I've known Jekka and Mirian Raas for far longer than might be apparent. Their first adventure was published in the 2015 release Beyond the Pool of Stars, but two VERY similar characters with the same names appeared in one of my earliest published short stories more than a decade ago. Jekka was almost exactly the same; it was Mirian who lacked a little something to make her more unique. James Sutter suggested her dual heritage, and once that was added to her character, and I changed the setting to Golarion's Sargava, the rest snapped quickly into place.
Writing the Through the Gate in the Sea
Saturday, March 11, 2017
I've known Jekka and Mirian Raas for far longer than might be apparent. Their first adventure was published in the 2015 release Beyond the Pool of Stars, but two VERY similar characters with the same names appeared in one of my earliest published short stories more than a decade ago. Jekka was almost exactly the same; it was Mirian who lacked a little something to make her more unique. James Sutter suggested her dual heritage, and once that was added to her character, and I changed the setting to Golarion's Sargava, the rest snapped quickly into place.
Long before I started drafting Plague of Shadows, back when James and I were tossing ideas around about who would star in my first Pathfinder book, I showed him the rough draft of a novel I was working on about Mirian and Jekka. He liked it enough that it stuck in his memory, but back then the line was just getting started, and he understandably wanted something a little less experimental than a book featuring a magical salvage diver and her lizardfolk friend. But after two novels starring Elyana and Drelm I was wanting to try something a little different, and James still liked the pitch starring Mirian and Jekka, so he greenlit a project featuring them.
That meant that the pitch was approved; I still needed to get the details down and make sure any events in the book wouldn't tread on concepts being developed by other authors for other novels. That's why James wisely likes to examine detailed outlines. I'm used to drafting outlines, but not the way I did these. First, I was originally planning just one book, but I was having so much fun that I went ahead and kept outlining another tale right on the heels of the first. Second, a substantial chunk of the outline was written while I was sitting in The Three Broomsticks while my wife and daughter rode and re-rode a bunch of Harry Potter roller coasters. My own enjoyment of roller coasters has waned, you see. While drafting with my notebook I was struck that I was writing the outline for an imaginary adventure in an imaginary location. Or at least, a location that had once been imaginary.
Later during that same Florida vacation I pulled out the pocket notebook again while my daughter was riding The Tower of Terror over at Hollywood Studios and made some more additions.
I'm not sure what James first thought when he got two outlines instead of the expected one, but he liked them both, and signed me on for two new books. I actually wrote them back to back, one right after the other, as they're set only a few weeks apart, but Paizo didn't want to release them one after the other—how many underwater salvage books with lizardfolk co-stars do you need released in a single year, right?
But here the second one is at last. I think I enjoyed drafting it even more than the first. This time I wrote Jekka as one of the point of view characters, and man, did I have fun with that. And I added a new character by the name of Captain Ensara, and his point of view chapters were just as much fun to draft. Hopefully you'll see why when you meet this shady pirate captain, who's not as evil as he thinks he is but isn't as good as you'd like him to be.
I've been a roleplaying gamer since the mid '70s. I've had occasional hiatuses, but I don't think any of them have lasted more than a year. Maybe it's the storyteller in me, but I always come back to it. And I usually end up as the Game Master. I'd like to think all those years of practice have helped hone my storytelling. I've drawn upon some plots and villains to write my Dabir and Asim stories (the villain's plan in The Desert of Souls is straight out of one of my fantasy campaigns). But until these books I've never actually used any characters from my games in my fiction.
Captain Ensara is one of those, a recurring non-player character my players enjoyed who was slightly sinister yet retained a ragged code of honor. And Jekka's cousin, Kalina, is my wife's character, down to her name and even her weapons. If you like those weapons Kalina carts around, and their names, that's all my wife Shannon's doing. I based Kalina's personality upon the way my wife plays her.
Honestly, Kalina is so much fun to see in action that when one campaign with her wrapped up I encouraged my wife to carry her over into the next. Certainly Kalina's one of her all time best characters. I don't know if you've seen this in your own games, but sometimes there's a character that just "sparks" reaction in other characters and helps create situations that deepen the world and provide hooks for other players to hang things on. (I'm not talking about the sort of character who needlessly creates drama or pulls the adventure off track.) I'm actually very fortunate to have a group that's so experienced that they all manage that spark at different times, but so far the rest of those characters haven't made the transfer to my fiction. Who knows, maybe one day the world will be ready for Ash and Kol and Quirok and Tylin...
For now, though, you've got a chance to get to know Jekka even better than you did in the first book. All your favorite survivors from the first book are there as well, including the heroic Ivrian and, of course, the daring Mirian Raas. It's my hope that you'll enjoy reading this new adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Mirian Raas and her faithful crew make their living salvaging lost treasures from sunken ships along the coast of tropical Sargava. While retrieving riches from the bottom of Desperation Bay, Mirian and her friend Jekka, one of the last of his lizardfolk tribe, unexpectedly run across the wreck of an ancient magical ship. The discovery leads them on a quest for an arcane artifact called a dragon's tear, which may be the key to locating Jekka's vanished people. But a vengeful sorcerer and a zealous agent of the Child-God Walkena also seek the dragon's tear—and they'll stop at nothing to get it. Can Mirian and her crew pass through the legendary gate in the sea and find the tear before it's too late?
Through the Gate in the Sea Sample Chapter
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Mirian Raas and her faithful crew make their living salvaging lost treasures from sunken ships along the coast of tropical Sargava. While retrieving riches from the bottom of Desperation Bay, Mirian and her friend Jekka, one of the last of his lizardfolk tribe, unexpectedly run across the wreck of an ancient magical ship. The discovery leads them on a quest for an arcane artifact called a dragon's tear, which may be the key to locating Jekka's vanished people. But a vengeful sorcerer and a zealous agent of the Child-God Walkena also seek the dragon's tear—and they'll stop at nothing to get it. Can Mirian and her crew pass through the legendary gate in the sea and find the tear before it's too late?
Chapter 2: The Black Ship
As she played the glow stone over the hull, Mirian imagined the vessel surging along the waves in its glory days, full canvas spread from the trio of towering masts, the dragon-shaped prow rising and falling with the ocean current.
And then she was once more staring at a sunken hulk.
She was swimming slowly toward the bow, wand at the ready, when Jekka joined her. She gave him the hand sign for caution. There was no telling what might be using the wreck as its home.
The figurehead was even more lovely than she'd supposed, carved with that minute detail she'd seen on many lizardfolk objects. Upon closer inspection, Mirian recognized it as a stylized rendition of one of her least favorite creatures: a sea drake. She scowled at the thing. One of the monsters had stalked her when she was a child, and another had chased her expedition through the tunnels of a lizardfolk city before killing her friend Ivrian's mother.
Her hand tightened around the wand and she came perilously close to blasting the serpentine image into floating chunks.
But she had better sense. Provided they could get the figurehead free, they'd probably get a tidy sum for it from some collector. As a member of the Pathfinder Society, she knew not to let personal feeling interfere with a historical find.
Mirian drifted away from the figurehead and back along the narrow bow, light from her glow stone glinting off something half hidden in scum. She swam closer to investigate.
A lumpy object was set into the ship's side six feet below the rail and about the same distance from the bowsprit, in the approximate place that Osirian mariners painted eyes on their ships.
Often she wore gloves on salvage runs, but having anticipated recovering nothing more than a ring down here, she'd dived without them. She reached to touch the object gingerly with her left hand, wiping fingers through grime to reveal a large violet jewel.
At that her eyebrows rose. If this were a real gem, it could easily be worth thousands of gold sails.
Realizing she'd been focused single-mindedly upon her discovery, she checked behind, above, and around her. Her father had taught her not to be so intent you forgot your surroundings. Nearly everything under the water is a predator, he'd told her, and some of them are larger than you.
She saw Jekka's light still playing farther back. Time to confer. She swam over to him and the lizard man's slit pupils contracted in her light beam. She shined the light at her hand so he could see her signal to surface.
His tongue extended, as it sometimes did when he was thoughtful or uncertain, but he followed as she kicked up, and in a few moments they were drifting in the darkness under the stars. Mirian's instinctive sense of direction told her the Daughter of the Mist lay to her left, but she couldn't see it, or even hear the lap of the ocean against its side.
"Isn't it amazing, my sister?" Jekka asked. "A ship of my people!"
"It is amazing. I'd give a lot to know what they painted on the hull to preserve it so well. But there are two things, my brother. Listen well."
Sometimes, when she spoke with the lizard man, Mirian found herself unintentionally adopting his formal diction. She supposed she was learning some of his habits, just as he learned some of hers.
"You have my attention," he answered.
"You must always signal me. And be watching for me, underwater. Don't dart off like that."
He nodded, an exaggerated bob on that long neck.
"We have to watch for each other," she went on, "because there may be something watching us."
"So you have said. Forgive me, Sister."
"No harm done—yet. Don't forget, you need to swim back to the ship and report in. Tell Rendak what we've found and borrow his air bottle."
"I don't need it."
"You damned well do. You can't keep popping up and down the whole time. I want to go inside the hull and look around, and I want someone to back me up. You could get trapped in the hull and drown."
"I don't need it," he repeated stubbornly.
"You promised to defer to me in salvaging. Are you going back on your word?"
He hissed. "You shame me, Sister. Very well. But how am I to watch you if you're going alone to the wreck?"
"You're going to come back quickly. And I'm going to continue my inspection on the outside." Not the safest option, admittedly, but Mirian was an old hand at this, and the seas seemed pretty calm at this drop.
"I will do these things."
"Thank the druid while you're there," she continued, "and apologize to her for the delay. Tell Rendak to turn four points to starboard and come a half mile before dropping anchor. And when he asks if he or Gombe should drop, tell him I'll let them know when we're done scouting."
"I will remember," Jekka assured her.
She was fairly certain he would. The lizard man had an amazing ability to retain oral information and repeat it word for word. Habits, like those of salvaging routines, however, were different from rote memorization.
"Get it done and come find me. I'm as eager as you to see what lies aboard."
Then she raised a hand in farewell and dove below.
On her return trip to the wreck, she wondered what would have happened if she'd descended for the ring alone, or with Rendak or Gombe. Nothing, probably. She'd chosen Jekka in part because he needed to get used to what a salvaging run was like, but also because he'd been so excited to become a salvager. She guessed that was because he now saw the crew as part of his extended clan and wished to contribute to its well-being.
While she waited for Jekka, she carefully surveyed the ship's perimeter, familiarizing herself with the length and breadth of the vessel and searching for telltale warning signs that something large and unpleasant lurked within. Ocean predators weren't especially noted for their intellects. If there were anything nasty living here, there'd likely be discarded carcasses nearby, each crawling with bottom-feeders.
She saw no such indications. That didn't rule out the possibility of more intelligent creatures like aquatic ogres or sea devils lairing there, but she saw no sign of tracks or prints along the rail or upon any of the closed cabin doors leading into the bowels of the ship.
Mirian almost missed the large gash at the vessel's stern, in the shadow of the hull. She studied the damaged wood and realized she was probably looking at the ship's death wound. Most likely the ship had struck a reef.
Illustration by Igor Grechanyi
After a careful examination, Mirian had a pretty clear picture of the ship. It was half again as long as a typical three-master, but perhaps a third shallower across the beam. The decks were high and rose steeply at the prow. Probably there were a good three decks below, and back of the quarterdeck were two more above. Two masts were forward and a mizzenmast stood broken off almost to the deck, right through the wheelhouse itself.
Mirian was looking at the wheel when Jekka finally rejoined her. He took hold of the wheel with one hand to steady himself. Straps of a haversack crossed his chest.
Jekka had slid an object used by the other salvagers in her crew into a side pocket of his haversack. The magic item was colloquially known as an air bottle, and once someone learned the trick of using one, it was possible to spend long hours below the water. Her grandfather had invested in two for the family's help, and hit upon the idea of a tube to affix to the bottle so the fragile object could be kept in a padded back satchel.
The tube worked much better if you had lips to close around it—something Jekka lacked. When he'd first attempted to use it, he couldn't pull air without water coming in as well, unless he jammed the tube so far down his throat he nearly gagged. She understood why he didn't want to repeat the experience, but he'd have to adapt if he was going to be a salvager.
A cool current buffeted Mirian as she examined a peculiar column rising beside the wheel. At first glance, it looked like another mast had been sheared off, but that made no sense. That would have placed it off-center from the rest of the vessel.
She scraped at a layer of blue algae. Instead of a broken mast, she uncovered a diagonal plate resembling a display in an expensive jewelry shop. An array of gems was set into its black metal. She scrubbed harder, exposing tiny symbols incised beside each jewel.
Jekka leaned close, running his scaly fingers over the letters.
The writing certainly resembled the same language Mirian had seen on the lizardfolk book cones, but she knew many languages looked similar to the uninitiated. She pointed to the symbols and then back at Jekka.
The lizard man nodded vigorously and touched a set of characters. "No wind!" he shouted, air bubbling out of his mouth.
He put his fingers beside a flat, violet stone, and it took him three attempts before she could understand him through the water: "Opener of the way."
Jekka paused to suck in the tube, then pulled it out, coughing more air bubbles.
There were four more gems with inscriptions. Mirian spread her hands apart in a silent question.
Clearly perplexed, the lizard man shook his head.
She traced the multifaceted ruby he'd told her meant "no wind." It looked like it might turn in its pitted housing.
Interesting. Slowly, carefully, she set her fingers on the gem and tried moving it clockwise. It didn't budge. When she twisted in the other direction, the gem lit from within.
Mirian looked to Jekka for explanation, but he merely shrugged.
She made a second twist and the deck shook beneath them. Clouds of silt billowed up, and from somewhere below came a loud scraping noise. It wasn't until she looked to port and turned her beam there that she noticed the landscape moving ...
No, the ship was! Mirian let out a colorful oath and quickly twisted the jewel all the way to the right so that it returned to its original setting. It ceased glowing and the ship slowed.
She looked at Jekka as if to say, What the hell was that?
The lizard man stared back at her, reptilian eyes blinking.
This was a major find, but there was no way they'd pry any of the gems out of here. "No wind" apparently meant the ship could be set in motion magically when there was no breeze. She marveled at that, wondering whether a skilled enough magic-worker could remove it from the ship and install it on another. Like, say, the Daughter of the Mist, or that behemoth Ivrian was so set on building.
She pointed to an opening into darkness and directed her glow stone onto a barnacle-encrusted ladder. Apparently only the hull had the special protective coating.
Jekka tapped his chest and pointed into the hold, letting her know he intended to lead, then brandished his own glow stone.
She almost objected, then decided he was at least communicating this time, and remembered he was both an experienced warrior and excited to be searching a ship made by his own people. She allowed him to swim in front, staying a few feet back from the swish of his whiplike tale.
Most of the hold's contents had shifted to starboard. Her light played over brown and green weeds dusted by occasional splotches of red and blue. They obscured the hold's contents in a soft, furry blanket.
Jekka floated above it all, shining his own light on something to the right, then pointed at a long segmented worm with pincers. Mirian's father had always called them rot worms, though to Mirian they looked more like oversized centipedes. Their bite was deadly poisonous and they tended to be aggressive when disturbed, so she moved quickly.
The arm-length creature shifted away at Jekka's spear thrust, rearing up and stirring the water with its legs. Mirian cut it in half with her cutlass. It floated apart, wriggling in its death throes.
Jekka brushed it out of the way and shined his light on the patch of growth where the rot worm had been hidden. It didn't seem to have any nest mates.
She floated on with Jekka, imagining the hold moving with robed lizardfolk, perhaps lashing down that stack of crates over there, or walking on through the narrow archway into the next chamber.
Jekka stopped beside three large chests resting against the hull, each rotten with age. As Mirian played her light over the area, tiny crustaceans swam frantically for darkness. Little silver fish flashed away in alarm.
Mirian signaled Jekka to keep watch and he turned from her to survey their surroundings.
She had never seen a lizardfolk chest before, but the one directly before her proved little different from those built by humans, save that the lock mechanism was inset along the top right. That in itself was of interest. She made a mental note to record the information in her Pathfinder journal.
Normally, she would have simply smashed open a chest this old and rotten, but it was such an odd, rare find she wanted to handle it with care.
The bronze lock was green with corrosion and looked as though it had been designed to accommodate a cylindrical mechanism rather than a key—far beyond her lock-picking abilities, but there were other ways. She removed a small pry bar from her pack and set to work on the hinges.
Illustration by Roberto Pitturru
The tool's teeth sank easily into the rotten wood, and in moments both hinges were floating free. After that, the lid came up easily. Mirian drifted back as she lifted it. There was no telling what might come crawling out.
Nothing did.
She again swam closer, her light settling on a rotted wooden frame inside the chest that kept a dozen blue cylindrical bottles upright and separate. Five were broken along their necks, but the others, though empty, looked intact—more tube than jar, with a peculiar fluted opening at the top.
Mirian played the light over the inside, then carefully lifted one of the vessels free and drew it closer it for examination.
Jekka drifted beside her. His long, forked tongue flicked with excitement.
She looked at him questioningly.
His head cocked in interest and he mimed drinking with it.
Mirian handed it to him to examine, then signed for him to put it in his pack. They could spend months clearing this wreck. It was probably time to fetch Rendak and Gombe.
Desna had truly blessed them. The wreck was a fantastic find. There was no telling what sort of oddities might be left aboard, let alone their value and historical significance. As a salvager, she depended upon scavenging sites like this. But as a Pathfinder, she was dedicated to uncovering the secrets of Golarion's past to preserve and disseminate knowledge. If the magical wind mechanism built into this ship could be understood and replicated, it might very well change the future of sea travel.
Jekka pointed to the chest next to the one they'd opened. He clearly wanted to see what was inside.
She decided to humor him and signaled for him to guard once more.
The hinges on the second chest were even more worn, and yielded with no resistance.
Within stood twelve rows of sculpted lizardfolk heads fashioned from a thin metal alloy and inlaid with jewels. Each eye socket was set with amber stones, the figures themselves rich with the minute symbols of Jekka's people.
The sight so thrilled her blood brother that his frill rose, and Mirian had to remind him to keep watch, though she did acquiesce to setting all two dozen of the sculptures within her pack.
The haversacks they wore had been gifts from Ivrian's mother, and were ensorcelled to contain more space on the inside than was apparent without. All of the sculptures fit easily without altering the haversack's weight in the slightest, another wonderful feature.
Jekka signed to indicate they should open the third chest, but she shook her head and pointed to the surface. Then she looked back to the chests and smiled, trying to reassure him they'd come back for all of it.
Mirian led the way out. Jekka trailed some length after, seemingly reluctant to leave.
Sooner than expected she found the anchor chain and, looming above, the dark bowline of the Daughter of the Mist.
Her hands closed on the familiar rungs of the ladder built into the vessel's side. She felt the magical gills fade the moment she thrust her head above the water and breathed deeply of the crisp salty air.
All was silhouettes and shadows against the lesser darkness of the sky, but she thought she made out Gombe's lean outline near the ladder. She grinned at him as she stepped forward, slinging her bag off her shoulder.
"You won't believe what we've found," she told him.
A man with a sword stepped around Gombe, the point of the weapon at the first mate's throat. "I'm all ears."
In Beyond the Pool of Stars, Mirian Raas comes from a long line of salvagers—adventurers who use magic to dive for sunken ships off the coast of tropical Sargava. With her father dead and her family in debt, Mirian has no choice but to take over his last job: a dangerous expedition into deep jungle pools, helping a tribe of lizardfolk reclaim the lost treasures of their people. Yet this isn’t any ordinary dive, as the same colonial government that looks down on Mirian for her half-native heritage has an interest in the treasure, and the survival of the entire nation may depend on the outcome...
