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From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Late morning, the 19th of Calistril
Citadel Volshyenek
The Trial

I waited in the ante-chamber just outside the citadel’s small courtroom. Court-marshal proceedings were heard in this room. I was about to be court-marshalled; me. Whatever did I do?

Well, yes, I suppose technically I could be implicated in theft, arson, murder, smuggling and extortion, but the Guard didn’t know that! As far as they knew I was just ‘unorthodox’, and they had, could have had, no evidence of anything else.

But here I was, awaiting a court-marshal on as yet un-named charges.

Damn. I had made such good progress towards uncovering the truth behind the child-slavery ring in Korvosa. Now, my work would go unfinished, and the real criminals, those wealthy and influential enough to bury the truth about their dark perverted natures, would continue in their evil.

“Cadet Deparle,” the Bailiff called quietly. “It is time.”

I stood.

“Your weapons. You are to remove them.”

Probably a good idea. While I was generally a placid kind of guy, summary judgement in an unfair trial might tip me over the edge. Removing my weapons would go a long way towards guaranteeing the health of whichever senior officer was in charge of this court-marshal. Field Marshall Kroft’s name had been attached to the warrant, but I smelled the mangy paw of Captain Olsini, the area commander of the Heights and my direct commanding officer. Neither of us disguised our mutual dislike.

“You may keep your sword, Cadet.”

The Bailiff’s statement surprised me. Why keep my sword? Did they want me to fall upon it? Madness. But I was an officer of the Korvosan Guard; well, in all but name. I would meet whatever (unjust) fate with resolve. I buckled my sword belt tight and walked into the small courtroom.

Inside the courtroom, Field Marshall Kroft sat at the bench in full dress uniform. Captain Olsini sat at her side - I knew it! - but he did not look smug or happy. Perhaps the Field Marshall was not prepared to be as harsh as he wanted.

I was pleased to note that my friends, the scions of the Merivanchi House, sat in the room, as well as several members of my platoon. Lieutenant Mel Brown, who had arrested me earlier this morning, was also present. It was quite a full house, and the numbers and identities of those present surprised me; it seemed less like the unjust court-marshal I had thought it was.

Once I was seated in the dock - oddly, I had not been manacled and still had my sword - Field Marshall Kroft stood to speak.

“Agon Deparle,” began Field Marshal Kroft. “Of late there have been grave concerns regarding aspects of your performance. Bailiff, please take Mister Deparle’s sword from him.”

The court official took away the blade that was part of my uniform, a part of my identity. Yes, I was a mercenary, a cad, and a would-be criminal mastermind, but dammit I was a part of something greater than myself - the Korvosan Guard. While I knew it to be corrupt, to be inefficient, and to be flawed, the Guard was also responsible for a lot of good. The men and women who served in it were the ones who stood on a wall and said ‘nothing is going to hurt you tonight, not on my watch’. I loved them for that, and I loved being a part of it; I loved being one of the good guys and being able to make a positive difference, even if it was only for a while.

And now I was losing it all. I went to speak, no longer able to stay silent. I saw Tain also move to speak. Before either of us could talk, Field Marshall Kroft silenced us with a motion of her hand and speak.

“In it’s place, please give him this sword,” Kroft handed the bailiff a finely made sword and scabbard - an officer’s sword. “Congratulations Lieutenant Deparle.”

My mouth fell open in astonishment. All of this was about a promotion? All of the mad thoughts that had run through my mind that morning were for nothing, were a vanity? I honestly did not know what to think or to feel.

“It is true,” Kroft continued, “concerns have been raised regarding aspects of your performance; I do not wish to hear of your brother wearing your uniform again, and I would advise against drawing the Queen’s bodyguard away from her duty in future.”

I smiled at that. I had every intention of drawing Sabine Merrin away from her duty at every damn opportunity I could make! I suspect the Field Marshall saw the glint in my eye and the smirk on my face at the mention of Sabine, and continued in her speech.

“However, you have achieved much over the past few weeks. You have acted with distinction in your official duties, keeping the peace, quelling unrest, returning our city to order. And you have gone beyond the call of duty - the first Guardsman on the scene for a Code Brown, helping to quell a dangerous and ancient evil beneath our streets, and most importantly, your part in capturing the fugitive Trinia Sabore,” Kroft glanced up at a seemingly random point on the ceiling, “even if she did not remain long in our custody.”

The Field Marshal stood.

“While the appointment of your commission has been recommended to me, it is a recommendation I agree with, so let me offer you my congratulations. Ladies and gentlemen, Lieutenant Agon Deparle.”

Tain, my dear friend despite our differences of morality, stood and began to clap, shortly followed by the rest of the room. I beamed a happy smile at them and fought the urge to yell “wahoo”. The many Guardsmen in the room came and offered their congratulations in handshakes, back-slaps and, in Mel’s case, a hug which I somewhat inappropriately turned into a kiss. (Let the regulations against fraternization be damned, sometimes you just have to kiss a beautiful woman!) Captain Olsini offered a very stuffy and formal handshake, but said nothing. Field Marshall Kroft shook my hand warmly.

