the mattress up into the air, sending Xarian and his ladies flying.
"Damn it to the Hells!" cried the red-head, awake at last and in a fury. "What in the Great Blazes?" She stopped when she saw Modor glaring at her. "Right, I'll just collect my things then."
"I'm sorry about this," Xarian said.
The red-head didn't reply. She didn't even look at him.
Alaira watched her go. "Gods Modor! You have an absolute gift for ruining a good thing."
Xarian looked at her. Despite his pique, he couldn't help smiling.
Alaira returned his smile with a glare. "What the Hell are you looking at?"
"Sorry," he said, "I just—"
"Don't go gettin' all funny on me now, Xarian," Alaira said. She got to her feet but made no effort to cover herself. Instead she self-consciously touched the scar on her right cheek. "Lordy, that's all I need."
Xarian sighed. Alaira could be like that. She had scars, and not just on the outside. She'd have your back in a fight, and he'd seen her share herself ten ways in a house of pleasure, but real affection was a difficult issue for her. He knew, for example, that she'd never have spent the night with him without the redhead's presence. She could share a woman and a bottle of whiskey and call it casual, but a moment of honest intimacy was out of the question. It was a pity. Xarian could see past the scars to the quality of the woman beneath, but that didn't matter so long as Alaira herself couldn't see it.
And as long as Modor's hanging around, Xarian thought. But he knew that wasn't fair. Modor hadn't made even a cursory effort to monopolize Alaira's time. If anything, Modor pushed Alaira away more often than not, especially since he himself seemed intent on bedding every woman in Brega and a great many beyond its borders. That Alaira was attracted to Modor was undeniable. It was equally undeniable that Modor would never be hers. Not in any sense that truly mattered.
Xarian pushed himself up and walked to his medicine cabinet. He pulled out two glasses and a small bag of white powder. The powder, a general health tonic of his own design, wouldn't fix everything, but it would take the edge off of his hangover. That would have to be enough.
"So what's this job?" he asked. He handed Alaira a glass of the tonic and then took a sip from his own.
"Yeah," Alaira said, "Surely Cindar Belam didn't hire you, so what's the deal?"
"No, Belam didn't hire us" Modor said. Then he smiled. "But I did meet his War Master on my way home."
V. The Tower of Al-Kafiri
The sewer tunnel under the Tower of Al-Kafiri was a dark, compact place with a squishy floor covered in the gods-alone-knew-what. The air was foul with the inescapable stench of excrement. Combined with an already wretched headache, it made Alaira feel more miserable than she's ever imagined possible.
"You sure you're all right?" Belle asked.
Alaira turned and looked up. "I'm fine!" It wasn't true, but Alaira didn't want to waste time answering her supposed friend's stupid questions. Lying in a pitch black sewage pipe covered to her elbows in human waste would tend to put anyone off her game.
"Okay," Belle said, "Whatever you say. It's just that with your hangover and whatnot, I thought maybe..."
Alaira turned and looked Belle in the eye. "Will you shut up, so I can concentrate? Picking this lock is harder than it looks."
Alaira turned back to the lock and again tried to focus, but it was tough with her headache. It didn't help that the sewer slime was making her tools slippery. She'd had to lie down in the tunnel's sludge just to reach the lock, which was bolted to the bottom of the metal grating that stood between Alaira and her friends and the Tower of Al-Kafiri above. Alaira had argued against infiltrating through a two-foot tube filled with human waste for the obvious reasons, but stupid Modor had insisted it would be safer than trying to go in through one of the Tower's many upper story windows. Thinking about it did little beyond making Alaira angry. She took as deep a breath as she dared amidst the tunnel's stench and tried to relax. Then she leaned into the grating to try to gain more leverage. If she could just force her picks a little further into the keyhole...
"Dammit!" she cried.