Beyond the Pool of Stars Sample Chapter
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
In Beyond the Pool of Stars, Mirian Raas comes from a long line of salvagers—adventurers who use magic to dive for sunken ships off the coast of tropical Sargava. With her father dead and her family in debt, Mirian has no choice but to take over his last job: a dangerous expedition into deep jungle pools, helping a tribe of lizardfolk reclaim the lost treasures of their people. Yet this isn’t any ordinary dive, as the same colonial government that looks down on Mirian for her half-native heritage has an interest in the treasure, and the survival of the entire nation may depend on the outcome...
Chapter One: Homecoming Mirian
Every day, dozens of transport ships plied the waters between Sargava's southern port and its capital, Eleder. Stacks of square-cut logs, crates of ivory, and packets of dried medicinal plants came north. Baskets of luxury goods and bright bales of Mulaa cloth went south.
These goods were shepherded by folk who sailed the route several times each week, so accustomed to the trip they scarcely came out from under the sun-bleached awnings or looked up from their deck benches. Although the occasional wanderer, pilgrim, or explorer might admire the rocky surf or the lush coastline, it was rare for the regulars to give much heed to either, and unheard of for them to crowd the rails.
But then, it wasn't every day they saw a pirate ship. When the Red Leopard's lookout cried warning, the passengers surged for a view of the doom to come.
Mirian Raas pushed her way through the throng. Despite the more pressing concerns, muted cries of outrage followed her wake. A pasty colonial woman openly scowled at her.
Mirian ignored them. She reached the Red Leopard's starboard rail with the bulk of the mob to her right. She gripped it tight, searching through the tattered mist hung above the uncharacteristically dull waves. The fog had risen on the heels of afternoon rain, graying the turquoise waters and throwing a smoky curtain across the horizon. It lent a more fearsome aspect to the fast-moving raider astern—a two-master flying a snapping black banner with a sword in a skeletal hand.
Mirian scanned the pirate vessel swiftly, only to have her attention stolen by a startlingly familiar little ship beyond it, just visible through the fog.
The pirate ship had swung out from beyond the bluff, emerging only a quarter league aft, and the other passengers hadn't the wit to see from its trajectory that its target wasn't the Red Leopard. Mirian glanced back to the quarterdeck and read the same conclusion in the eyes and activities of the crew there. The raider was aimed for the little caravel flying Mirian's family pennant.
Mirian would have recognized the lines of The Daughter of the Mist anywhere, even if the blue flag with a golden swordfish weren't waving from its main mast. The ship's sails were reefed, so Mirian knew the salvagers were below water searching for treasure, her brother Kellic probably leading.
The Daughter was swift and nimble when underway, but her crew was about to be caught flat-footed. They didn't stand a chance against the surprise attack.
Not unless...
Mirian turned and fought back through the frightened crowd. She'd spent long years inland, but her sea legs were still good, and she had no trouble running the rolling deck once clear. In moments she stood near the wheel and Captain Akimba.
The captain cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her arrival. He was a spare, dark-skinned Ijo man with a blunt nose; he cut a rakish figure with his tricorne hat and well-tended light blue coat. He'd struck Mirian as both perceptive and good-natured as they'd traded pleasantries earlier that day.
She greeted him with a sharp nod. "Captain, we've got to help that ship."
Akimba shook his head. "We can't, Miss Raas."
The stubby helmsman beside him goggled at the notion.
She continued her argument. "Between the Leopard and the Daughter, we'll have enough men to stop her. I'm sure there's a bounty on that pirate—"
Akimba's mellow voice held little warmth. "You can't know how many that pirate's fielding, or how many are on that caravel."
"Fine. Just get me close, then."
His brows furrowed. "What?"
They were running out of time. Mirian struggled to keep her impatience checked. "Damn it, Captain, tack a few degrees starboard! You'll pass close enough for me to swim for it."
He blinked, dumbfounded, his broad-voweled accent more pronounced. "You want to go over the side? Alone?"
Illustration by Tyler Jacobson
"Aye!" And from the pouch at her side she withdrew a small emerald. She grabbed his right hand and placed the gem in his calloused palm. "For the risk."
He frowned, clearly weighing her sanity.
"That's my family's ship, Captain. My brother's aboard." He was probably below, but she was striving to be succinct.
Understanding dawned on Akimba even as his frown lines deepened. "I'm sorry, Miss Raas." He sounded sincere. "There's nothing you can do."
"There's little risk, and you're being well compensated."
Akimba stared at the gem. His voice softened as he met her eyes. "I can't take this. Not in good conscience. You'd be killed."
She showed teeth in a mirthless grin. "That's my look-out, Captain."
He stared at her only a moment longer before his fingers closed over the emerald. His voice deepened as he roared an order. "Helmsman, tack us four points to starboard!"
Even as the thickset man at the wheel growled acknowledgment, Akimba was shouting orders to the men in the masts. The cluster of passengers shifted along the deck and a handful advanced toward the helm, presumably to protest at a course change that even they could see put them closer to the pirate's line.
"I've got to get my gear," Mirian said.
"Make it fast," Akimba growled.
She dashed for the port gangway, threw herself down the ladderlike stairs, and pushed through the tiny door to her cabin. Precious seconds flew as she unlocked and opened the curved lid of her sea chest.
Mirian withdrew the weathered sword belt and the sheathed cutlass that hung from it. After a moment's hesitation she pulled off her blouse, leaving her torso garbed only in a tight undershirt. She dropped the garment into the chest.
She fumbled off her sandals, then slung her sword belt over one shoulder, put the key to the lock, and bowed her head briefly. Eyes closed, she asked for blessings—from Desna, goddess of luck, and from her ancestors. For the first time, she realized the latter now included her father. "Guide my hand," she finished.
She dashed barefoot up to the weather deck. Chilton, the handsome first mate, addressed a gaggle of middle-aged colonial merchants and their families. Akimba was at the wheel, the air of immersion in his duties shielding him from the protestations below. A steady wind belled the sails and tore holes in the mist. The pirate was slowing as she neared the Daughter. For a moment the view was clear enough that she saw marauders readying swords along the pirate's taffrail. The numbers indeed looked daunting.
Akimba glanced at her. "Closer than I dare, Miss Raas." He looked almost apologetic. "You know my first duty is to the people and property entrusted to the Leopard." He continued before she could thank him. "I'm sure you have some special salvaging gear, but think: what can one person do here?"
"Never underestimate the element of surprise, Captain. You'll ship my dunnage to my mother at the Raas estate?"
"Aye, woman. You've paid me for both shipping and your suicide. May Gozreh bless you. Go!" He sounded angry, but she touched his shoulder in gratitude, for he'd brought his ship to within four cable lengths. She held off promising him a drink when next she saw him. Like most Ijo, Akimba probably had a healthy belief in sea ghosts. She didn't want to sound like she planned to haunt him.
Mirian felt the eyes of the ship's crew and passengers as she ran for the rail, and heard them speculating about the mad native woman.
She'd show them mad.
Mirian dove neatly over the side and passed seamlessly into a white-capped wave with the tiniest of splashes.
The water of Desperation Bay in the spring was only a little cool. The salt in her eyes was the worst transition, though one she'd expected. She kicked on, swimming steadily as her eyes adjusted.
Already the twin rings she wore had powered into effect. In appearance, they were virtually identical—plain black bands etched with sharp-tipped waves. Above water they seemed unremarkable. Below, they were something else entirely.
The ring on her right hand granted her the ability to move through water with the same ease she moved through air. Though she could still push against the water to swim, there was somehow no drag or delay in her actions.
More obvious were the magics activated by the ring on her left hand. The moment she'd struck the water, yellow translucent gills had blossomed along her neck. Matching flippers encased her naked calves, and glowing fins extended from her elbow to her wrist, tapering as they went.
These rare items were her heritage, one of two matched sets of arcane tools handed down from her eccentric great-grandmother. When she'd last seen the other pair, they'd been in her father's possession. She assumed they were now worn by her brother, likely somewhere underwater nearby.
Mirian surfaced to get her bearings, rising only far enough to see the Daughter's hull, dead ahead.
She kicked onward, felt her curly hair streaming out to brush her shoulders. A school of silver minnows darted past, pursued by a trio of hand-sized yellow arrow fish. Far below, a sea turtle browsed in a patch of sea grass waving on the edge of the drop-off to deeper waters
She spotted the pirate's hull as it swept up beside the Daughter, a dark shape that blotted light. Grimly, she kicked with her full strength, willing herself to swim with all her might. Every moment she delayed might cost a life.
Agonizing minutes later she reached the pirate ship's side. There were no sharks, the gods be praised. Maybe these pirates weren't the sort who threw bloodied victims overboard.
Or maybe they just hadn't gotten started yet.
Mirian focused on the pirate's hull, looking for weakness as she kicked along. It probably lost a knot or two whenever it moved, owing to the barnacles encrusted everywhere. Yards of seaweed dangled from the keel like weird undersea banners.
Mirian opened the stiff pouch that dangled from the left side of her belt and grasped the haft of the third tool that was her family legacy. Here in the shadows, the wand was only a slim dark stick the length of her forearm. In direct sunlight it was a dull ivory banded in green. According to family record, her great-grandmother Mellient had waded into battle with a sword in one hand and her wand in the other. But Mirian Raas had little to no magical aptitude. Sometimes the wand refused to work for her, even when she gave it her full concentration. It was the most challenging of all her magical tools—and the most deadly. It was also the only one that required maintenance. After that Bandu assault outside Kalabuto, she had only seven charges remaining in the weapon. She'd have to make every one count.
She leveled the wand and concentrated. A stream of bubbles left her mouth as she said, "Sterak."
A line of green energy streamed from the wand's tip, striking the tarred planks with an audible hiss, burning a head-sized hole through the port hull halfway between keel and waterline. The rupture sent more bubbles streaming toward the surface. The expanding edges glowed green as the acidic energy ate into the wood.
She swam on. Three more times she struck. By the last she thought the ship might truly be listing: an undeniable distraction.
Mirian swam straight on to the smaller hull of the ship she knew so well. The Daughter showed little sea growth, but then her father and Rendak always meticulously saw to her care. Mirian had so often navigated to the starboard ladder that she could practically reach it with her eyes closed. She hung suspended beneath it for an agonizing minute to undo the jute knot securing her hilt, hoping her delay didn't mean people were dying above. But there was no going forward until she had her sword free.
As the twine drifted, she saw a flash of movement from below the pirate ship. A distant creature swam toward her with a glowing yellow eye.
She readied the wand.
Only when she saw a second light behind the man carrying the first did she understand. She was looking at salvagers returning from the deeper water, each carrying a glowing, fist-sized stone. The man in front was a shirtless, paunchy colonial with a black fringe beard and receding hair: Rendak, the Daughter's first mate and a seasoned salvager. His mouth enclosed one end of a tube that stretched over one shoulder. Mirian knew it was attached to one of the enchanted air bottles her grandfather had purchased when the salvaging team grew larger.
Rendak halted a few yards from her, his expression torn between pleasure and concern. He'd obviously noted the strange ship, as well as Mirian. Perhaps he thought she'd arrived on it. The second figure swam up beside him, his lips likewise about a tube that led to a shoulder pack—Gombe, the broad-shouldered Mulaa salvager who'd joined the team a year before Mirian left. Where was Kellic?
Explanations and a reunion would have to wait.
She pointed to the hull and gave the salvagers a hand sign that signified pirates. Rendak's eyes widened. He was a little heavier, a little grayer than she remembered, but he still looked more than capable. Bald Gombe was trim and fit.
She then pointed to the lights and brought her hands together. Rendak nodded and dimmed the glowing stone. That was new equipment. Gombe hesitated before doing the same.
Three against forty or so was better than one against forty or so... Mirian pushed the odds from her mind and focused her attention on the ship. She thought she heard shouts above. Hopefully that was the pirates expressing outrage at the calamity overtaking their foundering vessel.
She indicated herself and the ladder, then pointed the salvagers toward the ship's prow. Rendak gave a thumbs-up.
Mirian waited just below the surface, watching as the two men swam for the Daughter's prow. Despite the irk of additional delay, she judged it best to time their attack to occur at the same moment as her own.
She breathed out while still underwater, then took a slow breath after breaching the surface. It was a hard fight not to cough. Magical assistance or no, her lungs had to acclimatize once more to air. She steadied herself with the ladder.
From the deck came the sounds of men shouting for others to stand still, the clomp of boots.
There was no telling how many pirates were really up there, or whether they'd actually been inconvenienced by her attack on their ship's hull. She might have overestimated the damage, or it might not yet have been noticed.
She supposed she'd find out. She started stealthily up the ladder, through the mist.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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—"
"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.
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.
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.
In Stalking the Beast, Howard Andrew Jones returns to the story of Elyana and Drelm from Plague of Shadows as they defend a frontier town in the River Kingdoms from a marauding monster. In order to track a deadly beast that can turn invisible at will and strikes with cunning intelligence, they'll need to pull together the best team of adventurers their backwater corner of the River Kingdoms has ever seen. Yet can everyone they recruit be trusted?
Stalking the Beast Sample Chapter
Wednesday, November 6th, 2013
by Howard Andrew Jones
In Stalking the Beast, Howard Andrew Jones returns to the story of Elyana and Drelm from Plague of Shadows as they defend a frontier town in the River Kingdoms from a marauding monster. In order to track a deadly beast that can turn invisible at will and strikes with cunning intelligence, they'll need to pull together the best team of adventurers their backwater corner of the River Kingdoms has ever seen. Yet can everyone they recruit be trusted?
Chapter Three: Too Good to Miss
Lisette
Most of Delgar's buildings were fashioned from rough-hewn timber, lacking exterior plaster or even a second story. Unless you enjoyed the smell of fish scales and muddy water, there was little to recommend the place, although Lisette appreciated the community's nod toward organization. A lot of river communities couldn't be bothered to fashion straight roads—or straight houses, for that matter. Delgar at least had been built on a grid plan, and as she and Karag climbed out of the barge that afternoon, she was able to take quick stock of the little town.
For the last week of her journey she'd heard rumors about a hunting expedition jointly sponsored by several of the famously uncooperative River Kingdoms. Delgar was to be its launching point, which was probably what had drawn her bounty so far north. Apparently, experienced hunters were to be paid good coin, and the old rogue probably hoped he could pass off as one.
She and Karag blended in fairly well with the crowds thronging the little village, for no one could guess by looking at their gear that they earned their coin hunting men, not beasts.
She scanned the faces they passed, taking the place in, ignoring the return appraisals from knots of varied martial types who wound their way through the muddy streets.
Dark of eye and dark of hair, which she'd cut to the nape of her neck, Lisette had the pale complexion of a Chelaxian. Her pants were dark, loose, comfortable, and tucked into well-worn, calf-high boots sewn from lizard hide. A pair of pistol butts stood out from the sash tied at her waist, weapons of fine iron and dark, highly polished wood. Her single mark of flamboyance was the slim red feather thrust into the side of her brimmed cloth hat.
As Karag finished unloading their gear, he handed a matching flintlock rifle up to her. She shouldered the weapon without remark, the brown strap sliding across the long black sleeve of her shirt and the rim of her black vest.
The burly dwarf hefted a second rifle on his own shoulder, the long muzzle poking three feet above his blond locks. He then lifted a huge leather bag as thick around as himself and propped it on the other shoulder.
"Let's get this over with," she said, and they started forward.
The two made an odd pair. Karag was Lisette's physical opposite in nearly every way, for he was blond and pale and sturdy. Where she strode with pantherish grace, he swaggered. If passersby even recognized the rifle he carried for what it was, they would probably have assumed it was his, but it belonged to Lisette just as much as the powder bag slung across Karag's back, the rifle over her own shoulder, or the brace of flintlock pistols thrust through her belt.
"You ever hear what they're really supposed to be hunting?" Lisette asked him. She ignored the appreciative whistle of a leather-clad barbarian leaning against the side of a building.
"It's some monster the elves drove out of Kyonin," Karag answered in his low rumble. "If the long-ears can't be bothered, they'll just chase a beast out and let everyone else..."
Karag's voice trailed off, and Lisette's gaze swung to follow his own.
A thickset man with a full beard had just stepped from the sprawling, two-story building ahead of them and stood now under a hanging placard carved with a leaping fish. The hood of his light traveling cloak was cast back to reveal a balding pate peppered with red hair. Beside him were two younger men of similar build, their receding hair heavy with grease.
Lisette cursed in disbelief. It was never, ever this easy. She'd tracked the man for the better part of two months, always staying just behind him. And now he was there before her within a few moments of reaching Delgar.
"Velmik," Karag whispered.
Even as her hand swept toward her right pistol, Velmik spotted her. With a deep-throated shout he dove back through the doorway. His sons hurried after.
Lisette wasted no breath cursing. "Back entrance," she ordered Karag, then leapt to the wooden porch to push into the throng of men Velmik and his sons had stumbled through.
The fugitives left a wake through the middle of the tavern's crowded common room, a wide space crammed with long wooden tables and broad-shouldered men and women, many of whom were now cursing, their heads turned toward Velmik. The murderer ploughed toward a closed door beside the stairs to the private rooms. One of his boys was ahead of him; the other was looking back at Lisette. His hand went to his belt, and fastened not around the sword hilt, but an axe haft. Lisette knew then that she faced Gern, who had a reputation with his throwing axe. That meant the one starting up the stairs ahead of Velmik had to be the eldest, Hadek, against whom there was a minor bounty. Not half the size of the one on Velmik, and it wouldn't have brought her out to the wilds, but with him so close by she wouldn't dream of passing up the opportunity.
Gern charged up the creaking steps after the others. "Hurry, Dad!"
A man and woman at the top of the stairs froze at sight of Hadek and backed off.
Lisette elbowed a gawking servant girl out of the way and pulled her pistol free, cocking the hammer with her off hand. As she brought the muzzle in line with Velmik's broad, retreating back, Gern sent the axe flying at her head.
She sidestepped, firing as she felt the passage of the haft brush her hat brim. She missed by only a little, hitting Hadek instead. The man dropped with a girlish scream and his father whirled. Behind Lisette, the axe smashed into a row of glasses at the bar, and there was an uproar from the bartender and any number of patrons. She thrust the smoking pistol through her belt and drew its twin even as Gern pulled a second axe.
Velmik crouched by his firstborn, who whimpered on the stairs. The older man bared teeth as he faced her, drawing steel.
She notched back the hammer of her second pistol and snapped off a shot. She grinned through the swirl of black gun smoke—she'd known even as the weapon kicked in her hand that it had been true. Gern staggered and jerked as a leaking red hole materialized in the center of his forehead. He sprawled.
The thunderous pistol shot set women screaming and men shouting in terror. Many dove for cover or rushed the door. Lisette calmly shoved the smoking pistol back through her sash and drew her short sword.
Velmik charged down the stairs, eyes mad and rolling, lips peeled back to show stained and crooked teeth. He brandished his long notched sword like a cleaver.
"You killed my boys, you bitch!"
Lisette snatched a tankard from the abandoned bar and hurled it at Velmik's head. Her aim was not as accurate with her off hand, but the bald man swerved. The tankard banked off the stair rail, spraying sour-smelling ale. The instant's distraction was all Lisette desired. She lunged forward, slicing rather than thrusting, and cut Velmik across his neck and upper chest. The old fool was wearing leather armor but no neck guard.