“Apologies for the hazing Lieutenant Deparle,” she laughed. “You know, traditions to be upheld.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “Will I keep my current posting?”

“For now, Lieutenant, but we can discuss that later. I believe your friends wish to congratulate you.”

At the Field Marshall’s suggestion I sauntered over to the Merivanchi scions.

“Well, that was exciting,” I grinned. “I thought they’d finally decided to arrest me one and for all!”

“I’m sure they will some day,” Aria replied.

“Let’s hit the public house,” I suggested. “I believe that by tradition, the drinks are on me.”

Everyone agreed; Marcus seemed particularly keen for some reason.

“That would be appropriate,” said the Field Marshal, who had come up behind us, “given the circumstances. But don’t get too drunk. I’d like you - all of you - to report back to me this evening to discuss a different matter.”

I saluted. “Yes ma’am. If you need us before then, we’ll be at the Dancing Cyclops.”

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

19th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
Two Weeks after the coronation of Queen Ileosa
Arrested!

Most adults have their own hang-over rituals. Mine, similar to many I imagine, was to splash some water on my face, pull on some clothes, stumble down the street and treat myself to the biggest, greasiest cook breakfast the nearest café could provide. After dinner at the Elven Consulate the evening before, and the large quantities of wine the dinner involved, I was in dire need of my cooked eggs, and greasy meats.

Oddly, even though the sound of passers by and hawkers reverberated in my pointed ears, I did not even register the approach of the compliment of Guards.

“Cadet Deparle,” the harsh, but familiar sounding feminine voice said. “You are under arrest. Please come quietly.”

My immediate instinct was to throw the pot of coffee at the arresting officer and run for it. Old habits die hard. Instead, partly due to discipline and partly due to enormous hangover, I took the time to register what was going on.

A whole Tent, nine soldiers, stood by outside the café. Inside with me was Lieutenant Mel Brown, an old friend. She was posted at the Citadel. Her face was a study in professional stillness. Looking again at the Guard soldiers outside, I did not recognise them. They were not from this district; most likely they too were from the Citadel. And that meant these arrest orders had come from high up.

“Morning, Ma’am,” I said calmly, sipping my coffee. “What’s going on?”

“You’re under arrest, Cadet,” was her only reply. “Don’t make a scene.”

Her hand rested lightly on her basket-hilted longsword, gifted to every officer upon receipt of their commission. Mel was a good warrior, but not better than me. I never went anywhere unarmed if I could help it; my hunting knife was at my belt. In one quick move I could have it under her throat and perhaps use the threat of violence to bargain my way out of this mess. I’d never hurt Mel, she was my friend, but the soldiers with her didn’t know that. Maybe it could work…

“Agon,” she said softly. Perhaps she read my eyes. “Please.”

I drained my coffee cup and wiped my mouth on a napkin.

“Can I go home and change first, ma’am? I look and feel like hammered sh!t.”

She smiled; I liked seeing Mel smile.

“Very well,” she nodded. “But I’m coming with you.”

I refrained from making a crude joke and we left. Her nine soldiers followed along.

*

I made no attempt to escape when we were at Cambion House. I even sent the soldiers through to the kitchen to get a feed. The Colonel, home on a rare visit, came down from his room. After a quick and quiet conversation with Lieutenant Brown he moved off to chat with the soldiers. At first they were nervous at speaking with such a high-ranking officer, even if he was in his pajamas and dressing gown, but they soon relaxed after the Colonel began cooking them breakfast. I admired the easy way he interacted with all social classes; he was a great leader.

With the soldiers downstairs, I prepared myself upstairs, shaving, cleaning myself up and dressing in my uniform. Lieutenant Brown, who didn’t seem to mind me calling her ‘Mel’ when we were alone, followed along, never leaving me out of her sight. This led to a few salacious comments on my part when I was changing and bathing, but Mel ignored my banter; well mostly. I did catch her looking on a few occasions, but aside from blushing when caught she proved impervious to my jibes, as well as to my half-hearted only-joking-unless-of-course-you’re-serious-too invitations.

By the time Lieutenant Brown and I emerged downstairs, the soldiers had finished their light ‘second breakfast’. The Colonel made no reference to my arrest as he bid my goodbye. I had learned nothing about the charge I was being arrested for, Lieutenant Brown’s only response being for me to ask Field Marshall Croft. I commented on this to the Colonel before we left. Again, he said he was aware of the situation, but that I would have to speak directly to Field Marshall Croft.

My brother, gifted with the rogue’s danger sense regarding authority figures, had presumably fled just before we arrived. He was not present in the house. Owing to Lieutenant Brown’s presence while I got dressed I had not had the chance to leave him a note. I could only hope the Colonel would inform my brother as to my situation.

I was fully armed. The lieutenant had made not move to stop me when I buckled on my armour and weapons, but hoped I would not have to battle any of the soldiers. I had too much respect for them and what they did to turn them into enemies. I did, however, love my freedom too, and I hoped, prayed even, that I would not have to choose between the two.

