Take Your Character to the Level After the Next Level!

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

The release of Pathfinder RPG Mythic Adventures is looming ever nearer, and I know a lot of you are champing at the bit to get your hands on this tome of unearthly powers and epic storytelling! But we at Paizo knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with just one book on mythic power—even a 256-page behemoth like this will only sate the diehard Pathfinder fan’s hunger for so long. That is why, esteemed reader, we are also giving you Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Mythic Realms and Pathfinder Player Companion: Mythic Origins, which bring the majesty of mythic might off of the page and into the world of Golarion!

I’ll let Mark tell you all about Mythic Realms in another blog post—what I’m here to tell you about is Mythic Origins, the book designed to provide your player character with the mighty powers and abilities of such storied figures as Old-Mage Jatembe, the Whispering Tyrant, and even the God-Kings of Ancient Osirion! This Player Companion is full of all sorts of information pertinent to mythic heroes, including details on what it means to be the son or daughter of one of Golarion’s deities, new mythic versions of Inner Sea-specific spells, and entirely new mythic spells and magic items. But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the path abilities—oh, the path abilities! No matter your character’s creed, call, or code, there a power for everyone in this volume, with abilities that allow archmages to travel the void of space in a giant bubble and hierophants to leave entire fields of flora wherever they walk. One of my personal favorites, however, is one that belongs to the champion—the seven-league leap!

Seven-League Leap (Ex): Your leap is so mighty that you defy gravity. Add your tier to Acrobatics checks made to jump. The distance you can jump in a round is not limited by your movement speed. If you are carrying no more than a light load, you can expend one use of mythic power to make a powerful jump that lets you sail through the air. In order to use this ability, you must be able to run in a straight line for 1 minute. Any obstacles or impediments that prevent you from completing this sprint uninterrupted prevent you from being able to use this ability, though the expenditure of mythic power is not wasted. At the end of your 1-minute sprint, you attempt an Acrobatics check and leap a distance up to half the check’s result in miles, rounded down to the nearest mile (for example, an Acrobatics check result of 29 would allow you to jump 14 miles). This trip takes 1 round per mile, and you reach a maximum height at the apex of your arc equal to half the distance traveled. You do not take falling damage from using this ability. You must have a clear arc of travel to complete this jump; if you strike an obstacle mid-jump, you and the obstacle each take a number of points of damage equal to 1d8 × the number of miles you have left to travel. If this damage destroys the obstacle, you continue your jump; otherwise, your jump comes to an end and you fall, taking falling damage as appropriate. You cannot aim this leap accurately, and always land 50 to 5,000 feet (5d%) from your intended destination.

Oh, and did I mention that Mythic Origins is packed full of art for the mythic versions of our most popular iconics? I’m talking about a fully steampunked-out Lirianne, battle-hardened Alain, and a vulpine familiar who gets a fearsome makeover. Maybe it’s best if I just let the art speak for itself. Check out Balazar riding his eidolon toward the great and unknowable Mordant Spire in this illustration by Greg Opalinski!

Illustrated by Greg Opalinski

Get ready to get mythic, because Mythic Origins hits shelves in September. Until next time, Paizonians!

Patrick Renie
Developer

Stargazer

by Chris A. Jackson

Chapter Four: A Matter of Commerce

A nondescript wagon creaked down a dark street of the Inner City, the back piled high with canvas-covered wares and the caravaneers perched on the seat and rails. A single horseman rode beside the wagon, looking ill at ease in the saddle. The wagon stopped just before entering a wide, curved avenue, across which loomed an impressive stone mansion. To the casual eye, it looked just like one of the dozens or hundreds of wagons that passed through Katapesh each day.

It wasn't.

"If the wizard I paid was any good, Celeste's up there." Torius pointed to the tower atop the mansion.

"Looks like Brojanni's still up," Snick said from the driver's seat, nodding up at the lights blazing through the upper windows.

"That can't be helped." It had taken four days to set this up; Torius was not going to let Celeste remain prisoner one night longer.

A spiked wrought iron fence encircled the place, inside which strode four human guards, each bearing a loaded crossbow and the leashes of two snarling hyenas.

"Don't like dogs," the pirate beside Snick complained.

"Shouldn't have to deal with them." Torius nodded to the nearest guard. "Him, however, you'll have to take out, or he'll shoot me and you'll need a new captain."

"And the downside of that would be..." Snick said with a grin.

"Just get us set up, Snick!" Torius wiped his brow and checked his bag of tricks. His hands were shaking again, blast it, and he couldn't stop sweating. He'd finally realized the source of his symptoms: the absence of his navigator, or more precisely, her venom, to which he apparently had become both inured and addicted.

"Here." Snick passed him a small bottle. "Drink it."

"What is it?"

"Pesh brandy; it'll help the shakes."

He wondered how much she knew about the origin of his shakes, then unstoppered the bottle and took a pull, feeling its sweet warmth set his stomach afire. "Thanks."

"Get ready." She glanced at the hourglass that synchronized them with three similar wagons on parallel streets. "It's almost time."

Torius doffed his kaftan, revealing a stout harness over studded leather armor. He took a bottle from his belt and downed the contents; Brojanni was a poison master, so a preemptive cure seemed a good precaution.

The crewmen pulled the canvas off of Snick's baby, already loaded with a special stone-biter bolt. A long, light rope was threaded through the bolt's eye; one end they clipped to the horse's saddle, the other to a heavy ring in the front of Torius's harness. A second line, which was wound around a spring-tensioned drum bolted to the wagon, they clipped to the back of his harness. This was a tensioning line; without it he would be dragged right into the menacing fence.

"You're sure about all this, Snick?" He took a deep, calming breath.

"Trust me, Captain." She gave him another grin, holding up the glass and gripping the ballista's trip cord. "I triple-checked everything. Ready?"

"Hell no!"

"Too bad." Snick pulled the cord. The ballista cracked sharply as it shot the bolt into the night. From adjacent streets, three more bolts shot toward the mansion. Three of the four hit their marks, lodging deep in the stone above the tower's highest window; one glanced off an embrasure and fell. Their assault force had just been reduced by one quarter.

Torius said a short prayer and snapped, "Go!" to the horseman.

The man applied his spurs and the horse bolted back down the street, pulling the line though the bolt's eye and yanking Torius from the wagon. He felt like he was being torn in half; one rope pulled him forward while the tensioning line pulled him back to keep the angle of his ascent above the deadly fence. As he cleared the tines, he saw a guard below raise his crossbow, but a hail of bolts cut him down before he could fire and Torius allowed himself to breathe. Glancing to his left, he saw Grogul and Joss also ascending toward the window.

When his feet were firmly planted against the window's narrow ledge, he unclipped the tensioning line. Grogul and Joss arrived, the former grinning his tusky grin, the latter looking pale but ready.

He had no doubt that Brojanni had some type of ward on his tower windows, but this was where another of his preparations came into play. Torius slipped out the wand he had purchased for this venture—at a cost that made him nauseous when he thought about it—pointed it at the window frame and whispered, "Negate."

Nothing happened.

Three possibilities flashed into Torius' mind: the wand was a fake and he would have to hunt down and kill the merchant he'd purchased it from, the window had no enchantment for the wand to dispel and he had just wasted a charge, or the wand had worked and it was safe. Only one out of the three would get him killed, which wasn't bad odds considering the stupidity of attacking a spellcaster in his own home. He glanced at Grogul and shrugged.

"Bah!" The boatswain kicked in the ornate leaded glass and swung through the opening. Torius followed, and Joss came last.

As they rolled to their feet, he heard the sound he had been dreading; the chanting of a wizard casting magic. He swept his wand in an arc, looking for the source. There were myriad tables, cages, boxes, barrels, shelves and alchemical apparatuses, but no wizard. Then he realized his mistake, and discharged the wand in the direction of the wizard's voice.

Too late.

Brojanni learned a valuable lesson about dealing with pirates. Or perhaps not.

Lightning cracked out of thin air, blasting Grogul against the wall. Torius leapt to the attack, wand in one hand, sword in the other, as Brojanni winked into visibility. Before he could close the gap, the wizard cast a handful of dust before him and began another spell, but Torius was ready this time.

"Negate!"

Nothing happened.

Torius grinned and advanced.

The wizard threw a vial at his assailants' feet, and it burst into a noxious cloud. The acrid vapor stung Torius' eyes and nose, but he felt no other ill effects. Chalk one up for the pre-emptive cure, he thought triumphantly.

Torius and Joss stepped forward, swords poised to strike.

Brojanni backed against the door. "How dare you invade my home, you damned pirate!"

"How dare you steal my navigator, you trite bastard!" Torius shot back. "Tell us where she is and you live."

"I didn't steal your pet naga, Captain. Your own first mate did that for me. I am not going to hand over my property to a common thief, and my guild will have your head if you kill me."

"And my guild will have your head for arranging her kidnapping!" Torius placed the tip of his cutlass against the man's chest. "Now, hand her over."

Brojanni's face abruptly softened from a sneer to a smile.

"Captain, please, we're both businessmen. The naga's venom is all I want. When mixed with refined pesh, it makes an interesting poison. I expect to make a fortune from it. A fortune we could share." He raised his hands in submission. "This is simply a misunderstanding in a delicate matter of commerce. I see no reason why we can't reach a mutually beneficial agreement with no guild involvement."

"Like what?"

"Sell me her venom! If you sign a contract to bring me regular shipments, I'll give you the naga."

Torius opened his mouth to tell the wizard what he could do with his contract, then heard distant shouts from beyond the door.

"Those are my guards, Captain, and I daresay there are more than you can oppose. Decide quickly!"

Torius's mind raced. "Five hundred gold per ounce, six ounces per month, guaranteed."

"Three hundred and ten ounces per month."

"Four hundred and eight per month."

"Done!"

Torius lowered his sword. "Where is she?"

"Just behind that wall, Captain." Brojanni produced a key from his sleeve.

"Joss, see to Grogul. We just made a deal."

"Aye, sir!"

"This way, Captain." Brojanni stepped to the shelf-lined wall. He moved a pot and fit the key into a hole. Silently, the entire wall swung out.

