Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Four: Earning Her Keep

Darvus reached out to bat the rifle bore away and had his palm blown through for his trouble. He screamed at the spurt of blood.

She dropped the rifle even as her other hand closed on the butt of her pistol. All evening she'd debated how to play this out once she had the Andorens and her quarry in the same place. "Surrender or die, Chelaxians!" she cried.

As hoped, the words gave her startled and horrified allies pause. Perhaps it would also convince Dronsbech that the little force was united.

Dronsbech lashed out with his cane, discharging a blast of lightning that sent Lisette flying toward the window. She crumpled beside a mystified Karag, her gun tumbling toward the corner.

Vech shouted something about halting in the name of Andoran as she threw herself to her feet, ignoring the tingling in her extremities.

Lisette pulled at the second pistol even as Karag swiped at the nobleman with his axe. At least the dwarf didn't doubt her. Dronsbech dodged, and Darvus the supposed servant extended his crippled hand, fingers flicking in an arcane gesture. Lisette wasn't sure about the nature of the spell, but it set the poor dwarf twisting with a grimace. Dronsbech himself dropped behind Darvus, so Lisette shot the sorcerer. This time the bullet caught him in the chest, and he stayed down.

Vech again shouted for everyone to put down their weapons. Lisette was running out of time. If Dronsbech kept his cool, he could talk his way free, and she'd be hard pressed to escape a hanging.

He didn't, though. As the aristocrat shot to his feet, his features rippled like flowing water, his form broadening. In place of the kneeling nobleman sat a powerful hellspawn with red-gold skin and immense forward-pointing horns. His lower half was virtually identical to his assumed shape, yet his upper body was so layered in muscle that he had burst the seams of his shirt and coat. The hair that crowned his high forehead now seemed more like a furred spearhead.

She ripped her sword free of its sheath.

The young guard, Culcumber, extended a shaking sword toward the Chelaxian; Dronsbech batted him into the book case with a contemptuous laugh, then lashed out again with the cane, now resembling a tiny stick in his oversized hand. Another lightning blast hurled the charging Vech over the back of the desk.

Lisette's eyes flicked to her pistol, which had slid to the corner beside the window. Karag still lay on the floor, Kerrigan's rifle strapped to his back. There'd be no help from that quarter. Culcumber and Vech were both down and groaning.

Dronsbech—or, as she knew him, Kryllic—spoke in a low, dangerous rumble as he stalked toward her, teeth bared in a jaw open impossibly far. "How did you find me?"

No wonder Kryllic relies on magical disguises.

"I followed the stench." She drew her sword, backing toward the pistol. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dwarf shaking his tousled mane of hair. She needed to buy time. "There's more after me, you know. I told the whole guard force."

"You lie."

"You can't tell, can you? Go ahead—try to read my mind. Darvus couldn't, either."

"You've ruined years of work." Kryllic raised the cane, then turned his head at the sound of a noise behind him.

The dwarf had leveled the rifle. His shot burned past Kryllic's face and shattered the window. Lisette threw herself at the pistol, rolled to her knee, and fired.

Kryllic, stomping toward the dwarf, cried out in agony as the bullet, both holy and silver, took him in the back of the skull. He weaved drunkenly, then suddenly found himself impaled on the end of Culcumber's sword tip.

With that, he dropped, bleeding all over his lovely carpet. Culcumber, face stricken, stabbed his motionless body again and again.

"I think he's dead," Lisette pointed out.

Panting, the boy relented, his eyes round as saucers.

From outside she could hear screams, but all the footsteps sounded as though they were running away.

"Sorry I missed," Karag said.

Lisette shrugged. "You did fine."

Vech climbed to his feet from behind the desk, adjusted his uniform coat. His lips twitched in fury, setting his mustaches wobbling. "Would you mind telling me what just happened? What about your bowman?"

She frowned at the mention of her adversary, but kept her temper under control as she ticked off the salient points. "I misled you about the bowman so Kyrllic and Darvus wouldn't read your minds and be alarmed."

"You lied to us?" the lieutenant rumbled.

"I just killed two agents of Cheliax," Lisette said calmly. She had begun, almost without thinking, to clean and prime her pistol. "You should be thanking me."

"Wait," Karag said. "You planned all this?"

"I improvised some of it," Lisette admitted.

"So all that about the bowman," Culcumber prompted. "That was a lie too?"

"No," she said tightly. "The bowman is after him."

"So there's no bounty on the bowman?" the dwarf asked angrily.

"There's a bigger bounty on Dronsbech. You'll be snagging four hundred sails for him, Karag. Maybe I'll throw in ten for the boy, too, since he delivered the death thrust. Several times."

Culcumber was still too glassy-eyed to respond to the jibe.

"I still don't follow all of this," Vech said. "If Dronsbech—"

"Kryllic," Lisette corrected.

"Whatever his name was," Vech said testily, "could read minds, why couldn't he read yours?"

"I planned ahead and brought a charm to protect me. But he or Darvus could have read your mind like a book. Darvus tried to do it when you came in earlier. Didn't you notice the way he was looking at all of you? They were cautious, but not suspicious, because they could tell all three of you believed my tale. If I'd told you the truth—"

"But someone really was firing arrows earlier this evening," Vech protested.

"Yes," Lisette said. How thick was he? "The bowman."

The lieutenant's expression cleared. "So you were using us to help you get this bounty before the bowman could get Dronsbech himself!"

There came the sound of pounding feet, and then the shouting escalated as the door was pushed open. The guards who'd scattered to the perimeter thundered into the room. If not for Vech's uniform and the strange corpse, things might have gotten deadly, fast.

Matters really weren't settled until late into the night, and even then it seemed like almost half the city guard was there interviewing the staff, the guests, and the hired guards, none of whom admitted any knowledge about Kryllic's true nature or motives.

She and Karag waited to the side through it all. She tried not to think about the bowman. There'd been a chance, of course, that she'd catch him making a play at the same time. Finally, though, she'd been lucky. At that thought, her lips twisted into a bitter smile.

Karag had been silent for a very long time, and his gruff question startled her. "You think maybe you could teach me how to shoot?"

She considered the dwarf. "First I have to teach you how to load."

"Okay, then."

This was a little unexpected. Her smile grew more genuine. "I tell you what: I could use someone to ready the weapons. If you can load and prime fast, I can keep up a good steady stream of fire. Let's try it out for a week and see how quick you are."

Karag nodded once. "Sounds fair."

She grew conscious of the toll of a distant, lonely bell. "The bowman's my next target," she said. "I could use backup. It's a decent bounty. Not as good as Kryllic's, but decent."

"So all that about revenge—you were just making all that up." He shook his head. "You're a cold one, alright. I thought this whole thing was a matter of vengeance, when really it was all about the money."

"It's always about the money," she lied.

Coming Next Week: Down and out in the slums of Cassomir in Chris Willrich's bard-tastic new story, "The Cloak of Belonging."

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Three: Lieutenant of the Guard

Even after she and Karag were led to a private room in the back of what proved a pleasant little tavern—complete with dark wood booths and antique table lanterns—Lisette couldn't quite believe the dwarf's claim that he'd get her connected with the banker. Yet the dwarf wasn't one to offer reassurances, and she wasn't one to ask for them, so she simply fell to repairing the musket while he assaulted a large platter of ribs and downed mug after mug of frothy ale.

Proof of Karag's story arrived within a quarter-hour of him asking the tavern keeper to relay a message. A large man in the blue coat of the city guard trooped into their room, closing the door behind him with elaborate care.

Lisette set aside Kerrigan's rifle. Loaded.

Karag glanced up and swallowed quickly before dabbing greasy lips with his napkin. "Lisette Demonde, this is Lieutenant Vech Marill. Lieutenant, this is Lisette Demonde. A bounty hunter."

Vech was large and thick, and between that and his grim demeanor he might have resembled one of Belvar's thugs if he hadn't carried himself with pompous dignity. His uniform, from the cuff of his pants to the collar of his coat, was immaculate, and his well-groomed mustache ends extended an absurd thumb-length beyond his face.

The lieutenant trod heavily across the planks and bowed. "Charmed," he told Lisette.

"As am I." She had decided against rising, so as to leave the question of who socially ranked whom more uncertain. "Karag told me he had connections in the guard. He didn't mention they were so gentlemanly."

Karag grunted and downed a long swig from a foaming mug of ale.

"Won't you join us?" she asked.

Vech pulled out a chair across from her and took a seat.

Lieutenant Vech is far too fond of his mustache.

"She spoiled my work for you, Lieutenant," Karag growled between mouthfuls. "She royally tupped the whole situation with Belvar. You'll have to find a new spy."

"I saved his life," Lisette said. "Twice."

Karag grunted but didn't correct her. She saw Vech's eyebrows twitch with interest.

Lisette explained. "Karag and his bagman were jumped in an alley where I just happened to be. We got out together. Then, when Belvar proved uninterested in my business proposal, he became combative with both of us."

"A business proposal?" Vech's mustache twitched disapprovingly.

She passed over the bowman's warrant. Vech unfolded it, lingering for a moment upon the bloodstain in the corner. Kerrigan had been carrying it.

"Is this blood?" Vech asked.

Lisette nodded once. "This assassin is after one of your prominent citizens." She artfully brushed hair from her forehead and fixed Vech with an intent gaze. "Some of your men misconstrued my activity earlier today, and gave chase."

Vech blinked. "Wait a moment. Were you the one firing arrows willy-nilly from rooftops near the Centre Street court? That's not—"

She tried to keep irritation from her voice. "Not me. That was the bowman."

Vech frowned and touched his mustache.

"He was planning to shoot his target," Lisette continued, "but I surprised him so he aimed his arrows at me."

"Do you have a license?" Vech asked.

Lisette studied him for a long moment, hoping he wasn't as thick as he seemed. Then she reached into a small belt pouch and handed over a sheaf of stamped papers. She waited as he unfolded and read over each of them, knowing he'd find all of it in proper order. There wasn't only an official Andoren seal affixed to the bottom of the primary document, there were all the proper signatures, and additional bounty licenses from Isger, Druma, and Absalom.

He handed them all back. "You should have reported your activity to the guard immediately upon entering our jurisdiction. A less lenient man might see fit to bring you up on charges."

"And you're a lenient man?" She gave him her best smile.

It worked, and the big man returned one of his own. "I'm willing to provide concessions for a... newcomer to the city."

"I just want the bowman, Lieutenant. He's stalking someone in banking who's known to have some underworld contacts, a Jhon Dronsbech. I thought Belvar might introduce us."

Vech's brows rose.

She'd learned Jhon Dronsbech was a prominent and prickly citizen, a member of Oregent's city council, and she'd been worried about how someone in the guard might react to information that an assassin was on his tail. "If you value his safety," Lisette said, "I suggest precautions be taken sooner rather than later. The bowman is quite deadly."