While my arrest was easy-going, my fear at what awaited me slowly rose. What had I done? What hadn’t I done? What had Felix done? Why did Field Marshall Croft want to see me so badly that I was summoned by arrest order, nine soldiers and an officer from the Citadel?

It was less than two weeks since the incident after Trinia Sabor’s disappearance, and less than a month since Captain Olsini had worked me over after the Code Brown. That such injustice was allowed to continue made my blood boil and removed every doubt I had at breaking the city’s laws for my own gain. I had seen other Guardsmen do it; why not me too?

My investigation into the child-slavery institution in Korvosa had not been forgotten with the coronation of Queen Ileosa. I had spent days, and nights, pouring over incident reports, arrest records, missing persons and customs lists trying to match up names and patterns. I had made some progress, but just as I was closing in, the rug was pulled out from under me.

Sergeant Riggs, the right-hand man of Lamm’s inside man Lieutenant Stevens, and seen by my own eyes at the Arkona’s slave auction house, had been charged with being drunk on duty. From what I could gather he had cut some sort of deal and was, in theory, rolling over by giving information on his fellow smugglers in return for immunity. I had learned that Riggs’ information was concerning ordinary smuggling and not the child-slavery ring. Who was he protecting? And why were the upper levels of the Guard letting this scumbag walk? Were taxes and customs duties so much more important than the lives of innocents?

And here I was, arrested on some mystery charge just was I was getting close to the identities of those involved in the child-slavery ring. Perhaps I had been careless, and let slip what it was I was really investigating. Perhaps this syndicate went higher and deeper than I had first thought… If it was, and I was about to fall afoul of the conspiracy, then I was very certainly a dead-man. I hoped that Felix would find the notes I had made about my investigation, and that he could go on in my place to do what was right.

With these gloomy thoughts blocking out even my hangover, I was placed in a covered wagon and taken into the Citadel.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

18th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
Thirteen Days after the coronation of Queen Ileosa
Political Letters

The hour was late and the candles burned low in the study of the Cambion Household where I sat, finished with my task at last. Seven letters lay on the desk in front of me. I had written and re-written them. Now, with dawn closer than dusk, I was finally happy with each.

What lay before on the desk, written on the finest of parchment in the best quality of ink, were letters of introduction to seven of the minor families within Korvosa. I, together with Felix, had spent our time since hearing Marcus’ offer of a business venture finding out about the second-tier families within the city; those whom I might approach and whom might see me as a possible up-and-comer rather than simply as a bastard Half-Elf mercenary.

The seven families I had approached were all targeted for specific reasons.

The Artemel Family, money-lenders with a taste for bloodsports, might be willing to lend money, although no doubt at great interest. An invitation to a bloody hunt should provide an excellent introduction to these sadists; rich sadists.

The Gralhunds, that old Guard family, were a key set to impress if I wished for high position within the Guard. So long as I could hold my drinks and keep the conversation centred on the Guard and not on race, we should get along well enough.

Lanngolyn, tailor to most of the Queen’s social circle, would be an excellent person to win over in order to help convince Her Majesty that I was someone to trust with higher authority and position. Rumours persisted that Lanngolyn preferred the company of dapper young men and I made a mental note both to dress well and while friendly, to be clear as to which side my bread was buttered on.

The Gauntyl Family, successful mercenaries now explorers and miners, provided not only excellent contacts, but a perfect example to follow. If it helped me learn how they did it, I was happy to cow-tow to them for a while.

The Majarra Clan, Half-Elves with a reputation for excellence in the music industry and possessors of a profitable silver mine, would make excellent allies, if only through an appeal to our common ancestry.

The Hunabars, with their ‘not for public dissemination’ transport services, would make an excellent host for Felix to parasite himself to; and, if it should prove necessary, a suitable patsy.

And finally, I had approached the Cragsmere Household, realtors in Korvosa who own, among other properties, Brock House. It is old wisdom to keep friends close and enemies even closer. Oh, I didn’t view the Merivanchi’s as enemies, but it might one day prove useful to be an ally of those who held the deed on Brock House.

I considered calling Felix in to read over the letters, but dismissed the notion. Felix was my brother and partner-in-crime – to use the old expression – but my plans were my own. For all that we were alike, his plans were not my plans and I had no wish for his chaos to impose itself at this time.

No; I would send the letters as they were and wait the responses. My career in the dirty game of Korvosan politics had begun.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

11th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
Eight Days after the coronation of Queen Ileosa
Fencing Practice and a Business Venture

At the Orsini Academy, the sound of steel on steel and the soft whisper of leather soles was a near constant backdrop. I had contributed considerably to that mosaic in my time in Korvosa, but to my ears now the sound felt like so much hollow barking. The precise forms, the rules and polite conduct of the fencing hall seemed illusionary when compared to the savagery of life-and-death combat; but still, I was there – part habit, part recognition of the fact that even while the strict forms of fencing were out place in a street-fight or the battlefield, the sharpening of mind, eye, and arm via the medium of fencing was very much of benefit to any warrior.