She slipped forward and only barely avoided landing face first in unspeakable muck. As she fell, the lock let off a loud click. A small dart flew from the keyhole into the sludge below. It missed Alaira's hand by a quarter inch. Had Alaira not slipped, the dart would have hit her left palm dead center.
Belle reached down and grabbed Alaira by the shoulder. "That's it. You're done. I'm going back to go get Modor."
"No! I can do it!"
"Do what? Get yourself killed by a poisoned dart?" Belle said. "I don't doubt it."
Alaira looked up from the sludge. "Why don't you try worrying about just yourself for change? Let me worry about me." Unlike Alaira, Belle hadn't had to actually get down into the muck yet. She was still clean.
"Come on, Alaira," Belle said, "Don't be like that. I was only trying to--"
"Save it. Let's just get this done. It's not even noon, and I already need a drink."
"Wonderful. Considering how much good last night's drinking did you, I can't wait to see what this next round's gonna do." Belle shook her head. "I told you that you were headed for a heartbreak last night."
"Did I look lonely to you this morning?"
"Fine. Have it your way." Belle looked towards where they'd left Modor and Xarian further back in the tunnel. "But if you wanna self-destruct, do it on your own time. And try not to take the rest of us with you, okay?"
"I told you I'm fine!" Alaira cried. "Gods! Weren't you going to go get Modor or something?"
"Great. I'll be right back."
Alaira fooled with the lock a bit more while Belle was gone, but after a while, she knew it was pointless. She wanted to close her eyes and put her head down, but in the nastiness of the sewer main, that was completely out of the question. Instead she sat up and did her best to clean and put away her lock picks.
A few minutes later, Modor crawled up to where Alaira was sitting. She looked at him and shook her head. "I can't get it."
"Can't? Or don't want to?" Modor's skepticism was obvious.
"Can't Modor." Alaira pointed to the lock. "Look at this damn thing. It's not some cheap City Sanitation Department lock. This is an expensive piece of equipment. And it was trapped." Alaira pointed up to indicate the people in the Tower above them. "Those wizards set this here on purpose. They've obviously considered that some idiot might try to break in this way."
Alaira shook her head angrily. "I told you this was a mistake. It's gods-damned disgusting, too. Dammit! I don't even know why I'm here."
"You're here for three crowns and the chance for more," Modor said, "You're here because—"
Alaira cut him off. "Three crowns! Modor, I wouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning for three crowns. No, I'm here because you had to bang somebody else's hussy and got caught doing it. Idiot! I'm here because a War Master wants to feed you your balls! Now I'm elbow-deep in human shit, and—"
"That's enough, Alaira." Modor put his hand on her shoulder. Despite herself, she appreciated it. "No one wanted to have to break in through the toilets, but you know damned well that there's money to be made here. But if you really can't pick the lock..."
"Since we're already here, do you mind if I take a look?" Xarian asked. He shimmied past Modor to get a better look.
It would have been a tight fit under the best of circumstances, but with all of their gear, it was more than tight. It was impossible. Though Xarian was nowhere near as large as Modor, he'd carried a huge backpack into the sewers in addition to his blunderbuss. Meanwhile Modor was enormously tall and wide, a reality made worse by the fact that he'd come dressed in his black half-plate armor, and he'd brought both of his swords. Fang was bad enough, but Claw, Modor's massive six-and-a-half foot claymore, made moving in the tunnels nearly impossible for him, even when he was moving alone. Plus Modor had also brought his tower shield. Alaira shook her head and backed out of the way. Xarian's blunderbuss was bad enough, but she had absolutely no idea how Modor was going to get up a two-foot pipe carrying all that stuff.
Once Xarian was in position and had had a moment to look things over, Modor asked, "Do you think you can blast it?"
"I doubt it," Xarian replied. He frowned. "Even if I'd brought that much powder, I don't think the tunnel's ceiling would survive the concussion. Plus, the noise would almost certainly alert the Tower."