"Jhon is a wealthy man, with his own security."

Lisette arched an eyebrow. "It's your affair."

Vech fingered the end of his mustaches, twirling them between finger and thumb. "I'll ride out to speak with him at once."

"I'd like to accompany you," Lisette volunteered.

He looked surprised. "You? Why?"

"To bear witness. He may not believe just how dangerous the bowman is."

"You have personal experience with this killer?"

"Yes." Something in her voice drew Vech's eyes to hers for a long moment. Finally, he nodded.

Her eyes flicked to the dwarf. "I'd like him along."

"Karag? He still has half a pig to eat."

The dwarf wiped hands on his napkin. "She wants me to earn my keep. If the bowman's there, I get two-fifths of the bounty."

The officer's eyes narrowed. "You think the bowman will be there?"

"He'll be wherever the banker is," Lisette said, "looking for opportunities to strike. I hope to flush him out with the game."

Vech seemed to think long and hard about that. "I'm not sure I like your analogy, but very well. Dronsbech's a touchy one, and your story might make him a little more receptive."

Vech ordered a carriage and brought along a pop-eyed corporal he assured her was an excellent swordsman. She eyed the slim young man dubiously as the carriage got underway, and the soldier, Culcumber, proved irritating almost on the instant. He pointed at the rifle, just visible in the gloom owing to the open curtains and the full moon.

"What's that?" His voice was thin, sharp.

"A ranged weapon."

"Is it magic?" Culcumber asked.

"No."

"Then what is it?"

Lisette was far more interested in watching the lay of the land as they approached the city gates, so she decided to head off further questions. "It's a gun. From Alkenstar. I carry four. The longer ones have greater range; all have excellent stopping power. And no, I won't be telling you anything else about them." At that she fell silent, then pushed the curtain aside to consider the passing streets.

As they rode out north of the city, Vech attempted small talk a couple times, but Lisette kept her answers curt. Didn't the chatty soldiers realize they were heading into combat? At least Karag was silent.

Before much longer they turned off onto a country lane. A manor stood in the lee of a hill ablaze with light. Lanterns strung on poles ascended the hill, and figures strolled up and down dressed in wild garments with fantastical masks. A band of a dozen musicians, dressed alike in green finery, sat on dark benches, plying their trade on violins, cellos, and woodwinds, and it made a merry sound on the evening air.

Great. What more perfect cover could an assassin encounter when closing in on a target?

The same thought must have occurred to Vech, who was eying the perimeter.

Dronsbech at least had an ample force of guardsmen—grim mercenary types wearing dark red tabards over leather armor. Two came immediately to inspect the carriage. Vech motioned for the others to remain within and dropped to the ground.

The guard who stepped forward to meet him was a well-built veteran with a crooked lower lip. His eyes flicked brightly over the uniform coat and Vech's insignia. "Are you an invited guest, Lieutenant?"

"I've urgent news for Mister Dronsbech." Vech put his shoulders back. "His life may be in grave danger."

The fellow's expression clouded, and he studied Vech for a moment before coming to a decision. "Come on, then. Who's the rest in the carriage?"

"One of my men, and witnesses to the assassin who's after your master."

"Assassin?" The guardsmen's eyebrows climbed a little higher. "Alright." He glanced at his companion. "Laltros, you're in charge of the gate. Might want to call up Murgan."

The talkative guard led them off toward the manor, eyeing the rest of Vech's group with curiosity.

"You'd best get Dronsbech up to the house," Vech said. "From what I've learned, it's a credible threat."

"What kind of assassin?" the guardsman asked.

"A bowman," Lisette answered.

The man frowned, then increased his pace and led them through a side door into the manor house, where they threaded past a trio of servants bearing food-laden platters.

The guard then introduced a frowning servant as Darvus, Dronbech's seneschal, who informed them that the master was with some guests in the garden.

"But who are these?" Darvus asked in a droning voice, indicating Lissette and Karag with a slight gesture.

"They need to see the master," the guardsman answered. "Shall I bring him?"

Darvus's frown only deepened, and his balding forehead creased: he was one long visage of disapproval. "This is quite irregular." He sighed. "Very well; go find Master Dronsbech." As the man hurried off, Darvus nodded to Vech. "I suppose you can wait in the master's office. Be so good as to follow me." He directed a dark look toward the dwarf and stepped off the marble to a parquet floor, highly polished, and then to an ornately carved oaken door. "A moment," he instructed, then stepped through into the darkened space to light a wall lamp and another on a desk.

Lisette entered, followed by the others, and saw then they stood within a finely appointed space, complete with an expensive carpet of green and gold, a wall-long bookshelf, a window overlooking what appeared to be a courtyard garden—for Lisette could see walls beyond the flowers—and a mahogany desk with various shiny knick-knacks.

Darvus stepped back from the desk lantern and cleared his throat. "Make yourselves comfortable." He pointed to leather upholstered seats and regarded Lissette again, haughtily. "Why is it that you're here, again?"

Lisette returned the man's gaze. "I have information that may help your employer avoid considerable danger."

Darvus studied her for a long moment, then considered each of them in turn before departing, pulling the door shut behind him. It closed with a click.

Next to the door was a wide, floor-length mirror that reflected the group: the dwarf, now studying the view through the window; Culcumber, nervously considering the book spines; and Vech, fingering his mustache with a look of disappointment, apparently noticing that one side drooped further than the other.

Lisette stationed herself near the mirror and waited for the sound of approaching steps.

Darvus opened the door and entered, reviewing the room before gesturing with a sweeping motion.

Jhon Dronsbech entered behind him. The banker was a tall man with a widow's peak and stooped shoulders, and he scowled at them all from under high, supercilious brows.

He tapped his ivory-handled cane and was opening his mouth to speak when Lisette snapped up her rifle and fired.

Coming Next Week: Blood and explanations in the final chapter of Howard Andrew Jones's "Bells For The Dead"

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Two: Dockside Entertainment

Lisette followed Karag into the bosom of Oregent's underworld, such as it was. The folk of Andoran were different from those of Cheliax, addled perhaps by their own slogans about liberty. Their enterprises were not especially well interwoven with that of the city government, and required more furtive activity. Or so she had deduced. As evening came on, Karag led her via a circuitous route to a tavern in the warehouse district, then through a small crowd of incurious drinkers to a large back storage room. Somewhere, more bells were signaling. All was dark but for a lantern near the door and another over a card table occupied by four thick-necked bruisers. Crates and barrels were stacked more or less neatly upon shelves, amid bits of discarded junk and rusted winches.

At sight of Karag, one of the card players, a big balding Keleshite with a nose ring, got up.

"I've got the delivery," the dwarf announced. "And some news."

"And a visitor." The thug gave Lisette a once-over. He stepped back to knock on a paneled door and announce: "Karag's back, with some woman." The others kept their seats, appraising the newcomer.

After only a brief delay, a fifth man stepped out from a shadowy office. He was of a different cut than the thugs: aquiline nose, firm chin, high cheekbones. He was well dressed, gone a little to fat, but handsome save for lips that seemed small for his face, and somewhat petulant.

This, then, was Belvar. If she managed things right, he could get her past all the obstacles this ill-fated mission had thrown into her path. Belvar had the Keleshite take Karag's satchel, then his dark eyes raked Lisette thoroughly. He made sure she knew that he liked what he saw, as powerful men so often did. She had even, regular features, and her chosen occupation kept her fit, even if it also led to the acquisition of scars and bruises. As yet, none had permanently marred her face. So much the better for playing these kinds of games.

Belvar's a small-town crook with a big-city ego.

"Who's this, Karag?" Belvar's voice was thin, a little oily. He gave her a half-smile as Karag explained how he'd been ambushed, his partner killed. Then Belvar's eyes slipped to the butts of the rifles poking over Lisette's shoulders. They flicked to the blue feather in her brimmed hat, and his expression froze.

She kept her smile fixed in place, pretending that she felt no alarm. He'd recognized her. How had he recognized her?

Karag was in the midst of his report about Lisette dropping into the alley.

"What did you say?" Belvar asked him.

Karag summed up flatly, as if familiar with such interruptions, "Vermet's men jumped us after we'd collected most of the protection money."

"And her?" Belvar snarled.

"She killed two. I got the other one."

Belvar demanded a few more details, then spun and barked orders to one of the muscle boys about arranging a proper "thank you" for Vermet and his crew. The man departed swiftly with an eager, self-satisfied air.

Only then did Belvar step a little closer. "So," he said to Lisette. "It seems I'm about to become involved in a business dispute with a competitor."

"A turf war," she said, picking up on Karag's lead.

"And here you are, dropped right into the middle of things, guns, plume, and all. Coincidence?"

He seemed to have recognized her specifically, not just the fact that she carried guns. She'd have to play things very carefully. She adopted a softer, more feminine tone. "I have to find the man that killed my friend," Lisette told him. "A bowman. And I've learned this bowman is now after a banker you may know. I can see you have more important matters to attend to, but if you could just—"

"I'm afraid your reputation precedes you, my dear." Belvar snapped the fingers of his right hand. "I think I'd be more comfortable discussing your little problem with you unarmed." Instantly he had the attention of the remaining muscle, who rose, grinning with menace, to take up positions—two in front of Belvar, and another who circled behind Lisette. Karag was at her side, though he seemed a little puzzled by his boss's action.

"Hold on," Lisette snapped. Like hell he was going to get her guns. Good thing she'd taken the time to reload. Too bad she only had three shots. There just hadn't been time to repair that broken hammer yet.

"Belvar, she's here to make a deal," Karag told his boss. "She can pay well for basic information." He was trying to prevent a fight, bless him.

"Can she." Belvar sneered, but he held up a hand to his men, who didn't advance. "Did she tell you who she was, Karag?"

The dwarf's gaze shifted doubtfully between the two of them.

"I'm Lisette Demonde," she announced.

"Which she volunteers now," Belvar said with a smirk. "After I've already worked it out."

"I'm not keeping any secrets." Lisette strove to sound as reasonable as possible. "I'm after a bowman, and there's money in it for you."

"Maybe," Belvar said, small lips curling, "and maybe you're really after one of us."

Karag's expression foundered. "What's going on?"

"You ever hear of Kerrigan Sure-Shot? The bounty hunter?"

Apparently Karag hadn't. One of the enforcers, a good-looking Ulfen, muttered under his breath. The other, the big Keleshite, growled.

"She's his." Belvar turned to the Keleshite. "You've heard the stories, right? How many pretty, gun-toting bounty hunters do you think there are? Let alone one wandering around in a feathered hat."

Lisette forced a wider smile. Things were going south. She heard the thug behind her shift. Someone thought he was quieter than he truly was. "I'm a business woman," she tried. "Just like you."

"Bounty hunters killed my brother," Belvar spat.

"Other bounty hunters," she emphasized. "Not me. There's money in this for us both. I hear this banker has some business interests on the shady side, and I figured someone you know has dealings with him."