Inside, Celeste lay restrained by an iron collar chained to two bolts in the walls. The room was crowded with other devices and a table laden with vials of pearly white liquid.

She rose on her coils, her dark eyes wide. "My captain!"

"Release her!" Torius's hand began to sweat on his sword hilt.

"Captain, please. The monster is dangerous without the enspelled collar. Let me place a charm on it for our protection."

"Fine. Do it now."

Torius tensed as the wizard cast his spell, then stepped over and touched the iron collar; it glowed briefly and fell away. "Your owner has come for you, Celeste. You can go with him as soon as we sign a simple contract."

"Of course," she said, slithering submissively after them.

Back in the outer room, Brojanni bent over his desk to gather paper and quill. Torius sidled over next to Celeste and aimed his wand.

"Negate!" he whispered

This time, something happened.

Celeste coiled and struck, sinking her fangs into Brojanni's neck. He reeled, and again she bit him, hissing with rage. The wizard fell against the desk, and she sunk her fangs into his chest, flexing her powerful body before releasing him. Brojanni slumped to the floor, gasping for breath, his skin nearly as pale as Celeste's. Once more, she reared back, ready to strike.

"Celeste! Enough!" Torius stepped forward, but she turned and hissed at him.

"This man..." she seethed, "this beast chained me and kept me from seeing the stars! He forced me to trade my venom for a mere glimpse of the sky! I'll have him dead!"

"Wait, Celeste! Please. It's complicated. We can't kill him. It'll start a guild war." He stepped between them and turned to give her a secret wink. "In fact, I'll need to give him the antidote to your venom right away." He turned to Brojanni and handed him a large flask. "Drink this. It'll ease the poison. Quickly!"

The wizard took the flask and drank greedily, then slumped back. His hand dropped to the floor, releasing the flask as his eyes glazed over with forgetfulness.

Celeste hissed angrily. "You...you mean to let him live? After what he did to me?" She lashed her tail. He'd seen her agitated before when she'd been too long from the stars, but never this bad.

"At least he won't remember it." Torius looked down at the man's slack face. "Trust me, if I could kill him, I would. Do you have any idea how much that elixir he just gargled was worth?"

"We gotta go, Captain!" Grogul rumbled. He and Joss were busy barricading the door.

"Grogul! You okay?"

"Bah! Nothin' but a little burn." He brushed charred leather away from the healing scar on his chest. "Joss fixed me up. But we better get before this door gives way."

"We've got to go, Celeste. Now! I'll make it up to you." He pulled out a potion vial and held it while she drank. He heard Joss gasp as she morphed into a beautiful nude woman, but he didn't have time to deal with that right now. He draped a cloak across her shoulders and the four of them dashed for the window.

∗ ∗ ∗

The stars shone like jewels overhead as Stargazer sailed beyond the glow of Katapesh. Torius stepped out onto the deck, his hands behind his back. Celeste was coiled at the rail, gazing up and swaying sinuously with the roll of the ship while the crew tended to their duties around her.

"For you." Torius held out an exquisite sextant wrought in bright silver.

Celeste's smile gleamed as she floated it out of his hands. She peered through the lens and hissed with delight. Leaning close, she nipped his neck; the faint rush of weakness and euphoria was like a breath of sea breeze, and Torius sighed.

"You must have done well with the sale of the Gods' Tears to afford such an instrument," she said.

Torius looked around guiltily to ensure that none of the crew stood within hearing, then whispered, "Actually, after paying the crew and buying that, the money's mostly gone. We've got to find a rich merchant ship if we're to keep in provisions."

"Then I will find one for you," Celeste agreed, turning her face to the night sky. "And the stars will be our guide!"

Coming Next Week: A brand new story featuring Tantaerra from Ed Greenwood's new novel, The Wizard's Mask!

Read more about Torius, Celeste, and the crew of the Stargazer in the new Pathfinder Tales novel Pirate's Honor, available now!

Chris A. Jackson is the author of the Scimitar Seas nautical fantasy series, which has won sequential gold medal awards for fantasy from ForeWord Reviews, as well as Weapon of Flesh, Deathmask, A Soul for Tsing, and the Cornerstones Trilogy. He lives with his wife on a sailboat in the Caribbean. For samples of his work, his blog, and his convention schedule, visit jaxbooks.com.

Illustration by Greg Opalinski

Stargazer

by Chris A. Jackson

Chapter Three: Blood and Information

It was late, and the doors of Gozreh's temple were closed, but it was not so late that a bit of judicious knocking didn't get a response. A young acolyte cracked the door and squinted at Torius dubiously.

"Yes?"

"We need to speak to the high priest immediately!" Torius gestured to the stiff form in Grogul's arms. "My friend..."

"The high priest is eating his supper." The acolyte seemed unmoved by the plea. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"We are faithful to Gozreh!" He produced the small golden leaf on a chain from the neck of his robes. "And we are not without resources." A handful of gold reinforced the plea, and gained them entry.

Like all temples to Gozreh that Torius had seen, this one was open to the sky, its walls of joined driftwood servin...g only to keep out the unfaithful, not the elements. In its center sat the traditional large pool of water, surrounded by native plant life. Katapesh being Katapesh, however, this particular temple was far from the humble hermitages and shrines one might find on a distant coast or otherwise uninhabited island. The head priest wore fine robes, and looked as if it had been some time since he last slept out under the open sky. He sat at a beautiful wooden table next to the reflecting pool, and looked none too pleased at being interrupted.

"It's late, Captain." The aged priest wiped the grease of his curried goat stew from his long beard. He squinted down at Snick's corpse as if it somehow offended him. "And there is no hurry. Perhaps in the morning."

"I've donated enough to your coffers in years past to buy this temple thrice over," Torius seethed, one hand clenching the hilt of his cutlass. "We urgently require information that our friend may have learned just prior to her death. I'm willing to pay whatever you deem fair."

"Oh. Well, information comes easier than treatment of her... um... condition. For a generous donation to the temple, we may be able to accommodate you."

"How generous?" Grogul growled, his flinty eyes narrow.

"And before you answer, consider my longstanding, and potential future support of this temple." Torius reached for his belt pouch.

After some haggling, they came to an agreement, and the priest led them across the garden and over to a stone slab, deeply engraved with the Gozreh's leaf symbol.

"Place her there."

When Grogul complied, the priest produced a matching leaf pendant from his robes and began a careful incantation. The symbol glowed with a deep blue light, and Snick's morbid features suddenly stirred. Sightless eyes blinked, and her mouth twitched, but her color remained the ashen hue of death. Grogul muttered an oath and took a step back.

"Ask your questions," the priest instructed.

"Snick!" He stepped forward. "Snick, I need to know where they took Celeste!"

"Celeste..." The gnome's voice was raspy, undoubtedly the result of being garroted. "They took her... Don't know where."

"I need to know about Caliel. What did he do with Celeste?"

"Caliel!" Her sightless eyes flung wide, pale lips drawn back in a rictus snarl, she hissed, "Traitor! He sold her to a man."

Torius' blood ran cold in his veins. "To who? Who paid him?"

"Don't know... Didn't see his face... Wizard."

"Blast!" Torius clenched his fists and thought furiously. "Do you know where Caliel's gone to?"

"No. South... Told his men Grand Arch at dawn."

"Good! Thank you, Snick." He rested a hand on her cool shoulder. "You rest now."

The spell faded, and Snick's pale features stilled.

"It will be expensive to bring her back, Captain," the priest warned.

"I don't care. I'll pay it." Torius looked up at the heavens and a shiver wracked his body. Could Celeste see the stars she so loved? Would she ever observe the night sky again? He knew what she would become if that was denied her for too long. He turned away without another glance at the priest. "Come on, Grogul. We've got to get back to the ship. We've got an appointment at the Grand Arch at dawn."

∗∗∗

The crewmembers of the Stargazer were with him. Pirates they might be, but loyalty to one another was the key to their success and survival, and avarice was in their blood. Consequently, the opportunities to repay the treason of fellow crewmembers and reap a share of Caliel's payment for the sale of their navigator were serious incentives.

Well before dawn, Torius, Grogul and a dozen pirates were hidden among the simple homes along the road between Twilight Gate and the Grand Arch Bridge. Just as the sun peeked over the sea, seven desert-cloaked riders exited the gate astride fine mounts and headed toward the bridge.

"Horses," Grogul muttered with a note of disdain. "Figured that and brung a little surprise." He delved into a large bag and withdrew a heavy bola.

"Where'd you learn to use a thing like that?" Torius eyed the ungainly device dubiously.

"Wasn't always a pirate, Captain," the bosun replied with a grin.

"Fine. Just don't tip our hand." He watched the riders closely; they wore dust cloths across their faces, but he knew Caliel when he came close enough. When they were in position, he gave a high-pitched whistle and stepped into the street in front of the horses. Half his sailors stepped out beside him, and the rest filled the street behind the riders. Every pirate bore a loaded crossbow.

"That's as far as you go, you mutinous piece of dog meat!" Torius drew his sword and the riders pulled their mounts to a halt.

"Vin! How in the depths of Hell—"

"The shipmate you murdered gave us just enough information to find you, Caliel. Snick isn't here to cut her due out of your traitorous hide, but I'll wager you got enough from selling my navigator to pay a cleric for her return."

"Snick's dead?" Honest surprise registered in the half-elf's eyes. "Nosey gnome. I didn't mean for that to happen, Torius. She killed herself with her own damned curiosity."

"You might sell that to the dung collectors, but not to me, Caliel. I'll make you a deal. If you drop the gold you made from selling my navigator and tell me who you sold her to, I'll let you be on your cowardly way. Otherwise..." He gestured to the bowmen.

"Your navigator is a scaly monster, Vin!" The man hefted a long spear. "And you're the coward! No stomach to be a real pirate! We could have made twice what we got on that last take if you had any stones! A hold full of silks and fifteen new slaves would have paid well, and nobody would have been the wiser!"