"Yeah," Modor said, "That's no good. Even if we could fight our way past all the guards and wizards and whatnot, it still wouldn't accomplish the mission. We have to keep this quiet. Anything that could potentially lead back to the Stone Priest is a non-starter."
No one said anything for a few moments. Eventually, Xarian pulled off his pack. Without a word, he started rummaging around inside, eventually emerging with a thick rubber-stoppered bottle.
"I haven't had a chance to try this yet," he said, "and I have no idea how well it'll work on iron..."
Modor looked curious but said nothing. Xarian unstoppered the bottle with obvious care and dripped a few drops of its liquid onto the lock's heavy iron hasp. He then replaced the stopper and returned the vial to his pack.
"Now what?" Modor asked.
"Now we wait."
The next quarter-hour wasn't pleasant. Modor didn't like waiting, but he didn't have any choice. He kept glaring at Alaira as if to remind her that it was only because of her failure that they were forced to wait in the first place. Alaira could tell that Xarian didn't like waiting, either, but at least he didn't glare. He did, however, look manifestly uncomfortable resting on his hands and knees in three-inch-deep sewer slime. The only group member who didn't seem overtly hostile was Belle. But Belle had been acting like a self-righteous bitch since the prior evening, so her presence was hardly reassuring. Eventually, Alaira turned away from her friends, deciding instead to stare at the wall. It smelled awful, but at least it wasn't angry with her.
Stupid Modor, she thought.
A few more minutes passed. At last Xarian said, "Okay. Try it now."
"Finally!" Modor exclaimed. He reached for Fang.
"Gods! Don't use your sword!" Xarian cried. He fussed in his pack and emerged with a two-pound hammer and a small crowbar. These he handed to Modor. "Here. Always use the right tools for the job."
Modor growled. Looking more than a little skeptical, he placed the crowbar into the lock's hasp and held the hammer up to strike. "Like this?"
Xarian shook his head. "Just get on with it."
Modor turned back without replying. He struck the crowbar.
"God of Fire!" Xarian cursed, "Not like that. Put some ass into it."
Modor glared, but Xarian returned his gaze without flinching. After a moment, Modor turned back to the lock. He raised the hammer and then dropped it thunderously onto the crowbar. The hasp shattered.
"Finally!" Xarian said, making fun of Modor's earlier exasperation. He pushed past and opened the gate, and then he held it open with a flourish. "After you."
* * *
Modor led the way up into the shitter. It was a more than tight squeeze through the foulest space imaginable, but it was the best—and according to War Master Orisis, the only—way to get into the Tower undetected. Modor tried not to think about what else was in the little tunnel with him. And he tried not to breath.
The stench was the worst of it. Thankfully, there were few actual objects blocking his ascent, but that didn't change the fact that Modor was crawling through others' fecal matter. The connecting pipe was just over a dozen feet long, gently sloping from the main sewer line up to a larger space with three holes cut in the ceiling. Those three holes were the actual toilets, Modor realized.
The collective space under the toilets was made of stone and had rungs set into the walls. Modor used these rungs to pull himself up out of the pipe, avoiding the worst of the toilet pit's foulness. He didn't hesitate but instead instantly stuck his head up through one of the toilet's seats.
* * *
Khalid hadn't had a good morning. He'd had a fight with Safir, his second wife, who was a beautiful woman but who was also a constant pain in his ass. Then he'd overslept and been late for work, causing his captain to yell at him. And then the wizard Zafa had gotten angry about something that Khalid still didn't understand. Still, as Khalid headed for the basement toilets, his mood improved. He grabbed the handle for the toilet's door thinking, At last I can have some peace and privacy. Every man is a king when he sits upon the universal throne.
Khalid entered the toilet and closed the door behind him. Then he turned. He froze. His mouth fell open.
A monster was climbing out of the toilet!
The monster reached for him. It grabbed his shirt and began to pull him closer. Khalid watched helplessly. He tried to scream, but his voice failed him. The monster snarled.
At last Khalid screamed.