I was called onto the strip for my bout. I should have known the name of my opponent, but I had been distracted with gloomy thoughts – the cynicism of my brother had begun to infect me.

“Show him how it’s done, Johan,” called a supporter of my opponent.

Of course; I faced Johan Gauntyl. He was a wiry fellow, possessing the thin muscled build of the dedicated fencer. His family’s path to success was one I wished to emulate – successful mercenary companies who turned their wealth and influence to the mining and exploration industries. I had met Johan on several occasions. He was young, not yet twenty summers, and cocksure as only a young nobleman can be. He was a good and experienced fencer. I needed to focus.

We shaped up against each other according to the usual rules, several yards apart, our wire-mesh masks at our sides and our thin fencing blades held loosely in our hands. The judge called us to salute. Johan raised his sword in turn to the judge, to the Crown, and to me, his opponent. I had a different salute, passed on to me by ‘Bloody’ Finch; I raised my sword to my opponent, as my mark of respect, and then held the cross-guard to my brow and murmured a quick prayer to the Goddess, for I may be meeting her soon. Finch’s salute respected only the opponent and the gods, and not the judge, believing that only those involved in the match were the only ones deserving of recognition in the salute. I admit to being iconoclastic by nature, and maintaining Finch’s salute in spite of the conservatism of the Orsini Academy felt good every time I did it.

Our salutes done, Johan and I donned our masks and begun our match. Our first passes at each other were done almost soley for form’s sake; simple lunges, parries and ripostes done both to test our opponent’s speed and to get ‘the feel’ of the match. (Nothing gets you more ‘in the moment’ than to feel your blade met by an enemy’s steel!) Our almost lazy thrusts soon intensified as we added our footwork, seeking to take advantage of timing and lapses in balance as we passed up and down the strip. Johan was good; he was quick and strong, and his blade kept mine pressed, constantly parrying his thrusts. The tips of our blades worked in circles, seeking to work their way around the opponent’s guard. Our parries always turned into ripostes which were in turn parried. It was a good match and we drew a small crowd.

Over two minutes passed with no points being scored; not a long time in most activities, but a lifetime in combat. I was better in my technique than Johan and felt confident that, should he make a mistake, I could strike at will; but he made no mistake. Back and forth along the strip we moved. ‘Off-target’ blows, those which landed at the leg or arm, were scored by each of us, but no ‘scoring blows’, those which would lead to a kill. As I grew in confidence, Johan gave ground, trading space for time. As we fought I realized his plan for the duel. Johan was fitter than me. Already the sweat from my brow stung at my eyes, my sword-arm ached, and I chased after air in my lungs. Johan did not.

At last, he made a mistake, repeating a parrying pattern in succession. My blade landed quickly on his chest; a point! Johan set up again quickly, seeking to give me no rest. I could not, to be fair, drag my heels. Again we dueled, up and down the strip. With a cry of rage I beat his blade aside, scoring quickly again to his chest. Another point! Again, Johan set up quickly, and at the called to begin from the judge, he launched in a series of quick attacks, pressing me back. He knew I was tired. I gave ground, but not quickly enough; Johan locked my blade with a clever bind. He scored no points, but used the bind to test the strength of my arm. He found it lacking. We separated at the judge’s call and began again. Johan soon slipped his sword under mine and scored on my chest; two-to-one, my favour, but the match seemed to have turned. Around me I could see people’s interest in the match and heard them debate who would win, scoring the best of five points.

We went at each other again, each of us launching into attacks as soon as the judge called for us to begin. The play of our blades was furious as I gave it all I had, supplementing ferocity in place strength. Johan responded with equal vigour. Our swords clashed off each other faster than the eye could easily follow; each of our blades finding that of opponent as much by ‘feel’ and experience as by conscious thought. Johan’s defence did not waiver, and I felt I fenced against a wraith as he danced back and forth along the strip. At each of his attacks he met the ferocious wall of my steel and my Will, refusing to yield, and answering each of his thrusts with a parry and an angry riposte.

But I could not maintain such an output of energy. I backed off, lessening the strength of my sword strokes and moving backwards along the strip to trade space for time. Johan, sensing victory, chased me along and kept up the furious pace of his attacks. As I neared the back of the strip I tried one last attack, one last attempt to push my opponent back. Johan side-stepped, a rare tactic in linear fencing, and scored with a thrust into my side.

Two points each! I noted with some satisfaction that Johan did not rush to set up again. He was tired. Good. I moved back slowly to the centre of the strip, almost dragging my fencing sword along, so weary was my arm. When he turned, Johan noted how low I held the blade, how tired I was. I am sure, behind his wire-mesh mask, that he smiled.

Foolish lad.