"I told you when you came aboard that I don't deal in people," Torius said, his voice low and dangerous as he hefted his silver-hilted cutlass. "And there wasn't time to take anything more. You know that."

"Because you don't have the balls to kill a bunch of bloody merchants!" Caliel hawked and spat. "Did that scaly witch of yours chew off your manhood, Captain Vin? Is that why you're so craven?"

"Tell me who you sold her to, Caliel, or I swear by Gozreh, I'll take your head."

"You mean you'll try!" The riders kicked their mounts into a charge, spears set like lances.

"Fire all!" Torius shouted, and the crossbows cracked.

Three men fell, but Caliel and the others rode on. There was not a faint heart among his crew, but pirates are unaccustomed to facing a cavalry charge. They dove out of the way; only Grogul remained, his tusks bared as he threw his bola. One of the horses went down screaming, its rider pitching forward to land with a sickening crunch.

Torius stood his ground, reaching for a pouch at his hip. He focused on the gleaming tip of Caliel's spear and threw the pouch down hard, right in the horse's path.

It was just a simple firecracker, but the sound spooked the horse, which threw off Caliel's aim enough to save Torius's life. The tip of the spear creased the captain's shoulder, but his cutlass caught the traitorous first mate squarely in the stomach. Caliel fell from the saddle and landed in a bloody heap.

Another horse screamed in agony, and Torius heard Grogul bellow, but his attention was fixed on Caliel. He dashed to where the man lay clutching the slithering mass of his eviscerated abdomen.

He put the tip of his cutlass to his first mate's throat and said, "Who'd you sell her to? Tell me!"

"Or what?" Caliel spat, his lips flecked with blood. "You'll kill me?" He laughed horribly, then coughed, choking on his own blood.

"Or by Gozreh, your soul gets bound and sold to the foulest necromancer I can find." He withdrew an ornate crystal vial from his belt—nothing but an empty perfume bottle, but Caliel didn't know that—and pressed the tip of his cutlass into Caliel's neck. "There are things worse than death, my friend."

"A poison-crafter named Brojanni. Offered me enough for my own ship... The money's on my horse." Caliel grinned through the blood. "You said you'd let me live."

"I lied." Torius allowed the man a moment's realization before he ended his life in one quick slash. It was better than he deserved.

"Captain!"

Torius turned to see Grogul standing over a dead horse and rider. Blood dripped from both his axe and the spear that transfixed his thigh. The boatswain reached down and snapped the spearhead off, then yanked the shaft free. Torius swallowed.

"One got away." The half-orc pointed to the bridge where the last of the traitorous pirates was riding at full gallop.

"I got what I needed, Grogul." He cleaned his sword and sheathed it. "Have the men round up the horses, and bind up that leg. Our traitorous first mate just supplied us with sufficient funds to bring Snick back and heal your hairy carcass up in the bargain."

"Bah! Just a poke with a stick!" the boatswain claimed, barely limping as he shouted orders at the pirate crew.

∗∗∗

Not even death fazes Snick.

"This isn't good, Captain." Snick huddled in a blanket, her face flushed a living hue as she recovered from her brush with death. "Not only is Brojanni a wizard, he's an alchemist specializing in poisons, which explains why he wanted Celeste! And he's alchemist guild. The Pactmasters won't like it if we storm his fancy home."

"I'm guild, too, and he stole my navigator!"

"You're guild?" Grogul asked, taking another swig of his medicinal fish oil whiskey. The smell of it nearly made Torius retch.

"Merchantmen's guild," Torius explained. "Can't sell anything in this city without it."

"That's not going to do you much good, Captain, because technically, he didn't steal Celeste. He bought her, which is perfectly legal." Snick shivered and clutched her blanket closer. "The masks won't like it if you kill him."

"I don't want to kill him, Snick. I just want Celeste back." Torius suppressed a shiver of his own, and began to wonder why he was feeling like he'd just woken up from a two-day binge.

"So we go in quick, take her, and give him a swig of that memory-enema potion," Grogul suggested, taking another deep draught.

Torius swallowed hard and tried to think. Grogul's idea wasn't half bad, but they would have to make sure it happened like that, quick and without repercussions. The last thing he needed was to tangle with the Pactmasters. Katapesh was his home port; if he lost his standing here, he'd be cast adrift.

"Okay, we do like Grogul suggested. Quick in and out, and the good Master Brojanni doesn't even remember that we were there." He shivered again.

"You okay, Captain?" Grogul squinted at him.

"I'm fine." He reached for a bottle of spiced rum that he kept for his own medicinal purposes. "Snick, I think we'll need to bring your babies out of bed for this one, and I'll need to make a trip to the Repository. We'll need gold to do this right."

"How much gold?" Grogul's eyes narrowed in worry.

"All of it, I think." Torius suppressed another shiver. "When you confront a spellcaster, it's best to have a few tricks on hand."

Coming Next Week: The thrilling conclusion of Chris A. Jackson's "Stargazer."

Read more about Torius, Celeste, and the crew of the Stargazer in the new Pathfinder Tales novel Pirate's Honor, available now!

Chris A. Jackson is the author of the Scimitar Seas nautical fantasy series, which has won sequential gold medal awards for fantasy from ForeWord Reviews, as well as Weapon of Flesh, Deathmask, A Soul for Tsing, and the Cornerstones Trilogy. He lives with his wife on a sailboat in the Caribbean. For samples of his work, his blog, and his convention schedule, visit jaxbooks.com.

Illustration by Greg Opalinski

Stargazer

by Chris A. Jackson

Chapter Two: Stealing the Stars

"Don't put us downwind of the slave markets, Caliel." Torius scanned Katapesh's busy docks, looking for ships that he might prefer to avoid. The list had become quite long.

The mate sneered. "Squeamish, Captain?"

"It's the smell, that's all." Torius tended to steer clear of the slave markets for other reasons, too, but his crew need not know all the details of their captain's past.

"Smells like half-orc day at Trillia's Bathhouse!" Snick chimed from beside him, her sea-green hair fluttering in the breeze. The crew chuckled and Grogul growled low in his throat.

"All secure below, Snick?"

"Well, of course, sir! All my babies're off to bed." Snick's ‘babies' were the twelve ballistae that Stargazer bore. When in Katapesh, his home port, he ordered the huge crossbows dismantled and hidden in the smuggling niches crafted into the spaces between the ship's decks. The gnome looked indignant at the suggestion that she might be slacking. "We're nothin' but a merchant ship now."

"Except for that ruddy great reptile in his cabin," a crewman muttered.

"Good." Torius ignored the comment. Celeste's magical talents and her value as a navigator and astrologer far outweighed the risks of having her aboard, and every member of the crew knew it.

He scanned the crew and nodded his approval. Though they still bore weapons, they looked little like pirates. Their dark leathers and bandanas had been replaced by loose vests, colorful pantaloons, and varied desert headdresses. As captain, Torius wore a dazzling white kaftan that was subtly enchanted to keep him cool in the blistering heat. Only Grogul still looked menacing, stripped to the waist and showing his impressive array of scars. He'd traded his axe for a pair of long kukris tucked crosswise under his sash at the small of his back.

"Might need a trip to Jexler and Young's, though," the gnome continued. "Those swimmer bolts just don't seem to be quite—"

"First things first, Snick." Torius ruffled her hair, smiling when she grimaced and slapped his hand away. "And the first thing is to conclude our business."

When the ship was docked and all secure, Torius turned to his first mate. "Caliel, deal with the fees and bribes to the dockmaster and see to provisions and repairs. Grogul, you're with me."

The pirate captain crossed the gangplank and headed uptown as if he hadn't a care, for all the world a merchant and his bodyguard out for a stroll. The burlap sack over Grogul's shoulder was nondescript enough to be holding laundry, but inside their prize lay nestled in a padded leather pouch, a fortune for the selling. Torius had long ago learned that the most effective means of stealth is often to appear as if you have nothing to hide at all.

∗∗∗

"May Abadar smile on your every endeavor, Master Alchemist." Torius bowed low and backed out of the shop's opulent back room, smiling through the bitter taste of both the dark tea he'd been forced to drink as a matter of custom and the poor deal he'd just struck.

"That took too long," Grogul said with a scowl.

Torius handed over a small bag heavy with gems and nodded to the door, but once outside he grumbled, "And they call me a pirate!"

"What happened?"

"Oh, just haggling," he said, then lowered his voice. "We've been paid, Grogul, but not what we were promised. I should have expected it, really, but there's nothing we can do."

"You said we had a contract."

"We did, but that thief caught me broadside. If I threatened to take our business elsewhere, we'd soon have Benrahi Ekhan himself on our tails." He shook his head ruefully, then cocked a wry grin and clapped the burly half-orc on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Grogul. We still made out well, just not as well as I'd wanted." He glanced at the angle of the shadows. "Come on; we've got to hurry to make it to the Immaculate Repository before dusk."

"Bankers..." Grogul muttered, matching his captain's long stride. "Now there's a band of pirates!"

Grogul is a bosun who gets things done.

They were met with aplomb at the Repository, and the certificates of appraisal that accompanied the gems were quickly verified, their value deposited in his account with a scribbled number on a leger. Torius withdrew a sum in gold for the crew's shares and all the expenses associated with maintaining Stargazer, and they headed back to the ship. Dusk in Katapesh reminded him of twilight on a tropical reef—the time of day when predators began to hunt—but two well-armed men cognizant of their surroundings had little to fear from common thugs. They arrived at the docks just as the sun's glow faded behind the city's gilded domes, but the welcome they received was more chilling even than the coming desert night.

"Captain!" A crewman named Joss ran up as they crossed the gangplank. "You're free! Where's Mister Caliel?"

"What do you mean, ‘free'? Why wouldn't I be?" The chill slithered down Torius' spine.

"But the slavers, sir! We got word a gang of Duenas took you, the filthy hyenas, and Mister Caliel—"

"Where is Caliel, Joss?" He scanned the worried faces and shivered.

"Mister Caliel took half a dozen men and went to rescue you. This feller said he knew where you was, but that it'd take some doin' to get you back. He, uh..." The man balked, biting his lower lip. "They took yer navigator with 'em."