* * *
"Gods dammit, shut up!" Modor yelled. He slammed the man's head into the stone and then pulled himself up and all the way out of the toilet itself. The man dropped to his knees and then fell over onto his side, out cold.
"Think you could make some more noise next time?" Alaira asked. She climbed out of the next toilet over. "I'm not sure they heard you up on the roof."
Alaira looked like Hell. She'd managed to keep her face mostly clean, but her hair and her clothes were streaked through with a muck that Modor didn't want to contemplate.
"You need a bath," he said. "There's supposed to be a bathhouse down here somewhere. If we can keep it quite—"
A voice outside the door interrupted Modor's thought. "Is everything all right in there?" it asked. The door opened, and a man stuck his head in. Like the man Modor had assaulted, he had a beard and was wearing robes. "What the Hell?"
Alaira's dagger answered, slamming into the wall next to the man's head. The man disappeared instantly. The door slammed behind him.
"Move dammit!" Alaira said as she shoved past Modor. "If he gets away, the whole place'll know we're here! Then this'll all be for nothing!"
VI. Disaster!
Alaira ran out of the latrine, cocking her crossbow as she went. She turned a corner, took aim, and fired in one fluid motion. Her bolt struck the Kafiri soldier squarely in the back of the neck, piercing his throat and leaving him dead before he could make another sound. But there was no triumph in the kill. All Alaira could think about was how badly she wanted to bathe.
"Nice shot," Modor said when he came up behind her.
"You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me clean up this body?" Alaira asked. She gave Modor a look that she hoped would take the decision out of his hands.
"Right," Modor replied.
Without a word, he grabbed the dead man under the arms. Modor had little trouble lifting the man, despite the fact that he was literally dead weight. Alaira watched them go. She had no desire to witness what would come next. Modor already looked like utter shit. Foulness ran down his neck and the back of his head and all across his normally gleaming black armor. She could only imagine how much worse he would look after he had hacked two Al-Karfiri soldiers' into pieces and then stuffed them down the toilet.
She pulled a rag from one of her belt pouches and began to wipe up the bloody streaks left behind by the soldier she'd shot.
I hope I die in soapy water, she thought.
* * *
"Pretzel while you wait, sir?" a voice asked.
Orisis turned. "What?"
A boy stood next to him hocking pretzels. He was a street vendor, Orisis realized. Of course, Orisis had known that Kafiri Square was a major Bregan marketplace, but still the boy had taken him completely by surprise.
"Do you want a pretzel, sir? While you wait, I mean," the boy asked again.
"What makes you think I'm waiting?" Orisis noticed that he had been tapping his foot. He took a deep breath and uncrossed his arms. He tried to look casual.
"Sir?" the boy asked, "You been starin' at the Tower there for nearly three quarters of an hour. Ain'tcha waitin' for one of them wizards?"
Orisis sighed. Despite himself, he'd begun to question his decision to use Modor and his company to go after the Eye. Orisis still had no desire to go through the sewers, but that was little comfort considering that a goodly portion of his professional reputation now rested in the hands of a man he hardly knew. Still, given their method of ingress, the mission should be a relatively easy one. It should be all right, he knew. But Orisis was a man who was used to making his own luck. It was bad enough that he was not in a position to help events go his way. Not knowing what was going on was intolerable.
And yet, he reminded himself, using Modor had been a good play. Modor had no known ties to the Stone God. Even if things went wrong, the situation would be salvageable. Orisis just had to get into a position to help events fall in the direction he wanted.
Orisis looked down. The boy was still staring at him, making no effort to hide his curiosity. "He must be an important wizard to make a War Master wait."
Orisis forced himself to smile. "All wizards think they're important."
"I'm surprised you don't just go inside and see what's keeping him."
* * *
"Now, about those baths," Alaira said when the others had joined her in the hallway.