Belvar snorted in disbelief. "You want to pump me for information?"

"Pay," she repeated. She sensed now that if the window remained open at all, it was closing fast. Now she understood the dwarf's hasty speech. Belvar had a short attention span. "The bowman will be where the banker is. Dronsbech doesn't know the bowman's after him, so I need someone to intro—"

"Dronsbech? Jhon Dronsbech?" Belvar's eyes fairly bulged. "You think I know him?"

"I came here betting you know someone who does. And I'll bet the rich banker will be grateful to whoever helps him out. I just want the bowman. You collect the gratitude."

"Maybe I'll see about talking to Dronsbech myself." Belvar flashed an oily grin "I don't like bounty hunters. Even pretty ones." He snapped the fingers of his other hand.

The man behind her sprang.

Well, so much for the diplomatic approach. Lisette whipped about, fired from the hip, and took the shirtless thug through his sagging belly. He dropped with a scream. She spun back and, with her second pistol, shot the lantern above the card table. It shattered in a spray of glass, plunging the area into darkness. She ducked the knife swipe of the Keleshite, clubbed him in the side of the head with her pistol butt. As he staggered, she swung the rifle around her shoulder so that the barrel pointed forward and triggered it upside down.

The Ulfen had thrown himself flat; he learned fast, though he hadn't been the target. Lisette's third shot blasted the second lantern, plunging the storeroom into darkness. Now the only light source was the dim evening sun filtering through the shuttered back door window.

"She'll rush the door!" Belvar shouted. "Stop her!"

But that wasn't her intention at all. She holstered the pistol, then drew her sword with her off hand. The guy she'd pistol-whipped was groaning on the floor, but the handsome Ulfen was climbing to his feet. And there was Belvar. And Karag, a squat figure who had unlimbered his axe, but stood uncertain.

The Ulfen got his blade up and out as she charged. She deflected his strike and took him down with a precise kick. He groaned and crumpled. So there was only Belvar, and Karag. Neither was likely to know enough about guns to tell that Kerrigan's was broken, and it was too dark to see detail in any case.

To Belvar she presented the bore of Kerrigan's rifle, her curved short sword in her other hand. The crime boss held only a knife.

"I'd drop that, if I were you," she instructed.

She couldn't make out Belvar's expression, but she saw the glint of his blade reflecting the window light behind her, and it quivered.

"Karag?" he said.

"She came for business," Karag replied stubbornly.

"Damn straight," she agreed, then addressed Belvar again. "Drop the knife."

Belvar's oily self-assurance cracked, and he cursed at Karag in a high-pitched tirade. Lisette risked another step towards him. The boss's weapon thudded against the floor planks.

Belvar's voice shook as he screeched. "You ever come near me again, Karag, and you're dead."

"I think you have more pressing worries," Lisette told him smoothly. She slipped in beside him and put the blade of her sword to his throat. She heard the intake of his breath, and let the rifle hang back over her shoulder as she grasped the back of his shirt with one hand and tugged him toward the door. "I wasn't after you at all. I want the bowman. But I bet there's a bounty on your head, somewhere. Maybe I'll take it anyway. To keep in my hope chest."

"This is a misunderstanding." Belvar's voice had risen another half an octave in fear. Lisette looked past him to the shapes gathering in the doorway to the storeroom. The Ulfen had climbed stiffly to his feet and looked like he might still be able to try something. Karag followed her, warily, on a course parallel to her own, axe at the ready.

She heard Belvar lick his lips. The others drew closer.

"Call them off."

He gasped as she pressed the sword edge to his neck. "Get back! All of you! I'm serious."

The Ulfen pulled back, though he watched alertly.

"You're making things a lot more difficult for me, Belvar."

"Just a misunderstanding. We can still talk."

There was nothing more to talk about. She'd be a fool to trust him for an introduction now, and she didn't think there was anything more than her own skin that could be gotten out of the situation. But she had to play things cool. "Alright, but I'll do the talking. Karag"—she had almost called him dwarf—"seems like your name's mud around here now. Earn some coin and show me out of here."

"I don't owe you anything. I had a good thing here."

"Maybe. I think you're probably smarter than Belvar, who's going to end up in a noose before long. Show me around. I'll make it worth your while."

The dwarf only grunted. Well, he'd help or he wouldn't, but if he was as smart as she thought, he'd be out the door right after her. She resisted the impulse to slit Belvar's throat—that could make things even more complicated than they already were. Instead, she sent him careening forward before she turned and bolted for the exit. Immediately, Belvar began shouting for someone to get her.

The door was unlocked. She was through in an instant, and quickly put distance between her and the inevitable pursuit. As she predicted, Karag came out alone a moment later. Three thugs ran after him: one the handsome Ulfen, limping a bit; the other two presumably from the tavern's main room. All were threatening shapes in the twilight. The dwarf jogged along ahead of them, solid, determined.

And dead pretty soon. They were catching up.

She didn't owe the dwarf. Belvar hadn't proven useful. But she might still get some use out of Karag, who at least knew a little more about the city than she.

She dashed behind crates piled by a darkened warehouse door, then unslung the rifle and powder bag. Over the last few years she'd drilled in twilight, darkness, and glaring light, high on rooftops and on rocking boats, and even in the pouring rain. Kerrigan had told her she was faster now than all but the best gunmen of Alkenstar. All her skills were honed so that she might load and reload and keep Kerrigan always supplied with a ready weapon.

She would give much, now to have someone like that herself. Or better yet, to still be offering a loaded weapon to the dark-skinned bounty hunter.

The dwarf was ten feet off, the nearest thug fifteen. There was no time to waste. She cocked the hammer, raised the rifle to her shoulder, and fired, deciding at the last second to shoot one of the others instead of the good-looking Ulfen. Life and death, she thought, aren't always fair.

She absorbed the weapon's kick, felt the familiar smell of the gunpowder wash over her as the pursuing guard's face dissolved into red ruin. The Ulfen and his comrade dove for cover.

"Come on, dwarf!" Lisette called, and ran on. Another twenty feet led them out to what seemed a main thoroughfare, judging by the carriages and the lights. Puffing, Karag joined her. She was about to ask him the best way to go when Karag pointed and they jogged off, stopping only when Lisette flagged down a closed black carriage.

The driver leaned down, the tip of his conical black service cap sagging. She showed him a gold sail, the then glanced to Karag, who seemed uncertain as to her aim. "Give him a destination."

After a moment, the dwarf said, "The Golden Ox."

"No other passengers," Lisette said as she passed up the coin.

"As you wish, madame. My pleasure."

They scrambled into the carriage, and Lisette closed the door, though she held the dark curtain to one side to consider the street. There was no obvious sign of pursuit. "What's at the Ox?" she asked Karag.

"A friend," the dwarf grunted coarsely. "You cost me a lot, woman. I had a decent thing going back there."

She considered the squat, broad shape hunched on the bench across from her. He smelled of sweat and ale and blood.

"I'll probably have to leave the city now," the dwarf muttered.

"You could work for the mine gangs, or Vermet."

He grunted. "Vermet's an ass. And I'm done with mining."

"Well. I didn't expect Belvar to recognize me."

"You'd be hard to forget," the dwarf said. "Don't the guns give you away?"

"Kerrigan usually does the talking." The moment she said as much, she chided herself.

For a long time, she thought the dwarf hadn't understood, but he deduced more than she'd hoped.

"So it's Kerrigan who's dead, is it? What was he, your lover?"

"Yes," she answered, as though the matter was of little import.

"So who's this bowman guy?"

"An elite assassin. There's a contract on him."

"See, you should have told me you were a bounty hunter."

"It's not about the bounty. Not now. I told you that."

Karag seemed to consider that, for he was quiet for a time. "If I help you find him, will you cut me in for half?"

"Help me how?"

"I can get good help. You want to get in to see the banker? I can manage it. And I can back you up so we can collect."

"What kind of help?"

"Let's talk money first. It'll be help that will cut through about anything, though."

She was intrigued despite herself. "A fifth," she offered.

"A fifth of what?"

"You'd get a hundred Sails."

Karag remained silent. The cart turned, and they bounced through some deep ruts. Somewhere far away, another set of bells began their ringing. "Two fifths. Two hundred sails," the dwarf said at last.

"That's a lot of money. Who're these friends of yours?"

Karag grinned. "You wouldn't believe me."

Coming Next Week: Dwarven revelations in Chapter Three of Howard Andrew Jones's "Bells For The Dead"

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Bells for the Dead

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter One: The Wrong Target

Lisette slowly brought her rifle to rest on a dirty shingle at the apex of the roof, checking a final time to ensure the weapon's barrel was still smudged. The afternoon sky might be overcast, but Lisette took no unnecessary chances. There were enough necessary ones already. A sunbeam might break through and glint off any undulled metal.

There on the civic building roof, far above the narrow streets, she had a fine view of the bowman. He perched in a small bell tower overlooking the central square, some fifteen feet below and two hundred away. Like many structures in Oregent, the bell tower was tall and slender. The folk of Oregent seemed to like high and cramped almost as much as they liked their damnable bells.

The bowman stood in the shadows, awaiting his own prey, so still he might have been a statue. His finely crafted weapon of polished oak was just a sliver of darkness in his hand.

Lisette ticked off the precautions she'd taken while waiting for a wave of anger to pass. In her dark form-fitting clothes, black hair tied off in a ponytail, she'd be unlikely to draw attention against the soot-blackened slate tiles, even once the report of the gun echoed erratically off the roofs around her. Only a handful of the city's buildings stretched as high as this, and few of them had windows looking out toward her. So narrow were most of the town's avenues that anyone on the street would have a difficult if not impossible task spotting her. The bowman was fast, and she'd likely get only one shot. She hadn't had time to repair her other rifle, and she'd have to be very lucky indeed to hit the bowman from such a distance with either of her pistols. It was this rifle, or nothing. And so she steadied herself, counting slowly down from ten while she lined up the shot.

She spied the hawk in the same instant she heard its screech. It dove into her peripheral vision from the upper right, a keening brown blur with dark claws. She jerked reflexively even as her finger stroked the trigger.

The rifle kicked into her shoulder, and the acrid smell of gun smoke hit her nostrils as the weapon bellowed. She cursed, knowing instinctively that the shot was spoiled even as she saw the bowman slip into cover behind one of the bell tower's structural supports.

His hawk pulled out of its dive only a few feet away, and her frustration got the better of her. She clasped the warm barrel of her rifle and swung out at the thing. She missed by only a few inches, knowing a brief moment of satisfaction as the animal shrilled in alarm.

But in striking out she overbalanced and slid down the shingles. Her ire vanished in an upswell of panic. She flipped to her side, then her back, scrabbling one-handed on the sharp tiles. She dared not release her hold on the irreplaceable rifle, but she could find no purchase. The cobblestone street lay a killing distance below, some sixty feet even beyond the twenty of dormered roof.