It was not a deep strike, but it was enough to spoil Velmik's own and set him clawing instinctively for his throat. He looked down, wide-eyed, as she drove the sword through his hand and out the back of his neck.
Blood spurted forth, and Velmik gurgled a bit as he wobbled, then sank, finally flopping onto the floorboards like a fish. His sword struck the stained planks a second later with a dull clang.
There came a brief silence, over which she heard the labored breathing of Hadek, collapsed with glassy eyes upon the stairs.
She wiped her blade on the back of Velmik's shirt.
Karag burst in through the back doorway, panting, and suddenly found every pair of eyes in the whole tavern staring at him and the musket he carried in two hands.
The silence lasted only a moment longer, and then the buck-toothed bartender demanded to know who she was, how she dared, and, most loudly, who would pay for the damages.
"I am a bounty hunter," Lisette told him calmly, "and two of these men are wanted in Andoran, Druma, and Isger. Karag will pay the damages." At this the dwarf stepped to her side, a little red-faced.
"They never came out," he explained swiftly, softly, "and I heard gunshots."
She had surmised that. "There was no real trouble," she told him so his dwarven pride would remain uninjured. "Bag these two up, and pay this gentleman for his trouble. Your pardon, sir," she said to the proprietor with her prettiest smile. "I'm afraid I must leave your fine company."
The bartender and the others gawped. She didn't mind the attention at all; it might make her stay in the place a little simpler.
The crowd broke into low murmurs, talking among themselves and staring darkly. A few were even moving back toward their tables, though they were cautious about it. The bartender was actually scowling.
"This is Delgar," he said with a drawl. "You can't just wander into the town and kill people in my bar! We have laws!"
Karag stepped up to the counter, his head just clearing its edge. "Lisette has full authority—"
"This is my inn!" The barkeep's face reddened. Lisette heard angry murmurs from the crowd behind her. Curious. She hadn't anticipated this at all. Quietly, methodically, she took up one of her pistols and cleaned the inside of the muzzle with a rag she pulled from a vest pocket.
From behind came a loud clump of steps, and a lull in the mutters as a deep, male voice demanded silence.
Lisette paused in the loading of her pistol and turned.
A peculiar figure strode through the doorway. At first glance he was just another broad, powerful man-at-arms. And then she saw so many incongruities that she was not sure which to consider first.
It was not so remarkable that she faced a thickly built member of the city guard bearing a sheathed sword. What was remarkable was that he was a half- or at least quarter-blood orc. Even out here in the uncivilized wilds, most folk didn't trust their kind, and there was no missing the greenish hue or the foreword thrust of the thick jaw and upward-pointing teeth. Yet here was no coarse brute, either, for his garb was immaculate, from polished helm to the glimpse of leather armor she perceived beneath the spotless blue tabard with its black, crenelated tower. Her eyes shifted briefly to the tall figure striding in behind him, likewise immaculate, likewise wearing leather armor and a white-and-blue tabard with a stone tower, but his long mustaches and slanted eyes were merely peculiar as opposed to extraordinary.
"What has happened here?" the half-orc growled.
"Captain," the barkeep began, and once again Lisette started. Captain? The barkeep pointed at her. "This woman just killed those three men on the stairs with some kind of magic."
The bright, rather small eyes in the half-orc's face shifted immediately to her, then to the gun.
"You need to set that down," the captain growled.
Karag stomped over from the bar to stand at Lisette's side. He glowered up at the orc, who seemed careless of the dark look, for he gave the dwarf little attention before focusing again upon the gun.
"Who are you?" Karag growled.
The tall, mustached guardsman had stepped to the half-orc's side, and it was he who answered in a mellow voice with the faint trace of a Brevic accent. "You are addressing Drelm, captain of the Delgar guard. And he has given your...associate a command. Put aside the strange wand. Immediately."
Lisette's smile did nothing to change Drelm's expression; it remained grim even as she passed the still unloaded pistol on to Karag. "I am a bounty hunter," she said, "fully licensed in five separate countries, and at least as many municipalities, including Tymon. Two of those men were known bandits and murderers; the other was a relative. I was not after him, but he attacked."
"Proof?" Drelm asked.
Lisette was used to thinking on her feet, but it took a moment longer to decipher the captain's short command.
"I have posters for them here," she said, "in my vest pocket."
"Pull them slowly," Drelm told her.
"Of course."
The captain's eyes never left her hand as she produced two quarter-folded pieces of parchment. They crinkled as she passed them across to one large, greenish hand. The knuckle on his first finger was scarred with a long, slightly paler line.
She watched as his eyes tracked across the likenesses of Velmik and Gern—not perfect, but fair enough—and then the words beneath. And she kept the smile upon her lips, knowing that he would demand some sort of fine, or impose some other penalty to enrich himself. She knew better than to object. Here was a "man" clearly used to getting his own way by physical intimidation. The curious thing was how the barkeep and two barmaids were both focused upon the "captain" expectantly. She would have thought they would view any interaction with him with fawning politeness, as you had to do in larger cities when the gangs shook you for protection money.
Drelm finished what must have been a somewhat labored examination of the words, for he was long about it, and handed the papers off to the Brevan. "Compare them."
"Yes, Captain." The Brevan stepped around Karag, walking with a horseman's swagger. His boot heels, she noticed, were silver.
"They did a lot of damage." The barkeep pointed to a row of smashed glasses sitting on a dark shelf behind him. Lisette glanced over the bar top and saw a trio of broken bottles lying on the dark floorboards amid a spreading pool of sweet-smelling wine.
"We will gladly pay for the damages," Lisette told them. "Although all of this was because Velmik's son threw an axe."
That didn't hold any sway with the barkeep. "He wouldn't have thrown an axe if you hadn't followed him into my inn!"
The Brevan had climbed the first two stairs and was glancing back and forth between the two pieces of paper and the bodies. "Captain," he called, "two of these look just about right. And the third must be a son of the older one."
Drelm's small eyes flicked to the barkeep's. "What will repairs cost?"
Lisette could see conflicting emotions warring on the barkeep's face. He looked down at the damage, then back to the orc.
"Five gold sails."
"Three at best," the Brevan said as he wandered over. "I can smell that wine from here. Not exactly high elven vintage."
The Brevan was right, but Lisette knew better than to offer any opinion.
"Three," Drelm said to Lisette. "Pay him. Demid, collect the coins."
"Yes, Captain."
Lisette couldn't believe she was getting off that lucky. Drelm glanced once more at the dwarf, who still watched with suspicion, and faced the rest of the tavern's occupants.
"Many of you are new faces," Drelm said as he drew himself up. "This is not how we do things here." He tapped his chest. "Those who kill, face me. Those who steal, face me. Those who hurt an innocent, face me. I give this one"—he pointed to Lisette—"this one chance. She is new. She is a bounty hunter. She has taken her chance, and yours. Next time, you face me. Am I understood?"
He snapped this last. A few of the folk—locals, probably—were direct with their reply: "Yes, Captain!"
The others looked away and mumbled.
Drelm's lips pulled back in a snarl, and he roared. "Do you understand me? You will answer, ‘Yes, Captain!'"
"Yes, Captain!" the customers called back.
"Again!"
This time the tavern timbers seemed to shake a little with the noise. "Yes, Captain!"
Drelm grunted, then glanced back at Lisette. "No more bounties before speaking with me."
"Of course." Lisette tried a smile, and produced a gleaming cold coin. She lobbed it twirling into the air between the half-orc and herself. "For your trouble."
Drelm caught it without looking in one massive fist, then addressed the Brevan while staring at her. "Lieutenant Demid, she is new. Speak to her."
"Only the mayor pays the city guard, little sparrow," the Brevan said from behind her.
Drelm then pitched the coin, without once considering it, toward the barkeep. "I levy fines for bribery," he said. "There, keep it. Now you profit from the mess."
Stranger and stranger. Lisette couldn't quite figure the captain's angle. Only some wet-behind-the-ears Eagle Knight would be so honest. Certainly no half-orc in a village no one had heard of.
"Do you have more targets in Delgar?" he asked her.
"Probably not," Lisette answered. There was always the possibility she'd bump into someone else.
"‘Probably not.'" Drelm grunted, a low, almost thoughtful sound. "If it becomes ‘probably yes,' see me before you spill more blood, or you and I will have a problem."
At last he acknowledged the dwarf, who muttered under his breath. Something dwarven, from the sound, and an insult, from his dark look.
"I don't speak dwarf," the half-orc said, then his eyes tracked back to Lisette's. "Tell him threats to me when I'm in uniform are threats to the guard."
Lisette's hand tightened on Karag's shoulder. He tensed under her fingers. She did not leave off smiling. "I'll make sure he knows."
Drelm grunted.
The Brevan strode past then, coin purses in hand. "They had thirty-two silvers, Captain, and a handful of coppers."
"For the treasury," Drelm said.
"Yes, Captain."
Her first thought was that the half-orc was an idiot and meant to have the lieutenant turn the money over to the city coffers. Then she realized they were saying that solely for the benefit of listeners and would surely cut themselves in for a nice percentage of the money, for Demid had certainly announced fewer funds than he'd actually found on the bodies.
Drelm surveyed the room a final time, then turned heel and strode away.
"Karag," Lisette forced almost sickly sweet kindness into her voice. "Make the rest of the arrangements. And keep the captain's warning in mind. I do think," she added, "we'll be better welcome at some other inn for the night."
"I suppose you're right," Karag said, and turned to consider the bodies, and the barkeep, who still watched them. Everyone, actually, was still staring at them, although some had returned to their meals.
"My pistol?" Lisette asked. It was evidence of how peculiar the encounter had been that Karag had not instantly returned it to her. He did so now with an apologetic look, then strode toward the bar. In this place she didn't imagine he'd be able to drag the bodies to an alley and cut off their heads. One way or another, though, the dwarf would have to decapitate the corpses and drop the heads in salt. It didn't matter to her how he did it, so long as they stayed on the right side of the law—and, more importantly, so long as the evidence of the kill was preserved long enough to collect the bounty.
She walked out past Demid and stepped to the edge of the raised platform, leaning against the warm building shingles while she checked over the pistol bore and fished around for her pellet and powder. She was not at all surprised to find the Brevan guard following her out, black eyes afire with interest.
"You have strange talons," he said, "but are a deadly bird. The dwarf didn't slay any of them, did he?"
"No."
She pulled out a powder packet and bit off the end with her teeth, then spat it to the side.
Demid's lips turned up in a slight smile.
"Is there something funny, Lieutenant?"
"Demid," he said. "I assure you that I take you quite seriously."
She wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided not to press further. "So what are a Brevan and a half-orc doing on the guard force in a nowhere village in the River Kingdoms? It almost sounds like a joke."
He repeated the word doubtfully. "A joke?"
"Sure." She pulled free a bullet from another pocket and held it up to the sun. "A Brevan and a half-orc walk into a bar. But I don't know the punch line."
"The punch line. Oh, yes. No, it's no joke, Lady..." He waited expectantly.
"Lisette."
"Lisette. How lovely. I might begin such a joke myself. An angry dwarf and a beautiful marksman—markswoman—enter a bar. But I also don't know the..." He paused to make a rolling motion with his hand, then finished: "punch line."
"There isn't one." Lisette put home the bullet, and, satisfied, tamped it down. "What is it you want, Lieutenant?"
"I am curious about you. Part of my duties as a guardsman of Delgar, you understand."
Was he flirting, or was he actually searching for information? The more time she spent in this place, the more unsure she became. She could read men, though, and even though Demid clearly found her attractive, there was a coolness in his gaze. "Of course."
"For instance, I've never seen wands with handle grips before."
"You mean these?" As she tapped the muzzle of her pistol, he nodded. "These aren't wands, they're guns. No magic's involved."
"Ah," he said. "I've never seen one before."
"But you've heard of them?"
"Alchemical, aren't they?"
Clearly he wished to hold one, but she wasn't feeling charitable. "Something like that."
"I see. And where is it that you're going?"
"I wish only to find lodging for the night. Somewhere where I might obtain a warm bath."
"Ah." Demid clicked his tongue. "That's more challenging than usual, owing to the hunt. Are you planning to participate?"
"I'm only here for Velmik. I just want a warm bath, a night in a real bed, and then I'll be on the next boat out."
Demid listened with interest, then provided directions to a home near the walled city center. "Madame Celene has expensive rooms, and is careful to whom she rents them. Most of these would not be welcome there. Your friend," he continued, "would have to be..."
"Gentlemanly?"
"Polite," Demid said with a nod.
"He can manage that. I thank you, Demid."
"Of course." He executed a smart half bow, turned on his heel, and retreated to the inn.
Interesting. He had not been looking for a bribe, or romance, but inspecting her, almost as though he were a guardsman in Almas. A real professional. Well, the River Kingdoms attracted fugitives. Likely the Brevan had some sort of complicated backstory, and probably one less interesting than she supposed. Curious as she was, she decided she was thankful neither Demid nor Drelm were the types who liked to brag about their past.
Lisette slipped her gun back through her belt, readied her second, then tucked her supplies away. She checked her appearance in a small glass mirror, finding a few blood flecks, which she wiped from her cheeks.
Demid's directions and information proved accurate. Madame Celene, a beanpole-thin woman with a personality dry as day-old bread, could have done with some of the Brevan's politeness. Elyana rented a room for a silver wolf—a criminal rate out here in the middle of nowhere—but it came with a warm bath, and privacy, and Celene told her the latter was not likely anywhere else in the village this week.
The outrageous fee soured Lisette's mood even after a long hot soak in a sparkling clean iron tub off Madame Celene's kitchen. She was upstairs in the tiny bedroom allotted her, methodically checking over her gear, when a loud rap rang against her door.
Lisette reached immediately for one pistol, which she put close to hand. She was partially dressed, in shirt and pants, although she was uncorseted and barefoot, and her wet hair hung wild about her shoulders.
"Who is it?"
She expected an answer from Karag. Still, you could never be too cautious in her line of work. She glanced over her shoulder at the narrow, shuttered window overlooking the street. The afternoon sun cast lines of light through which dust motes drifted, highlighting the polish on the old floor planks. Madame Celene kept a tidy inn.
"I have a message for you, miss."
The voice was that of a young man's. Lisette lifted the pistol and pulled back the hammer with a faint click. "From whom?"
"Someone from the court, miss."
That struck her as more than a little curious. "You don't know?"
Apparently the message boy thought so too. "I'm sorry, I don't," he admitted. "I was just supposed to find the lady who'd..." There was a brief pause. "Killed those men at the tavern. You're her, aren't you?"
Lisette was still wondering how to answer that when the boy spoke on.
"I'll just slide this message under the door. No need to pay me. My fee's already handled."
The floorboards creaked outside then, probably from the boy shifting weight, and a small envelope slid slowly under the door.
Lisette stared at it from a distance.
"I'll be going now," the young man's voice said, nervously, and then his footsteps receded hurriedly.
Lisette slowly lowered the hammer, put the gun aside, and stepped to the envelope, though long years in the field made her cautious even with this simple act. The letter might be poisoned or trapped, or the letter might be a distraction while something else was underway.
In the end, though, it proved just a letter, sealed with wax that lacked the mark of any kind of seal. The message within promised twenty gold sails for a brief discussion with the lord mayor, so long as she understood she that was to be completely discrete about the summons, both before and after the meeting.
An unexpected development, and a profitable one. Probably the man was looking to drop a criminal the local guard force hadn't been able to kill. Someone too clever for, say, a half-orc. The discretion was peculiar, but compared to some of the requests she'd heard over the years, it didn't amount to much. Likely Lord Avelis didn't want anyone knowing his guard force couldn't handle the matter.
Lisette readied herself in short order, pleased that she'd kept one blouse clean just for these sorts of emergencies.
One street over, the wooden buildings gave way to a handful of stone homes immediately outside the walled enclosure that surrounded the seat of government. The ten-foot wall wouldn't hold off an army for long, but it would keep back the kind of bandit forces that usually assaulted River Kingdoms settlements.
She passed through the open gates and tried not to stare too long at the two spear-bearing guardsmen. It was odd enough that they should look so competent, odder still that their helms matched, and that their hair and faces were well-groomed, but beyond that, they were actually wearing clean tabards. One simply didn't encounter that level of organization in River Kingdoms villages, which tended to rise and fall every generation. So far as she knew, Delgar was only a few years old. It had no business being so well run.
She understood now that the symbol she'd seen on all the guards' tabards—a small tower with an arrow slit and four merlons—was a fair likeness of the tower of the keep ahead of her.
Beyond the gate was about what she'd expected—an expanse of rich black dirt and scrubby grass with various outbuildings and storage sheds. A stable stood along the wall directly west of the gate. All of this, too, seemed finely ordered. There were no sagging roofs or rotting joists, no mismatched roof thatching.
How did the lord of this little burg manage such order in the midst of such chaos? He might not be the simple hayseed with delusions of grandeur she'd anticipated. Lisette supposed it didn't really matter, so long as the money was good.
As she crossed the compound, the keep's metal-banded door opened wide, and out walked three tall, splendid figures. One was dressed in black traveling clothes, like herself, and the others in green and brown forest gear.
Elves. She'd seen her share of them in various cities, but these were no ordinary citizens. They walked with a warrior's confidence, shoulders wide. Their eyes had a veteran's look, measuring all that they took in.
Each gauged her as they walked for the stables, and as one adjusted the strap of his quiver, she realized with a start that his left hand was nothing more than a hook. He was the shortest of the lot, though still half a head taller than herself, and one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen, even for an elf. His coppery brown hair was long, straight, and thick, and his dark eyes were dotted with luminous amber flecks. Many elven males struck her as youthful or effeminate, but not this one, whose fine-featured face seemed grimly competent, and was marred by a small scar along his nose. She was shocked to find that her breath actually caught in her throat a bit as his eyes met hers. Worse, he seemed to see or hear it, for his gaze fastened on her a moment longer. Then he glanced at the hook upon his arm. His expression hardened, and he strode after his companions.
Lisette wasn't used to feeling regret, but she had a mad impulse to follow and tell him that it wasn't the hook she'd gasped at. But what should she care about what an elf thought of her feelings?
She found someone else watching: a lean, bearded man in the tower doorway. She returned his scrutiny as she walked closer.
The stranger stood perhaps six feet tall, with a full head of brown hair. That and his beard were lined with distinguished bands of silver. His face was weathered but handsome, and she guessed him to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. His breeks were brown, his cuffed and collared shirt white and tight over thick shoulders. He had a swordsman's build, she thought, though she saw no blade upon him.
Lisette halted before him.
"Welcome," the man said in a subdued baritone. "I think you may have come to see me."
"Lord Avelis?"
"Avelis will do," he replied. "And you are?"
"Lisette Demonde. Of Cheliax."
He didn't quite manage to hold in his surprise. One eyebrow twitched. Somehow, she was not quite what he'd expected. But he didn't let it stop him. "It was good of you to come so quickly. Please, follow me." He turned on one boot heel and addressed someone out of sight within the building, telling them to bring refreshments.
Lisette followed the mayor through a common room, then a deep doorway—almost a short tunnel—and into a long, narrow office. Apart from a small, high window, the room lacked natural light, which explained the lanterns hung from dark joists over the desk.
There was just barely room for Avelis to slide around the desk, and this he did before turning to face her and gesturing to the chairs.
As they took their seats, she noted the well-crafted wooden cabinet under the window behind him. The elm desk was simply but finely made, and the papers on its surface neatly stacked.
"Your arrival was fortuitous," Avelis told her. "I've made inquiries about...those in your line of profession, but none of them have come."