"No time," Modor replied. "We need to get the Eye before those two are missed. We can't afford to be seen here, and you know it." He handed Alaira one of the dead guards' robes. "Here. This is a big place with a lot of soldiers. Nobody can possibly know everyone."
Alaira couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You think we're going to be able to sneak out of here looking like this? And smelling like this?"
"We only have to make it up two flights," Modor replied.
Xarian handed Alaira a warm, wet towel. She wondered where the Hell he'd gotten it. "At least wipe your face," he said.
She smiled.
He shrugged. "Best I could do on short notice."
Alaira wiped her face and her hair and tried not to think about the rest of her body. When she finished, she handed the towel back to Xarian. He smiled at her again. She shook her head. She turned back to Modor. "You're pushing me too far this time. I hope you know that."
"I'll make it up to you," Modor replied. "I promise."
Alaira smiled. "You better."
Behind Xarian, Alaira could see that Belle had already cleaned herself as best she could. And she already wore one of the guards' robes. Alaira donned the other and then led the group to a nearby stairwell. Heading up the stairs she thought, Just two flights up, grab the Eye, and walk out. And then Modor will owe me one--big time. All I have to do is get us out of here without getting caught. That should be easy.
At the top of the stairs, the stairway opened onto an alcove, which in turn led to a massive stone-floored courtyard. Sunlight streamed in through sets of stained glass windows on every side. In the courtyard itself, a groups of soldiers drilled at weapons practice. All wore robes similar to the ones Alaira and Belle were wearing. Beyond the soldiers lay a set of shadowed archways leading back into the recesses of the Tower itself. Through one of the archways, Alaira could see sunlight.
We're close, she thought.
She turned and motioned for Modor and Xarian to stay in the stairwell. Then she pointed to Belle and gestured for her to follow. And then, with one hand on her dagger, Alaira stepped out into the courtyard.
She more than half expected to be challenged by every soldier in sight, but no one paid the least attention to her. She and Belle walked up a set of stone steps without being seen. In the robes of the Tower's soldiers, they were practically invisible. A moment later, they stood outside the room that War Master Orisis said belonged to Khalid Al-Kafiri, the present owner of the Eye of Giscaine. Alaira started to knock but then thought better of it. Instead, she turned the handle and walked boldly into the room.
"Excuse me, Master Khalid?" Alaira said without preamble, "I'm sorry to disturb you."
"Yes? What is it?" the wizard asked. He turned.
He was an older man, perhaps sixty, and he smiled when he spoke. Alaira shot him in the forehead with her crossbow before he'd had time to fully register her presence.
"Blazing Bulls!" Belle cried behind her.
"Shut the door," Alaira replied.
"You don't think that was a bit brutal?"
Alaira didn't turn answer. If Belle wanted to go on acting like a naive bitch, that was on her. Alaira wasn't going to help by feeling guilty about doing what was necessary. Instead, she walked over to where the wizard lay in a pool of his own blood.
"I need a fucking bath," she said more to herself than to Belle.
She turned back to the wizard. His dead eyes stared up at her. She ignored them. She ran her fingers under his robe. His flesh was still warm to the touch. At last her fingers settled on a heavy gold chain. As gently as she could, she lifted the dead man's head and slid the chain out from around his neck. Alaira held up the chain and looked at it. A round medallion hung at its end. A single ruby of perhaps eight carats was set into the medallion's center.
"Think this is it?"
Belle nodded. "Yeah. Orisis said he'd have it on him. You want to search the rest of the room?"
Alaira shook her head. "No. Let's just get the Hell out of here." She didn't wait to see if Belle agreed.
A few moments later, the women arrived back where they'd left Modor and Xarian. Alaira saw that the men had grabbed robes and dressed. A part of her wondered where they'd hidden the new bodies. A larger part of her decided she didn't care.
"You ready?" she asked.
Modor nodded. "Let's go."