Sheer luck sent her sliding toward an elaborate gargoyle outcropping above a downspout. She grabbed the hideous creature's waist with one hand like a desperate lover, then lay half entwined with it as she caught her breath.

A trio of arrows arced up and over the roof. She shifted desperately.

The damned bowman was so good that all three struck the position where she'd just been lying. They hit the dirty shingles and clattered away, one rolling past her to a windowsill beneath the dormer on her left. If she'd remained where she'd been propped, any one of them would have skewered her.

The hawk, meanwhile, was circling back and calling out. Was the vile creature actually signaling her position?

As if things weren't bad enough, from somewhere below came the whistle of one of the Oregent city guard.

Lisette cursed a blue streak, shouldered the rifle, and untangled herself from the gargoyle enough to set one foot on the cracked stone sill to her left. It seemed solid enough. This wasn't the window she'd entered by, but she didn't wait to see if it was unlocked when another arrow chipped off one of the gargoyle's ears.

One good kick from her black boot broke the peeling wood frame and fragmented the window. She threw herself in after, hearing the clatter of more arrows striking the frame even as she dropped into an empty storage room.

She dashed into the empty attic hallway, diverted briefly to the room cluttered with old chairs where she'd gained roof access. There she retrieved Kerrigan's damaged rifle, her hat, and her shoulder bag. In moments she was hurrying out the lower window she'd jimmied open, then out onto the roof of the annex. She retraced her steps across the flat rooftop at a jog. She didn't see the hawk, and the arrows had stopped, but she heard the whistle of the city watch, closer now, and someone shouted, "There's a woman running up there!"

It hadn't been one of her better days. She should have stuck with her original target and worried about the bowman later.

A second whistle blew, and then was promptly drowned by the ringing of some set of great brass bells. The clanging was so thunderous that it set the roof below her shaking in sympathy.

She hated those bells. People in the city seemed so tuned to them that they could tell which particular temple called them to worship, and knew which factory called for shift change. Almost it seemed that people moved at the behest of the bells rather than the other way around. A whole city governed by implacable metal monsters.

She ran on, ducking around a spire and dropping onto the slanted roof of an apartment building before leaping a narrow alley to a two-story stone affair. This was the closest she'd yet gotten to the ground, and she hurried a little farther before spotting a dark alleyway. Just what she needed.

And then she saw that the space was occupied. Three men were turned away from her toward the alley's mouth, facing a stout figure beside a youth lying in a widening pool of blood. The trio advanced menacingly on the short one. She grimaced as she knelt and scanned the surrounding rooftops. This looked like the best way down anywhere nearby and she'd have to get to the street to lay low. The depressingly efficient Oregent guards would already be combing the rooftops.

And so, panting and tired, she swung to the coping and dropped.

She felt the shock of the twelve-foot fall. In other circumstances, she would have absorbed it with a roll, but she had two rifles slung over her shoulder. One of the three bravos must have heard her, and he turned, lifting a sword.

She'd talked her way out of plenty of tough scrapes, but this was no time for niceties. She shot the man point-blank with one pistol and was pulling the second free even before he crumpled. His mouth opened, and he might have screamed, but it was difficult to hear over the reverberating crack of the powder.

The second of the bravos turned from his target—a blond dwarf armed with an axe—and she fired a second time. In the confined space the blast echoed like thunder, but when this man dropped, his shrieks outlasted the echo.

Lisette cursed again. This wasn't what she needed. The whole job had been rotten from the beginning. She'd warned Kerrigan...

There was no time for that.

The last assailant seemed to think his best option was to simply run clear, but the dwarf caught him with the axe as he dashed past and brought him down with a spray of blood. It was a swift, efficient cut, and left the dying man no air with which to cry out.

Lisette had both pistols back through her sash now, and considered the dwarf while she pointed her second rifle at him—Kerrigan's rifle. Hopefully the dwarf wouldn't notice the damaged hammer, or know what it meant. Both ignored the third thug moaning in an ever-widening stream of his own blood.

The dwarf proved a rugged, plain fellow with a weathered leather jerkin. There was no missing the battle lust in his eyes.

"Do I have to fight past you, too?" Lisette asked.

"I suppose I should thank you for the assist." His accent was eastern. He frowned as the whistle of a watchman sounded nearby. From his strained expression, she suddenly knew that he was as leery of the law as she was. Was he an outlaw? A bandit? Someone from a local gang?

"You can thank me by getting me into hiding." If the guards detained her, even for a little while, she'd lose her chance at the target. Both targets.

The stout dwarf grunted, then lowered the axe to snatch up a heavy-looking bag lying beside the dead boy at the alley's mouth—a fallen ally? He considered her warily as it clanked with the unmistakable jangle of coins. "Come on."

He walked at such speed it was almost a jog, and she shouldered the rifle to fall in beside him. They'd just made it down the winding lane across the street when the alarm whistles shrilled more vehemently. The guards were close.

The dwarf sped up to a full run, and she loped silently at his side. She could easily outpace him, but there was no point—not if he really did know the way to a safe house. He ducked suddenly down an even narrower passageway between an older stone building and a newer brick one, this gap so thin they had to sidle sideways. Twenty paces in, just a few feet before it dead-ended, a blackened rope hung against the grimy bricks. From the alley opening it was completely invisible, indistinguishable from dirty building in the darkness.

Clever. The dwarf shoved his bloody axe into its holster and clambered up. Mostly he used his arms, but he pushed off the wall with his boots and was soon up to the blank face of the second floor.

Lisette didn't think there was time to waste, so she scaled quickly, using opposing walls for leverage. It was no simple feat, but she thought nothing of it until the dwarf reached a third-floor window and noticed her beside him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he went into the darkened opening without comment.

She slipped in immediately after, reaching back to steady the rope lest its movement catch attention. She then considered the room, alert for ambush.

There was no one else inside the cramped and musty place. The dwarf settled on a bench, breathing heavily through his mouth, presumably trying to make as little noise as possible for him. She heard footsteps rush past the main portion of the alley.

From somewhere below came a strain of fiddle and a woman's laughter, high and a little unnatural. They were above one of Oregent's many taverns, she realized. "What—" she started to ask, and then was drowned out by the pealing gongs of a nearby clutch of bells. Had it been another quarter hour already, or was this some other interval of time being marked?

The dwarf scowled throughout the two-minute long episode. She took the time to inspect the rest of the room. The bedframe and the dirty mattress. The warped floorboards. The single dresser with its sagging left leg. There was a candle sitting upon this last, but she didn't move to light it.

"I hate those bells," the dwarf muttered when the sound had finally ebbed.

Lisette smiled wryly. "What's that batch ringing about?"

"I think another mining shift has ended," the dwarf said, though he didn't sound certain.

"You're not a native, I take it."

"No," the dwarf agreed. "And neither are you."

"Right. But it looks to me like you have some business connections I don't."

"Is that so?" The dwarf listened at the open window, his head in profile so he could also watch Lisette.

She heard a whistle, but it was now quite far away. During the ringing she'd planned her next move, and she acted on it now. "I'm thinking you owe me a favor."

The dwarf snorted. "Way I see it, the favor's already paid. You weren't out to save me. You were on the run and dropped in on the middle of the fight."

He was shrewder than he looked. "Fair enough. But, as you're a businessman, let's say I've got a proposition for you."

"Let's say you do," the dwarf told her cautiously. "There's money?"

"A little. I don't need that big a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"What makes you think I'd know her?"

"It's a him. He might travel in circles familiar to you."

The stout outlaw kept his tone flat. "What circles are those?"

Lisette snorted. "Don't play games, dwarf."

"It's Karag."

Karag likely has ties to the underground—but then, he is a dwarf.

"Alright, Karag. It's easy to see you're no more a friend of the city watch than I am. I'm guessing that bag of coins isn't something you'd want to be caught with."

He glanced down at the bag at his feet. "Not much of a guess."

"I'm not sure what you were doing, and I really don't care. I need to find someone. And I'll bet your boss knows someone who can help me. I'll pay you both. But the man I'm after is going to slip away if I don't move fast."

"How much money?"

"For some introductions? Five sails for you. If your boss knows the way, I'll cut him in for more."

The dwarf shook his head. "That's pretty cheap. Look, lady, let me offer you some advice: If you go poking under the wrong rocks in Oregent, you'll end up dead. You don't just wander in and start asking around. It gets people suspicious. And you start throwing around gold, they might just knife you to take it all."

"They can try," Lisette said softly.

He eyed her sidelong. "What do you want this guy for?"

"I'm delivering flowers. What do you think?"

Karag grunted. "What'd he do to you?"

"He killed a friend."

At this, Karag nodded. He pointed to her waist. At the pistols, she realized as he spoke. "You a witch?"

She forced back a laugh. "No."

"Sorceress?"

"No."

"What are you, then?" he asked with a truculent growl.

"I'm just a lady hunting a killer, and I'm willing to pay for information."

Karag grunted again. "Come on, then. I need to report to Belvar in any case. My advice, keep things simple."

She smiled thinly. "Oh, I always do."

Coming Next Week: Into Oregent's seedy underbelly in Chapter Two of Howard Andrew Jones's "Bells For The Dead"

Want even more Lisette and Karag? Check out the new Pathfinder Tales novel Stalking the Beast, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Plague of Shadows and Stalking the Beast, as well as the independent historical fantasy novels The Desert of Souls and The Bones of the Old Ones. He's also edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword-and-sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Inheritance

by Gabrielle Harbowy

Chapter Four: People and Causes

The camp's last remaining healer had died two days before, infected by some foul colony of demonic parasites. Learning further details prompted Zae to add "never pray barefooted" to her list of life lessons.

Leodar, the knight who had greeted Keren, led the way with confidence through the broken landscape, while Carom and Saric, two young but weathered knights, brought up the rear. Strange geysers dotted the ground, some swelling like pustulant wounds, others rising and falling as if the land was a breathing beast. Above, beyond churning black clouds, the sky glowed the sickly color of rust, giving off just enough light for gnome eyes to see by. Under the cover of night, things clacked and slithered and grunted, distracting Zae with hints of movement in her peripheral vision. The others didn't seem to notice.

Leodar rode unerringly toward an outcropping of stone—the crumbling ruins of an old smithy, barely sturdy enough to serve as an outpost. A clash of swords rang out from beyond the building, followed by a blaze of firelight.

Leodar lowered his visor. "Seems we're not too late."

Keren took a deep breath and nudged her horse forward. "Ennis! It's Keren. I've come from Lastwall."

A burst of fire bloomed above the smithy, leaving blinding afterimages in Zae's vision. The knights charged toward the fray, and Zae nudged Appleslayer to follow the horses. They rounded the structure in time to see a half-dozen cloaked and hooded figures, all chanting in unison, surrounding a single knight in mismatched armor.