Lisette smiled thinly. "The River Kingdoms is a long way to come for twenty gold sails. I assume you don't want someone local."
"You assume correctly."
A chubby servant girl knocked upon the door behind them and hurried forward with a platter holding a wine bottle and two glasses.
"Just set it on the desk, Syra. Thank you. Please close the door behind you."
"Yes, Mayor," she said, curtsying to him before she departed. The door shut with a heavy thud.
"Please, have a drink." The mayor's hand indicated the platter.
"You're very kind. After we discuss our business, perhaps."
Avelis nodded once, sharply. "I'll cut to the point." He reached under the desk, and Lisette tensed as she heard a drawer being opened. A moment later, Avelis set a cloth bag upon the wood, where it jangled with a heavy thud. He pushed it toward her. "Twenty gold sails. That's for hearing me out and keeping your mouth shut. Even if you don't like what I offer you."
"That's right."
She loosened the leather tie cord and peered within, then lifted one of the coins to the sunlight. It was Andoren currency, with a shine so clear it must be virtually unhandled. She tested one between her back teeth, found it appropriately soft and pure, and dropped it back in with its fellows before cinching the bag and dropping it into the pack she'd slung over the chair back.
"Don't you want to count it?" Avelis sounded amused.
"I did," she said, which wasn't entirely true, but she could tell there were at least fifteen sails in there, which was good enough for her. "Alright, Avelis, I can see you're serious about this. What do you want me for?"
Avelis steepled his fingers. "I need you to kill an orc."
She laughed. "Any decent mercenary can do that job, Mayor. And your town is crawling with them. Your guard force looks surprisingly capable."
"Oh, it is. But it's the captain of my guard I want you to kill."
The expression upon his face was so strange, what with his twitching smile and the burning gleam in his eyes, that she thought at first that he joked.
She realized he was serious as he spoke on. "I suppose I should explain that he's partly human."
She cleared her throat. He probably wasn't going to handle this well. Avelis seemed like a man who was used to having his way. "I'm a bounty hunter, Mayor, not an assassin."
Avelis shrugged. "Is there a difference? I'm putting a private bounty on him."
She wanted to ask how large that bounty was, but she was already treading on thin ice. "Has he broken the laws of your community?"
"No."
Lisette shook her head. "Then that's an assassination. That's not my line."
"Oh, you haven't yet heard my price."
Now the trick was leaving the meeting gracefully. She offered a few alternative suggestions. "If you want him killed, hire some guards to attack him. Hire some bravos. Poison him."
"My guards are fiercely loyal to him. They would sooner betray me. And he would kill any warriors sent against him. Poison...would be too suspicious. I want you. And I will pay you very well."
Again she saw that strange gleam in his eyes, and the peculiar shifting smile. She felt a dawning curiosity about the money. "How well?"
Avelis reached slowly into an inside pocket to produce a small red silk bag. He undid the drawstrings, cupped his left hand, and poured out a stream of small gems, each the size of her thumbnail. Lisette recognized bloodstone and carnelian, moonstone and onyx.
"Every one of them is worth at least fifty gold sails. A fortune that transports well."
It was far more than what Lisette would have guessed. She had many questions, but thought to keep him talking while she considered the matter. "Pardon my asking, but if you have all of these, what are you doing...here?"
Avelis's eyes narrowed. "That's not really your concern, is it? Do the job well and all this is yours." He extended the palm of his hands, strewn with gems, and Lisette reached out to select one. She held it up between thumb and forefinger, and directed it into a mote-filled sunbeam.
"That's more than four thousand sails for what's likely to be a week's work."
Lisette had been paid in gemstones often enough that she knew a real one when she saw it. She dropped that one back into his palm and chose another at random. It, too, was finely cut, glimmering with color.
She'd had good reasons for walking away from her earlier profession, and even finer reasons for permanently keeping her distance. Yet this was good money—absurdly good, given the circumstances—and if she played things right, no one would ever know. How would the Black Coil ever hear about the death of a half-orc in the River Kingdoms?
With this kind of money she might finally have the funds to set up permanent residence in Triela in one of those rambling old Chelish-style mansions. There were any number of them sinking slowly into disrepair. Between this and the funds she'd stashed in Almas, she might just be able to lay claim to one and afford the upkeep.
The real question might have been why the mayor wasn't doing the same thing. But then, as he said, that really wasn't her business. Maybe he was one of those driven to command. Or maybe he'd done something terrible under his real name and had fled to the frontier to start afresh.
She considered the mayor as she dropped the gem back into his palm. "Why do you want him dead?"
His smile widened, showing teeth, and he gathered in the gems. "He killed my son, and is marrying my daughter. He will rule after me...unless I kill him."
Had he missed the obvious? Some, blinded by desire for vengeance, were too quick to dismiss easier methods. "Wouldn't it be easy to forbid the marriage and bring him to trial?"
"It's not so simple." Avelis's lip curled in a savage sneer before he regained composure. "It was no blade that killed my Melloc, but negligence. My son was on patrol with the orc, who didn't have the brains to safeguard him. Most of the village doesn't even think it's the orc's fault." The mayor's eyes burned. "He's got all of them fooled."
"What do you mean?"
"They like him. They trust him."
"A half-orc?"
Avelis nodded once. "Two years ago this community was on the brink of ruin. Bandits and river raiders were a constant threat. Despite my best efforts, the town was lawless and violent."
"And Drelm fixed all this for you?"
"The orc and his friend. An elven woman named Elyana. They were just passing through, but with their help things quickly turned around. I was grateful, understand. He's been my guard captain now for the last year and a half, and Elyana remains a sort of informal advisor. She's very, very good."
Lisette managed not to smirk at the open lust in the man's tone. So Avelis had a thing for pointed ears. Then again, given her reaction in the courtyard, who was she to talk?
"The town has embraced them," Avelis went on. "They've even embraced the idea of him...courting my daughter. But the thought of his blood mingling with mine..." The fingers on the mayor's left hand slowly curled inward, and he stared down at the clenched fist, almost in surprise. It began to shake. "I should have seen it," he said through gritted teeth. "He means to rule after me!"
Lisette thought she had a handle on the matter now, but she summarized for clarity. Before discussing contracts, she always made sure expectations were clear between her and her employer. "You want him dead, but not in an obvious way. And you don't want to anger the village, or his friend the elf?"
"Exactly."
"How is it that a half-orc and an elf are friends?"
Avelis snorted. "They served together over in Taldor. I thought they were lovers for the longest time, or I'd have been more worried when Drelm was near my daughter. He's so...proper...I didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late."
"Well, I don't have any love for orcs. But my reputation is as a bounty hunter. I take on legal cases. I'd like an official contract."
Avelis favored her with a long look, then set his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "I think the money's good enough that we don't need a contract. Don't you? Papers can fall into the wrong hands."
"Maybe you should think about hiring someone else then. As I said, I'm not an assassin." Not anymore. And by her covenant, she could not work as one. She shouldn't even be sitting here.
"Well, I'm the ruler here, and I'll pay a large bounty. I can even turn the paper over to you, if you wish, once you succeed."
"I always come through on a contract," Lisette said.
"I've no doubt. You managed to impress Lieutenant Demid, which is no mean feat. He said that you felled three men, and that you used strange weapons that launch metal balls, but aren't magic."
He was doing his best to change the subject. "That's true enough. I want the contract with me."
"That's really not possible."
She thought about walking out. Yet... "Then I want half, now."
"Half?" he spluttered.
"Unless you give me a contract that will hold up in court."
Avelis frowned, and his good looks soured. The eyes narrowed, lines curled about his mouth, and she saw what he would look like in ten or fifteen more years. A bitter, angry old man.
Avelis let out a pent-up breath. "Very well. But there is one more condition. Drelm must die, but it can't be done in a way that alerts anyone—especially not Elyana, whom I would rather remain to serve the town. Her counsel is quite valuable to me."
I'll bet it is, Lisette thought, but Avelis seemed oblivious to how much he was revealing about himself. "And it can't be done promptly," he continued. "You've probably noted the influx of warriors."
"It was hard to miss."
"A deadly beast's killing people up and down the river."
"One beast?"
"We think so. It was my son's last wish that we band together to launch an expedition to hunt the thing down. I've joined forces with Kyonin, Tymon, Riverton, and Sevenarches, and we've scraped enough together to reward those who kill it. Drelm and Elyana are heading the expedition. It must succeed—it was the beast that killed my boy, and I will see it go down. Which means Drelm can't be killed until the thing is dead. He's too good a warrior. Do you understand?"
More complications. She should have known it would have more complications. "So you want me to go on the expedition with them through the wilderness and pretend to hunt for this thing with them. What sort of beast is it?"
"No one's really seen it." Avelis turned over an empty palm. "What we do know is that it likes to kill. It's smashed into homes and outposts and hunting camps up and down the river for the last six months. It comes and goes as it likes, vanishing right in front of witnesses."
Better and better. She kept the disgust from her voice. "I see."
"Some of the best trackers in the River Kingdoms will be along," Avelis said. "I can't imagine it taking more than a week. And at some point, while you're trying to shoot the beast with one of your alchemical wands, Drelm will just get in the way. And he will get in the way—he'll be in the forefront to kill the thing, I guarantee it. And you, with your ranged weapons, will be standing back. Easy."
Somehow she doubted it would be as easy as he supposed. And then Avelis opened the bag once more. "Hold out your hand, and we'll count out your advance. That is, if you're in."
Coming Next Week: An all-new prequel story starring Lisette in "Bells for the Dead"!
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.
With our latest Pathfinder Tales novel, Stalking the Beast, about to hit physical and virtual store shelves, we got in touch with author Howard Andrew Jones for a peek inside his technique...
Author Q&A with Howard Andrew Jones
Saturday, October 19, 2013
With our latest Pathfinder Tales novel, Stalking the Beast, about to hit physical and virtual store shelves, we got in touch with author Howard Andrew Jones for a peek inside his technique...
In your own words, what's Stalking the Beast about?
Elyana and Drelm lead a team of professional hunters and woodsmen after a strange monster that’s haunting remote settlements of the River Kingdoms. Before long they realize there may be sinister forces behind the monster’s seemingly random attacks, and not everyone within their group may be who they claim...
Without spoilers, what was your favorite aspect of this novel? What was the most fun part to write?
There are a couple of key action scenes that really please me, and I am proud of the various twists and turns. I think the moment I grew secure with the book was when I introduced the bounty hunter Lisette in chapter three while she was taking down one of her targets. I knew then that I was on to something that would work. I was pleased with the way the whole book turned out in the end, even though that end took a turn the outline hadn’t predicted...
Who's your favorite character and why?
That’s like asking me to choose a favorite child! That said, of the three characters in the book, this time I enjoyed writing the newest of them, Lisette, just a little bit more than writing Elyana and Drelm. Perhaps that’s because she was new to me, or perhaps it was because of her character arc, but her chapters more or less wrote themselves.
We haven't seen Elyana and Drelm since Plague of Shadows—how have the characters changed since then, both in-world and in how you approached writing them?
I know Elyana well enough that slipping into her POV is pretty simple for me. She hasn't changed much in a long while, having settled into her personality some decades ago. Drelm, on the other hand, is more complex, even though he's not as sophisticated as his elven friend, because he's still finding his place in the world. He's still growing and changing.
In the years since we last saw them they have come to depend upon one almost without question, so there are very few of those “what are you doing” moments between them anymore.
One of the point-of-view characters in this book—Lisette—is a gunslinger. What made you decide to include a gunslinger in such a prominent role?
I’d like to say it was a complex choice borne of careful consideration, but the truth is she walked into my subconscious with her personality and gear and her backstory. She virtually insisted upon being in the narrative... so there she is!
What drew you to this particular region of Golarion as the setting for a novel?
I wanted a wilder portion of the world, but I wanted one that wasn’t too far from where Drelm and Elyana had last adventured. The River Kingdoms proved to be exactly what I needed. I loved the idea of a region that wasn’t thoroughly explored or detailed so that I could plop a little settlement into the midst of it and do what I wanted with the place. And I have to admit I was drawn to the evocative setting that its authors had created – I could practically smell the trees and the mist off the river.
What's your favorite part of Golarion that you haven't written about yet?
Sargava. I can’t emphasize that enough. I can barely wait to write some stories set down south in Sargava. I can’t believe there’s been so little written about it already. It’s just rife with possibilities! I think some Pathfinder writers are drawn to populous places, but I prefer writing in less detailed areas so that I have a lot more freedom to make things up. And after a visit to the Hawaiian islands a few years ago I’ve been dying to try my hand at some exciting tropical stories. I’ve been wondering if Paizo would sponsor a trip back to the isles for me. You know, for research purposes.
How did you first get into writing?
I’ve always wanted to tell stories. When I was a little kid I used to draw pictures and my mom kindly wrote down what was happening underneath them (I couldn’t write yet). She once told me she knew I’d end up being an author because the details about the picture were a lot more involved than the pictures themselves... but she might just have been kind, because I was a bad artist. (My son’s tremendous artistic talent comes from my wife, not me.)
Once I started telling stories, I never stopped. Come high school I was writing what’s now called fan fic set in the original Star Trek universe, but with my own characters. I was big into both science fiction and fantasy and I just kept writing, even as the rejection letters flowed in. Gradually the ratio between acceptance and rejections flipped, and then I landed a book deal for some historical fantasy novels through St. Martin’s, which opened the door for writing some Paizo Pathfinder stories. I’ve been here ever since.
Any advice for aspiring writers?
If you’re serious about writing, keep at it. Be open to criticism yet know when to stick to your guns, because not every critique is right. Know what every character wants in the scene before you sit down to write it. Writing only happens if you make it happen. Taking the time for a single page a day equals a novel by year’s end.
What's an interesting bit of trivia that our readers might not know about you?
I actually own horses, which plays into my fiction, and I have a black belt in Shotokan Karate, which almost never does, except that I think knowing how to spar informs the writing of my combat scenes.
Last but not least: if you had only 30 seconds to convince someone to read this particular novel, what would your pitch be?
Elevator Pitch: The 13th Warrior crossed with Aliens! Okay, sort of, but with a wily elven ranger and a valiant half-orc warrior as the leads, joined by a dangerous gunslinger/bounty hunter. You want driving action, compelling characters, life and death choices? Sword-slinging, intrigue, and surprises? Elyana and Drelm will lead you there. If you enjoyed the first novel, everything that you liked is ratcheted up a couple of notches.
Check out Stalking the Beast, available October 30th in paperback or ePub format!
Pathfinder Author Chat Next Monday! Thursday, September 21st, 2011 Hey there, fiction fans! This coming Monday, September 26th, Pathfinder Tales author Dave Gross has set up an awesome Pathfinder Tales round table discussion in the Paizo chat room. Starting at 6:00pm PST, this is your chance to catch all of the current Pathfinder Tales novelists in one place, to offer your opinions and ask your burning questions (such as the all-important “Who would win, Elyana or Ellasif?”). The floor will...
Pathfinder Author Chat Next Monday!
Thursday, September 21st, 2011
Hey there, fiction fans! This coming Monday, September 26th, Pathfinder Tales author Dave Gross has set up an awesome Pathfinder Tales round table discussion in the Paizo chat room. Starting at 6:00pm PST, this is your chance to catch all of the current Pathfinder Tales novelists in one place, to offer your opinions and ask your burning questions (such as the all-important “Who would win, Elyana or Ellasif?”). The floor will be entirely open, and your questions will determine what we talk about, so drop by http://chat.dmtools.org/ on Monday night to chat with Dave Gross (Prince of Wolves, Master of Devils, Winter Witch), Elaine Cunningham (Winter Witch), Howard Andrew Jones (Plague of Shadows), Robin D. Laws (The Worldwound Gambit), and yours truly (Death’s Heretic, Fiction Editor). (Once you get there, be sure to type /join PFTales to enter the side room hosting the discussion.) It’s guaranteed to be a riotous, educational, and undeniably literary affair.
Four Musketeers Sat, Aug 6, 2011 at 05:43 AM PacificHoward Andrew Jones, Dave Gross, Wolfgang Baur, and Pierce Watters commandeer the authors area of the Paizo booth. ... Sean K Reynolds ... Developer ...
Four Musketeers
Sat, Aug 6, 2011 at 05:43 AM Pacific
Howard Andrew Jones, Dave Gross, Wolfgang Baur, and Pierce Watters commandeer the authors area of the Paizo booth.
... Illustration by Kekai Kotaki ... Pathfinder Fiction News and Podcast! Thursday, May 26, 2011It's always a good day when we get to announce the next Pathfinder Tales novel, but today is especially important for me, as today I get to announce the November release of Death's Heretic, the new Pathfinder Tales novel by—well, me! ... Death's Heretic is the story of Salim Ghadafar, a desert warrior forced against his will to work as an agent of Pharasma. When a powerful merchant in Thuvia...
Illustration by Kekai Kotaki
Pathfinder Fiction News and Podcast!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
It's always a good day when we get to announce the next Pathfinder Tales novel, but today is especially important for me, as today I get to announce the November release of Death's Heretic, the new Pathfinder Tales novel by—well, me!
Death's Heretic is the story of Salim Ghadafar, a desert warrior forced against his will to work as an agent of Pharasma. When a powerful merchant in Thuvia is assassinated on the eve of receiving the sun orchid elixir, an elixir capable of reversing aging, few people are surprised—after all, immortality is a risky business. Yet when the merchant's soul goes missing from Pharasma's Boneyard and a mysterious note offers to ransom the man's spirit back to his family in exchange for the elixir, it's time for the church of the death goddess to step in and find out who would dare steal from the Lady of Graves herself. With his unique skill set, Salim should be perfectly suited to the mission. There's only one problem: The investigation is being financed by the murdered aristocrat's daughter. And she wants to go with him.
Illustration by Lucas Graciano
Along with his uninvited passenger, Salim must unravel a web of intrigue that will lead them far from the blistering sands of Thuvia on a grand tour of the Outer Planes, where devils and angels rub shoulders with fey lords and mechanical men, and nothing is as it seems...
This book has been a long time in coming, and I'm obviously pretty excited to finally be able to talk about it. Yet rather than ramble on the blog (there'll be time for that closer to the release date), I'd like to direct you over to the brand new, all-Pathfinder-Tales episode of the Atomic Array podcast! In addition to talking with me about Death's Heretic and the line as a whole, Ed and Rone also interview Pathfinder Tales authors Dave Gross, Robin D. Laws, and Howard Andrew Jones. It's nearly two-hours of hard-hitting fiction questions and anecdotes regarding Pathfinder Tales, so check it out, and feel free to ask your own questions in the comments thread below!
Last but not least, we've also unveiled the final cover art for Master of Devils and Death's Heretic, painted by Lucas Graciano and Kekai Kotaki, respectively. That's all from the Pathfinder Tales front for now, but stay tuned next week for the beginning of an all-new story from Robin D. Laws as part of our free weekly web fiction!
The Walkers from the Crypt—Chapter Four: The Pendant
The Walkers from the Cryptby Howard Andrew Jones ... Chapter Four: The PendantPrince Dolandryn explained that in life he'd known only a handful of spells, for he had bent his concentration upon necromantic studies to the exclusion of almost all other magics. Yet he had learned one or two useful tricks, and upon Elyana and Arcil he placed a dweomer that hid their pulse and gave them a semblance of... Elyana was not sure how to describe it, for she saw nothing different in Arcil's appearance...