Alaira followed Modor out into the courtyard. Xarian and Belle trailed behind. Modor took a circuitous route through the Tower's open spaces, obviously trying to keep as far as possible away from as many soldiers as possible. Alaira approved. All she wanted was to get away without being noticed. The hard part was over. Now they just had to get out. Every step brought them closer to that goal.
But then Alaira heard a booming voice. "What the Hell is that smell?"
* * *
Modor turned and tried to look casual, but he very nearly lost it when he saw who was speaking. It was a gods-damned sand giant! In fact, there were three of the big bastards standing just off to one side of the Tower's main gate in one of the looming alcoves. Modor's heart hammered. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Sand giants could be dangerous, but they were hardly deep thinkers. And the gate was barely more than a few dozen feet away.
"Hey you!" a voice called from the other direction. Modor's head whipped around. A human soldier, an officer judging by his red sash and dress saber, was speaking. "Where are you heading? And why on earth do you smell like shit?"
With an effort, Modor smiled at the officer. "Sorry sir," he said, talking fast but not breaking his stride towards the front gate. "We got put on latrine duty. And then Master Khalid told us to—"
Modor never finished his thought. A massive bell's tolling cut him off and sent all around him into a distinctly more alert posture. From the other side of the courtyard another voice called out, "Close the gate! Master Khalid's been killed!"
"Oh hell..." Alaira said behind him.
The officer looked Modor in the eyes. "What's this about Master Khalid?" He reached for his pistol with one hand and beckoned to the sand giants with the other.
There was no decision. Modor simply reacted. He slapped the pistol out of the officer's hand and then forgot about him. The others would have to finish the officer. Modor needed to worry about the giants.
Modor looked at Xarian. "Can you take the last one?"
"I think so." Xarian patted his blunderbuss. "But what about those first two?"
"Leave them to me," Modor replied. He shrugged off his robe and drew Fang. His shield hung loosely at his side. He smiled.
"What's this then?" asked the center giant. A head taller than his fellows, it was obviously their leader. It brandished a mighty hammer as it spoke. "You'd make a nice mid-day snack if you didn't smell so gods-awful."
Modor started to reply, but the giant struck faster than he'd imagined possible. He was barely able to get his shield up in time, and even then, the force of the blow knocked him from his feet. He rolled and spun to his side, landing beside his opponent. Fang slashed through a backhand. The blade caught the giant's leg above its calf, severing the tendons behind its knee. The giant roared and crashed to the floor. Modor reversed Fang and slammed it home. The blade sank into the back of the giant's neck all the way to its hilt. Modor let go and dropped his shield.
He unlimbered Claw. "Your friend was saying something about a mid-day snack?"
The second giant drew an enormous sword. It advanced more cautiously. "You will die in agony," it promised. Its companion stepped to one side, flanking Modor and holding a huge axe.
The sword-wielder struck first. Modor scrambled frantically, barely dodging. The giant's sword struck chunks from the stone floor. Modor recovered quickly, sending Claw through an overhand sweep he hoped would drive the giant back. But even Modor's strength was no match for that of a sand giant. The giant's sword turned Claw without issue. It stepped forward to deliver the killing blow.
Behind it, Xarian's blunderbuss exploded. The third giant cried out in pain, holding its face and bleeding helplessly. The sword-wielder turned in surprise and saw its companion toppling backwards. Then it turned back to Modor. But it was too late. Claw hacked at the creature's thigh. The giant's quadriceps exploded, sending blood spurting in every direction. The giant lurched. Modor stepped in and caught it with a second strike as it fell. Claw opened its jugular. Its lifeblood gushed, coating Modor where he stood.
Modor turned. Alaira had killed the Tower officer. Belle had disappeared. Beyond them a squad of musketeers was forming by the front gate. Modor started to run.
"Follow me!"
But even as he ran, the soldiers scrambled to form ranks and fire.