"Celeste?" The chill clutched his heart like the hand of a lich. Torius gripped Joss's vest, jerking him off his feet. "Where?"

"We don't know, sir! That feller, he just spoke to Mister Caliel. The mate said they'd need yer navigator's help to get you back. She took that potion that makes her human and left with 'em, all cloaked and secret-like. Then Snick followed 'em. Told me somethin' weren't right and she'd find out."

"Damn!" Torius released the man and began to pace Stargazer's deck, his mind awhirl. "And nobody recognized this man? Did Caliel call him by name?"

"Oh, aye! Called him Vemmy. I heard him."

"Vemmy..." The name meant nothing to Torius. He glanced at Grogul, who knew every sneak and informant on the docks, but the boatswain shook his head.

"Never heard of him, but I know someone who might."

"Let's go." Torius turned back to Joss. "Keep the ship secure. Nobody, and I mean nobody, comes aboard. If Caliel or Snick come back, they stay put. Understand?"

"Aye, sir!"

∗∗∗

Nowhere in Katapesh is the night darker than beneath the Night Ramp, with its seedy cluster of tents where informants and black marketers ply their trade. Grogul led Torius past clusters of men sitting around small charcoal fires cooking meat of dubious origin on metal skewers to a canvas-shrouded stall near the Obsidian Wall. There, an old woman sat smoking a pesh pipe, her knobby, misshapen feet propped up on a stool.

Grogul didn't bother with formalities or introductions. "Need to find someone, Hound."

"Nice to smell you, too, Grogul. Who's your friend?" She sniffed, then blinked, the lamplight glinting on the haze of her unseeing eyes. "Don't think I know his scent."

"I'm Captain Vin of the Stargazer." Torius stepped forward. "We're looking for a man named Vemmy."

"And what are you willing to pay for this, Captain Vin?" The old woman puffed on her pipe, drawing the acrid smoke deep into her lungs and holding it there before exhaling. She smiled, thin lips pulling back over elongated canines. Her name, it seemed, was apropos.

"Gold or steel," Torius said, a hand on his sword hilt. "Gold if you tell us the truth. Steel if you lie."

"I never lie, Captain. There's no profit in it." She took another puff from her pipe. "Twenty scarabs."

"Ten," he countered.

"Seventeen."

"Fifteen." He was in no mood to haggle, but if he didn't, he risked being marked as moneyed prey.

"Sixteen, then, if you insist."

"Done." He counted out the coins, but kept them in his palm. "Where do we find Vemmy?"

"Street of the Seven Suns, north of The Block. He works for whoever pays him, and isn't particular."

He handed over the money. "Thank you."

"You already have, Captain." She laughed and jingled the money in her hand before slipping it into a pocket.

"Come on." Torius grabbed Grogul's arm and turned him north.

A quarter of an hour and dozens of twisting streets later, they entered the Street of the Seven Suns. Most of the stalls in the bazaar were closed, but the alehouses and pesh pits were open for business. A few questions and some judiciously applied silver pointed them toward a narrow alley and a dark second story flat.

"Round the back," Torius instructed his boatswain in a whisper. "If he bolts..."

Grogul nodded and vanished around the corner, stealthier than his bulk would suggest possible. Torius gave him a moment to get situated, then climbed the rickety stair, the boards creaking under his weight. There was a click as the door opened, and the glint of starlight on metal. Torius dodged as the crossbow fired, and felt the bolt tug at the sleeve of his robe. He drew his sword and dashed up the stairs before the man could reload.

The door splintered under his onslaught, but he only caught a glimpse of the man's boots vanishing out of a small window. He heard a crash, then a grunt and a scream. He leaned over the sill.

"Grogul?"

"Got him, sir." The half-orc was bent over a prone form.

"Dead?"

"Not yet."

Torius ran back down the stairs and around the corner. Grogul bore a cut along his cheekbone, and the tip of his pointed ear was missing, but that was nothing compared with the man he was pulling to his feet. One of the bosun's kukris transfixed the man's shoulder from back to front, six inches of bloody steel sticking out of his filthy robes.

"You okay, Grogul?"

"Bah! Just a scratch."

"You must be Vemmy." Torius peered into the man's pockmarked face. "Not a good night for you."

The man spat an epithet, then screamed again as Grogul whacked the hilt of the kukri. Torius winced.

"Now Vemmy, let me be clear. You tell us where Caliel took my navigator, or you're tomorrow's dinner special at Chargut."

"Don't know where," the man said through clenched teeth. "He just paid me to bring the message and watch his back. Then that blasted gnome came along."

"Snick? Where is she?"

"Dead."

Torius felt the blood drain from his face, and he whacked the kukri himself. Vemmy's scream was gratifying.

"Show us where. Now!"

Grogul arranged Vemmy's cloak to hide the knife and frogmarched the man through the dark streets. In minutes they reached an alley and Vemmy pointed.

"In there. I stashed the corpse behind the bins."

Torius's gorge rose in his throat. The building was an abattoir, and the rats had massed for their nightly feast. He kicked the rats away, and found Snick's body reasonably unchewed; apparently the butcher's offal ranked higher than gnome on the rat culinary scale. He pulled her into the faint starlight, and saw the mark of a garrote around her throat. She was dead, her limbs stiffened and her face fixed in a ghastly expression.

"Grogul, pick her up. We need to—"

Vemmy gasped in shock as the half-orc retrieved his kukri. Grogul hadn't simply pulled the blade out, but twisted it and slashed down through bone and sinew. Blood quickly darkened the man's robes, and he crumpled to the refuse-strewn ground. Grogul wiped the blade on Vemmy's cloak and sheathed it.

"You were sayin', Captain?"

"I was saying, we need to get her to Gozreh's temple."

"Why?" He picked up the gnome's corpse and tucked it under his arm.

"Because, Grogul," Torius said, leading the way into the night, "the dead can talk."

Coming Next Week: A chat with a corpse in Chapter Three of Chris A. Jackson's "Stargazer."

Read more about Torius, Celeste, and the crew of the Stargazer in the new Pathfinder Tales novel Pirate's Honor, available now!

Chris A. Jackson is the author of the Scimitar Seas nautical fantasy series, which has won sequential gold medal awards for fantasy from ForeWord Reviews, as well as Weapon of Flesh, Deathmask, A Soul for Tsing, and the Cornerstones Trilogy. He lives with his wife on a sailboat in the Caribbean. For samples of his work, his blog, and his convention schedule, visit jaxbooks.com.

Illustration by Greg Opalinski

No Sleep for the Wicked

Monday, April 22, 2013

As we've mentioned a few times on the messageboards, Facebook, and Twitter, the creative team here at Paizo is deep in the process of ensuring all our products through Gen Con get to the printer on time for the show. That means we've all been pulled a hundred directions a day, and are putting in extra nights and weekends of "all-hands" work hours. Since that means less time for blogs and other content for which we won't pay dearly if it's not available at Gen Con, you get art previews!

The end of the month is quickly approaching, which means we have two new Pathfinder Society Scenarios coming in just a few days. Here are a few NPC portraits from this month's releases, which GMs may want to have on hand to use as visual aids.

Look for Pathfinder Society Scenario #4-19: The Night March of Kalkamedes by Michael Kortes and Pathfinder Society Scenario #4-20: Words of the Ancients by John Compton midweek.

Illustrations by Greg Opalinski and Lane Brown.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Bastard, Sword

by Tim Pratt

Chapter Four: Illusions of Ice

"Have you ever slain a demon, sword?" Manius addressed Hrym directly for the first time.

"Probably," Hrym said. "I can't be expected to remember every kind of thing I've slain. Listen, Manius, before we begin our crusade, do you mind giving me a few moments alone with Rodrick here?"

Manius narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"We faced horrors together in that tomb," Hrym said. "Monstrous serpentine creatures of darkness—"

"And an angry dwarf," Rodrick chimed in.

"Yes, that too," Hrym said. "We became blooded comrades in arms together, and while I'm eager to join you in your battle, Manius, I wish to give my fellow warrior Rodrick my blessing before he goes on his way."

"Ah, certainly, the camaraderie of battle, I understand." Manius nodded sagely, with the full understanding of someone who'd never been anywhere near a real battle. "I shall return shortly. I have men waiting in the hallway, Rodrick, if you need anything in the meantime."

Rodrick nodded, smiling, absorbing the not-so-subtle reminder that Manius knew he was a thief, and would be watchful. Manius handed the sword off to Rodrick and strode out of the room, a busy man with big plans.

"I was promised a bed of gold," Hrym said. "Not a one-way trip into the heart of demon country! This fool will get himself killed, and I'll rot in some fecal swamp!"

"That does seem a likely outcome," Rodrick admitted. "I'm sorry—Manius didn't share his ambitions with me when he hired me to break into the barrow and bring you back. I assumed you were just going to be another collector's item. But don't despair. You're immortal. Someone will come along and pick you up from the battlefield eventually, and—"

"Piss on that," Hrym said. "Get me out of here."

Rodrick shook his head. "I don't see how I can. Manius doesn't trust me—he hired me to steal you, so he's prepared for me to try to steal you again. Short of using you to kill everyone between me and the outskirts of his property, I don't see how—"

"Then start thinking," Hrym said. "Remember what I said about how you'd need to become more cunning? Now's your chance."

"I appreciate the difficulty of your situation, but I'm afraid—"

Hrym is no ordinary magic sword.

"I have no intention of going to the Worldwound, Rodrick. If you don't save me, then I'll wait until Marius assembles his crusaders to start marching, and I will freeze every single one of them in place. They will be a forest of dead statues. And when that grim site is discovered, I'll start screaming 'Rodrick made me do it'!"

They sat together in silence for a moment. Then Rodrick said, not without admiration: "That's blackmail, Hrym."

"I prefer to think of it as forceful persuasion."

"Perhaps..." Rodrick murmured. "Listen, Hrym, this might take me a few days. But tell Manius you're going to stop talking until you reach the Worldwound—a vow of silence, or a period of meditation to help you prepare for the rigors of the struggle to come—whatever. The point is that you have to shut up. Can you do that?"