The Walkers from the Crypt
by Howard Andrew Jones
Chapter Four: The Pendant
Prince Dolandryn explained that in life he'd known only a handful of spells, for he had bent his concentration upon necromantic studies to the exclusion of almost all other magics. Yet he had learned one or two useful tricks, and upon Elyana and Arcil he placed a dweomer that hid their pulse and gave them a semblance of... Elyana was not sure how to describe it, for she saw nothing different in Arcil's appearance once the spell had been cast, but she certainly perceived it upon both of them when she looked down at her hands.
"You will no longer seem alive to the dead you encounter," the spirit told them. "But you do not have long. You must move quickly."
And so they did. They left Mirelle on the steps near the horses, neither of them offering suggestions as to what she should do if they failed in their mission. The girl would have no good options left her.
Elyana and Arcil hurried through the streets toward the city outskirts. Here they finally saw more of the moving dead, and sign that at least some of the Galtans lived, for scores of the animated corpses had gathered around a square redoubt that looked like a watchtower. Lights burned at its heights; figures in Galtan liberty caps were silhouetted in the vacant windows of the place. By that light Elyana recognized men in Galtan uniforms gathered in the ranks of dead about the tower and knew that many of those who'd tracked them to this place must already have fallen.
"How are we going to get through there?" Elyana asked.
"I don't think we'll have to do so," Arcil told her, breathing a little heavily. He pointed out into the darkness. "As far as I can tell, the pendant is that way."
"Lead on, then. How much longer do you think we have?"
"Probably not long enough," he said, and was so startled by her abrupt laugh that his grin was rather charming. She slapped his back.
"Onward then, Arcil."
They did not have much farther to go. Out there in the darkness they saw another light, near a copse of trees. A group of dead men ringed the light, and their shadows were etched upon the surface of the earth before they stretched into the surrounding darkness. From within this ring came the distinct chuk of shovels thrust into the soil, the grunt of men at work, and the sound of earth being cast from the tools. Elyana perceived then that inside the ring of corpses were a handful of Galtan soldiers, along with another figure that was quietly cursing them to quicken their efforts.
It looked as though Elyana and Arcil were not the only ones protected by some kind of shielding enchantment.
Elyana decided then that things could quickly be made much simpler with a few easy steps, and so she darted behind a bush and slipped her bow from her back. Arcil went with her, smiling as she bent the bow and slid the string into place around the nock.
"A well-placed arrow, eh?"
"Or three," Elyana said. "It should save us a little trouble."
"And if this doesn't work?"
"I guess you'd better have your wand ready."
It did not take long. Elyana had three of her finest arrows remaining; the rest had been scavenged from Galtans. She watched the diggers for only a few moments. They did not seem to have been at it for very long, for their dirt pile was but a low mound.
One of the men with the shovels bent down, lifted something, and brushed at it. The hooded figure stepped closer.
"The mask might actually improve the necromancer's appearance."
Until then he'd been partly obscured by the protective line of corpses and the diggers themselves. No longer. As the necromancer stared at what Elyana thought must be the pendant, she loosed her first arrow, then the second, in quick succession. As they soared through the night, she took a moment longer to aim a third.
The first one tore through the air, over the shoulder of one of the dead sentinels, then passed just beyond the head of the Galtan wizard, who looked up. The second one came within a handspan of his throat, but somehow dropped away just as it drew close. Elyana cursed—the Galtan necromancer must have some sort of protective barrier.
The third, though, took the fellow in his chest. He sank to one knee.
Arcil leveled his wand then, and at his shouted words a firewall appeared beside the Galtans, casting all of them in stark red light. The men with shovels screamed in anguish.
Elyana fitted more arrows and fired again and again even as the wall of fire raged.
Then the corpses were running toward them, eight in all. Five were the long-dead skeletal remnants of the valley, but three were Galtan soldiers. Their opponent was apparently an equal opportunity necromancer.
"Do you have anything else?" Elyana asked.
"A web," Arcil told her.
"Perfect."
The wizard set to work, and with a few whispered words a long strand of material glistened into existence between a bush and wall directly in the path of the charging corpses. They rushed right into the sticky strands, where they flailed helplessly. Elyana was already on the run, arrow in one hand, bow in the other. She and Arcil bypassed the writhing bodies, closing on the Galtan position. The necromancer was standing once more, and she fit the arrow to her bow as she ran.
And then there was something clasping her ankle and leg, and a rope of darkness had snared her wrist and waist. Black tentacles formed of shadow had shot up from the ground and wrapped her with implacable power, pinning arms to her sides, holding her legs in place. She turned her head and saw Arcil caught in the same fashion. The eerie, cold restraints were secure and inflexible.
The wall of fire had faded finally, but by the light of the lantern he bore, the necromancer could be seen as he walked to meet them. Two of his still-living guards paced at his side.
Upon closer inspection, the fellow did not seem especially intimidating. He wore a tanned, gray leather mask that concealed all of his face but his eyes, his mouth, and his chin. His hair was hidden by a hood that seemed tied to the mask itself.
The man was round and short, with large hands and stubby fingers, and though the high boots of a huntsman flashed from beneath his robe, his waddling stride made it clear they were an affectation rather than his customary dress. Probably he was a merchant of some kind when he was not serving his state as a Gray Gardener.
He stopped only a few feet before them. In one hand he held a tarnished pendant of silver and gold. The only sign of the arrow Elyana had skewered him with was a dark patch upon his jacket near his heart.
His two uniformed guardsman looked scorched, from their blackened faces to their singed coats and eyebrows. One of them had both his sword and his teeth bared.
"I would have been much more upset with you," the necromancer said in a mild voice, "if you had not led me to this place with this treasure. Why, if you're still alive when I decipher its workings, I may have to thank you."
"You don't need to decipher its workings," Elyana said. "I can tell you what it does."
The necromancer chuckled. "Really. And why would an elf know anything about it?"
"You hold the pendant fashioned by Lord Dolandryn to ward his valley from invaders."
The necromancer's mouth set firmly. This was apparently not the answer he'd expected. "How do you know?"
"Why do you think we came here?" she asked. "I could have lost you the moment we entered the forest."
"You should just kill her, honored citizen," the soldier with the sword suggested.
"Hush," the wizard replied without looking at him. "Elf, I have ways to learn the truth from you."
"There's no need for any of that," Elyana said. "If you free me, I will promise to tell you how the pendant's magic works."
The Galtan laughed, a merry sound such as friends share at a good jest. No one joined him. "You wish me to free you both?"
"Just me."
"Elyana!" Arcil said.
"Now what would the state say if I were to show favoritism to a criminal? Justice must be blind, elf."
"Think what you'll be able to do for the state with the power of that necklace."
The necromancer hefted the thing in one hand, clearly considering it. "Your proposal intrigues me. I sense the power in this thing, and know that it is linked to these dead."
"Then free me."
"No, no. I think you must prove your loyalty to me. Tell me its use, and then I will free you."
Elyana knew that he would never do that, but to acquiesce too quickly would make the fellow suspicious. "You must swear."
"Very well. I swear, by the love I hold for the republic and people of Galt, that I shall free you from those bonds once you have told me the secret of this necklace."
"Don't listen to him, Elyana!" Arcil spat.
It was clearly a very poor sort of oath. The necromancer might mean he would free her of those bonds but put her in others, and he had in no way indicated that she would be freed generally. She knew only that the necromancer would want both of them alive for the guillotine if at all possible, for Galtans loved a show.
"Very well." Elyana feigned reluctance. She heard Arcil still begging that she say nothing. "You must extend your power into the necklace itself," she said. "You will feel the stirrings of the dead when you do so. If you are truly talented, you might be able to command dozens upon dozens of the folks, though they say only Lord Dolandryn could send forth the whole of the valley at once."
The Galtan smiled. "I can do anything that this lord of yours could have done. He could not be so great, if I have never heard of him."
"Free me now," Elyana said.
"First," the wizard said, lifting the necklace, "I will test the truth of your words." He fit it over his neck, and the pendant hung down, shining incongruously on the pot belly that distended his robe.
The necromancer stared off into the distance, then smiled, then laughed. "By the glorious state! You did not lie! I can feel them. I will command them to depart the fortress... I can sense them all the way through the valley. They are set, somehow, to guard the place from intrusion." His voice sounded strained.
"You make it sound easy," Elyana said. "The prince had to work harder than that."
"I can command them all," the necromancer declared.
"Prove it," Elyana said.
He lifted his wobbling chins proudly. "I will. You will see me march from this forest with my new army, for you will be my prisoner! Oh, I will free you from these bonds, but you were a fool to think I would release you from the custody of the state and the justice you are due."
"You're all talk," Elyana told him. "I have yet to see this army you command."
His lips curled.
It took only a moment, then. He stared off into the distance, fists clenched. "I can feel them. I can feel them all! Come, children. Come to me—he will... we will... all..."
Quite suddenly he dropped limp to the ground. He made no attempt to catch himself, and lay twitching. The guardsmen started, unsure, and Arcil shouted a command. The tentacles vanished.
He had dispelled the Galtan's work by use of the ring he wore, looted like his wand from the River Kingdom crypt. Elyana snatched up her bow, charged forward and caught the blade of the lunging Galtan on the edge of her bow. She backhanded his face with its other end and drew her sword as he staggered, crying out in pain. A quick thrust sent him groaning to the ground.
By then the other Galtan was advancing.
Arcil shouted for her attention. "Elyana—the dead!"
She saw them from the corners of her eyes, advancing from every direction. The maddened or enfeebled necromancer lay on the ground, racked by spasms, but the last command he'd given through the faulty artifact still worked, and they had been called to him. Thus they came.
"Put up your blade, fool," Elyana shouted at her opponent. "There's no time for this!"
"Die, wretch!"
Elyana beat his blade aside and drove her own through the Galtan's coat and breast. He sank to his knees, dying with a look of astonishment.
Arcil was already holding the necklace when Elyana turned, and at the whispered word the ghostly prince had taught him, the thing fell open to reveal a glowing center. He set it amid the burned grasses.
Elyana lifted her sword and Arcil quickly backed off, leaving the necklace with its brilliant blue nimbus.
"Elyana!"
The two Galtans she had but lately slain were in motion. One staggered at her, arms outstretched. The other had not even bothered climbing to its feet—it snatched at her ankle, enclosing it in a grip of iron.
Elyana dragged it forward with her, raised up the sword, and sliced down into the amulet's blue glow.
She felt the magical energies of her blade thrum as she made contact with something, as if an invisible hand had slowed her descent. The pendant's light had not diminished or dimmed. The grip on her ankle tightened. She heard Arcil shouting something and the thud of his staff against bone.
She raised the sword higher and struck once more, and again, and a third time. Usually she wielded the weapon with more finesse, but she was tired, and, truth be told, more than a little afraid that all of their effort had been expended for naught.
But then, on the fifth blow, the glow shimmered and lessened. She felt the grip about her ankle relax, and on the sixth strike, the magic winked out. All about her the dead dropped, hitting the soil and pavement with a rattle of bones and armor.
There was then only the sound of Arcil panting. She turned to find the wizard leaning heavily on his staff.
"That was very clever," he said.
"Did you know what I planned?"
"I guessed. Did you like my dramatic denial?" He smiled. "I thought I did a fair job, acting. I waited for the right opening to use my ring. You certainly gave me one."
Elyana nodded, and bent over to wipe her blade on a dead Galtan's clothes.
"We make a good team, Elyana," Arcil was saying. "I think that was very nicely managed." He stepped over to the Galtan necromancer, the man's limbs still shaking at random intervals. "What shall we do with him?"
"Leave him," Elyana said darkly, and sheathed her sword.
Arcil appeared unsure about that. When he bent down over the fellow, Elyana thought at first he meant to deliver a mercy blow, but instead he rifled through his belongings until he rose with a book. "I fancy learning that black tentacle spell," he said.
"You're not going to start dabbling in the dead, are you?" Elyana asked.
Arcil shuddered a little. "You're joking, right?"
When they returned to the tower, Mirelle was waiting for them. The prince was gone.
"We were watching from the tower," Mirelle told them. "He told me when he felt that the necklace was in use, and he grew very sad. But a short time later he turned to me with the most amazing smile. He tried to say something, but I couldn't hear him, for at that very moment he faded away. It was like he had never been there at all."
They rested in the tower for half the night. Elyana expected no trouble from any surviving Galtans, but she still roused her weary group before dawn, leaving the valley via its southern exit. Arcil might ordinarily have groused about having to share a horse, but he did not complain about having Mirelle pressed behind him on the saddle.
By dawn they were on the southern heights, and Elyana could not keep herself from taking a final look over the valley. In the dim light, it was almost possible to imagine the ruins as they must once have been, with folk leaving the houses for their fields, hoes slung over their backs. They would have walked forth in groups, their children running ahead. Others might have pushed carts toward the city square.
"We did it," Arcil said. He had dropped off Mirelle's horse to join Elyana.
"Yes."
"You look sad. Against terrible odds, we came through alive. I can't think of better reasons to be happy."
"I was just thinking about the prince. He loved his people so much that he destroyed them."
"Love," Arcil said. "Sometimes I think we're all better off without it."
"Well, then we end up with the Galtans, don't we? Justice beyond compassion. There must be a middle path."
"Let me know if you find it," Arcil said. "Right now, though, I would rather you focus on the trail home."
"That I can do," Elyana told him. "That I can do." And she turned from her contemplation of the valley, climbed into her saddle, and headed for the woods.
Explore Further: Though this story is finished, the adventure isn't. Read more of Elayana's adventures in the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!
Coming Next Week: A blast from the past as Dave Gross brings us the adventures of a young Count Jeggare in the Mwangi Expanse in "A Lesson in Taxonomy."
Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as 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.
The Walkers from the Crypt—Chapter Three: Bones of the Fallen
The Walkers from the Cryptby Howard Andrew Jones ... Chapter Three: Bones of the FallenElyana withdrew a lantern from her saddlebag and Arcil used a cantrip to light it. With the wizard holding the lamp aloft, she did her best to calm the horses, distracting them with grain and securing their lead lines to some rusting sconces so that the animals would not wander off. ... What do you think the ghost wants? Mirelle asked. She had been remarkably quiet, given her youth and the horrors she had...
The Walkers from the Crypt
by Howard Andrew Jones
Chapter Three: Bones of the Fallen
Elyana withdrew a lantern from her saddlebag and Arcil used a cantrip to light it. With the wizard holding the lamp aloft, she did her best to calm the horses, distracting them with grain and securing their lead lines to some rusting sconces so that the animals would not wander off.
"What do you think the ghost wants?" Mirelle asked. She had been remarkably quiet, given her youth and the horrors she had witnessed. But then, she had probably endured plenty of horror in the prisons of Galt, awaiting execution because her uncle had once served the wrong noble. "Do you think it wants to hurt us?"
Arcil shook his head. "That's unlikely. It need not have signaled us to safety at all. It was a near thing out there. Presumably, it wants to show us something. I'm concerned that if we do not accede to its demands, it may become much less amiable, and I'm not sure we have the strength to combat it."
"My sword arm is still good," Elyana said, though she was as tired as the rest of them.
"Well, my spells are nearly spent."
"So you have said. How many charges are left in your wand?"
"Four. But a tower is a poor place to wield a wall of flame."
"We will do what we have to do," Elyana said. "For now, let us assume that he is a lord who has invited us to his tower. At the least, we owe him our thanks for that. Spirit or no."
Arcil frowned, but said nothing more. Elyana took the lantern and started up.
The second floor was sagging and populated by great jagged gaps. There was no sign of the spirit there, so they kept moving upward, noting as they climbed that the third level was in even worse shape and was now largely open to the sky. The stairs continued on, spiraling up the tower's outer wall to a flat area the width of the staircase and perhaps twice as long. There were no merlons, only a solid, waist-high wall along the rim of what had once been a fine observation deck.
The ghost stood looking over the city as they approached. He appeared to be a young man, translucent and mildly luminescent, in a finely edged robe and boots. A cold wind blew out from over the trees but did not stir his garments. He turned to regard them with sad eyes.
"So has it been for centuries," he said. His voice was clear, cutting. The sound did not match the movement of his lips.
Arcil and Mirelle reached the parapet. The wizard advanced to Elyana's side, but the girl waited upon the top stair, her hand clasped to the knife hilt that projected from her belt. Elyana wondered what she planned to do with it.
"We thank you for your aid," Elyana said to the spirit, "and shelter."
"It is my pleasure," said the ghost, regarding them distantly, as if they were themselves transparent. "I wish you might have seen my city in its prime, for it was a lovely, well-watered land, blessed by the gods."
"What happened to it?" Arcil asked. "And by what name are you called?"
This may not have been the most tactful introduction, Elyana thought, but the apparition registered no offense.
"Arcil's right, of course—ghosts never appear unless they want something from you."
"I am Lord Dolandryn," he answered, "son of Telsek, grandson of Nylesos." The ghost paused. "I see by your faces that you know them not."
"We are not of this land," Elyana replied.
"And you are not of my time. I have lost track of the centuries. How long has it been since I cursed this land, and my people, to everlasting death? Do you even track your years from the same point?" He turned away to gaze once more over the far-flung ruins.
"You did this?" Elyana could not keep the horror from her voice. She noted a few corpses still milling about at the foot of tower.
"The fault lies solely with me," the ghost intoned mournfully, keeping his gaze without, "But this was not my intent." He encompassed the whole of the valley with a sweep of his hand as he turned back to them. "I meant to preserve us."
"How did this happen?" Arcil repeated.
"Surely, you have seen the beauty of my valley—its soil is fertile and forgiving. It was a blessed place. A desirable place. Folk fought for it many times over the centuries. In my time we repulsed invaders again and again, but our numbers became depleted. I lost my only brother, and every one of my first cousins."
"We, too, have lost friend and loved ones," Elyana said. "We understand your sorrow."
"I thank you. I hope, then, that you might better understand my actions. My great uncle had many magical tomes locked away, and I threw myself into their study, thinking I might learn ways to better safeguard my people. I found one. It was my thought to use the remains of those who had attacked us as defense, but while the idea had merit, I could not long control those I called forth, nor command sufficient numbers to turn back invaders."
"And this is the result?" Elyana asked.
"Not entirely. I learned of a tool that I could craft. With it under my power, I thought to control hundreds upon hundreds of the dead so that nothing could harm our valley ever again."
The spirit's voice took on a harder, almost maniacal edge to which Elyana paid careful heed.
"In the midst of my experiments came the raiders of the Veldur clan sweeping in on their horses. I used my tool before it was ready. It worked, you see—worked well. I felt my mind touch the empty vessels of the dead, and knew that I could command them. But they were not enough, and I called upon more, knowing as I did so that I stretched my power to the limits. I felt the Veldur falling before me. They were dying, and I was raising the fallen to fight against their fellows... and then everything passed from me.
I know now that I had pushed myself too far. When I was... aware, once more, I found myself as you see me now. The town was long abandoned, weeds growing up between the cobblestones. The living are fled. But the dead—the dead still rise, ready to do battle with all who enter the valley. Those living who fall are added to their number. I have seen..." His voice faltered. "I have seen my own people among the dead, folk that lived when I lived, and I think that they were destroyed when I lost control, but I do not know. I cannot know."
"I am sorry," Elyana told him, and she was, though it seemed trite to tell him so.
"Now I wish only for release," the ghost continued. "For myself and for my land. But I cannot make it so. If I venture from the tower, I feel my mind fading, for the pull of the pendant I fashioned is too great. Yet I fear that if I return to it, it will consume me entirely, and perhaps extend the curse even farther."