Ennis is devoted to his cause—even unto death.

Ennis Rhinn might once have looked very much like his sister, before the demonplague. Now he looked barely human—gaunt as a corpse, face mottled purple and red with bruises and open sores, and just a few thready strands of greasy, ash-dusted hair.

"Ennis!" Keren shouted again, and circled around to charge one of her brother's attackers.

"Begone, demon!" he shouted, hurling something as she passed. Keren deflected a jagged rock with her shield.

"Foul hallucination!" he screamed. "Do you lack the stones to face me in your own form?"

Keren cast a worried glance back at her companions. Leodar lifted his shoulders, as if to say This was your idea. Zae nudged Appleslayer forward to join her.

"Ennis, it's truly me. I'm here with Leodar, and others from your camp." She rode down one of the sword-wielding cultists, then turned Eridem and charged another. "Ennis, by Iomedae, I swear to you..."

A wordless scream interrupted her—one of fury, not agony. "I'll hear no more! I'll bash out my own brains before I let you defile my goddess, or the memory of my sister! Go back to the Abyss, demon!"

Zae sighed. "Well, at least he still cares about you."

At a signal from Leodar, the other knights rode in, blades drawn. They ignored Ennis's shouts of challenge and focused only on riding down his attackers. All the cultists were armed with sickles and other blades, and there was something about that which wasn't quite right.

"Wait!" Zae called. "Weren't there—"

A burst of flame exploded in Carom's face, setting his mount's mane ablaze. The horse panicked and reared, throwing its rider and trampling him before bolting away into the night.

"—sorcerers..."

Ennis slashed with his longsword at anything within reach, armored knight and robed cultist alike. Keren and Saric rode down cultist after cultist, beheading them or hacking off limbs with long sweeps of their swords, while Leodar took off after a sorcerer attempting to circle around and flank them.

Anticipating Zae's command, Appleslayer bounded to where Carom had fallen from his horse and lay unmoving on the ground. Zae tugged off one of his scorched gauntlets to reach his skin and explore the extent of his injuries.

The broken ribs were worse than the burns. Calling on Brigh, Zae pushed healing warmth through her fingers and into him, steadying him, then fished into the satchel still slung over her shoulder for a salve for the burns. Hail began to fall from the roiling clouds, small crystals pelting Carom's armor like pebbles. Zae pulled up her hood and ignored them, sheltering her patient with her small body while she repaired the worst of his wounds. Appleslayer stood vigil over them both.

Presently, Zae became aware that the annoying chanting had stopped. Instead, under the clash of battle, she heard human voices.

"Why do you aid me, demon?"

"I'm not a demon, Ennis. I'm your sister."

Zae stole a glance toward the siblings. Keren, Saric, and Ennis were on foot, parrying and dodging a grotesque flying demon. It looked as if a giant, bloated snowball of phlegm had consumed a few stray humans and a bat, with only wings and the odd nest of misshapen limbs protruding from its mass. One of those limbs held a long, barbed whip.

The cultists, and their chanting—they must have either been summoning the demon, or protecting it.

"Why'd you come?" Ennis asked. "Did Father disown you, too?"

"Father's dead, Ennis. I came to find you."

Saric swung upward at the demon's underbelly, but it only flew up beyond his reach and lashed out with a flick of its slender whip, capturing the crusader's arm. It turned with tug that knocked him to the ground and sent his sword skittering away. Zae crept up toward him, praying under her breath.

Keren hacked at one of the demon's wings while its whip was entangled, but it rose out of range. Another of its arms was reaching for something. At first Zae thought it was feeling for damage to its wing, but instead it looked to be extracting a chunk of its own viscous flesh. As Saric struggled to his feet, clutching the whip to keep the demon from pulling it free, a burst of fire caught him in the chest.

There was the sorcerer from before—the one Leodar had evidently not run down. Demonblooded, with wicked, curved horns, and tiny motes of fire that hovered around her like moths. She flung them toward the three knights with flicks of her wrist. Keren dodged the flame, and charged at the spellcaster with a fierce battle cry.

Zae was almost to Saric. His grasp on the whip only served as another tool for the demon, which jerked away so sharply that the man's shoulder wrenched from its socket. He lost his hold and slumped to the foul ground, where Zae was instantly at his side. Before she could do more than lift Saric's visor, however, Ennis let out a shout and dove toward her, knocking the gnome onto the prone man and falling atop them both.

A thick, caustic rain splattered around them. Ennis jerked against Zae's back and screamed, his breath rattling in his chest like nails shaken in a cup. Face inches from the ground, Zae watched the acid carve tiny pits in the rocky terrain. It was doing the same to Ennis's armor, and to Saric—by Brigh's shiny eyeholes, she'd just exposed Saric's face moments before the viscous attack.

Ennis tried to rise and failed, slumping back heavily on top of them. From beneath him, Zae saw Keren approaching, silhouetted against the night, longsword gleaming with the sorcerer's blood. She took a fierce overhead swipe, splitting the demon's belly. A loud squelch—the sound of a stalk of celery stabbing through an overripe tomato—heralded a second deluge. Zae ducked her head, squeezing eyes and lips shut until it passed and all was silent. She couldn't twist around far enough to reach Ennis's skin, or Saric's.

"Ennis...?" she asked.

His weight on her didn't move, and a wave of guilt and nausea flooded her.

Keren's voice answered as Ennis's weight eased away. "Careful what you touch."

Zae rose unsteadily to her knees. The ground around them, everywhere that Ennis's body hadn't shielded, was pocked and still quietly hissing. She was dry, as far as she could tell, but Saric's helm was full of viscous acid. He had choked on it even as it burned through his jaw and throat, and though she had been right there, she hadn't been able to save him—either of them. Not the knight she'd been about to heal, nor the one who, already plague-ridden, had sacrificed himself to shield her... even without knowing what she meant to his sister.

They walked gingerly, Keren carrying her brother's still hissing and popping corpse, to the ruined smithy. There, Carom waited with two horses and Appleslayer. His breaths were shallow, favoring his tender ribs, but he was whole.

Ennis was not so lucky. Keren set him down with care, supporting his shoulder to keep him from leaning his raw back against the stone, then realized that she needn't bother. He was already gone. Keren set her face in a mask of calm to hold the pain away until there was time for it.

It was a somber ride back to the encampment, with Ennis's body draped across Keren's saddle. When they passed the wardstone that marked the border and Zae pulled back her hood, white crystals fell from the folds. On closer inspection, she saw that they were tiny teeth.

∗ ∗ ∗

Keren traced her brother's medallion with her fingertips, lost in thought. Zae came to sit on the tent's carpeted floor beside her, and Apple padded over to rest his chin in her lap.

Keren fished her necklace out of her tunic and set the medallions on the box, side by side.

"Is it killing you that I haven't opened it yet?" It was a pale attempt at teasing, but it heartened Zae that Keren was up to trying.

"You're apprehensive. I can't blame you. But the hardest part is over, isn't it?"

Keren pushed Ennis's medallion toward Zae. It was more weathered than Keren's, but its intricacies were still intact.

"Together?" Keren asked.

They each placed a disc to an impression on the box. There was no sense of anything clicking into place, but the lid opened smoothly at Keren's touch.

A parchment envelope nestled on cream-colored velvet lining. Keren took it and examined both sides, but it was unmarked. She took a deep breath and lifted the unsealed flap.

Zae could see that the thick page bore neat lines of writing, but she couldn't make it out through the back side of the paper. She rubbed Apple's head and waited, watching wetness gather in Keren's eyes.

"It's a peace offering. He accepts that Ennis went his own way, and he's proud of both of us for fighting for what we believe in. Here: ‘There are three of these rings, which I had forged. I will wear mine into eternity, and the others are for you, to mark us as family. You bear a piece of me, and my blessing, always. The people are more important than the cause, Keren. Victory is meaningless without the people for whom we fight, and the people we go home to.'"

Keren caught her sleeve and swiped her wrist across her eyes, then let out a trembling sigh and upended the envelope into the box. "He just wanted me and Ennis to be together again. And at the end, I guess we were."

Two rings tumbled onto the velvet, gleaming and, to Zae's eye, quite finely wrought of gold and platinum. Minutes ticked by, but Keren didn't reach for them.

"What will you do with them?" Zae asked.

Keren looked up. Stubbornly, she still refused to let her tears fall. "He wanted these to mark us as family, but I don't have any family left—except you. Will you wear one?"

Zae arched one thin blue eyebrow. "Are you sure he'd approve of that?"

"He'd want me to be happy, and I'm happy with you. Your cooking is dangerous, and you perform dog surgery in my house, and every moment with you is full of wonder and something new."

Zae stood and wound her arms around Keren. "I'd be honored," she said. "I wish I'd gotten to meet Ennis in health, or your father, or see more of the Worldwound."

Keren laughed weakly. "Sometimes I think your curiosity is a death wish in disguise."

Zae touched her nose to Keren's cheek. "Oh, but it's not just curiosity. It's informed curiosity. I know how big and complicated and dangerous the world is. What fascinates me is all that variety—how the world can be so full of parts that are so complex and weird and beautiful, and interconnected. I'm not fascinated by birds in flight because I think flight is mystical and impossible, I'm fascinated because I understand how it works, and how it works is fascinating. That's the kind of wonder I see in the world. But to your second point?" She grinned. "Yes. Probably."

Keren rolled her eyes. "You'll need me to protect you."

"Definitely. And you'll need me to stitch you up after you protect me. I hear some creatures think I'm a tasty snack. They might be relentless."

"Are you a tasty snack, pixie?" There was a gleam in Keren's eyes.

"Are you relentless?" Zae countered.

Though—or perhaps because—Zae knew that both answers were yes, she was glad to have a long voyage home in which to explore them fully.

Coming Next Week: A sample chapter of Howard Andrew Jones's new novel Stalking the Beast, featuring the return of Elyana and Drelm from Plague of Shadows!

Gabrielle Harbowy is an editor for such SF publishers as Pyr, Seven Realms Publishing, and Dragon Moon Press, as well as co-editor of the When the Hero Comes Home anthology series with Ed Greenwood. Her short fiction has been a finalist for the Parsec award, and has appeared in such anthologies as The Beast Within 2, Metastasis, Cthulhurotica, and more. For more information, visit gabrielle-edits.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Inheritance

by Gabrielle Harbowy

Chapter Three: The Wound of the World

The next town, Bladswell, wasn't so much a town as a ferryboat station that happened to have an inn and some farms attached. Still, the inn had vacancies and Zae appreciated spending a night in privacy, in something resembling a real bed, after days on the trail. They treated themselves to something resembling a real meal and then a real bath, as well.

She gathered her long indigo curls in a towel and wrung her hair from dripping to damp, then carefully dried her ears—specifically, the line of shining bronze rings that pierced each, all the way from lobe to tip. "Wouldn't it be romantic to sleep in the hayloft instead?" she offered.