"I didn't say a word for years in that barrow. Silence is within my considerable capabilities. But I don't see why—"

"I know this is a laughable statement on the face of it, but: just trust me."

"And you trust me," Hrym said. "If you don't come back for me, remember: a field of frozen crusaders."

"Consider me motivated."

∗∗∗

Rodrick took his money—beautiful money, of which he suspected he'd have to spend nearly all of it—and then took his leave of Manius. He headed to Carpenden, the nearest town of size, and began making some inquiries.

Carpenden was prosperous, home to wealthy landowners and the merchants who catered to them, but it was also a military town, housing a large portion of Andoran's army. The real military types Rodrick encountered didn't give Manius's planned expedition great odds of success. They allowed that even a well-prepared force of hardened paladins led by a veteran warrior couldn't expect to win any decisive battles in the Worldwound. As for a mixture of unaffiliated crusaders and mercenaries led by a gentleman farmer who'd read a few textbooks on military tactics? A noble undertaking, in a way, yes—but hopeless.

Like anyone in his line of work, Rodrick knew people, and the people he knew knew other people, and so two days after leaving Manius's house he sat down in the back room of small gambling house with an illusionist named Horwick. The illusionist was fat, and wore a threadbare red velvet robe, and picked at his teeth endlessly with his over-long pinky fingernail.

"Do you know the goldbrick trick?" Rodrick said.

The illusionist considered the smear of old food stuck on his fingernail and grunted. "You offer to sell someone a gold brick, and at the last minute, you switch it with a lead brick covered in a thin coating of gold leaf. But you don't need an illusionist for that. You barely need a paintbrush."

"I'm working a sort of... variation," Rodrick said. He explained the two things he needed.

Horwick allowed that he could provide those items, if the price was right.

The right price, as Rodrick had expected, was ruinously expensive.

∗∗∗

Rodrick returned to Manius's house with an old sword strapped to his back and a pair of wands tucked away in his shirt. The crusaders were more organized now, clearly preparing for departure, but they still paid no attention to him as he rode up to the front steps. He wandered into the house again—depressed at the lack of small, valuable objects to steal—found the chamberlain, and requested an audience with Manius.

After a while, Manius appeared in the sitting room, which now contained only a single chair, the other having presumably been sold for sword polish or something. Rodrick rose to greet him, noting Hrym's hilt sticking up from scabbard at Manius's belt. "Your talk of crusade moved me," Rodrick said. "I'd like to join your party."

Manius grunted. "We're not on a quest for gold, Rodrick. Only glory."

Rodrick pressed a hand to his chest and put on his most sincere face, one that had charmed the coinpurses off men and the underclothes off women many times. "I've spent the past three days thinking about the empty hollowness of my life, and my need for a greater purpose. Please. Allow me to join you."

"It does my heart good to see you make that choice. My hope for humanity has never been stronger." Manius stroked his chin. "I could send you to report to one of the crusader leaders... but I think I'd like to keep you closer, as part of my personal retinue."

Rodrick beamed. "That would be an honor." He knew it was more likely because Manius didn't trust him and wanted to make sure he didn't steal the horses and provisions, but that was fine. If Rodrick was sleeping in the house, it would spare him having to sneak in later. "How are you, Hrym?"

"The sword is spending the foreseeable future in silent contemplation, marshaling its powers for the great battles ahead," Manius said. "It's just as well—it strikes me as a bit unseemly, having a sword speak."

He can still hear you, Rodrick thought, amazed at the man's arrogance. He seemed to think Hrym was just a curiosity, when the sword was really—

Well, not a person in the normal sense, obviously. But he was still a person.

"We could all probably do with a little less talking," Rodrick said.

∗∗∗

Late that night, Rodrick slipped from his bedroll in the corner of an empty storage closet and crept through the house to Manius's chamber. The door was unguarded, and why not? There was literally an army on the grounds. Rodrick opened the door and slipped in, then waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, listening to the rich man's snores from the overstuffed bed in the center of the room. The only light came from the fires outside shining faintly in the windows.

Rodrick was making a terrible habit of sneaking into places where dangerous creatures were sleeping in order to retrieve a magical sword. At least this time he was armed, though he desperately hoped he wouldn't have to stab anyone with the sword on his back.

"Psst," Hrym said. "Rodrick? Is that you? I'm over here."

Rodrick crouch-walked over to a large wooden wardrobe. Hrym was still in his scabbard, slung over the back of a chair. Not even a bed of coins. Rodrick eased the blade out of the scabbard.

"Let me out of this thing, I can't see—" Hrym began, and Rodrick shushed him, listening to Manius mutter in his bed for a moment before deciding he wasn't waking up.

Rodrick drew the old, battered longsword from the sheath on his back and laid it on the ground before him. He felt in his shirt for the right wand—it had a golden band around one end, while the other was plain wood—and withdrew the slim and expensive bit of magic. He touched the wand to the sword, and watched the illusion take hold.

The beaten sword shimmered and turned bluish-white. In a moment, it was a perfect copy of Hrym, sparkling like ice. He then took Hrym out of the scabbard.

"You sly bastard," Hrym said. "It's my spitting image—"

"Your turn," Rodrick whispered, and touched Hrym with the other wand. The sword was transformed into a battered, notched longsword, decidedly unmagical. He shoved the disguised Hrym into his scabbard, ignoring the sword's outraged squawk. Then he placed the false Hrym in Manius's scabbard and hung it back over the chair. Horwick had assured Rodrick that the illusions were long-lasting enough to let Rodrick escape undiscovered with time to spare, but he didn't want to test that.

Rodrick was nearly to the door when he heard the mattress creak. "Who's there?" Manius demanded.

The thief stopped breathing, and tried to think like a shadow. Manius padded over to the chair, drew the false Hrym halfway from the sheath, and grunted. "Still not talking?" He rattled the sword and then shoved it back in the scabbard, sighed, and returned to bed.

Rodrick counted to a hundred fifteen times before he was convinced Manius was asleep again, then slipped into the hallway and away.

∗∗∗

"Do you think he'll realize the sword is fake before or after he tries to charge directly at a demon lord?" Hrym asked as they dawdled along a road many miles south the next day. He'd instructed Rodrick to stick him on the outside of the scabbard on Rodrick's back, and Hrym had frozen himself in place there—that way Hrym could see. Drawing Hrym was a lot easier when he wasn't actually in the scabbard, too. Wearing a longsword strapped on your back made you look impressively dangerous, but it was practically difficult to draw four feet of icy blade from a sheath on your back in a hurry, unless you had freakishly long arms.

"Before, if he's lucky." Rodrick jingled his coinpurse, or tried to; it contained three pieces of copper and one of silver, which didn't make for much of a jingle. He'd had to sell his lovely blue boots, too, and he'd never even walked on water with them. "Wands are damnably expensive, Hrym. I wish I was sure you're worth it."

"The wands still work, don't they? Can't they cast the same spell dozens of time?"

"Well, I suppose, but—" He paused. "You're a genius, sword. I could sell you. Over and over again."

"You could use me to put on a dazzling demonstration, then sell worthless hunks of metal that looked like me," Hrym said.

"Oh, this could work out," Rodrick said.

"We just have to settle how to divvy up the profits," Hrym said. "Since without me there would be no profits, I suggest a ninety-ten split, in my favor."

"Ha! More like ninety-ten in my favor. I'd like to see how much gold you'd make on your own if I stuck you in the bottom of a bog, sword."

They rode on, bickering amicably, into their golden future.

Coming Next Week: A look inside one of Andoran's oddest military units in Neal F. Litherland's "The Irregulars."

Want more? Check out Liar's Blade in paperback or ePub format, or read the story leading up to this one for free in "A Tomb of Winter's Plunder"!

Tim Pratt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Liar's Blade and City of the Fallen Sky, as well as the short story "A Tomb of Winter's Plunder." His writing has won a Hugo Award, a Rhysling Award, and an Emperor Norton Award, as well as been nominated for Nebula, Mythopoeic, World Fantasy, and Stoker Awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies such as The Best American Short Stories and The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, as well as two short story collections of his own. His non-Pathfinder novels include the contemporary fantasies The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl and Briarpatch; the Forgotten Realms novel Venom in Her Veins; and seven books in the Marla Mason urban fantasy series (as T. A. Pratt). He edited the anthology Sympathy for the Devil, and Rags & Bones with Melissa Marr. His books and stories have been translated into French, Czech, Dutch, Russian, Greek, Korean, Spanish, German, and several other languages.

Illustration by Greg Opalinski.

Bastard, Sword

by Tim Pratt

Chapter Three: Rich Man's Crusade

Rodrick threw the lantern at the dwarf's head. It bounced off the miner's helmet, but didn't deter the attack.

"Use me!" Hrym shouted.

Rodrick lifted the sword defensively. As he swung the blade, an arc of whiteness flew from its tip and struck the dwarf just below the knees. The miner's forward movement instantly halted, and he swayed like a young sapling, his boots and calves frozen to the tunnel floor—which didn't stop him from swinging his axe wildly, to the limit of his reach.

"I'll just, ah, be going." Rodrick moved carefully around the dwarf, then followed the slanting tunnel upward at a brisk jog.

What other miners they encountered were quick to drop their swords and flee, and a short while later Rodrick and Hrym emerged into a bustling mining camp. They sidled toward the edge of the settlement and then hared off into the trees, following a ridgeline up and away. Once they'd reached high-ish ground, Rodrick looked around in hopes of finding his bearings. The barrow was in the hills of northern Andoran, east of Darkmoon Vale, but he wasn't sure how far he'd gone underground. But if the gloomy spire of Droskar's Crag was over there, then that was west, and so...

"Are you lost?" Hrym said.

"Only until I find a road," Rodrick replied, and set off downhill in what he suspected to be the direction most likely to lead to civilization. After a while they hooked up with a dirt track—probably the one that led to the mining camp—and Rodrick proceeded with more confidence. They were sure to encounter a village soon, or someone they could beg a ride from.