At the call to begin I backed away, lowering my guard, hoping for more time. Johan paused for just a moment and then approached, the point of his sword up and wary of any trick. When he was just outside of his lunging range, I walked forward. I didn’t raise my blade. I walked forward casually. I saw Johan tilt his head in confusion, and he lowered his blade by reflex. With an explosion of movement I lunged forward. It was easy to judge the immediate path of Johan’s blade, and so to beat it aside. My hit, when it quickly came, was as incontrovertible as my method of attack was unexpected. The judge called the bout in my favour. Johan and I removed our masks, tucked them under our sword arms and shook hands with our off-hands, each of us congratulating the other on the match.

“I’ll know next time, Agon,” he said, “not to trust you.”

“You’d be surprised how often I hear that, Johan,” I replied.

We laughed and separated; and for my ego’s sake I hope Johan needed to sit down as much as I did.

*

I ended my training session after my match with Johan; I was simply too exhausted to properly stay on. In short order I sat in the bath-house at the Academy, letting the water soak away my tiredness. While some of the other students came and went, I was alone in the bath-house when I was joined by Marcus Merivanchi.

“Lift yourself out of that pool, Agon. I would have a word with you, if you’ll listen.”

The young nobleman turned and disappeared into one of the steam rooms. I followed. It was a small room, not much more than a cube with eight foot walls. The wood of the walls and sitting-steps radiated the latent heat of the coal-filled bronze tripod in one corner. Inside, bombarded by heat and steam, Marcus and I were alone. He gestured for me to take a seat a few feet away from him on the top step. We wore only shorts, and had only towels and water bottles with us. The scars on Marcus’ sword arm could be plainly seen, a prescient reminder that this young man was no fop. In theory, a small blade could be hidden inside his towel, but for all of our growing rivalry, I knew better of Marcus than to suspect he would try to assassinate me at the Academy; well, at least not personally.

“There’s been something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you for several days now, Agon.”

“About Resnzar?”

“No,” Marcus chuckled. “I’d heard about that. The man was a pig to talk about Sabine that way. You did the right thing, although … not necessarily in the right way.”

I smiled in response. If only he knew…

“No, Agon,” he continued, “I wish to speak to you about the Amprei holdings.”

Marcus saw the look of confusion on my face and explained.

“Ambassador Amprei, he made an offer – ‘everything he has’ – should we return Yasmin Marcella safely from the slavers.”

“Really,” I said, my eyes clearly lighting up in spite of the steam. “‘Everything he has’? I would imagine that’s quite a bit.”

“And a bit of an empty offer as it turned out. Oh, don’t worry, we’ve still done quite well for ourselves, but now he has to stay on in the city, the Ambassador was not keen to divest himself of his entire property portfolio.”

“Go on.”

“I sat down with him and have negotiated some sizeable interests for us all – a tenement building, a house in the city, an interest in a vineyard and a warehouse in the docks. Coincidently,” Marcus added with a bitter smile, “the warehouse is right next door to Lamm’s old warehouse. It sustained some damage a few weeks back when Lamm’s warehouse unexplainably burned down in a fire.”

Marcus spoke with a knowing tone to his voice.

“So presumably,” I countered, “that burned-down warehouse could be purchased relatively cheaply. As I recall it was ‘in limbo’ with the city council. Perhaps you can use some of your bureaucratic magic to pick it up cheaply, add it to the other one, and make one giant warehouse.”

“Perhaps,” Marcus replied, no doubt still harbouring suspicions towards me concerning the fire at Lamm’s old warehouse, but definitely considering following my suggestions.

“So what did you want from me, Marcus, in relation to these properties you picked up from Amprei?”

“I aim to form a consortium between the … extended family – you, me, Mari, Aria and Tain. Instead of liquidating the assets we hold on to them and use them as capital in other ventures.”

“Sounds like a great plan. Obviously, you’d take a cut from arranging this.”

“A small percentage, yes,” he replied, chin up, “in return from my work as administrator of the holdings. Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all, my friend,” I said with an easy smile, one that few people find convincing.

“So you don’t wish to be paid out in cash?”

“Nope; what use do I have for cash?”

Marcus looked at me, not really understanding.

“I live simply, Marcus. The Cambions give me a roof over my head. Between them and Guard, and Brock House of course, I never miss more than one meal. I have my clothes, my horse, my armour and my weapons. What else do I need?” Marcus nodded in acceptance, if not in understanding. “Besides,” I added with a grin, “I’m actually fabulously rich with the treasures of an entire city at my fingertips; but like any good Varisian prince, I just let other people hang onto them until I need them.”

Marcus shook his head at my attitude, but he did smile. After a moment our talk turned to less weighty matters – of swords, of horses and of women – and for a short time we were friends again as we were before the Times of Trouble.

*

Not so much a turn to the Dark Side for Agon Deparle, but more of a natural progression from mercenary-to-national-soldier (the background) and back again (as experienced in the story).

I drew some inspiration from a quote Stan Lee's awesome Captain America story...
"I've spent a life-time defending the flag and the law! Perhaps I should have battled less… and questioned more."
- Captain America (as written by Stan Lee)

as well as from the must-read "What If: Conan were stuck in the 20th Century", (#43) where Conan battled Captain America and questioned the very role of the Avengers, saying they were just the enforcers of the fat merchants who controlled the world.