Keren, lounging on the bed in only a towel, made a face. "It may sound romantic, but trust me, hay is sharp and unyielding in all sorts of romantic-mood-killing ways."

The gnome raised an eyebrow. "And how do you come by this knowledge?"

Keren stretched and gave an exaggerated yawn. "Oh, look how late it's gotten!"

"Right. You won't distract me that easily."

Standing, Keren slowly and deliberately unwrapped her towel.

Zae, it turned out, was distracted that easily.

∗ ∗ ∗

Zae is always up for an adventure.

Keren became increasingly restless as they sailed nearer to the Worldwound. Her anxiety wanted very much to be contagious, but Zae refused to catch it. She sat on the uncomfortable bed with Appleslayer at her feet, and assembled the bits and parts she'd picked up in Chastel. There was something meditative about handling gears and wire. Partly because it was an activity she associated with prayer, but partly because she liked to fix what was broken. She knew the difference between the sentient and the inanimate, of course, but on a more theoretical level, she had always thought that healing a body and fixing a machine were much the same kind of action. Everything ticking along smoothly.

"Like clockwork..." she murmured, and Keren lifted her head.

"Hm?"

"Just thinking aloud," Zae answered. "Welcome back."

While Zae immersed herself in her tinkering, Keren had paced their small cabin, and then the deck, and then the cabin again. The knight refused soothe syrup—travel up the river was safer than travel along its banks, but not by much, and she wanted her wits about her. Zae could respect that, and was grateful for it.

Keren joined her, sprawling beside the dog and trailing her fingers through his snowy fur.

Zae enjoyed conversation while she worked. "You said you joined the crusade because your father wanted you to. Was it what you wanted, too?"

Keren frowned. "There was never any other option. Me and Ennis, we were groomed for it from birth. I got my first set of armor at age five. Not in the white and gold, of course, since I hadn't taken my oaths yet, but Father made the Knights sound like the worthiest goal in the world, and there wasn't anyone around to tell me otherwise. I don't know...I'd probably have been an artisan, and made beautiful things with my hands. Maybe I still will, someday." She sighed and rolled onto her back. "What will your contraption be when it's done?"

Zae cradled one half of a brass sphere carefully between her bare feet while she worked on the other half, occasionally switching off or testing to make sure that they still fit together. "It'll be a divining rod. Well, ball. Divining ball. It'll tell us which way your brother is, if we ask it the right questions. Except when it doesn't, of course. These things are never completely reliable. And I only have so much incense, so we won't be able to consult it too many times...but I thought it might get us started."

Keren studiously rubbed under Apple's chin. "That had to be stupidly expensive."

"It was," Zae said quietly. There was no point denying it. "But worth it. And don't even think of trying to pay me back. I've never gotten to build one of these before, and... well, I've never had a chance to do something so big and totally selfless for someone I care about before, either."

Silence stretched out comfortably for a moment. "Surely you've..." Keren ventured.

"Had lovers, as you know. Even almost married once—a halfling. He stole my heart, but I got it back."

The comfortable silence returned, broken only by the dog's quiet snores and the lapping of water against the hull. When Zae assembled the halves into a sphere and looked up, Keren was asleep.

It always surprised the gnome how soft even the most hardened humans became when their features relaxed. Curled up around Appleslayer as she was, it was easy to see her youth. Humans lived so briefly and so brightly, and felt things so intensely. Zae didn't think she'd ever truly understand what made them tick, but to get to share even a bit of that—not to mention being on the receiving end of those feelings—was a gift she didn't take for granted.

∗ ∗ ∗

Apple got his land legs back sooner than Zae did—perhaps because he had more of them to balance on. For gnome and human, the swaying of the riverboat became the swaying of a moderate gait in the saddle, gradually acclimating them both to solid ground.

Just in time to see it fall away. They drew to a halt just shy of the border of the Worldwound, staring out at the ravaged landscape. Overhead the sky was low and leaden gray, but in the distance it churned an unnatural palette of bile and sweet corn.

"Got your gadget?" Keren asked.

Zae fumbled in her satchel and withdrew the orb. She knew she had polished it to a shine, but the oppressive air seemed to take away all that was bright in the world. From a side pocket, she unwrapped a small purple cone of incense, added a few drops of clear oil to it, and slid it point-first into a perfectly sized hole in the orb. Making sure she was facing the ruined landscape, she closed her eyes to concentrate.

"Masked clockmaker, she who drives our gears, abide with us a time and be the whisper in our bronze. We seek Ennis Rhinn, and we travel overland. Is a path to the east toward weal or woe?"

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then the orb began to vibrate with the muffled whir of gears turning in their casing. After perhaps half a minute, it stopped. "There."

Zae turned the orb, and the smoke that filtered out was white and sweetly scented. "Thank you, Lady Brigh." She smiled up at Keren. "We go east."

∗ ∗ ∗

The first crusaders they met were a pair on patrol, wearing gouged, pitted armor that had seen many adventures. One look at Keren's white and gold told them her origin, and when she lifted a hand in greeting Zae wasn't surprised to see the Lastwall shield on the guardswoman's palm when it rose in response.

"Here to join the ranks?" the guard called. Keren dismounted and approached on foot. Zae remained on Appleslayer. The knights spoke briefly, clasped hands, and Keren returned to her horse.

"We're heading in the right direction," she said, and nudged Eridem onward.

A mile or so along, an outpost was set up at the edge of the Worldwound, only feet from where the ground turned from dirt and rock to foul wasteland. They reined in before the tent with the largest banner.

All the crusaders looked just as worn as their scouts had. Some were in makeshift armor or had chipped weapons. Scars abounded on roughened faces. One boy looked barely to have reached adulthood, but already had a pink gash cutting down over the socket of one milky eye.

"What've we here?" he called out, and the dozen or so others perked up and took notice. "Fresh blood from the south?" One of the other men coughed, and spat something green and phlegmy that wriggled away toward the cursed ground.

"That's right," Keren answered. "Making our way east." Zae could see her studying every face, looking for her brother among them. "We'll lend you our strength if we can share your camp tonight."

One of the older men laughed, a harsh sound like a file rasping across stone. "It's clear you're confident with your sword, lass, but what of your little friend?"

Zae straightened in her saddle. "I can make water for you."

A round of raucous laughter answered her. "Isn't a one of us who can't make water, tiny lass. What need have we of yours?"

Zae's cheeks flushed hot. "That's not what I meant! Holy water, to fight the demons. Purified water, to drink."

The older soldier pointed out toward the ruined land. "Can ye purify that, miss?" He shrugged and returned to sharpening his jagged sword. "Get on with you both. We don't need the faces of the fresh and eager to disrupt our lives or end 'em with your carelessness. Make water on someone else."

Zae exchanged a look with Keren, who shook her head minutely and put gentle heels to Eridem's sides.

They continued along the border, mindful of keeping to healthy ground. "Maybe our good fortune is still to come," Zae said, but Keren gave no response.

The sun was setting, turning the sky from an unnatural green to an unnatural reddish-brown. No lights shone in the Worldwound, but occasionally something cracked or slithered.

"Did you see them?" Keren finally asked as they rode along.

Zae's heart pounded. "What?" She scanned the horizon, but Keren shook her head.

"No. Those soldiers. They were so..."

"Close to death?" Zae supplied.

Keren frowned, but nodded. "I expected things to be shiny and organized here, like they are at Vigil, but it's all so... fractured. Desperate."

Another fortified outpost loomed in the distance. They arrived at it just at nightfall proper, as the last of the natural light gave way to an eerie malevolent glow.

"If they're anything like the last," Keren said as they walked their mounts up toward the cluster of buildings, "I wonder if we'd not be safer keeping to ourselves."

"Safer, perhaps," Zae answered, "but less likely to find Ennis."

"What about Ennis?" one of the sentries called.

Keren froze. It seemed to take her a moment to find her tongue, so Zae answered for her. "Ennis Rhinn. Is he part of your unit?"

The guard, who looked healthier and more whole than anyone Zae had seen at the border thus far, pursed his lips. Behind him, three more ragged soldiers limped into the camp, two supporting the weight of the one between them. "For now. By morning I suspect that'll change." He nodded out toward the scarred land. "Demonplague's got him. He's making his hours count."

"He's my brother." Keren rested her hand on her sword hilt, gaze hard. "Take me to him."

The knight held up his hand, showing his sigil. Keren and Zae both did the same. "Well met, Rhinn." When he signaled two more knights to join them, the gnome saw Keren's posture relax; she'd been tensed for a fight. "Been out into the 'Wound before?"

"Not yet."

"Figured not; your armor's too clean. That'll change quick. You sure you don't want to wait till morning? Riding through the Worldwound is nothing like picking off a few stray ghouls in the Hungry Mountains. And it's busiest at night."

"You just said morning might be too late. I'm ready." Keren looked at Zae, brown eyes aglow. "What do you think: weal or woe, when we find him?"

The guard lowered his visor. "Naught out there but woe. You'll see that for yourself soon enough."

Coming Next Week: Meetings and endings in the final chapter of Gabrielle Harbowy's "Inheritance"!

Gabrielle Harbowy is an editor for such SF publishers as Pyr, Seven Realms Publishing, and Dragon Moon Press, as well as co-editor of the When the Hero Comes Home anthology series with Ed Greenwood. Her short fiction has been a finalist for the Parsec award, and has appeared in such anthologies as The Beast Within 2, Metastasis, Cthulhurotica, and more. For more information, visit gabrielle-edits.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Inheritance

by Gabrielle Harbowy

Chapter Two: Adventure

Zae took care of cleaning Keren's home and procuring supplies for the journey, while Keren trained Appleslayer to be a riding hound. In just a few busy days, bags were packed, and homes and infirmary were closed up. Keren secured permission to ride along with a party of crusaders patrolling the Virlych border. Zae had wanted to strike out on their own and "rough it" through the Hungry Mountains, just the two of them, but Keren had been resolutely against that plan. It was just as exciting, Zae conceded, to be riding with a squadron of five knights. It certainly made her sit up straighter in her borrowed white-and-gold military saddle.

In short order, it became obvious that Appleslayer had been trained to ride with cavalry and showed no fear of horses. A few days of Keren's expert care groomed the big white dog into a pleasant and eager mount. Apple had obeyed her, but his devotion was to the little gnome who had healed him. They rode alongside Keren and her white war steed, Eridem, like a study in forced perspective.

The pace felt easy, but productive. Every few miles, they passed guard sentries in the white-and-gold armor of Ozem or the more mundane livery of the regular Lastwall military. That meant they were still skirting Virlych, where the Whispering Tyrant lay. Each time, the knights nodded to the sentries and exchanged some meaningless pleasantry, and each time the soldiers nodded back.

Appleslayer is a fine steed.