"So what are you really?" Hrym said as they—or, rather, Rodrick—trudged along.

"I can't imagine what you mean."

"You say you're an adventurer. You're certainly no fighter, though—when holding a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other, your first instinct is to defend yourself with the lantern? I would therefore assume you're a thief, but I saw you skulking in the cavern, and you're equally awful at stealth—"

"Please, your flattery will overwhelm me. I do wish I had a scabbard to shove you into." He switched Hrym to his left hand and stretched out the cramped fingers of his right. Carrying a sword for this long was grueling, even if Hrym was lighter than most blades his size. "As you can see, I look like a fighter—"

"Humans look mostly like fuzzy blobs of varying hues to me, I'm afraid."

Rodrick sighed. "Take me at my word, then—I am long of limb, broad of shoulder, wide of chest, mighty of thew, and so on. Reasonably mighty, anyway. I am blessed with a certain natural athleticism, though admittedly devoid of skill or training in battle, because people get hurt in battles, and I have no interest in getting hurt. But looking as I do makes it easy for me to be hired as a caravan guard, or personal bodyguard, or member of an adventuring party—"

"And once there, in the midst of your trusted allies, you wait for the opportune moment to steal whatever you can and escape in the night?"

"Do I detect a note of judgment in your voice, sword?"

Many nobles fancy themselves warriors, but most warriors would rather be nobles.

"Not at all. I'm interested in ends, not means. And I'm only interested in ends when those ends are gold."

Rodrick laughed. "You and I could get along, sword. A shame I've promised you to someone else."

"You could just steal me, though," Hrym said reasonably. "In fact, by not stealing me, you're violating your own habits. You might even be accused of doing an honest day's labor."

"Oh, I had to cheat a few people to get into the barrow, don't worry—I kept in practice. And what are you saying, anyway? You'd give up your spot in a rich man's treasure-heap?"

"I'm not volunteering to join you, no, though this has been entertaining—at least compared to being jammed beneath a linnorm's belly. I'm just wondering why you don't seize an object of my obvious value. An intelligent sword of living ice, capable of speech and great feats of magic—whatever this rich man's paying you, I'm worth more in your hand."

"Ah, and if I were truly a fighter and adventurer, I'm sure I'd never dream of giving you up. But to succeed in my chosen venture, I benefit from a certain amount of anonymity. I can easily disappear into a crowd after committing a morally questionable act—assuming it's a sufficiently handsome crowd—and alter my speech, mannerisms, and mode of dress well enough to elude detection. But if I started carrying around a loud-mouthed sword with a blade of shimmering blue-white crystal, word would get around. I might even, allow me to shudder at the thought, become famous."

"You might have to change your ways a bit, I suppose," Hrym said.

"You wouldn't suggest I try actually being a fighter."

"No, no. You'd just have to get better at cheating people and stealing from them—ideally leaving them unaware they'd been cheated at all, at least until you'd said your farewells and ridden into the next country. I'd be good for you. I'd force you to become more cunning, and elevate your practice."

"Alas, we'll never know." Rodrick shaded his eyes and looked down the ridge. "Aha! I know that village. I can get a sheath for you there, and a horse, and room for the night." He yawned. "And then take advantage of a bed. Being drugged in a barrow doesn't count as a good night's sleep."

"I don't like sheathes," Hrym said. "And you'd better not spend all the gold you stole on horses and beds and things—you'll need to scatter a nice layer of coins for me to rest upon while you sleep."

"You are a very odd weapon, Hrym."

∗∗∗

The sword drew quite a few glances before Rodrick bought a sheathe and convinced Hrym it was better to be temporarily hidden than to become a target for ambitious bandits. They settled in an inn Rodrick had visited before and bedded down for the night. Normally when so flush with coin Rodrick would not have been alone in that bed, but the thought of inviting one of the village's more adventurous ladies up to his room while Hrym rested in a drawer on a thin scattering of coins was too embarrassing to contemplate. Yet another good reason he and the sword shouldn't travel together.

And yet, they stayed up into the night, talking. In the dark, it wasn't so strange to chat with an intelligent sword; they were just a couple of rogues swapping stories of past exploits. Rodrick's tales were mostly wildly exaggerated, and he assumed Hrym's were, too. Even so, the sword's laziness and avarice—and the heroic efforts he was willing to expend in hopes of future laziness, while wielded by men far more ambitious than Hrym himself—were truly inspiring.

The last thing Hrym said before Rodrick fell asleep was, "My great tragedy is that I'm so attractive to conquerors, crusaders, and heroes, when by temperament I'd be a better companion for a treacherous, self-interested hedonist like you."

"You say the nicest things, sword," Rodrick said, and closed his eyes.

∗∗∗

The next day Rodrick bought a sweet-tempered horse and they rode down out of the hills east of Darkmoon Vale, toward the fertile valleys south of the Andoshen River, where Rodrick's employer Manius lived. The rich man's family had been nobility back in the days when Andoran had such things, and in the years since had managed to recreate the conditions of nobility by buying up farm- and timberland, amassing quite a fortune. He lived in a grand house surrounded by green fields, with a stand of personal forest spreading green and wild beyond—

Or at least he had last time Rodrick was here. Rodrick reined in his horse and stood staring across the fields.

"What?" Hrym said, voice muffled inside the scabbard. "Are we there yet?"

"Ah, nearly," Rodrick said.

The fields were trampled and full of tents, with armored men milling among them. The miniature forest was greatly reduced, and the sounds of hammering and sawing and cart-building suggested what had become of those noble old trees. Smoke rose from the house's four chimneys, and from at least two makeshift forges. Rodrick, never comfortable entering camps of armed men without a good reason, eased his horse forward. None of the soldiers challenged him, even as he passed among the tents and proceeded to the house. A harried-looking man stood near the front door, directing various servants, and Rodrick recognized him as Manius's head of household.

"Hail," Rodrick said. "I've returned from my mission—"

The chamberlain—or whatever his title was—squinted at Rodrick, then brightened. "Ah! The master was just wondering if you ever intended to return. We'll see to your horse—you go on inside. The butler will arrange an audience."

"If you don't mind me asking," Rodrick began, "why is there an army on the—" But the man had already hurried away.

The butler didn't open the door at Rodrick's knock, so the thief just let himself in. The interior of the place had changed greatly, too—the beautiful rugs were gone, leaving bare wood behind, and the artwork was gone from the walls. He wandered on the first floor until he found the butler, who stuck him in a drawing room that still possessed a couple of chairs and told him to wait. Hrym complained of being in the sheath, so Rodrick drew him forth and leaned him against the other chair.

"This doesn't look like the opulent palace you led me to expect," Hrym said suspiciously.

Rodrick spread his hands. "It was a rich man's mansion last time I was here, I assure you. I can't speak for what's going on now—"

"What's going on," said Manius, stepping in and shutting the door after him, "is preparation for a crusade." Manius was in his early fifties, with graying hair, a lined and serious face; and the bearing of a warrior ascetic. He wore the sort of clothes that seemed ordinary unless you noticed how perfectly they were cut and tailored to his form. His eyes fell upon Hrym, and widened. "Rodrick. You succeeded. You brought me the blade of ice!"

"I did," Rodrick said. "With great effort and considerable peril, and even loss of life among the hirelings who assisted me, and—"

"You will be duly compensated." Manius stepped forward, then paused. "Does, ah—does it truly speak?"

"I do," Hrym said. "You may address me directly."

"Remarkable!" Manius said, still talking to Rodrick. "One of my ancestors saw this blade in battle, wielded by Brant Selmy—"

"Oh, I hated him," Hrym said. "Never knew how to relax. Until he died. Buried me in his tomb with him. But I suppose you know that."

Manius knelt, took Hrym by the hilt, and raised him up, staring at the shimmering blade. Rodrick felt an unexpected twinge at seeing the sword in another man's hand.

"Beautiful," Manius murmured. "You will be the death of many a demon."

"Demons?" Hrym and Rodrick said at the same time.

"Oh, yes," Manius said. "It's the reason I wanted this sword. My life has been one of idleness and pointless pleasure for far too long. I decided that I need to make my mark on the world before I die. And so I've spent every penny I've inherited and earned to gather and provision an army of crusaders to go north, where we will face the demon-infested nightmare land men call the Worldwound." He held up Hrym. "We leave in one week. And with this sword, I hope to slay a demon lord with my own hand."

Coming Next Week: The final chapter of Tim Pratt's "Bastard, Sword"!

Want more? Check out Liar's Blade in paperback or ePub format, or read the story leading up to this one for free in "A Tomb of Winter's Plunder"!

Tim Pratt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Liar's Blade and City of the Fallen Sky, as well as the short story "A Tomb of Winter's Plunder." His writing has won a Hugo Award, a Rhysling Award, and an Emperor Norton Award, as well as been nominated for Nebula, Mythopoeic, World Fantasy, and Stoker Awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies such as The Best American Short Stories and The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, as well as two short story collections of his own. His non-Pathfinder novels include the contemporary fantasies The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl and Briarpatch; the Forgotten Realms novel Venom in Her Veins; and seven books in the Marla Mason urban fantasy series (as T. A. Pratt). He edited the anthology Sympathy for the Devil, and Rags & Bones with Melissa Marr. His books and stories have been translated into French, Czech, Dutch, Russian, Greek, Korean, Spanish, German, and several other languages.

Illustration by Greg Opalinski.

Bastard, Sword

by Tim Pratt

Chapter Two: Serpent and Bow

Rodrick dropped the bell and scrambled toward the slope that led back to the barrow. The linnorm uncoiled with impossible speed, and suddenly its head filled Rodrick's vision, blocking his route to the treasure room.

The miniature snowstorm Rodrick had accidentally spawned with the bell sent snowflakes spiraling all around, limiting visibility, but not enough to matter at this range. The coins and stones beneath the soles of his feet were icy, so cold Rodrick worried he'd lose his toes to frostbite—and then realized such a worry was the least of his problems, as he was standing nose-to-snout with a linnorm.