"Now we come to it," Arcil said quietly, but Elyana ignored him. Sometimes his superior air was too much, even for her.
"Can you help me?" The ghost stepped forward, hands outstretched.
"How?" Elyana asked.
"It is the pendant that powers the sorcery. And I think it is the pendant that keeps me here. If it can be destroyed, then the dead will fall, forever. And I will finally be at peace."
Elyana ignored Arcil's knowing look and kept her eyes fixed on the ghost. "Where is the thing, and how can it be destroyed?"
The spirit turned from her and drifted over to the rim of the balcony, where it pointed back the way they had come.
"I can still sense it," he said in his cold, lonely voice. "You, wizard, might be able to feel its power if you extended yourself. It must lie where my body lies. Only a magical weapon can destroy the pendant, for I shielded the thing against harm."
Arcil glanced over to Elyana before speaking. "It does not seem... especially feasible, then, to seek the pendant now. Your dead will rip us limb from limb, and then we'd be keeping the valley safe with the rest of your... comrades."
The ghost nodded. "I think I may be able to offer you some small protections along the way.
"You say that Arcil will be able to sense it," Elyana said. "How?"
The ghost looked surprised. "In my day, any wizard would have such spells at his disposal. I have witnessed your friend's magics—he should feel the pendant's pull, though I suppose some might be more sensitive to it than others."
Elyana looked to Arcil for confirmation.
"There was a strange, unwelcome attraction to a certain area we passed through the ruins," he admitted. "But I was not inclined to investigate. To be honest, I was otherwise occupied."
"An 'unwelcome attraction,'" Elyana repeated. "And you say, Lord Dolandryn, that some might be more sensitive to its power than others. A necromancer, perhaps?"
"Almost certainly."
Elyana frowned, and the moment she looked at Arcil she knew he was having the same thought. She saw his eyes narrow.
"We're done for now," Arcil said.
"We can't let the Galtans have that thing," Elyana said. "Do you know what they would do with its power?"
"How do you know their wizard is even alive?" Arcil asked.
"He's a necromancer," Elyana said. "And a powerful one. We saw his work. If we made it to safety, I'm sure he did. And if he finds the pendant, it's only a matter of time before he figures out its use."
Arcil sighed deeply. "Well-reasoned, unfortunately. I suppose we’ll have to find it before he does."
"It seems we need each other, Prince," Elyana agreed. "What assistance can you give?"
The ghost drifted back to them, considered them for just a moment, and began to speak.
Coming Next Week: Dread amulets and daring escapades in the final chapter of "The Walkers from the Crypt." This story is a standalone prequel to the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!
Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as 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.
The Walkers from the Crypt—Chapter Two: City of the Dead
The Walkers from the Cryptby Howard Andrew Jones ... Chapter Two: City of the DeadI don't care for it at all. Arcil had swung down from his horse to contemplate some glyphs carved into a stone pylon thrust into the ground beside an oak tree. It was tilted a few degrees off vertical, and pitted with age. Overhead, the leafy canopy was so thick it seemed twilight had already fallen. ... Elyana was eager to keep moving; she meant to lose the Galtans only after she'd led them deeper into the...
The Walkers from the Crypt
by Howard Andrew Jones
Chapter Two: City of the Dead
"I don't care for it at all." Arcil had swung down from his horse to contemplate some glyphs carved into a stone pylon thrust into the ground beside an oak tree. It was tilted a few degrees off vertical, and pitted with age. Overhead, the leafy canopy was so thick it seemed twilight had already fallen.
Elyana was eager to keep moving; she meant to lose the Galtans only after she'd led them deeper into the woods, but she hadn't reckoned on them pressing so close. Perhaps the sight of their quarry fleeing before them on the plain had excited them, for they were now crashing through the brush a few bowshots behind with almost reckless intensity. Yet her voice did not betray her concern. "What do they say?"
"This is old, and marks a boundary. A warding, perhaps?" Arcil brushed at some moss with two fingers to better view one of the glyphs.
"A warding for what?" Mirelle asked. She glanced over her shoulder, apparently more focused on the noises of their pursers. Her horse shifted uneasily beneath her, stirring the leaves with its hooves.
"These are more initials than words," Arcil said hesitantly. "I'm not certain I can correctly infer the meaning."
He sounded as if he knew something and did not wish to say it. "Speak, Arcil. We've no time to waste."
He glanced up at her and then brushed fingers over the three uppermost glyphs. "I think this means 'the walkers.'" He stood, frowning, and brushed leaves and dirt from his pants. He passed close to Elyana, speaking softly as he glanced up. "Walkers from the crypt."
"What was that?" Mirelle asked, straining forward, her face screwed up with worry.
"We're in this together," Elyana said to Arcil. "You might as well tell her what you're thinking."
Arcil climbed back into his saddle, sighing a little. "I think we're heading toward an old burial ground. We're being warned away. It's likely some local superstition."
"Looks like we'll find out." Elyana started forward. She planned to keep moving south, into the woods. Come nightfall, she'd use her better vision and skills to cut west from the forest. She doubted even the best-trained Galtan woodsmen could keep up with them in darkness. More troubling was what a Galtan necromancer could do with a whole graveyard beneath his feet. Hopefully his selection of spells would be as limited as Arcil's after a full day of work. Surely it had been no easy feat to send so many hounds against them, even if he were a caster of great power.
She guided her charges on, ignoring the occasional grunt or low oath from behind her. The humans didn't always notice the branches she ducked.
Occasional gaps in the forest canopy allowed wide shafts of evening light to stream in, but far from reassuring, the muted illumination served only to emphasize the greater darkness around them. There was a silence here. The bird calls had diminished.
"I don't like this place," Mirelle announced quietly.
"Do not worry, my dear," Arcil told her. "Do not worry."
He sounded less soothing than patronizing.
They continued a gradual decent, and then, suddenly, arrived at what Elyana first took as the forest's edge, though she knew intellectually that the Verduran Forest stretched south for hundreds of miles. Slipping from her horse, she advanced to find instead that they had arrived at the edge of a small, crescent-shaped valley mysteriously bereft of trees. Within it were scattered the bones of a small city. Long-shattered stone walls stood out from the gnarled bushes. Paving stones showed gray here and there beneath the undergrowth and detritus. A few buildings were intact, notably a tower near the center, but most were fallen in, and all of the roofs had collapsed long ago.
The abandoned city felt even more desolate than the surrounding woods, and she thought first to skirt it, then reasoned that she could use the place to better confuse their pursuit. She even briefly considered wearing away their numbers from the defensible positions at hand.
They wound deep into the ruins, Elyana leading the way, and the silence here was so deep the sounds of the Galtan mob were quickly lost to her behind crumbling walls marred by thick vines . The sun sank lower, and twilight came on at last. Elyana had been raised by humans and was well acquainted with their instinctive fear of the dark. Still, she was surprised to hear the soft but clear concern in Arcil's voice.
"Elyana."
She looked back at him, saw him paused at a turn down a winding, cobbled road angling for the tower. Mirelle had paused beside him.
"What is it?" she called back.
"Something... someone... waved for me to follow."
There was no time for hesitation. Not hearing the Galtans made her more concerned about their position. If they reached the valley before her team cleared it...
Yet it was unlike Arcil to sound so indecisive. Or troubled. "A Galtan?" she asked.
"Arcil may not be as suave as he thinks he is, but he's a good man to have in a fight."
"I think it may have been a ghost," Arcil admitted.
"You're sure you saw it?" Elyana asked.
"I am not entirely sure, no," he said, sounding a little defensive. "I saw something from the corner of my eye, and when I turned to look directly, it was gone."
Elyana frowned. Arcil was not especially prone to flights of fancy, but a more urgent threat loomed. "Let's press on," Elyana said. Reluctantly, she noted a new chill in the air and their mounts' ears swiveling nervously to catch no sounds but their own.
As they passed beneath the dark silhouette of the tower, Elyana herself glimpsed a figure standing in the gap between two craggy walls. It had the semblance a man, garbed in a white robe and motioning them onward, but before she could properly focus, it vanished.
At that same moment, from somewhere far behind came a masculine scream and a cacophony of shouting and clashing arms. The Galtans?
"What's happening?" Mirelle gasped.
Elyana pulled her horse around, but before she could locate a vantage point to investigate the distant struggle, a shadowy figure lurched up from the darkness on their right. The horses shied, laying back their ears, and Mirelle stifled a scream.
It lacked a head. Behind it, striding out from the yawning maw of a ruined building, were a half-dozen helmed figures in broken armor. There limbs were nothing but bone.
Elyana cursed. "Time to go!" Her horse was eager to race ahead, and Mirelle and Arcil followed. They quickly outdistanced the dead, but as Elyana continued down the street, more dark figures shambled out of the darkness.
"This does not seem to be Galtan necromancy," Arcil shouted up to her.
He was right. Although she supposed that some Galtan soldier might have shouted because he was frightened by the horrific power wielded by one of their mages, the sounds of battle had been unmistakable. The Galtans were fighting these corpses. More likely this was what the markers had been set to warn visitors away from.
"We ride, fast as we dare," she said. "Out of this valley. Follow me."
She darted down a winding side street, urging her horse to leap over something she took for rubbish in the middle of the street until it rose up, waving a notched sword. She pulled back instead and her animal reared, striking the thing with its front hooves. The dead warrior was flung backward, shedding bones as it flew through the air. It struck the street with a muffled clatter and did not rise.
Other shapes were slipping from the ruins. Some strode confidently, bearing weapons. Other shambled. A few were completely intact, but most were missing limbs, or even heads. And all advanced toward them.
She came to a halt and the others drew up near her. "I've few grand spells left, Elyana," Arcil said soberly.
"Then we shall cut a swathe." She drew her blade, a comforting weight in her hand.
"We cannot hope to destroy enough of them," Arcil said, gesturing around at the gloom alive with shambling movements. "What about the ghost?"
Elyana considered the overwhelming number of foes. "What about the ghost?"
"Suppose it meant to guide us to safety? It was the only one of these that did not attack."
True enough, but that didn't mean it intended no harm. However, there had been a tower nearby, which at least had the benefit of being a more defensible point. It had appeared intact, and was much closer than the crumbling walls that marked the city's edge. "Ride for the tower," she commanded. Her horse reared again as she turned it.
"Let me clear a way," Arcil shouted, and Elyana reined in. Mirelle looked on with wide eyes as the figures shambled ever nearer. The horses danced nervously.
When Arcil shouted and cast, his horse shied, but the sudden movement did not interfere with the tiny ball that left his hands. A moment later dozens of the corpses were wrapped in a sheath of expanding fire. So sudden and explosive was the blast that it destroyed them utterly, as if the street had temporarily been touched by the light of the sun. Unfortunately, other dead were already moving to take their place.
Elyana kicked her horse into gallop, sword outstretched to catch the corpses converging on their path some lengths beyond the reach of Arcil's flame. Behind her, Arcil grunted as he laid about with his staff. From Mirelle she heard only shouted commands to the horse. Elyana had no choice but to release Vallyn's mount, which in any case galloped after its fellows, trying to stay within the relative safety of its herd.
Elyana cut her way forward and slowed just two crumbling buildings away from their destination. Arcil shouted something from her left, and wind rolled forth from his hands, pushing a skeletal assailant into two of its neighbors, tangling all three in a heap of rotting limbs.
"Hurry," Arcil cried, and they pressed forward. Elyana chanced a glance behind at Mirelle, who frantically kicked a grasping, headless woman away and then saw Vallyn's horse go down under a pile of scrambling bodies. The horse screamed again and again, and Elyana gritted her teeth.
There must be hundreds of these animated dead throughout the ruins. There would be no way to gallop through them. She wondered if she and Arcil would be able to hold them off long enough even to trap themselves in a high tower room. The mage had already worn through many of his spells. Provided they could even make it to the tower, the poor horses were probably done for.
"One side," Arcil snapped, and came up a bit ahead of Elyana. In his hand was the black wand they'd found in the river king's tomb. He shouted a single word, and instantly a wall of flame licked into existence along their left, consuming the first two rows of dead. Arcil spun in his saddle and shouted again to right, and then behind. The flames burned on, and a charred, acrid smell washed over them. The horses screamed and rolled their eyes in terror.
"That," Arcil said breathlessly, "is about all I've got."
Their way forward was now free, and they kicked their frightened steeds into full flight. The corpses pressed forward determinedly into the flame, immune to fear or concern about their condition.
"Look at that, Elyana!" Arcil said.
The ghostly figure stood beckoning to them from a rotted doorway into the tower. This time it spoke in a strained voice, like a winter wind heard from a great distance. "Hurry."
They arrived before the portal to the tower. Elyana's horse uncharacteristically slid to a halt before the dark passage, despite her urgings. Arcil's and Mirelle's didn't make it even that far, and Elyana heard a thump and an oath as Arcil was thrown from his beast. Elyana leapt down from the horse, keeping tight hold of the reins, and reached out to grab the bridle on Mirelle's. "Go—inside!"
Mirelle slid off her mount and hesitated for only a moment before doing as she was told.
Arcil picked himself up, scowling and distinctly ruffled. His horse danced near the wall of flame, looking for an exit and keeping as far as possible from the tower.
"Arcil, hold this." She handed him the reins to her horse while she threw her cloak over the head of Mirelle's mount and led it in a circle, then into the tower itself. Elyana could barely see after the brightness without, but there was no sign of the ghost within the ebon gloom of the large chamber, which surely encompassed the whole diameter of the structure. She handed Mirelle the reins to her horse and hurried back to Arcil.
The flame walls were fading already as she emerged and saw Arcil struggling to copy her actions with his own cloak. With her assistance, they steered the animal inside while the third horse leapt over the diminishing fires into the crowd of dead, then died screaming under their blows.
Elyana briefly took in their surroundings. There was nothing within save some dilapidated shelving, some warped wooden planks—probably floorboards that had rotted out from the floors above—and a staircase leading up. As she studied this last, the ghost reappeared upon a stair. In the utter darkness, even the dim light of his transparent body shone like a beacon. For the first time she saw him clearly, a young man in a robe with great mournful eyes. He wore soft boots, and jeweled rings shown upon two of his fingers. He beckoned once toward them, turned upon the stair, and vanished again.
Elyana stepped back to the doorway, expecting to see the ranks of skeletons marching toward them. However, those few not milling over the remains of the dead horse seemed listless. Many simply sank back to the ground; others were wandering away.
"Well that's quite interesting," Arcil said. "I suppose that the tower's warded against them. Or perhaps they're unable to recognize intruders within the tower itself."
"What do we do now?" Mirelle asked.
Elyana eyed the stairway. "I guess we go up."
Coming Next Week: Galtan necromancers and ancient curses in Chapter Three of "The Walkers from the Crypt." This story is a standalone prequel to the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!
Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as 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 Dan Scott. Wallpaper design by Crystal Frasier. Widescreen version here. ... Bark at the Moon! Friday, March 4, 2011Last week we showcased the cover art from Howard Andrew Jones' Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. This week we go back to the beginning and give you a wallpaper based on Prince of Wolves by Dave Gross, the novel that launched the entire line. If you haven't read it yet you really should. It's got fighting, murder, mystery, true love, werewolves,...
Illustration by Dan Scott. Wallpaper design by Crystal Frasier. Widescreen version here.
Bark at the Moon!
Friday, March 4, 2011
Last week we showcased the cover art from Howard Andrew Jones' Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. This week we go back to the beginning and give you a wallpaper based on Prince of Wolves by Dave Gross, the novel that launched the entire line. If you haven't read it yet you really should. It's got fighting, murder, mystery, true love, werewolves, ancient magics, curses from beyond the grave, and even dead Pathfinders! Best of all, if you know any Pathfinder Tales subscribers, they may have received a free copy to give away...
And tune into this spot on Monday as Pathfinder Designer Stephen Radney-MacFarland guest-blogs and things get... explosive.
The Walkers from the Crypt—Chapter One: The Diversion
The Walkers from the Cryptby Howard Andrew Jones ... Chapter One: The DiversionThey're not baying. Vallyn stepped out from behind the boulder and peered out at the grassland. Does that bother anyone else? Shouldn't they be howling at us? ... Elyana had no time to waste educating the young bard. There were but a few minutes left before the hounds would reach them. ... She'd caught sight of the animals almost a half hour ago as she and her four companions fled across the grasslands of southern...
The Walkers from the Crypt
by Howard Andrew Jones
Chapter One: The Diversion
"They're not baying." Vallyn stepped out from behind the boulder and peered out at the grassland. "Does that bother anyone else? Shouldn't they be howling at us?"
Elyana had no time to waste educating the young bard. There were but a few minutes left before the hounds would reach them.
She'd caught sight of the animals almost a half hour ago as she and her four companions fled across the grasslands of southern Galt. The seemingly inexhaustible hounds had slowly gained on their horses, and the party had finally picked out a rise from which to make a stand. It would be a near thing, as the bard was little use at range and Mirelle no use at all. Edak was an accomplished bowman and would have been a great asset, but he was still at home recovering from their last foray into Galt.
Stelan stepped up beside the bard and raised a hand to visor his face against the sinking sun. Tall and sturdy, he wore banded chain mail that hung below his waist. Normally the knight kept it immaculate, but after the tumultuous events of the last few days, it was rent in numerous places, and stained with coppery red splashes that resembled rust. "Elyana will take out as many as she can at long range," he told the group. "Then she and I will try to get them to cluster for Arcil."
Elyana looked up from the arrows she was planting in a row before her. "I'll take the left flank."
"Good." Stelan smiled grimly. "I'll take the right."
Elyana rose in time to see Arcil acknowledge Stelan's plan with a regal nod. The wizard's traveling clothes were as rumpled and stained as the rest of theirs, but they had begun life as expensive garments tailored for his frame, and they still suited him. With his gray-flecked hair and proud nose he looked more like a wandering aristocrat than an accomplished mage.
"But then what?" Vallyn asked. He gazed apprehensively out at the wedge-shaped formation of hounds sprinting forward through the high grass. "How can they keep running like that?" He was young and wide-eyed, and though he was shorter than the rest of them Elyana thought he still looked gangly. Everything he carried seemed a little too large for him, from clothes to sword, and only the lute slung over his back looked as if it belonged on his person.
"They're dead," Arcil said in his low, smooth voice. "They need neither breath nor rest."
"Dead?" Vallyn repeated.
Elyana saw that the youth's eyes had widened even further, and she shot Arcil a warning look. She could see the hint of a sly smile playing at the corner of the wizard's mouth.
"Galt is a land brimming with the dead," Arcil continued, unfazed.
"Thanks to the Galtan justice," Mirelle said bitterly.
"Yes," Arcil agreed. The wizard was frequently cold to those he felt beneath him—which was nearly everyone—but with Mirelle he was somewhat solicitous, as if he worked to foster good feelings. Elyana supposed the extra effort stemmed from the blonde's pretty features. When they had released her from the Galtan cell, Mirelle shyly confided that she'd had to scrounge amongst cast-off garments thrown into her cell after her own had been torn and soiled during her capture. Probably she had noticed Arcil staring at her tight bodice.
"Galtans hate wasting resources," Arcil said. "Their Gray Gardeners have grown quite practiced at necromancy."
"So how do we fight them?" Vallyn asked nervously.
"We do as I say," Stelan said patiently. "We'll funnel them so that they charge the easiest part of the slope, in a mass." Stelan pointed Vallyn to the gap between a large boulder and a sprawling thicket they themselves had passed through to reach to the summit. "Arcil can then work his magics, and you can work yours. If there are any left, you let me stand the front as they charge. If I can't hold the line alone, move up beside me. If they flank us, we form a circle. Clear enough?"