Where I wanted to take the Agon character was through the idealist cycle where one must, in order to truly fathom one's principles, begin to doubt them. Everyone walks down a dark path; we can only hope that we emerge on the other side intact. I do not know as yet how Agon will emerge.

As for Sabine, I don't know how that will turn out either. I find the relationship... interesting. As with all of the character interactions I am (fortunate enough to be) able to draw upon personal experiences. Writing, even character journal like this, is an intensely personal experience for me and, as I have said privately to him, I am impressed at the skill of our GM who is able to create such a rich and living world for these characters to inhabit and move about in.

It is a very good idea to make sure that Aria & Tain don't find out what Agon and Felix have been up to.

That pesky twin brother can be a real problem some times! He gets so hard to keep track of or control. ;-)

Have a good game. I'll see you all soon.

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

10th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
One Week after the coronation of Queen Ileosa
Fighting a Duel the Deparle Way

I had reason to come to rely on my brother again due to an incident at the Orsini Fencing Academy. I was in the middle of my weekly group lesson; it mainly consisted of a vigorous group warm-up followed by individual sparring and some private lessons with the stable of masters and coaches. One of the other students, Arimos Rosnzar, a pampered son of the wine-making Rosnzar Family, was becoming a little too mouthy for my tastes.

“One can hardly blame the half-breed, I suppose,” I overheard Arimos say. He spoke a little too loudly. “She is a fine piece of horse-flesh, but she was not there to look good – she should have been protecting the Queen, not prancing about with an ill-bred mercenary.”

“The ‘ill-bred mercenary’ has good hearing, Arimos,” I called back. “I suggest you curb your wagging tongue if you are speaking ill of Sabine, lest she overhear you too and come to chop it off.”

“Of course you heard me, buffoon. How could you not with those big pixie ears of yours?” Several of the aristocratic jackals behind Arimos laughed. “But don’t worry my dear boy, I don’t blame one of your breeding for seeking to couple with her; I would use her myself, of course, if I didn’t mind the disease.”

That was a step too far. Arimos had been quite literally speaking down his nose at me. My ‘witty rejoinder’ was to smash the hilt of my fencing blade into his blue-blooded nose. The blood that soiled his white fencing jacket looked pretty good, I felt.

Before I could close and finish the encounter – for I wanted to ‘finish the argument’ by beating the pompous insulting fool half to death – those nearby leapt forward to hold myself and Arimos apart.

“Come on,” I shouted. “Let’s do this! You and me, Arimos!”

The prat responded with a cooler head than I had given him credit for. He ceased his struggling and, holding a handkerchief to his bloody nose, responded with a calm that had me slightly worried.

“I accept your challenge, half-breed. Sabers, tomorrow at dawn; unless you wish to retract your challenge?”

I had forgotten the rules of Academy. By striking Arimos on Academy grounds I had challenged him to a duel. I did not feel I could back down.

“Tomorrow then, at dawn. ‘Bloody’ Finch shall be my second.”

“Typical,” he sneered. “And Felnar Rosnzar shall be mine,” he replied, naming his uncle, the head of the Resnzar Family.

We were led off in different directions so as to dissolve the immediate threat of violence. As I left the Academy, I recalled what I know of Arimos… he was good, possibly as good as me if not better with the saber. In a fair duel, I could not guarantee victory. It was a good thing I had no intention of fighting fair.

*

‘Bloody’ Finch was, as usual, at a cheap tavern in the Old City. I gave him an outline of what had occurred and what was due to occur for tomorrow.

“You did the right thing, son,” he said calmly, “by hilt-punching that upstart. He’s no gentleman, that’s for sure.” Finch paused to drink his ale. “So the duel is set for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Finch,” I began, “and I am not sure I can win.”

“But remember, my pupil, that the purpose of a duel is not to win, but to confront death with nobility and thereby gauge the quality of the soul; there is little advantage in being expert with the blade you are not imbued with sufficient courage and serenity to confront danger.”

I gave him my best ‘you have got to be kidding’ look. He stared back, daring me to question his lesson.

“I know, Finch,” I sighed. “I know. ‘The purpose of a duel is to clear a stain. Once two gentlemen have fought, no rancour remains between them.’ I remember your words.”

“And?”

“And I have absolutely no intention of following them if it means I get killed by some blue-blooded poseur who just happens to be better than me with a saber.”

Finch sat back and finished his ale.

“So why are you telling me all of this then, son?”

“Because I still need a second to stand beside me and when this maggot Arimos fails to show up tomorrow morning, I’ll need you to look shocked and horrified alongside me. Deal?”

“Very well. I don’t need to know what you have planned. Just be at my place tomorrow one bell before dawn.”

I left Finch with a new drink and went to find Felix.