Rodrick had never seen a dragon or dragon-type creature in person, but this one looked more or less like the statues and drawings of such creatures: a huge reptilian head with twisted horns, immense black eyes, and a mouth full of teeth like broken daggers. It was unmistakably an apex predator of such power and size that Rodrick would barely count as a mouthful.

He froze, still holding Hrym aloft, as the creature gazed at him. It opened its jaws, and Rodrick prepared himself to be bitten in half. The preparation mostly involved whimpering and trembling.

Instead, the creature began to draw in a vast breath. Rodrick's relief lasted only for an instant. Could linnorms breathe fire, or ice, or poison, as their less snakelike cousins the dragons did?

At least it would be a quick death, Rodrick thought. Not as good as no death, but better than many of the other alternatives.

"Point me at the beast!" Hrym shouted.

Rodrick complied, though it was more of an involuntary muscle spasm than a conscious effort.

A cone of swirling, bluish-white crystals shot forth from the point of the sword, and the blade sent up great billows of freezing white mist. The linnorm disappeared in the torrent of ice, and when Hrym ceased his frigid attack, the beast's head was encased in an irregular ball of ice the size of a boulder. The linnorm's body began to whip around wildly, and Rodrick threw himself to one side—careful to keep his grip on the sword—to avoid being crushed by the creature's coils. The boots wrapped around his neck nearly strangled him in the process, but he managed to cram himself against the cavern wall.

The linnorm's ice-encrusted head slammed into the wall that led to the treasure room, smashing down enough rocks to block access to the barrow. Rodrick whimpered again—he was doing a lot of that lately. Trapped in a cavern, in a magical ice storm, barefoot, with a furious linnorm lashing around. The day just got better and better.

The torch he'd jammed into the coins was dislodged by the beast's lashings, and it came sliding down the mound of treasure toward Rodrick. He scooted away on his butt to avoid having his feet set on fire, then picked up the torch. It flickered weakly, its fuel nearly extinguished. The thought of being trapped here blind was too horrible to contemplate.

The linnorm continued to bash its head against the cavern wall, trying to break the armor of ice before it suffocated. Rodrick wondered if it would die or escape before causing the entire cavern to cave in.

"Good thing it's a mountain linnorm," Hrym said. "They breathe fire—or, actually, molten rock. Ice linnorms are immune to my powers."

"How fortunate," Rodrick rasped. He struggled to his feet, shivering in the cold. "We have to kill the beast before it collapses the whole cavern on top of us."

"I wouldn't recommend that," Hrym said. "When linnorms die, they curse their killers. Don't you think your luck is bad enough already?"

"I'd rather be cursed and alive than blessed and dead, sword."

"Hmm," Hrym said. "You make a point. Being an immortal magical sword, I don't usually see things in those terms. There is another option, though."

The ball of ice encrusting the linnorm's head began to glow deeply red, like an immense ruby. Rodrick realized the monster was trying to use its breath weapon—magical lava-breath versus magical ice. Which would prevail?

"Don't you want to hear about the other option—"

"Yes, yes, of course!" Rodrick shouted.

"We could just leave."

"The monster has sealed off the entry to the barrow—"

Never get between a dwarf and his ore.

"Yes, I can see, you know, even if I don't have eyes. I don't mean we can leave that way. There's a tunnel toward the back of the chamber, probably too small for the linnorm to fit through. But a tiny little humanoid like you—"

Rodrick was moving before the sword even finished speaking. The cavern was brighter now, with the monster's fiery breath shining through the prism of ice around its head, casting rays of ruby light all around—and revealing a spot of deeper shadow in one wall, a tunnel big enough for Rodrick to fit through if he crouched.

Once outside the main cavern, the horrible biting cold diminished. Rodrick's spine protested as he shuffled along bent forward, torch in one hand, icy sword in the other, following the curving contours of the tunnel. Behind him there was a great thump, and the sound of cascading rock. He paused and looked back in time to see the mouth of the tunnel go totally black, sealed off by a cave collapse.

"Is it dead?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hrym said. "Do you feel cursed?"

"Now that you mention it... But wouldn't you be the one to get cursed?"

"I believe traditionally the wielder of a weapon is held to be the responsible party, not the weapon itself."

Rodrick grunted. He leaned Hrym against the tunnel wall, jammed the spluttering torch into a scree of small stones, and sat down on a flattish outcropping of rock. He crammed his feet—they felt like lumps of ice—into the magical boots, which shifted and squirmed to fit his feet perfectly. He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed and exhaled. "It's good to be alive."

"I wouldn't know."

The thief opened one eye. "You can shoot ice, then. That's handy."

"Oh, that's just a small part of what I can do. I hail from the north, and all things of frost, ice, and cold are within my power."

"I don't suppose you can withdraw cold? My ears are freezing."

"No, but I could make the rest of you even colder, to make the ears seem warm in comparison."

"I think I'll pass," Rodrick said. "Do you have any other tricks? Glowing in the presence of evil, flying around and fighting on your own, things like that?"

"Total elemental mastery of ice isn't enough for you?"

"Yes, well. Hmm. So you can't move on your own, then. You need a wielder. Someone to carry you around."

"Yes, humans are to me as horses are to humans."

"Ha. Horses aren't the ones who decide where to go, though."

The sword's voice grew harder. "A man who tries to take me somewhere I don't wish to go will find himself with his hand frozen off, adventurer. And now that we're on the subject, I don't want to be carried around—I want to rest on a heap of treasure. Specifically the untold riches I was promised. Shouldn't we be on our way?"

"Do you know a way out of this black cave, then?"

"I barely knew there was a tunnel. I just remembered glimpsing this one when the linnorm dragged me into his hoard. Aren't you living creatures attuned to subtle drafts and currents of air and so forth?"

"Not especially." Rodrick stood up, his head brushing the top of the tunnel. "But it's not as if we're faced with a wealth of choices. This tunnel only goes in one direction."

"If you die and leave me stuck in some dark hole with no gold I will be very annoyed."

"I'm sure knowledge of your unhappiness will make my afterlife miserable, sword."

Rodrick picked up the sword and the torch and made his way along the tunnel, trying in vain to feel a waft of air suggesting a route to the upper world. He also did his best to avoid facing the possibility that he might simply be sealed in the dark forever, plunging ever deeper, eventually starving to death. The torch's light grew ever more inconstant and flickering as he progressed, and he wondered how long he'd be able to force himself to keep going once the light was gone, and he was inching along by feel—

"Do you hear that?" Hrym said.

Rodrick cocked his head. He did hear something—a distant sort of knocking, seemingly coming from the rock wall before him. "It's not the linnorm," he said. "That's still behind us, unless I've become hopelessly turned around."

"Jam me in that crack in the rock," Hrym said. "As far in as you can."

"As you wish." Rodrick shoved the point of the sword into a fissure in the wall. "Now what—"

The exposed length of sword began to steam and billow mist, and ice crystals poured out of the hole. Cracks spread across the wall, like thin ice breaking over a pond, as magical frost filled every minute fissure and pushed it wider.

"If you bury me, you stupid sword—"

The wall collapsed inward in a cascade of frozen stone, and Hrym stopped steaming mist. A hole three feet across yawned open at chest height, light glowing on the other side. A man with a filthy face, holding a pickaxe, gaped in astonishment at Rodrick.

"Hi there," the thief said, clambering through the hole, leaving the torch behind. "A miner, are you? Good man. I have only the greatest admiration for those who wrestle wealth from the very bowels of the world—"

"Are you mining for gold?" Hrym said. "Answer me, man!"

The miner stared, wide-eyed, at the talking sword, then dropped his pickaxe and ran away, leaving a sack and a lantern behind with his tools.

"Hmm," Rodrick said. "We may as well follow him. I doubt he's running in terror deeper into the mine, so he's probably headed for the surface."

"I don't see anything shiny at all," Hrym said. "They must be mining something boring here."

Rodrick picked up the lantern and began to walk, whistling, through the tunnel. "Things are looking up, sword. You'll be resting on a bed of gold in no time, and more importantly, so will I—"

A dwarf stepped from a side tunnel and into Rodrick's path. He wore a miner's helmet set with a magical glowing gem, and held a battleaxe with a head approximately as large as his own chest.

"Breaking into my mine?" he rumbled. "Trying to steal from me? Nobody steals from me! This mine is mine!"

"You don't—" Rodrick began, but then the dwarf was coming at him, axe held high.

Coming Next Week: Finder's fees and disillusionment in Chapter Three of Tim Pratt's "Bastard, Sword"!

Want more? Check out Liar's Blade in paperback or ePub format, or read the story leading up to this one for free in "A Tomb of Winter's Plunder"!

Tim Pratt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Liar's Blade and City of the Fallen Sky, as well as the short story "A Tomb of Winter's Plunder." His writing has won a Hugo Award, a Rhysling Award, and an Emperor Norton Award, as well as been nominated for Nebula, Mythopoeic, World Fantasy, and Stoker Awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies such as The Best American Short Stories and The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, as well as two short story collections of his own. His non-Pathfinder novels include the contemporary fantasies The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl and Briarpatch; the Forgotten Realms novel Venom in Her Veins; and seven books in the Marla Mason urban fantasy series (as T. A. Pratt). He edited the anthology Sympathy for the Devil, and Rags & Bones with Melissa Marr. His books and stories have been translated into French, Czech, Dutch, Russian, Greek, Korean, Spanish, German, and several other languages.

Illustration by Greg Opalinski.

In Red Rune Canyon

by Richard Lee Byers

Chapter Two: Among the Dead

Tossing aside her blanket, Kagur sat up and looked where Eovath was gazing, but though she had keen eyes, he generally fared better in the dark. "I don't see anything."

Eovath stood up. "Neither do I, now. It was just a shadow, and it's shuffled back around the next bend. But whatever it was, it had two arms and two legs and was bent over like it was hurt. Dron, maybe, if he escaped."

"Or the bait in a trap." Kagur smiled. "There's one way to find out."

Her longbow was of little use when she couldn't see targets at a distance. She left it unstrung and leaning against the canyon wall and drew her longsword instead. The straight steel blade made a faint hissing sound as it cleared the pewter mouth of the scabbard.