* * *
Up until the bell sounded, Orisis had enjoyed his conversation with Kaj Al-Kafiri, the surprisingly young leader of the Tower which bore his family's name. Orisis had been surprised by how easily he'd gotten in to see the Tower's leader, but after a few minutes of conversation, he'd come to realize that the Al-Kafiri clan believed itself in need of a War Master. He didn't as yet know why, but he sensed opportunity. It had made it easy to get Kaj to agree to take him on a tour of the Tower's main defenses, and indeed, that was where they had been when Modor and company had emerged from the sewers. Orisis had watched with pleasure while for several long, happy minutes, it had looked as though Modor would get away cleanly—so to speak—while Orisis himself secured a new patron.
Orisis had never been happier.
But then the bell began tolling, and Orisis reluctantly remembered why he'd really come.
"Perhaps you'd like to retain my services now?" he asked Kaj. Like all of his clan, Kaj was a wizard, but Orisis had thus far found him to be a practical man as well.
But Kaj surprised him. "No, my friend," he said. He laid a hand on Orisis's forearm and gestured towards a darkened corner. "Watch this."
Orisis did watch. When the sand giants emerged, he watched with something like trepidation. Trepidation that quickly became disbelief. He watched Modor slay one giant after another in rapid succession, and he tried not to gawk. But then a squad of musket infantrymen closed up at the front gate.
"Ah... the sand giants were just a diversion," Orisis said in a voice he hoped sounded casual. "The musketeers will finish it."
"Of course," Kaj replied. He hardly sounded certain.
And indeed, even as he said it, Orisis watched one of Modor's companions drop amongst the soldiers with a pair of knives in her hands. She was strikingly bald save for a shock of red hair at the back of her head. Orisis blinked. He hadn't even seen her. As for the musket soldiers, their surprise was total. A pair of musketeers fell before the rest knew what was happening, and when the others did finally react, it was as a terrified mob rather than as a disciplined fighting force. Then Modor charged into them, laying them out two at a time with a massive claymore.
It was over before it began.
Kaj cleared his throat. "Uh... you mentioned that your services were for hire?" He didn't look at Orisis.
Orisis thought it over. He could take Kaj's money and confront Modor and his company, but that would get him no closer to completing his commission for Cindar Belam. And then too, Modor and his friends were already in a fighting frenzy. And they were formidable. If he had to take them, it would be better to do so from an ambush. Fighting them now would be both foolish and dangerous. Fortunately, the courtyard was starting to fill with gun smoke. And all eyes were on Modor.
Orisis drew his wakasashi and rammed it into Kaj's gut. The wizard's eyes went huge with surprise. Orisis twisted the blade to be sure.
"Sadly my friend, I already have an employer. Though I would have much preferred to do business with you as well."
* * *
A few moments later, Modor led his people into the sunlight outside the Tower of Al-Kafiri. Kafiri Square was packed with people, and it seemed to Modor that all of them were staring in his direction. Most gawked. Some pointed.
Well, Modor thought, they probably weren't expecting to see a war in the middle of their marketplace.
Beside him, Belle said, "Oh man... War Master Orisis is going to be pissed!"
"Tell me again why we didn't go in through a window?" Alaira asked. "Wasn't it because we didn't want to get caught?" She patted Modor on the shoulder. "Good call, chief."
VII. Aftermath
"That was not what we agreed upon, Modor," Orisis said.
Modor didn't turn around. Instead, he spoke as though to himself. "It was a tough job. You knew that going in." Modor took a drag on his cigar. "I want what you owe me."
Modor had made arrangements to meet with Orisis within an hours of leaving Kafiri Square. He'd insisted on meeting at the docks. For his part, Orisis had insisted that the meeting take place after dark. That had suited Modor. Still, even though he'd been expecting Orisis to sneak up behind him, Modor found the experience unnerving. It had required considerable restraint to keep from turning around, especially considering that the War Master probably wanted Modor dead.
"The coin was to be given for stealth. Stealth was not achieved. Give me the Eye, and count yourself lucky to have survived."
Modor took another drag on his cigar. "I know a fence who would give me a lot more than twelve crowns for it."