*

The Resnzar manor-house was one of a cluster on Overton Way in the Heights District. It was the better part of town, and patrolled regularly by an excellent and motivated platoon of Guardsmen; a platoon which I commanded. My brother and I lurked in a nearby alley, confident of our solitude and privacy from patrolling Guardsmen.

Inside the manor-house our sharp ears could discern the sound of blades ringing in spirited conflict as Arimos practised with his tutor. It was the right time to act; time was short and I signaled Felix to move over the manor-house walls.

Each of us was dressed, over our padded leather armour, in several strips of black cloth wound around our limbs, torsos and faces; only our eyes were exposed. The costume, called a ‘night-suit’, was a carry-over from our days with Captain Myers in the Boderlands – the cunning mercenary was not adverse to nighttime infiltration and sabotage operations. At my insistence I had added a few threads of red cloth to the underlay so that should either of us be wounded, any blood would be harder to see. I hoped it was an indulgence to paranoia on my part, but I felt it was a worthwhile indulgence.

We each wore identical tools and weapons as well as our outfits – to make it all the more difficult to identify one of us should one be captured and the other escape. We were armed with a hilt-less short-sword, three daggers, a blow-pipe and several poisoned darts, some silk rope with a small grapple, some basic break-and-enter tools, the poison which was the focus of our expedition that night, and a small measure of brandy. (The brandy was not for us, but to pour over any servant or guard we had to subdue in order to make them look like drunkards.)

Both of us knew the mission and, while murder was not on our minds, we were each prepared to kill if needed.

The Resnzar manor-house was no fortified structure. The manor-house, like its fellows in the cluster, consisted of a walled compound. Inside was a hollow square of buildings surrounding an internal courtyard. The courtyard, as well as the rest of the house, was patrolled by one armed guard, and the front door was constantly guarded by another guard. If all went well, he would not be disturbed.

Felix, being a nimbler and more silent climber than I, scaled the outer wall first. He secured and let down his rope for me to climb up. With no sound of our progress escaping over the other noises of the night, we padded silently across the rooftops of the manor-house.

We lay flat at the apex of the roof so as not to give away out position by silhouette. Below and to our right we heard Arimos engage in his fencing practice. No doubt the Resnzar manor-house used the room for another purpose most of the time, but for tonight it served for Arimos and his tutor to practice the finer techniques of skewering Half-Elves. The left-over smells of dinner flowed up from the kitchen below us – our destination for the night.

Below us we saw the guard walk casually across the courtyard to the kitchens. Of course. We waited, lying across the roof, for him to leave.

Below us and to our right we heard the sound of clashing blades cease. With my heart in my mouth, I waited, hoping against hope for the sound to start again.

Calistril favoured me that night, for in a few minutes the sound began again and the guard wandered out of the kitchen – his stomach satisfied – and resume his patrolling. We waited above the kitchen, listening for any sound below. We heard none, waiting for several minutes to be sure. The kitchen was empty.

Felix knew what to do, and I trusted him to do it. He signaled he was going in, so I returned my concentration to the guard as Felix silently dropped from the roof to the courtyard below.

Like a ghost, Felix slipped into the kitchen. While I could not see what he was doing, I could imagine in my mind his actions – finding, or setting up a jug of water to refresh Arimos after his training session, and spiking that water with the poison purchased earlier that afternoon.

Soon enough I saw Felix, a wraith-like black form one would easily miss if one wasn’t watching for it specifically, slide silently from the kitchen and take up a position back from a window looking into the training room.

We waited.

And waited.

My patience is a temperamental thing; some days it is there in abundance and some it is not. As I said, the Goddess favoured me that night, and I settled in quietly to wait to ensure my enemy drank his poison.

It was half a bell before Arimos and his tutor called it a night. They not only drank the water set aside for them in the dining room, but raided the kitchen as well. The little prat drank deep from the poisoned jug.

The poison was distilled from a particular type of moss, harvested in the Fenwall Mountains. Ingestion, after a delay of ten or so minutes, bought on confusion and severe stomach pains for at least 12 hours. I was confident that, having swallowed a full measure, Arimos would not be showing up for his duel tomorrow; or if he did, that he would be easily defeated.

Felix climbed silently back to the roof and, like two ghosts, we slipped away into the night.

*

Fog from the harbour hung heavy in the air as Finch and I waited by the Orsini Academy for my opponent in the duel. Nearby waited an Academy master to officiate and several students keen to observe the duel.

We waited from just before dawn to almost an hour after sunrise.

A messenger was sent to the Resnzar manor-house to summon Arimos to his duel. The messenger returned with an embarrassed look on his face and handed a note to the officiating master.

“Arimos Resnzar sends word that he is ill today and cannot make his appointment,” declared the officiating master. “He asks that the duel be rescheduled to another date. Mister Deparle, how say you?”

I cleared my throat, aware that my words in response were as important as any duel. Having most of the night to prepare them, I felt fairly confident.