For a time, they kept the Path River between themselves and Virlych. Adian, the knight in the lead, called a halt to water the horses just as it turned west and dwindled to modest tributary, easily crossed on horseback—or dogback.

"So... where are we actually headed?" Zae was glad of a chance to have a rest from the saddle and stretch her legs. "You know where Ennis was going, but that was how long ago? Can you be sure he actually arrived there?"

"He sent messages to me and Father about a year ago—a sort of peace offering, which Father rejected." Keren took a breath as if was about to say more, then shook her head and lapsed into silence.

Zae clicked her bronze lip ring against her teeth. "Mm. Then you know he got to the Worldwound. That's a start."

"Maybe." Keren sounded surprisingly noncommittal.

"Are you afraid that he's dead, too?" Zae asked.

"I've heard tales of the Worldwound. Some of the strongest, bravest crusaders I've known have come back limp and skittish as week-old cats, jumping at their own shadows and dreading the things they see behind their eyelids in the dark. Am I afraid he's dead? No. It'd be a kindness to him if he is."

"Well, soon we'll have those stories," Zae said.

Keren shook her head and sighed. "Is this all so exciting to you? As much as you yearn for the new, I would think you'd have seen the world twice over by now."

Zae narrowed her eyes, peering past the company of knights and off toward Gallowspire. She wondered what the ruins looked like, and how sturdy the locks on the Tyrant's prison really were. "Oh, I certainly hope I never get to the point where I've seen the world twice over. Then there'd be nothing new to see. You know, I've never even been to the Eye of Abendego."

Keren gave her a sidewise glance. "Why would you want to go there?"

Zae shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not even sure what it is. I've just heard people say it and think it's an excellently fun word. Abendego!" Appleslayer perked his ears and barked.

"Good boy," Zae said, but then the bark turned into a whine and a low growl.

Adian and Marisol, a sorceress in white and gold leather, were already mounted again. "The horses sense it, too," Adian said quietly, and all the soldiers drew their weapons. Zae traced a finger around the tooled gear she wore at her throat.

Unfolding from the barren ground were five beige figures—skeletons, Zae realized, their bones the color of the dirt, slumbering at the base of the mountains that led to the Tyrant's tomb.

Keren swung herself up onto Eridem, but Zae remained on foot with the other knights. She drew her hammer from her belt and whispered a prayer to Brigh. Just as a collection of gears with no motor shouldn't run, a skeleton was a collection of bones with no heart or mind. If it did have a mind, Zae thought, it would have the good sense to remain a motionless pile of parts... especially in the presence of six holy crusaders.

A few dirty scraps of cloth and broken weapons were all that signified the people the skeletons might have been in life. They moved as one but with no particular group mind, only individual focus on the same goal. The knights, on the contrary, were skilled at group tactics. With just a few hand signals, they took to a practiced formation, each focusing on a specific enemy.

Zae mostly healed from her shopfront infirmary in town—healing on the front lines was an honor usually reserved for the paladins and battle clerics of Iomedae and other gods—so the knights' fluid battle tactics were a foreign and beautiful dance to her. It made her proud to see Keren a seamless cog in the crusaders' workings, singling out a skeleton with a shouted challenge and lopping half of it away with her first charge. Zae called upon Brigh's holy light, and a wave of energy blasted the skeleton, overpowering the dark force that animated it.

The gnome let out a gleeful shout, and two of the other skeletons altered their approach, turning toward the sound of her voice.

"Oops," she muttered, but Adian and the sorceress were already upon them, and both were slain before they could reach her. Zae shot Adian an apologetic look when he thundered by on his mount, preparing for another pass at one of the remaining foes, but secretly she was disappointed to have lost her chance to strike again. By the time she was in range of Keren's skeletal target, it was legless and almost sad, flailing its arms and fruitlessly clacking its jaw. She brought her holy light down upon it, just to make the noise stop.

A good thing about fighting skeletons, it turned out, was that they made for relatively bloodless battle. Apple paced around Zae, whimpering. At first she thought he had somehow been injured, but when she stopped him and ran her hands over his coat, she realized his tail was wagging expectantly.

"Okay, boy, go ahead."

He darted into the rubble that had been their attackers. The dog shifted bones with his muzzle, finally picking out a relatively whole forearm. He trotted back proudly with it and settled down at Zae's feet to gnaw.

"We're going into Witchgate Forest, but we can part ways at the tree line and you can skirt around, if you'd like," Marisol said. "Don't get too sure of yourselves, though. Only reason we took out five so fast is that we outnumbered them. It'll be a different game when it's only the two of you."

Zae and Keren exchanged a look, and Zae dipped her head in a slight, canted nod. It was Keren's quest, so the choice was hers.

Keren turned her palm up, tracing the Vigilant's shield marked there with her other hand, the way she did when she was of two minds about something. "It's important for me to get to the Worldwound, but I've sworn oaths to protect these lands. Even though I haven't been assigned with this patrol, I want to stay and honor my oath."

Zae's chest swelled with pride. She turned over her own palm, which bore a similar shield. She only had the one mark, proclaiming her an oathbound citizen of Lastwall; Keren and the others had Iomedae's symbol on their other palms, the sunburst sword signifying that they were also sworn defenders.

Witchgate Forest itself was something of a letdown. Zae saw cultists and orcs, skeletons and shambling, oozing things—all of which she and the knights duly put to rest—but no witches and no gates. When she asked if they might detour past one of the infamous gates, the request was soundly denied.

Though it was early morning, the forest was dark and foreboding, with only the occasional shaft of dusty light peering through the branches. "Hangman Trees over there," Adian said, pointing with his drawn longsword. He led the company off the well-groomed path and onto a side path that had initially looked less inviting.

"I suppose you patrol through here enough to know the landmarks," Zae said to Marisol.

"Indeed. We've tried to take the grove out, but they just grow back. Easier to avoid them, now."

"That's why no one wants to divert past a witchgate?" she surmised, and was pleased with herself when Marisol nodded.

"No sense weakening ourselves on the flora when we should be saving our resources for real threats."

It made sense. Zae was grudgingly glad to have experienced guides, even if it meant fewer chances to sightsee. She was still just a bit grumbly about not having seen a witch or a gate, and she resolved to make up for it by cantering toward the first wall she should happen to see in Canterwall.

They made camp in the forest that night, with soldiers standing guard against the shriekings and moanings. It was oddly disappointing to pass out of the forest the next day and into the relative safety of the fertile plains. They would part ways with their escort and ride north through farmland and rolling hills to the Vistear River, while the crusaders continued their patrol along the northern Virlych border.

The knights clasped hands with Keren, one by one, and then, to Zae's surprise, Adian extended his hand to her. She clasped it, shield to shield, and that seemed to please him; the others followed, exchanging handclasps and warm words of parting.

"Nice to see you getting along with my friends so well," Keren teased her as they rode away.

"I don't know... it's a big step for us," Zae said, playing along. "First we get a dog, then I meet your friends... Maybe I'll get to meet your family next?"

Keren laughed, her shoulders visibly releasing tension. "That's the plan."

Gently but more seriously, Zae asked, "So, where do we start? That's a long, creepy border up there."

Keren touched her fingers to her key medallion. "I was thinking of volunteering at the first outpost we come across once we hit the front lines, and then asking around."

Zae didn't realize her lip ring was clicking against her teeth until Keren gave her the stern "stop that" look. "I was just thinking... We've got a ride up a river between now and then, right? How long do you think that'll take?"

Keren shrugged her nearer shoulder. "I don't know. I've never done it. A couple of days? Why?"

Zae rubbed her hands together. "Give me a couple of hours to poke around for supplies in the next town, and I should have something useful for you by the time we disembark."

Keren eyed her warily. "It's not going to be something that explodes, is it?"

Zae straightened in the saddle and responded with a haughty sniff. "Presumptions! Cruel racial presumptions! When have you ever seen anything explode because of me?"

Keren tilted her head in thought. If Zae squinted, she could almost picture Eridem's rhythmic hoofbeats as the ticking of gears turning in Keren's mind.

"Dog guts all over my kitchen?" she ventured.

Zae patted Appleslayer's neck. "Don't listen to her. Your guts never left your body."

"Well, there was that one time when you tried to cook me dinner..."

Zae huffed, trying to hide her grin by lifting her chin and looking away in high dudgeon. "Pfff. Cheater. You know very well that's not the kind of explosion I meant!"

Coming Next Week: Up a river toward demons and death in Chapter Three of Gabrielle Harbowy's "Inheritance"!

Gabrielle Harbowy is an editor for such SF publishers as Pyr, Seven Realms Publishing, and Dragon Moon Press, as well as co-editor of the When the Hero Comes Home anthology series with Ed Greenwood. Her short fiction has been a finalist for the Parsec award, and has appeared in such anthologies as The Beast Within 2, Metastasis, Cthulhurotica, and more. For more information, visit gabrielle-edits.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

Inheritance

by Gabrielle Harbowy

Chapter One: Unexpected Arrivals

Keren Rhinn, Knight of Ozem and Vigilant Defender of Lastwall, stood sputtering in the doorway, her face turning fascinating shades of crimson.

"Hello, darling!" Zae looked up from her work to greet her favorite human with a smile. "Long day?"

Keren had many talents, but the one that impressed Zae most was her unnatural sense of timing. Without fail, Keren always seemed to be able to walk in on a situation at the precise moment that would confound, annoy, or disarm her the most.

Case in point: there was a perfectly good explanation for the bloody, unconscious dog currently staining the floorboards of Keren's kitchen. If the crusader had looked beyond her initial confusion and anger, she would no doubt have seen Zae's surgical kit by her side and the needle and suturing thread in the gnome's nimble hands. But humans were quick to emote, and even quicker to jump to conclusions. It was one of the things Zae loved about them, and about this one in particular.

Since Keren seemed lost for words, Zae took it upon herself to fill in the conversational gap while she resumed her work. "He followed me home," she said. "Can I keep him?"

The hardened warrior made a strangled little sound. That particular set to her jaw meant she was reciting her oath to herself. Zae clicked her shiny bronze lip-ring quietly against her lower teeth and savored the countdown in her head. 3...2...1...

"You're lucky you're oathbound, pixie," Keren said, right on cue. The oaths sworn by all who wished to be citizens of Lastwall included a vow not to harm other oathbound residents. But Zae wasn't afraid of real violence, even though Keren was significantly larger than her own three-foot-three, and carried a sword that weighed more than Zae did. The use of the pet name told Zae that she was already forgiven, even if only on some deep subconscious level. Before Zae had taken the oaths to Vigil and Lastwall, it had been, "You're lucky you're cute."

She had it on assurance that her oath had not robbed her of cuteness, so the update to Keren's ultimatum didn't bother her in the slightest, especially when she accompanied it with some playful epithet. When Keren was truly angry, she was cold and silent, and her hand twitched for the weight of her sword hilt.