"There is not one fence in all Brega would touch the Eye after what happened today."
"Good thing my man is in Agathon," Modor replied. He knocked the ash off the end of his cigar. "After all this excitement, that trip's starting to look mighty appealing."
Orisis leveled his gaze. "I could kill you where you stand."
"You could try." Modor put a hand on Fang's hilt. "But now that you've seen what my crew can do, I expect you'd rather not. And let's face it. Even though we were seen in the Tower, you got away clean. That means the Stone Priest got away clean as well."
"And what of your affair with his wife?" Orisis asked.
"Y'know, I've been thinking about that, and Karissa isn't one of his favorites. She told me as much herself. So what I'm thinking is that hunting me down over an affair with a girl he barely knows and rarely sees probably isn't worth his time and effort. Especially if I'm in Agathon." Modor turned and looked Orisis in the eyes. "You, on the other hand, he might feel different about."
"And why, pray tell, would he hunt me down instead of you?"
"Because of the danger to his reputation," Modor said. He shrugged. "I figure he can handle an affair. The man's not an innocent, after all. But he won't want knowledge of that affair getting around. His reputation means something. And you know about the affair. Plus, you're right here in Brega. And the fact that you mentioned it once—even to him—means that you might talk about it again."
Orisis laughed. "Very good. But why would he not kill you for that same reason. Surely even you must realize that your continued existence is a threat to Belam's reputation as well."
"Maybe," Modor said, "but then again, I'm not the one who's threatening to talk. Plus I'm leaving for Agathon tomorrow." He took another drag on his cigar, and when he exhaled, he blew a smoke ring. Then he smiled. "So are you gonna give me my twelve crowns, or are we gonna have to fight about it?"
"Where's the Eye?" Orisis asked.
"It's close."
"Very well." The War Master drew a small purse from beneath the folds of his robe. "Here. It's all there."
Modor smiled. "I never doubted it."
At Modor's nod, Belle emerged from a shadow at the far end of the alley. She handed the Eye to Orisis.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you, War Master," she said.
* * *
Three crowns didn't buy much, Alaira reflected, but they could pay for a bath in a fancy inn and a very nice bottle of bourbon. She leaned back in the soapy water and savored the feeling of being clean. Then she tipped her head back and ran her hands through her hair for perhaps the two hundredth time in the past hour. When she came up, she grabbed her glass.
That's very nice, she thought of the brandy.
She heard the door open as she set her glass down, but she didn't turn around. "You disturb my bath at your peril."
"And here I thought you were waiting for someone to scrub your back," Modor replied. He sat down next to the bathtub and poured himself a tumbler of bourbon. "You did a nice job today."
"Thank you," Alaira replied. She lifted her glass in mock salute.
Modor clinked his glass to hers. He took a drink then started to pull off his shirt.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting ready to scrub your back?" Modor asked in response.
Alaira sighed. It was just too much. She could still see Khalid Al-Kafiri's dead eyes looking up at her, and she could still feel his dead flesh under her fingertips. Like it or not, she needed to process that. And more to the point, she needed to reconsider the people in her life that continually put her in these sorts of life-and-death situations.
Bottom line: she needed a break. From Modor. From burglary. From everything.
"Put your clothes back on, Modor."
"What?" he said, clearly surprised. "But I thought you'd want—"
Alaira looked at him. "What I want is to not have crawl through any more sewers for you. Just let me finish my bath in peace, okay?"
"Then you're not going to Agathon with us?"
"No. You and Belle can go. Xarian asked me to stay here with him, and I'm going to do it. We might head out to Grob's Folly until things cool off, but that's it."
Modor frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. You've been a good friend to me."
Alaira smiled. "I still am your friend. I just need some time to think things out. But don't worry. When you and Belle get back from Agathon, I'm sure we'll all hook up again."
"But—"
"No buts! Now leave me alone. I want to finish my bath."