Vallyn nodded hurriedly.
"Mirelle, you stay clear, with the horses."
The girl's bright eyes fastened upon the knight. But then, she had been watching the knight since her rescue the night before. He was not an especially good-looking man, owing in part to his broken nose, but his ease at command had exerted a powerful effect on the pretty teenager. Elyana was not sure why this bothered her, as Stelan had shown Mirelle nothing but appropriate kindness, and she supposed that it tied directly into her certainty that she, as an elf, would eventually lose her human lover one way or another.
"I hesitate to advise another spellcaster," Arcil was saying to Vallyn, "but remember that charm spells will not work upon the dead."
"They don't?" Vallyn sounded almost as if he wished to complain about the fairness of the issue.
"Stand ready, everyone. Mirelle, it's time to move. Back near the picket lines, please."
The girl obligingly obeyed.
"Elyana," Vallyn asked quietly, "how far away do you think the rest of the Galtans are?"
He had asked her that several times since they had stopped. Only Elyana's eyesight was keen enough to occasionally detect the distant pursuers, though all of them had known they would be followed. The bard had been all for pushing on for the border, no matter that the others told him the Galtans could hardly be expected to stop pursuit there. Even if they reached a Taldan fortress, it would most likely be abandoned, and border patrols in the northeast were a rarity. So there would be no outside aid short of a miracle. They'd have to deal with the Galtan posse themselves. Somehow.
Elyana lifted her bow and arrow and studied the onrushing hounds. Their hides were a uniform dark brown, flecked with white and crimson. They did not vie for first position or race with one another; they maintained precise order and formation. "Three dozen," she said. And then, scanning the dry, rolling plain for a cloud raised by horsemen, she answered Vallyn. "We have at most three-quarters of an hour."
"At the least?"
"Just over a quarter-hour."
She heard the dry grass rustle as the bard stepped away, and then she centered the whole of her attention upon the targets. She'd elected to use the diminished stock of her own arrows first, for the greater distance shots, as she had crafted them herself and knew their capabilities. Those they'd lifted from the bodies of the Galtan guards were a little longer than she used with her own pull, and were hastily, if efficiently, made.
Vallyn had recently described an attack by her as a storm of arrows. This time, though, she took careful aim before launching. The opening arrow arced up and out, then slammed straight through the shoulder blade of the leading hound. The impact spun it into the one on its right, breaking the formation. In the brief moment when she paused to set her next arrow, order was restored, and the struck hound ran on, the arrow sticking up like a decorative flag. She was glad Vallyn couldn't see that. The young man was still quite green, and prone to panic. Her second shot caught the creature near the same place, and this time it stumbled and rolled. It struggled to rise for a time as its companions ran straight over it, then lay motionless as their repeated footfalls flattened its chest cavity.
She accounted for seven more before the things closed to medium range. She left three of her own arrows in reserve and shifted over to the Galtan supply as her love lifted his own bow. She and Stelan kept up a steady barrage, whittling down the numbers.
"They're hideous," Vallyn said. He had climbed to the top of the rounded boulder.
He was right; from closer on she could see the gaps in their flesh where ribs showed through, and the missing ears and rotted noses. Elyana saw now that their uniform appearance was deceptive. They might once have had different color fur, but their coats had rotted away to reveal stringy muscles to which occasional patches of blackened skin still hung.
"Oh, nicely done," Arcil said, stepping forward. He advanced on Stelan's left to gain a clear view, whispering into the air and twisting his hand. Something resembling a red bead surrounded by a scarlet nimbus of energy floated up from the tips of his extended digits, hung glowing for a moment, then soared out toward the oncoming abominations.
He had timed his attack with precision. Just as the front animals came within fifty feet of the hill, the bead reached them, flaring into a massive ball of flame.
Those in the front rank were instantly reduced to charred black powder and bone fragments. Others ran on, burning like candles until they collapsed under the consuming red tongues of fire. Many fell, though their limbs thrashed long after a living creature would have perished, powered as they were by arcane energies.
A handful of the creatures escaped the damage, fanning out into a line but maintaining a regular distance from one another. Blazes sputtered in the grasses around a blasted center, though the wind was not high enough for it to spread swiftly.
Elyana sighted along her bow as a hound darted toward her side of the hill. Smoke was already curling skyward, marking their positions for the Galtan troop. She heard Stelan calling out to the god Abadar to give him strength.
Her arrow took the thing low in the haunches, for it had sprung unexpectedly far after it clawed for purchase up the first third of the steep slope. Her second arrow drilled down through one blank eye socket, and the creature rolled lifeless all the way to the bottom.
She spun at a warning cry from Mirelle. One of the hounds had bounded up the trail only to be blasted by forked lightning cast from Arcil's outstretched hand. It lay smoking just a couple swordspans before the wizard. Three others had come up along the less vertiginous right side; Stelan dropped his bow and advanced to meet them.
Elyana nocked an arrow and followed him with her aim. Stelan swung against one from which two arrows already stood out, slicing it neatly in half. She was just about to let fly against another when the bard dropped into the fray, teeth gritted, and swung his own blade. It was a decent slash and might have sent a living beast cowering, but the unclean thing simply sprang for his sword arm and clamped down.
To Vallyn's credit, he didn't scream, but the arch of his back spoke volumes. Elyana skewered the third hound with two swift shots before it too could leap on the bard, and Stelan stepped in to slice the head off Vallyn's attacker.
Stelan took a guarded step back and looked over the battle scene. Fire was spreading slowly through the high grass, and the horses picketed at the rear of the hill whinnied nervously.
"That's all of them," Stelan said after a brief inspection. He then turned to Vallyn.
Elyana had already set down her bow to attend the bard. Now the young man dropped his sword. Jaw clenched, he stared almost dully at his right arm. The sleeve of his tunic was wet with blood, which streamed down toward his fingers. She didn't remind Vallyn that he probably should have stayed back, as commanded, because he surely realized it now. It had been clear that Stelan was not going to be overrun.
"Is he alright?" Mirelle asked.
Arcil's answer was immediate. "He should be fine."
"Here," Elyana said, and she gently took the bloodstained hand with her left and gripped Vallyn's bicep with her right. She pushed all else from her mind—the snorting of the frightened horses, the crackle of the devouring fire, the rapid breathing of the frightened youth. The wound was deeper than she had thought, but with concentrated effort she was able to extend her energies first to knit the surface flesh, then to join the muscles beneath. It was still not quite enough, so she took a deep breath and extended her powers a second time.
"Elyana is better in the woods than any cityborn Galtan. But is it enough?"
The bard laughed then, and his face lit in a winning grin. "Thanks, Elyana." He flexed his fingers. "I can't play without my right arm..." He trailed off, and his face fell. "Is something wrong?"
She had been staring, for the boy's face was beaded in sweat. He did not look like someone recovering from exertion, but someone who was still undergoing it. Wordless, she stepped up to him and set her hand against his neck.
"What is it?" Stelan asked.
"Rapid heartbeat," she reported. "Rapid breathing."
"We just finished a battle," Stelan countered reasonably.
"Sweat's pouring off of him."
Arcil cursed under his breath. "He's been infected. You should have stayed back, boy."
"Infected?" Vallyn said queasily.
"How do you feel?" Elyana stepped back to look at his eyes. The black centers had near swallowed the brown.
"A little dizzy," Vallyn answered. "And a little tired. I'm going to be okay, though, right?"
That sort of magic was beyond her; she said nothing .
He licked his lips, then brushed them with trembling hands.
"Sit down against the boulder for a minute," Stelan said. "Mirelle, help him drink this." He handed his winesac off to the girl and motioned the others over to him.
Stelan wasted no time. They had planned on finishing the hounds and climbing immediately back into the saddle to keep ahead of the beasts' deadlier masters. "How bad is he?" he asked.
"Not good. The poison works quickly. He needs a real healer."
"Is this a mortal wound?" For once, Arcil actually sounded worried.
"It will be." Elyana answered.
Stelan frowned. "There's that little village just the other side of the border."
She shook her head. "If we lead the Galtans there, they'll level the place."
"They have that old healer," Stelan reminded her.
She had not forgotten, for the woman had once saved a very badly wounded Stelan from a deep spear thrust.
"She's the only one I know of anywhere nearby," Stelan finished.
"We can hold off the Galtans if they come," Arcil said confidently.
"I'm not sure we can, Arcil." Stelan cast a glance back to Vallyn and Mirelle. The girl looked back at them, clearly more concerned now than she had been during the attack, for the young man was shivering even under the cloak she had cast over him.
Arcil's brows furrowed. "Surely they can't be this desperate for the granddaughter of, of what—some minor noble? Why so much effort?"
The Galtans were a little mad in any case, and likely to track down any who escaped their warped sense of justice with extreme prejudice, but Elyana didn't think that was why they were out in such force.
It was as if Stelan read her thoughts. "They're after us, now. Your lightning blast cooked at least one Gray Gardener there near the gate, and, Abadar forgive me, I lost track of how many guardsmen I felled on the gallop out."
Security around the bastille had been tighter than Elyana's initial reconnaissance had led them to believe.
"Stelan's right," she said, and saw Arcil's expression sour at that. "It's revenge. Prestige. They wish to make an example of us."
"Supposing that you are correct," the wizard said, "what are we to do?"
Stelan frowned thoughtfully.
"I have a thought." Elyana pointed southeast to the dark outline of the woods that encroached upon the plain only a few miles out. "You can ride with Vallyn for the border. One horse. I'll take the rest of us south, into the Verduran Forest, and draw the Galtans after. We can lose them there."
"Absolutely not," Stelan told her. In answer to her probing look, he continued. "We were asked to free the girl. I cannot condone a detour into the forest when she is so very close to freedom. Our first duty is to her."
"What about Vallyn?" Elyana asked.
Stelan's frown deepened in consideration.
"You're thinking we have to lose one or the other, but my plan can save them both."
"It is a decent suggestion," Stelan admitted, "but you are lighter, and swifter. You should take Vallyn."
Arcil laughed shortly. "Elyana's three times the woodsman you are. Woodswoman. What have you. Her plan makes better sense than yours, and you know it. She'll run rings around a troupe of cityborn Galtans and lead us to safety after they're hopelessly lost."
"And what of you, and the girl?"
"We'll be fine," Elyana said. "We'll ride out with four horses with tracks so obvious they can't be missed."
"All the better, so they don't use magic to track us," Arcil said.
Stelan did not waste much longer making his decision. He stepped over as if to explain the matter to Vallyn, but the young man was already sleeping.
"What's going to happen?" Mirelle asked, looking back and forth between them.
Elyana spoke up. "We're going to give the Galtans an obvious track to pursue us, while Stelan's going to take Vallyn to a healer on our swiftest mount."
"Don't worry," Arcil said. He smiled in an awkward semblance of comfort, and ended up looking sly instead. "Elyana will lose them in the forest, and we'll ride safely away."
Elyana was pleased to note the girl's courage. Mirelle did not voice her worries, she merely nodded. "Will Vallyn be all right?"
"I will see to it," Stelan said.
He cast off his armor and extra gear while Elyana helped Mirelle strip Vallyn of all equipment but his lute. Stelan then climbed into the saddle and beckoned for Elyana and Arcil to hand up the bard, which they did.
The young man mumbled feebly at them before settling against Stelan's chest. The knight sat grim and statue-straight in the saddle. "May Abadar protect you," he said. He then locked eyes with Elyana. Stelan had never been comfortable with public displays of affection between them more prominent than handholding, and his long look was warning and farewell and an expression of deepest love all in one. After a moment he kicked his stallion into a start downslope, moving swiftly to a gallop. He passed the screen of flame and then darted southwest.
Elyana did her best to rub out the tracks, though she grew increasingly concerned about the Galtans. The grass was not dry enough beyond the rise to maintain the blaze, and without any real wind, the fire was dying. When Arcil, watching from the height of the hill, announced that he saw riders, she knew it was past time to leave. The wizard had notoriously bad eyesight.
She leapt into the saddle of her palomino gelding and urged the others to hurry. "Run them hard the whole of the way," she instructed. "And spread out. We want to show them as many clear tracks as possible."
"Have no fear," Arcil told her. Mirelle only dipped her head in acknowledgment. Elyana watched them ride off toward the dark bulk of the woods, leading Vallyn's riderless horse. She followed, halting only a hundred feet out to look back from a small rise. Already the hill where they'd made their stand seemed smaller. Beyond the long trail of dead hounds, feathered with arrow shafts, was a clump of blackened bodies. As unsettling as that was, she was even less pleased by the count of figures on the horizon. They rode at a trot, a swath of them numbering four dozen or more, the dust cloud kicked up by their travel stained red by the lowering sun. She hoped she had not oversold her prowess.
She clicked her tongue, and her horse shot down the slope and after the others, toward whatever the forest might bring.
Coming Next Week: A desperate ploy in Chapter Two of "The Walkers from the Crypt." This story is a standalone prequel to the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!
Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as 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.
Elyana Rides Again! Wednesday, March 2, 2011 ... Illustration by Eric Belisle ... It's time to begin another story on Paizo's free web fiction Wednesday, and this time we have something new and different for you! In celebration of the release of Plague of Shadows, the new Pathfinder Tales novel, we've brought you a brand-new prequel story from Plague of Shadows author Howard Andrew Jones, featuring a number of the same characters but taking place well before the novel. Once again (or rather,...
Elyana Rides Again!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Illustration by Eric Belisle
It's time to begin another story on Paizo's free web fiction Wednesday, and this time we have something new and different for you! In celebration of the release of Plague of Shadows, the new Pathfinder Tales novel, we've brought you a brand-new prequel story from Plague of Shadows author Howard Andrew Jones, featuring a number of the same characters but taking place well before the novel. Once again (or rather, once before) the Forlorn elf Elyana and her friends will encounter the evil of the Gray Gardeners in Galt—but this time there are the dark depths of the Verduran Forest to contend with as well. It's a pleasure to get to see characters from the novels in the web fiction, and we hope to do so each time a new novel releases—as well as sometimes just for fun.
As an author, Howard has knocked it out of the park. Early comments on Plague of Shadows have been extremely positive, and it's easy to see why. Perhaps it's the smooth speed with which he handles the fight scenes (and there are plenty), or the fast-paced sword and sorcery flavor (which is hardly surprising, given his status as Managing Editor of modern pulp magazine Black Gate). Yet even more than that, I think it's the classic feel of his stories that draw people in. Of all the novels we've published so far, Plague of Shadows is the one that most closely hews to the time-tested adventuring party dynamic. There's Elyana, the Forlorn elven ranger who knows her love for any human can never last; Drelm the honorable half-orc, struggling against his heritage; Vallyn the bard; Kellius the wizard—these are characters that feel familiar, even as they feel new.
And that's just the main party. Set many years earlier than the novel, this new story, "The Walkers from the Crypt," introduces us to the party that came before, and to the tensions that laid the novel's groundwork. But I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll stop there, and just say that it's a lot of fun.
I would also be remiss if I didn't note artist Eric Belisle's amazing illustration of Elyana, who also features on the cover of Plague of Shadows. Eric's perfectly captured the look and feel of an elven ranger from Golarion, and I hope you'll agree that the character in both the story and the novel are every bit as compelling as the illustration.
Pathfinder Tales: Plague of Shadows Sanctioned for Society Play
... Pathfinder Tales: Plague of Shadows Sanctioned for Society Play Monday, February 28, 2011A short while ago we sanctioned the Pathfinder Modules Godsmouth Heresy and Cult of the Ebon Destroyers for use in Pathfinder Society play. This was a needed change to help expand play options for players and to strengthen the entire program. As we roll into March it's time for another change: the sanctioning of Pathfinder Tales novels for use in the Pathfinder Society. ... Illustration by Darren...
Pathfinder Tales: Plague of Shadows Sanctioned for Society Play
Monday, February 28, 2011
A short while ago we sanctioned the Pathfinder Modules Godsmouth Heresyand Cult of the Ebon Destroyers for use in Pathfinder Society play. This was a needed change to help expand play options for players and to strengthen the entire program. As we roll into March it's time for another change: the sanctioning of Pathfinder Tales novels for use in the Pathfinder Society.
Illustration by Darren Bader
The Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows has now been incorporated into the Pathfinder Society. This new option provides fans of the novels with an additional way to use content from the book in a sanctioned format. Because of the differences between reading a novel and playing a game, there are specific rules needed for using sanctioned content from a Pathfinder Tales novel during play and we'll be providing a Chronicle sheet for players to use with their characters. You can download this Chronicle by going here.
Sanctioned novels you ask? How do you sanction a novel? Because Pathfinder Tales novels are stories first, there is no easy way to sanction items, spells, feats, or other special abilities whole cloth. Therefore, Plague of Shadows Chronicle sheets use the following rules.
1. Only items, feats, boons, or abilities found on the Chronicle sheet are legal for play.
2. Each player must have a copy of the Chronicle sheet with his or her character at all times.
3. In order for the Chronicle sheet to be considered legal for play, the player must show to the GM a copy of Plague of Shadows, either in printed or digital format.
GMs are advised to work with players to make the sanctioning of Pathfinder Tales Chronicle sheets easy and fast. As long as the player has a copy of the book, she should be able to use the Chronicle sheet just like any other.
If you would like to learn more about Plague of Shadows or other novels in the Pathfinder Tales line, please visit paizo.com or your local bookstore. Other novels in the line include Prince of Wolves by former Dragon Magazine editor Dave Gross, Winter Witch by New York Times best-selling author Elaine Cunningham, and the forthcoming The Worldwound Gambit by gaming legend Robin D. Laws.
I'd love to hear your comments on this update to Society play. Please post them in the comments!
... Illustration by Daren Bader. Wallpaper design by Crystal Frasier. Widescreen version here. ... A Plague on All Your Houses! Friday, February 25, 2011The latest Pathfinder Tales novel, Plague of Shadows, has started shipping to subscribers and stores. In this novel, written by sword and sorcery icon Howard Andrew Jones, the race is on to free Lord Stelan from the grip of a wasting curse, and only Elyana, his old elven adventuring companion and former lover, has the wisdom and reflexes to...
Illustration by Daren Bader. Wallpaper design by Crystal Frasier. Widescreen version here.
A Plague on All Your Houses!
Friday, February 25, 2011
The latest Pathfinder Tales novel, Plague of Shadows, has started shipping to subscribers and stores. In this novel, written by sword and sorcery icon Howard Andrew Jones, the race is on to free Lord Stelan from the grip of a wasting curse, and only Elyana, his old elven adventuring companion and former lover, has the wisdom and reflexes to save him. When the villain turns out to be another of their former companions, Elyana and a band of ragtag adventurers must set out on a perilous race across the revolution-wracked nation of Galt and the treacherous Five Kings Mountains, bound for the mysterious Vale of Shadows. But even if they can succeed in locating the key to Stelan’s salvation in a lost valley of weird magic and nightmare beasts, the danger isn't over. For Elyana's companions may not all be what they seem.
Plague of Shadows is straight up old-school fantasy adventure. Bands of heroes race to complete a quest fighting dragons and other monsters along the way. This wallpaper showcases Elyanna fighting an umbral dragon (check out Bestiary 2 to see its stats!) inside the Vale of Shadows. To learn how the fight ends, pick up your copy of Plague of Shadows today either here at paizo.com or at your local bookstore.