Keren fears no blade or magic, but family is a different story.

Zae thanked her by not squealing in delight at Keren's predictability. For some reason, big, tough warriors didn't like being giggled at. Even ones who thought you were cute.

Keren came to kneel by Zae's side, stroking gentle fingers through the healer's indigo curls. She observed a moment, then rose and stepped past the gnome to swing the kettle over the fire, as if resigned to the fact that dog surgery in her kitchen wasn't the strangest thing she was likely to encounter this week.

In fairness, it probably wasn't.

"Seriously." Zae knotted off the thread and snipped it carefully. "I want to keep him. He's obviously lost his person in battle, and we've got good rapport. Just look at him."

"He's unconscious," Keren pointed out.

Zae grinned. "But he wasn't unconscious when I brought him here. He was wounded and scared, and he still nuzzled my hand and followed me home. It's not like I'd have been able to carry him."

Keren poured boiled water into a bowl and brought it to Zae's side, along with some clean cloths. Zae poured in a packet of herbs, and together they washed the blood from Zae's instruments. And, when the water had cooled a bit, from the patient.

"Maybe he thought you were a snack. He's a big one."

Zae laughed. "I'm not very tasty."

Keren raised an eyebrow, glancing at her sidelong.

"All right, then: I'm not very filling. Is that more accurate?"

Under the dirt and blood, the dog's coat was a gorgeous white, and he had a cute black nose. Zae had guessed that he was a cold-weather sled dog from the shape of his ears and muzzle, his barrel chest and sturdy legs, but now she was certain of it. And a gorgeous one, at that.

"So," Keren said. "He was wounded on the front, and you brought him here because it's closer than your infirmary—or your own kitchen?"

"Am I so predictable? I'll have to try harder. Oh! And I was hoping you'd help me train him as a mount, once he's well."

"And you also promise you'll clean my floor?"

Zae grinned. She had won. "Every drop."

∗ ∗ ∗

Zae typically woke before Keren and took the small hours of the morning for her meditation and prayer. Brigh had no temples in the city of Vigil, but Zae always kept a traveling shrine with her. Polishing her treasured brass gears kept her hands busy and her mind free. She had crafted a special gear with a feminine mask engraved on its face, and she wore this on a leather string around her neck, using it to keep her morning worship on track. She ticked her thumb down the teeth one at a time as she prepared her spells for the day.

Warm breath washed across her cheek, followed by a very large, very wet nose, and something hard and wet landed in her lap. She opened her eyes into the dog's pale blue gaze. Something in there shone with intelligence, but before she had time to contemplate it, he dipped his muzzle to indicate the gift he'd just brought her.

Atop her gears and polishing cloths sat a very well-chewed apple, most of its red skin nearly gone, with a tooth pattern that suggested gnawing rather than eating.

Zae ruffled his rounded ears and scratched under his jaw with both her hands. "Good boy! Thank you!" His tail started to wag at that. She suspected the apple was thanks for healing him, and the gesture touched her. Presents stolen from your host's kitchen were still presents, after all. It was the intent that mattered.

She cleaned sweet juice from her gears and folded them back into their pouch. It wasn't just the one apple, she noticed as she rose—the entire basket of apples from the kitchen table had been systematically destroyed, all over the floor she had just cleaned to spotlessness the night before.

"You fierce apple-slayer," she praised the dog, giving his ears another rub. "You'd better help me clean this up, or Keren won't be pleased with us."

As if the improbability of the situation had summoned her, there was the crusader, rising from bed and padding barefooted toward the commotion. She halted at the door, but for once, her words were quiet and unexpected.

"When did this come?"

Zae turned to see beautifully disheveled brown hair, a jade silk robe hanging askew to frame the lime-sized metal medallion she always wore around her neck, and an ornately carved wooden box cradled in Keren's strong hands. The crusader's face was unusually ashen.

She hadn't even noticed the apples. Zae wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned. She supposed that rushing to clean them up would only draw attention to them, so she left the dog to finish off his prey and approached Keren instead, pulling out a chair for her.

"Oh! Right. It came yesterday, in the middle of dog surgery. A messenger brought it. I put it aside where it wouldn't get bled on, and then I must have forgotten all about it. Is it important?"

Keren sank into the chair, letting her hands ease onto the table, the box still between them. "It means my father is dead." She exhaled a slow, shuddering breath, staring at the box as if it was a nightmare made solid. "Do we have anything stronger than ale?"

Knowing Keren's high tolerance for drink, Zae took the liberty of choosing a supplement from her healer's kit instead of the pantry. Soothe syrup was a bit cloying on its own, but it added a pleasant flavor to strong tea. "Your father? You've never spoken of him." She rolled a light coating of syrup around the inside of an earthenware mug, then filled it with the tea she'd already brewed with her breakfast.

"He retired from the front, and was teaching up at the War College. I joined the Knights of Ozem in his footsteps, but Vigil is all we have in common now. We haven't spoken in a while."

Zae set the tea in front of Keren and climbed up into the chair beside her. The dog sprawled on the floor under the table, gnawing on a stray shoe and soaking up comfort from their proximity.

Keren turned the box toward Zae and cupped her hands around the tea, clinging to it and bringing the mug to her face to inhale the steam. Like Keren's medallion, the box was carved with painstakingly detailed castles and clouds and rolling waves. The seam of its lid disappeared into the carvings, and its hinges looked to be internal. On one side, two round concave impressions stared side by side like abstract eyes.

"It's beautiful," Zae said, because she felt she ought to say something. Loss didn't visit the knight's face often, and it looked interesting on her. While Zae supposed she shouldn't just watch the mesmerizing sight of Keren, half dressed and drinking her tea, she wasn't sure how to address that sentiment. Most of what she knew about human family structures had been gleaned from her patients. Which was to say, she knew that family was where you got your corpse sent when you died.

Keren tugged the medallion on its leather thong around her throat. It was etched with the same sorts of carvings, giving it an abstract quality unless one examined it closely, as Zae often had. But she had always assumed it to be a religious thing, like her own gear pendant, and never thought to ask about its purpose. "This fits in one of the locks. Ennis has the other key. If we force it, we destroy the contents."

Zae darted her hands innocently back to her lap. "Ennis?"

"My brother." Keren released the medallion and returned her attention to her tea. With half the brew gone, she already seemed to have shed her anxious edge. Now she was merely subdued. "He's up at the Worldwound. Or was. Iomedae keeps her own counsel where he's concerned—he could be demon food and fertilizer twice over by now, for all I know."

Zae sat silently for a few moments, integrating this new information into her mental portrait of Keren. "Do you know what's in the box?"

"No idea. He said it was our inheritance, but that's all he said, and that was years ago. Before Ennis left for the Worldwound and split the family apart."

Zae frowned, puzzled. "But aren't a lot of the Worldwound crusaders from here?"

Keren made a dismissive noise into her mug, then set it down, empty. She sighed. "Fine for other families, but not for mine. My father disowned Ennis—he raised us here, to fight this fight. He said our purpose was to defend Lastwall against the return of the Whispering Tyrant. Ennis said his purpose was to defend against the greatest threat, wherever it might be." She nudged the box, picked it up, and shook it gently. Nothing rattled. "I was finished with my father, for being finished with Ennis. Father put cause before kin. I say you have no cause when you forget the people you're fighting for. But there's no reasoning with my father."

Zae rested her hand on Keren's back, feeling the shift of powerful muscle and the faint shudder of emotion. "And now you have his inheritance, all the same. Do you still want it?"

Keren slumped forward, sighing, until her forehead rested on the wood with a faint thud. She lifted it an inch and thudded it down again.

Zae gently sifted her fingers through Keren's hair."We're going to the Worldwound, aren't we?"

Keren turned to look at Zae, amber eyes calm from the tea. "We?" She leaned sideways until her cheek rested on Zae's shoulder.

Zae brushed unruly brown hair aside and kissed her head. "Of course I'm coming with you. Me and Appleslayer both."

"Oh, pixie. You don't have to come."

"It'll be an adventure," Zae said. Under the table, the dog's tail wagged an eager beat against the floor.

Coming Next Week: A ride north for the Worldwound in Chapter Two of Gabrielle Harbowy's "Inheritance"!

Gabrielle Harbowy is an editor for such SF publishers as Pyr, Seven Realms Publishing, and Dragon Moon Press, as well as co-editor of the When the Hero Comes Home anthology series with Ed Greenwood. Her short fiction has been a finalist for the Parsec award, and has appeared in such anthologies as The Beast Within 2, Metastasis, Cthulhurotica, and more. For more information, visit gabrielle-edits.com.

Illustration by Kelly Perry

The Long Wait is Nearly Over

Monday, September 23, 2013

Illustrations by Kelly Perry & Mathias Zameck

Approximately six weeks ago when the web team sent out the August Scenarios to GMs to prepare for Gen Con, I envisioned the expanse of days between releases would be a leisurely break in which to develop a pair of scenarios and get ahead on work. In fact, in that time I've stayed quite busy with new projects and initiatives as well as a finishing up a few pieces that had to wait in preparation for that huge convention. Spoiling exactly what's happening behind the scenes will have to wait for a future blog.

What's more, reading forum posts has been an enlightening experience as I see players and GMs alike discuss the start of Season 5, provide feedback, and speculate about what is to come. Developing season-long theories is tricky business when we've only seen three scenarios, and in a few days we'll begin to broaden the picture of what Season 5 entails.

For the first time in the season we shall see not only a Tier 7—11 scenario, but also one without any direct faction interests: Pathfinder Society Scenario #5—05: The Elven Entanglement by Ryan Costello, Jr. We will also receive the first scenario to continue several factions' story in Pathfinder Society Scenario #5—04: The Stolen Heir by David N. Ross, resuming the Andoran and Taldor narratives. What's more, though neither is a stranger to writing RPG material, for the first time we get to see these two authors write for Pathfinder Society Organized Play.

In developing these two scenarios I grew rather attached to the two NPCs depicted below, one from each adventure. GMs in particular know that when there's a full-body depiction of an NPC, there's a fairly good chance that the character is a combatant; when an NPC's image is limited to a portrait from the shoulders up, it's not always so clear. Part of what I like most about these NPCs is that they fit that portrait-only model beautifully.

The Elven Entanglement and The Stolen Heir release this week!

John Compton
Developer

Have Some Art With Your Hotdogs!

Monday, May 27, 2013

I'm not in the office today, and neither is anyone else at Paizo. And any of you in the USA also shouldn't be. Because today is a holiday! But that doesn't mean you can't get a glimpse at what's coming in this month's Pathfinder Society Scenarios—The Halls of Dwarven Lore and Way of the Kirin—which are set to release later this week. Enjoy the art, and don't spend too much time in the sun. Happy Memorial Day!

Illustrations by Lindsey Wakefield and Kelly Perry

Mark Moreland
Developer