Meanwhile, Eovath likewise forsook his pair of javelins in favor of his battleaxe. Jorn Blacklion had pulled the enormous double-bitted implement from the grip of a giant he'd slain in battle, and it fit the hands of his adopted son better than any little human weapon could.

"Ready?" Kagur whispered.

"Yes," Eovath replied, and they advanced.

The night was as silent as it was dark. Kagur's pulse beat in her neck.

She told herself she wasn't nervous. She was a Blacklion warrior, well schooled in the use of the sword and tested in fights with orcs, wolves, and saber-toothed cats. Still, a ghost... or a demon...

She sneered her anxiety away. Her father had taught her that if something could hurt her, she could hurt it back. That only made sense, and it meant a warrior need never be afraid.

When she and Eovath stalked around the turn, it was only to behold another stretch of gorge that, as best she could judge with only starlight to see by, was as empty as the one behind her. But as she peered about, she caught a whiff of decay hanging in the chill night air.

"Smell that?" she whispered.

"Yes," Eovath replied. "You were right. This is a trap."

"Dron could still be here." Kagur raised her voice: "Dron! It's Eovath and Kagur! We came to help you!" The shout echoed away, the sound bouncing off the canyon walls.

In response, a dark form staggered away from the wall of the gorge. As Eovath had said, it was shaped like a person, hunched over, and had its back to the Blacklions. When Kagur squinted, she could just make out variations in the texture of it that might indicate the layered fur and leather garments of a Kellid hunter. She shifted her grip on the hilt of her sword, and she and Eovath headed for the shadow.

A second black shape plummeted down onto the giant's back.

The dead were not meant to walk.

Clinging to the giant like a child riding his father's shoulders, his assailant ripped at him, maybe with a dagger, maybe with something else. In the darkness, Kagur couldn't tell.

She sprang forward to cut at the attacker, but Eovath reeled around and inadvertently shielded the thing clinging to his back with his own towering body. He dropped his axe to clank on stones on the canyon floor, reached back over his shoulder, and yanked his foe from his perch, smashing it down onto the ground with a bellow.

Kagur's belly tightened in loathing, not because the creature was hideous—although it was—but because she suspected it had once been human. It still had the general form of a man and wore a man's garments. But it was so withered and shriveled that by rights, it should have had no strength at all, and its nails and teeth alike had grown long and jagged-sharp. The dark, slanted eyes in its pale face were featureless, without differentiated whites, irises, or pupils, and its ears were pointed. The carrion stench Kagur had smelled at the site of the massacre and at intervals along the trail emanated from its body.

To her surprise, the creature wrenched itself free of Eovath's grip and started to roll to its feet. She lashed out, cutting through the side of its neck until steel grated against spine. It flopped back down onto the ground, thrashed, and then lay still.

Eovath was swaying, and blood from his claw wounds stained his tunic. "How badly are you hurt?" Kagur asked him.

Nearly pitching forward in the process, he stooped and fumbled for his battleaxe. "Behind you!" he croaked.

She whirled. More shadows were rearing up from the creek. She hadn't realized it was deep enough to hide something the size of a man, but it evidently was.

The things rushed her. So did their comrade farther up the gorge, the lure that she and Eovath had hoped was Dron.

Hoping to surprise them, she charged the gaunt, pale things splashing out of the water. One surprised her instead by throwing a dagger, but she saw the gleam of metal just in time to twitch aside. The blade spun past her.

A creature sprang at her with outstretched claws, and she cut at its head and sliced half its face away. It fell, but as she pivoted to meet the next one, it started to stand back up.

No living man or beast could have shaken off the effects of a wound like that. She realized that if she and Eovath hadn't found ghosts, they'd at least come close. For the foes rushing at her were almost certainly some manner of undead, perhaps the skulking, corpse-eating brutes called ghouls.

She cut into the next one's chest, and it snarled and lunged, driving her sword deeper into itself in its frenzy to reach her. She tried to jump back and yank the blade free, but the ghoul was quick and prevented her from opening up the distance. Its clawed fingers grabbed her leather-clad forearm, and it leaned forward and opened its fanged jaws wide.

Using her off hand, she snatched a dirk from her belt and drove it into the middle of the living dead man's forehead. The creature collapsed with her longsword still embedded in its torso.

She yanked the sword free and cut in a single motion, barely in time to hold back another onrushing ghoul, this one discernibly female by virtue of its bouncing, withered breasts and swinging amber necklace. Without pausing, Kagur turned and slashed again at the one with half a face, which had by now regained its feet. It recoiled, and the attack fell short.

Kagur had always imagined the walking dead to be slow and clumsy, but the ghouls were nimble and inhumanly resilient. As she struck repeatedly, whirling and dodging all the while in an effort to keep her foes from surrounding and swarming over her as a group, she came to the uncomfortable realization that they might well overwhelm her.

Particularly if she had to go on fighting alone. Somehow, despite the incessant pressure exerted by the ghouls and the need to respond to the threat after threat, she managed to cast about and spot Eovath in the darkness.

His head bowed, the giant was down on one knee. Plainly not dead, thank Gorum! But why wasn't he fighting? Had the first ghoul wounded him that severely?

Suddenly, Kagur glimpsed a shadow, a ghoul apparently seeking easier prey than she was proving to be, darting in on the giant's flank. She couldn't have reached it in time even if she hadn't had her own foes blocking the way. She could only gasp in a breath and shout, "Look out!"

The frost giant lifted his head, cast about, and swatted the ghoul away with the back of his hand. As it fell and rolled back to its feet, he groped to reclaim his axe.

At the same moment, a charging ghoul forced Kagur to refocus on her own situation. She slashed the clawed white fingers from her assailant's hand and crippled one leg with a cut to the knee. When it fell headlong, she scrambled right over the top of it and cut at the undead brute behind it. The stroke ripped open the ghoul's neck, but that only made it bare its fangs and gather itself to spring.

Eovath fared better. Looming up behind the ghoul, he chopped down at the top of its skull and split the creature all the way down to the breastbone.

Freeing the battleaxe and dumping the ghoul's remains to the ground with a flick of his wrists, he panted, "Don't let them scratch you! It steals your strength!"

"I wasn't... planning on it." Kagur feinted high and cut low, but her target sprang aside from the true attack. "Let's fight back to back!"

Once they did, things seemed less frantic. Kagur had instants when she could consider tactics, not simply react, and her sword struck home more often. She had little doubt that behind her, Eovath's axe was chopping and smashing to similar murderous effect.

"Blacklion!" she shouted. "Blacklion!" Then her brother took up the battle cry as well, their twin roars reverberating off the canyon walls.

After several more exchanges, and another ghoul sprawled maimed and motionless in the sand and stones on the canyon floor, it became clear the undead were attacking less relentlessly than before. It seemed likely they would soon retreat, and, grinning, Kagur resolved to give chase when they did. She wanted to slaughter all the filthy things.

Then, however, two whistled notes, the first short and the second sustained, shrilled down from the sky. Whereupon the ghouls did fall back, but plainly not of their own choosing.

A signal! Judging that locating the ghouls' hitherto unsuspected leader was more important than cutting the creatures down from behind, Kagur held her position. Struggling to control her breathing, sweat stinging in her eyes, she peered upward.

Leathery wings flapped, and a shape swooped down from on high. For a moment, Kagur couldn't make out anything to distinguish it from a gigantic bat. Once it lit on an outcropping partway up one of the walls, however, it was easier to distinguish other features. Though tufted with bristles, its body was mostly hairless and scaly like a snake's, and it had arms as well as wings. Its legs were as long as a man's but bent backward like a goat's and ended in feet with three splayed toes.

"Well," Kagur panted, "you wanted to see a demon." She had little doubt they were seeing one now. The thing certainly looked demonic.

"I didn't ask for a flying one." Moving slowly, Eovath stooped and picked up a stone. Giants were notorious for their ability to throw rocks, and unless the demon descended to the canyon floor, they would have no other way of striking at it.

Although maybe they wouldn't need to, for the fiend appeared to be paying them little heed. Instead, it raked its gaze over its followers, the ones still whole—or mostly so—that had gathered beneath its perch, as well as the crippled ones struggling to crawl in the same direction, and the inert forms Kagur and Eovath had dispatched outright.

When it had glared its fill, it bared its needle fangs and hissed. "Disobedient!"

Most of the ghouls cringed, but one glowered back. "Hungry!" it growled. "Starving!"

The demon sprang from its perch. The defiant ghoul tried to dodge out from underneath, but it was far too slow. The fiend slammed down on top of it, smashed it to the ground, and, stooping, beheaded it with two sweeps of the dagger-long talons on the fingertips of its oversized hands.

Kagur watched to see if the other ghouls would protest the fate of their fellow. But even if they felt any such impulse, their master had them too thoroughly cowed.

The fiend then pivoted and glared squarely at Kagur and her foster brother for the first time. Eovath immediately flung the rock. The missile caught the demon just above its batlike snout, but despite the force with which the giant had hurled it, the stone glanced away without doing any apparent harm. Ignoring the attack, the creature locked eyes with Kagur.

Her vision shifted. Though Kagur could see that the demon was still crouching over the headless ghoul, part of her suddenly had the feeling that it was springing at her. Or perhaps she was plummeting toward it, falling sideways in defiance of nature, into eyes that yawned like pits to swallow her. Cold pain shot through her, and her heart stuttered in her chest.

Coming Next Week: Demons and the dead in Chapter Three of Richard Lee Byers' "In Red Rune Canyon"!

Enjoying this story? Check out the further adventures of Kagur and Eovath in Called to Darkness, available now!

Richard Lee Byers is the author of more than thirty novels, including the Pathfinder Tales novel Called to Darkness (also starring Kagur and Eovath) and the first book in R. A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen series. In addition, he's also the co-creator of the critically acclaimed young adult series The Nightmare Club, and the author of a new urban fantasy series beginning with the novel Blind God's Bluff. He's written one previous Pathfinder Tales web fiction story, "Lord of Penance".

Illustration by Greg Opalinski.