Half-Orcs and Sneak Previews! Wednesday, January 26, 2011 ... Illustration by Darren Bader ... With the release date of Plague of Shadows, the new Pathfinder Tales novel, coming up fast, I thought it might be a good time to start stirring the pot with a little sneak preview in the form of a sample chapter as this week's installment of the weekly web fiction. ... I really can't overstate how excited I am for this book to come out. Not only does it have what may be my favorite cover yet for the...
Half-Orcs and Sneak Previews!
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Illustration by Darren Bader
With the release date of Plague of Shadows, the new Pathfinder Tales novel, coming up fast, I thought it might be a good time to start stirring the pot with a little sneak preview in the form of a sample chapter as this week's installment of the weekly web fiction.
I really can't overstate how excited I am for this book to come out. Not only does it have what may be my favorite cover yet for the line, but it's also an old-school adventure in a way that Pathfinder Tales hasn't really seen so far. In Plague of Shadows, a team of adventurers featuring a Forlorn elf ranger, a civilized half-orc guard captain, an untested young noble, a retired bard, and a country bumpkin of a wizard must set off on a quest to retrieve an artifact in time to save their friend/father/liege lord who's been cursed. Sound familiar? It should—it's a classic quest setup that any gamer should recognize, and over the course of their adventure the party will be forced to deal with the chaos of revolutionary Galt, standoffish Kyonin elves, and the mysterious Vale of Shadows deep in the Five Kings Mountains. And yet while it's a time-honored trope with a generous helping of sword-and-sorcery flair (hardly surprising, given author Howard Andrew Jones's status as one of the foremost living editors and scholars of pulp fantasy), there's also plenty here that's new, and enough twists and turns to satisfy those readers with more complex tastes.
Illustration by Eric Belisle
In addition, I'm also pleased to show off this brand-new illustration of one of the novel's main characters: Captain Drelm, a half-orc raised from his base roots by the glory of Abadar and determined to prove himself as a man of honor. I think you'll agree that artist Eric Belisle (the same man responsible for our excellent Radovan and Jeggare illustrations) has done a beautiful job capturing both aspects of Drelm's character. As we continue to introduce more novels in the Pathfinder Tales line, we're looking forward to ordering brand-new illustrations like this to go along with our sample chapters, giving you one more reason to check on the web fiction each Wednesday.
So get to it, already! Click here to read the new sample chapter of Howard Andrew Jones's Plague of Shadows, then scroll down to the comments section and let us know what you think!
Plague of Shadows Sample Chapter—Chapter Seven: Detours
Plague of Shadows Sample Chapterby Howard Andrew Jones ... Illustration by Darren Bader ... Chapter Seven: DetoursElyana dearly wanted to remain at rest in the feather bed, but she forced herself into motion as she heard a rooster crow. Every day, every hour, was counting against Stelan. She wasn’t entirely convinced that the cleric and his acolytes had the skill and stamina to keep Stelan going, and there was the added wrinkle that broth and water would have to be spooned carefully into his...
Plague of Shadows Sample Chapter
by Howard Andrew Jones
Illustration by Darren Bader
Chapter Seven: Detours
Elyana dearly wanted to remain at rest in the feather bed, but she forced herself into motion as she heard a rooster crow. Every day, every hour, was counting against Stelan. She wasn’t entirely convinced that the cleric and his acolytes had the skill and stamina to keep Stelan going, and there was the added wrinkle that broth and water would have to be spooned carefully into his mouth to keep up his energy. He would be growing slowly weaker.
At dawn, the others found her already awake with Vallyn and helping to supervise the packing of supplies. The bard explained that he didn’t want to subject them to any more of Elyana’s cooking, so he was bringing plenty of food he himself could prepare.
A half-hour after breakfast they were on the road. Vallyn guided them northeast, where, he assured them, they’d be less likely to meet with a patrol than they were on a straight east jaunt, where lazier smugglers and refugees were apt to cross.
Captain Drelm is a most unusual half-orc.
Kellius had a violet petunia in his cap, and reported that he had rarely seen one of such a bright color. Vallyn then set to asking the mage questions about flowers and gardens, and the young wizard expounded upon them for almost an hour, demonstrating more expertise than Elyana had expected. Drelm, of course, remained quiet. If anything, though, Renar looked more suspicious than the half-orc, and Elyana could get nothing out of him. Finally, Vallyn announced to them all that they’d crossed over from the plains of Taldor to Galt.
"How do you know?" the young man asked.
"See that mountain to the north?"
Renar followed the bard’s pointing finger to a snow-topped peak thrusting toward the clouds.
"I mark it."
"That’s Mount Rein. Our angle’s passed far enough that we’re over now, you can be sure. Not that a Galtan patrol wouldn’t chase you past the border if they didn’t like your look, mind you. Or send something worse after—eh, Elyana?"
"True."
"Why are the Galtans so ...mad?" Renar asked.
Vallyn answered before Elyana. "They’re not mad, boy. They’re angry."
"Well, they seem mad. First they kill their rightful rulers. Then they rise up every few years and guillotine whoever they put in place the last time."
"They’re impatient, is what they are," Vallyn said. "They won’t give anyone a chance to set the place in order. The old ones, the nobles, a lot of them had it coming. In my opinion," Vallyn added.
This was news to Elyana, and the bard must have sensed her surprise, for he hurried to explain.
"The Galtans went way too far," Vallyn said. "I’m not excusing what they did. I’m just saying that their government wasn’t exactly looking out for anyone’s interests but its own."
"It’s not a good place," Elyana said to Renar. "There are spies everywhere. We must tread lightly even in the wilderness."
Renar fell silent for only a moment. "What are we really going to do about Arcil?"
If this was what had truly been troubling him, he would find no comfort from Elyana now. This was neither the time nor the place for that particular discussion. "Nothing I’d discuss without wards against scrying in place," Elyana replied.
"He didn’t used to know that kind of thing," Vallyn said.
"He didn’t used to be able to crush a man with shadows, either. From a distance."
Vallyn whistled. He rode in silence for a long moment, then said: "I always told you he was going to go bad."
So he had. And still Elyana sometimes wondered if there was something she might have said or done differently to help Arcil find the right direction. She didn’t mean to mislead Vallyn or Renar, but she had no intention of admitting to them—or to Arcil, should he be listening—that she had no idea how to stop her old friend. She was still hoping she’d find something within the tower to aid her.
That night they set up camp in the Galtan wilderness and lit no fire, subsisting only on cold rations. Elyana arranged to take the middle watch, and lay down to rest. Sleep came quickly to her.
"Elyana."
She opened her eyes to find Kellius looking down at her. While his expression was calm, the wizard’s face was strained. The stars shone in a clear sky. It was deep into the night.
Kellius pretended calm. "There’s something out there. Something large. I saw it flying—"
"Wake Drelm first. Hurry."
"It’s circled twice," Kellius said as he moved off.
Large and winged. Elyana ran over the possibilities as she slipped feet into boots and buckled into her leather cuirass. She climbed up to search the sky.
Dragons, wyverns, and giant birds could all be found near the Five Kings mountain range. Galt’s constant chaos meant patrols and huntsman were not as plentiful as they once had been, and all manner of wild beasts had multiplied in the wilderness.
And there was always the chance that Arcil had sent something against them, calling it down from the peaks or even the Plane of Shadow.
She saw that the land was dark but for a distant light from the Galtan city of Woodsedge, miles to the south. Their camp sat under a scrubby stand of trees, which might explain why whatever it was had not dropped straight in.
The black wall of the Five Kings loomed on the western horizon. Elyana glanced briefly toward it, then looked skyward once more. It was then that she saw the draconic shape blotting out a swath of stars.
The reptile was long and large, with a serpentine neck thrust low. It glided on huge, batlike wings, its tail hanging stiff. Elyana saw that it had no arms and knew then that it was no true dragon, but a wyvern. She’d faced one once before, a creature half this size, and that had been no easy day. Its poisoned sting had put two men in the ground. Wyverns were powerful, relentless, and hungry.
This one swung toward her and lowered its wings for a dive.
"Wyvern!" she screamed in warning, then launched two arrows. Even as the first was still arcing into the air she was running forward. She threw herself into the tall grass and landed with a whuff that knocked the air out of her.
The first arrow slammed home just left of the wyvern’s breastbone, provoking a growl that was cut off as the second caught it high along its wing. Its hooked claws grabbed at the dashing humanoid, but Elyana was too swift.
The wyvern landed with an earth-shaking thump. Its snaky neck swung left and right as it considered its targets, its roar a piercing shriek so loud that Elyana felt a sympathetic vibration deep in her chest. She heard Renar call out to her in worry, but stayed low as the wyvern searched the air with its long snout, snuffling.
Drelm praised one gift from his cursed heritage, and that was the ability to see not only in dim light, but in the deepest black. The humans might see the wyvern as a dark, threatening shape with a long neck, but he saw the glint of its eyes, the muscles along its chest as it thundered toward him. He heaved his throwing axe and ran to meet the beast. But the wyvern had hunched as it built speed for a charge, and the weapon soared over its shoulder.
The winged lizard lowered its head, its mouth widening in a display of daggerlike fangs. Drelm knew a burning thrill of action in his veins, a searing strength that left little room for anything but rage and power. He met the wyvern’s strike with a sideways slash of his greataxe. The blow ripped into the side of the monster’s head, tearing through scales in a spray of blood. The wyvern’s teeth clamped down, narrowly missing Drelm’s chest.
Drelm dodged left, his hands barely retaining hold of the axe as he leapt away. There was a blanket of darkness as the wing fell over him, and then the beast’s tail lashed down. He caught sight of the long, long spike and rolled, but the thing slammed into his arm, penetrating armor, flesh, and bone. He roared not at the pain, but in anger, and climbed to his feet.
The wyvern somehow managed a swift stop. It spun, horned head twisting toward him. Drelm readied his axe, wondering why his right hand shook so.
A lightning blast underlit the beast’s scaly maw, casting its brow ridge in shadow. The thing convulsed, then threw back its head in a deep-throated roar.
So close was the wyvern’s head to Drelm when the wizard’s lightning struck that he saw the beast’s pupils shrink. Drelm raised his axe, snarling, then realized he was strangely dizzy. Dimly, he perceived that Renar was running into the fray. He heard the pluck of a lute, of all things, and Vallyn shouting for Renar to get back. Drelm agreed, and tried to tell the boy to stay clear, but couldn’t quite find the strength.
Then a screen of shifting motes of light fell between him and the wyvern. Drelm did not understand where it had come from, but it was very beautiful, and he wanted to do nothing more than study the slowly changing colors, except that he was already feeling rather sleepy. He sat down, conscious that his arm ached and that he wasn’t thinking clearly. For whatever reason, it all seemed unimportant.
Renar was two-thirds of the way to the monstrous, roaring beast when Vallyn told him to get back. But Renar wasn’t about to retreat and be accused of cowardice. It didn’t matter that he could practically feel his heart in his mouth, or that his pulse beat in his temples like a drum. He pledged to himself that he would not hang back while his friends struggled. His father would not have done so.
When the lovely rainbow screen dropped all about the wyvern, the creature’s head swiveled his direction and Renar halted, thinking the thing had seen him. Then he noticed its eyes tracking after an especially pretty shimmer of blue drifting to the right. Renar had seen sorcery before, but never anything like this. Kellius had talent.
Renar steeled himself and advanced to swing at the beast’s swaying neck. It was a glancing blow, but he’d connected. Somehow that granted him greater courage, and his second strike bit through the blue-black scales. The impact of it raced up through his arms, and he knew a savage exultation as blood spurted forth in dark rain.
He heard Elyana cry a warning. "Renar! Jump back!"
He was accustomed to obeying Elyana instantly—there was no room for hesitation when training horses. He did as bade, and the swinging tail and its bloody spike missed him by a handspan.
As the wyvern’s head rose, Renar saw two arrows blossom along its neck like gruesome spines.
"Run, boy!" he heard Vallyn shout, and he leapt back, watching that tail and the head that was suddenly no longer fascinated by the shining lights. A clawed wing swung down as he backpedaled, and then a blazing ball of fire struck that same wing, filling the air with the sound of sizzling and the smell of burned meat.
The wyvern roared again, and at close range, Renar’s ears rang at the sound. Smoke rose up from the flapping wing as the creature beat it rapidly to put out the flame.
Elyana raced up on its blind side, the long slim blade glittering in both hands. Renar saw the creature’s nostrils flare open. Its head turned.
The elf’s blow sliced deeply into the beast’s neck a foot back from its head. Renar shouted warning as the tail swung up and then down at her, but Elyana threw up her sword. The tail spike clanged against it, and Elyana staggered, then dropped to her knee.
"Back!" she called to Renar in a strained voice. He’d assumed her first neck blow would kill the thing, but the wyvern beat the grass with its wings. Dirt, dry leaves, and grit blew out, stinging the boy’s eyes.
Elyana stumbled backward, panting, and Renar went with her. The wyvern beat its wings once, twice, gave a little hop as though it meant to take flight, and then crashed into the earth.
Its wings fluttered, feebly, and its legs clawed at the grasses. Even after it stopped moving it moaned for several long minutes, in such a pitiful way that Renar actually felt a little sorry for it.
"Is it dead?" Kellius asked, trotting up. A ball of light floated just back of his left shoulder, and black smoke trailed up from the ends of the fingers on his right hand.
"Mostly," Elyana told him. "Stay back." She moved off into the dark. Renar followed.
Elyana found Drelm lying still in the grass, his breathing swift and shallow. As if that weren’t a clear enough indicator of what had happened, the plate armor about his right arm was bashed in around a slim hole that leaked blood across the plate, the chain sleeve beneath it, and the tabard that covered both.
Poison. She had no cure for poison.
"Get Vallyn," she told Renar without turning. The young man dashed away as she bent down, centering her focus. There was a slim chance that the bard had learned greater healing magic in the intervening years. Certainly Arcil had improved—perhaps Vallyn had as well.
Elyana centered her focus with a deep breath. She lowered both hands to the wound and extended her spirit.
The injury was deep and painful, plunging through nearly the whole of the musculature, right down to the bone. The half-orc’s arm was more than twice as thick as hers. She wondered if the spike would have passed all the way through hers.
She sealed the upper layers of his flesh first, so that the blood ceased its egress from the body, and then set to work lacing the muscles together. She was not as practiced nor as polished with more challenging wounds, but she knew that the injury was most of the way knitted. The real problem was the weakness caused by the poison. It marched slow and steady through his bloodstream like a procession of mourners halfway up the cliff to where they would inter the body.
"Looks like we’d best start digging," she heard Vallyn say beside her, and she snapped out of her trance.
The bard’s lute was slung once more on his back. His nightshirt was rumpled, his hair mussed, and Elyana was surprised by how much older he seemed.
"He’s poisoned," Elyana said quickly to him. "Are your healing magics—"
"I don’t know poisons, Elyana." The bard cursed and passed a hand through his hair. "I never thought I’d be burying an orc," he finished, sounding bemused.
"We’re not burying him," Elyana said, rising. She did not remind him, again, that Drelm was a half-orc. She considered the horizon, and the distant point of light that was Woodsedge.
"He’s not dead already, is he?" Renar asked, dismayed. "Isn’t there something we can do? And what do you mean we aren’t going to bury him? He deserves a proper burial—"
Vallyn talked over Renar, paying him no heed. "That’s a Galtan city, Elyana. Even if they didn’t want to shoot you and me on sight, there’s no way any healer would help Drelm. He looks too much like an orc."
"We can get him to a temple of Abadar."
"He’ll be dead before we can make it," Vallyn countered.
"Not if we take a shadow ride," Elyana answered.
Vallyn winced. "A plague on shadows. You’d be mad to try."
She stared at him, hard, and he looked down.
"When I last saw you," she said, still staring at him, "you were working on spells that altered your appearance. Do you know them still?"
Vallyn nodded, reluctantly at first, then added a pleased little shrug. "I’ve gotten pretty good at it, if truth be told."
"Can you alter someone else?"
Kellius and Renar looked back and forth between them, wondering at the length of time it took Vallyn to reply.
"I can," he said. "But I can’t alter us all. Only one."
"One will have to do."
"But there’s three of us needing disguise."
"Two." Elyana produced an amulet from her pouch. "I have a little help from Arcil." So saying, she lifted the necklace and clasped it around her neck. Instantly Kellius beheld the face of the thin-nosed, arrogantly handsome man who’d confronted them in the ruins.
"Arcil!" Vallyn cried.
"He left this on the body of his apprentice," she said, astonished that her own voice had now taken on the haughty, male precision of her former friend. "Listen to me!" she said. Despite everything, amusement rang in her voice. "He’s very good."
"He’s very bad," Vallyn countered.
"Is this wyvern his work?" Kellius asked.
"Probably," Vallyn said. "It’d be like him. If he were listening and thought we had him pegged to attack after we found the crown, he might’ve sent the thing just to show us up."
"Wyverns are common in the mountains," Elyana noted.
"I know we’ve little time," Kellius said quickly, "but I have one more question. It’s clear the Galtans want you two dead. Arcil rode with you. Won’t they recognize his face?"
"Arcil was always good with concealment magic," Vallyn said. "I don’t think any Galtan that lived ever saw his real face."
Elyana faced the bard. "Set a spell on Drelm so we can be on our way."
Vallyn shook his head. "I’m still wanted there, remember?"
"When’s the last time you were on a wanted poster, Vallyn? Do you look the same?"
Vallyn’s hesitation seemed to indicate more surely than anything else that her point struck home. But he nodded. "They know me even better than you, Elyana."
"Very well." She undid the necklace and passed it over her head, changing in an instant back to her true form and voice. "You wear it. I shall wear a hood. Place your spell on Drelm."
Vallyn considered her, then let the amulet sink into his palm, the chain dangling between his fingers. "He’s probably not going to live," Vallyn cautioned. "This is—"
"The sooner we get moving," Elyana said coolly, "the better his chances. Cast your spell."
Vallyn thrust the necklace into an upper pocket on his shirt. He unslung his lute and stepped over to the prone captain.
In moments the bard was plucking at strings, singing a simple little melody, his voice rich and thoughtful. Drelm’s features wavered and blurred, and Elyana suddenly found herself regarding a pale fighting man with dark hair. He did not look so much a different man as he did an image of what Drelm would have been if the orc blood were somehow stripped away. Fangs vanished, the brow ridge faded, the ears shrank down. He was still thick and muscular, but even in rest was somehow more peaceful.
"There he is," Vallyn said, a touch of pride in his voice. "It’ll hold for a few hours. After that—they’ll have a half-orc on their hands."
"He might be dead before then," Elyana told him.
They worked quickly to saddle the horses and gather their gear. Even so, it was not swiftly enough, and Elyana twice checked Drelm’s pulse, so concerned was she that they were wasting time.
She herself held Drelm, knowing that she could trust Persaily to carry the extra weight and travel the strange terrain. She hoped she could likewise trust the mare to carry them through the Plane of Shadow. To the others she gave the lead lines of one pack animal each, hoping they were skilled enough to manage their beasts and lead another, then set her mind upon the ring and called forth the shadows.
Coming Next Week: The first installment in Monte Cook's new story about a man who talks to swords in "The Ghosts of Broken Blades."
Howard Andrew Jones is the Managing Editor of sword-and-sorcery icon Black Gate Magazine, the primary editor responsible for bringing pulp master Harold Lamb's historical fiction to a modern audience, and a respected fantasy author in his own right. His first non-Pathfinder novel, The Desert of Souls, releases this February from St. Martin's imprint Thomas Dunne Books. For more of his short stories and essays, see blackgate.com and howardandrewjones.com—for the rest of Plague of Shadows, pre-order now!