“Master and witnesses,” I began loudly, “while I am sorry for my opponent’s illness, I would remind all that the purpose of any duel is not so much victory or defeat, but to determine whether or not one has the courage to meet one’s adversary and so determine by courage and skill-at-arms the questions or conflicts that lie between opponents.” I paused and let the words sink in. Everything I said was perfectly legitimate. “That Arimos is not present here today is, perhaps, indicative of his courage in this aspect.”

I paused and looked across those present. None of them seemed to having a problem with what I said.

“I ask that the officiating master here recognize the absence of my opponent.” A slight nod signified hat he heard and acknowledged my words. “By right of tradition and precedence I now consider the matter to be ended in my favour. If Arimos wishes to pursue the matter, I suggest he come and speak to me personally. I shall be happy to engage him.”

‘Bloody’ Finch turned and shook my hand as the group of on-lookers broke up.

“Shall I ask, Agon?”

“No,” I replied.

Finch nodded, and moved off with the rest. After a few moments, I followed.

*

Pavanna had been with the Resnzar House since she was a child. She didn’t consider herself a slave. She was a servant, yes, but felt she was a genuine member of the household. It was such a pity that Master Arimos had become sick so suddenly last night… perhaps she could find something at the market that would make him better.

Pavanna wandered through the early morning markets of Kendall Plaza, her time very much her own and her mind enjoying the myriad of sights, sounds and smells of the open market-place. Suddenly a pair of wiry arms wrapped around her. She inhaled a breath to yell a protest at this overly friendly stranger, but stopped when she felt a knife-point at her kidneys; the point pierced her skin slightly and drew a little blood.

“Be silent and listen, wench, or I’ll gut you where you stand!”

Pavanna nodded, terrified, but obedient.

“Good girl.” The voice held a Varisian accent, but was otherwise unfamiliar to Pavanna. “Listen well. Your master, Arimos, has taken a turn for the worse; he drank something that disagreed with him. He’ll recover, but he should know this – he recently made an enemy; an enemy who can walk into his home without any trouble, as we have proven. If Arimos is a good boy, his enemy will do nothing more, but if Arimos misbehaves, then we’ll burn his vineyards, we’ll kill all of you, we’ll make him watch, and then we’ll kill him, slowly. Understand?”

Pavanna could only nod quickly, her fear dominating her.

Suddenly the wiry arms pushed Pavanna forward. She fell to the ground, her basket of food scattering across the cobblestones. Several bystanders helped her to her feet. Pavanna looked around her, but could see no sign of whoever had held her and threatened her master.

Shaking with fear, Pavanna collected her things and walked as quickly as she could back to the Resnzar manor-house to report what she had happened.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
Two Days after the coronation of Queen Ileosa
Interrogating the Deparle Twins

Captain Olsini pounded his fist on his desk in frustration. Two days; for two whole days he had questioned Cadet Deparle and his thieving brother. He knew they had something to do with the rescue of Trinia Sabor. He knew it! The Captain had given orders that the brothers be brought in for questioning as soon as it was discovered Sabor was missing for her cell. The Guard had not been able to find both twins at once and had brought them in one after another. Each had been subjected to an entire day of questioning, maltreatment in the steam room, and even a working over in the privacy of the cells. But the twin brothers had revealed nothing throughout the questioning. Each had a water-tight alibi, backed up by solid witnesses. Captain Olsini was forced to let them go, but he swore there would be reckoning of some kind. The half-breed Varisian scum did not belong in his Guard!

Sergeant Wils smiled to himself as he escorted the Half-Elf from the station. While the paperwork said the Half-Elf was Felix, and that Agon had been questioned the day before, the Sergeant had a sneaking suspicion that either the twins had swapped identities to confuse the Guard or that even they had actually spent two days interviewing the same twin in two different guises. While the veteran sergeant could not approve of the deception of legal process, he did find it amusing that after two days the captain had no idea who it was he was actually interviewing. Considering the harsh and unfair treatment Captain Olsini had inflicted on Cadet Deparle previously, the sergeant felt that turnabout was fair play.

“Which one are you anyway?” the sergeant asked as Felix/Agon walked from the Guards HQ.

The Half-Elf turned, a slight smile on his face and the ghost of a wink in his eye.

“Sometimes, my friend, the difference isn’t worth dwelling on. Take care, Sergeant Wils.”

“You too, Deparle.”

*

Word spread of the deception through the Guard and through Felix’s less reputable associates. Field Marshall Croft herself summoned me to her and had some harsh words to say to me regarding the interviews. I claimed to be out of the city hunting at the time the interviews took place. When asked by his associates, my brother swore blind he was out of town on a smuggling run. Given thelack of clarity, the Field Marshall let the matter drop citing Captain Olsini’s illegal ‘interview techniques’.

It was good to know that for all his flaws, I could rely on my brother for some things.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
The Coronation Day for Queen Ileosa

It is said that birth is always difficult, and some thought that the early disquiet of the Times of Trouble were just the pangs of childbirth for the reign of Queen Ileosa. The city of Korvosa, glorious northern jewel, had suffered riots and unrest ever since the passing of it’s king more than a fortnight before. Citizens had died on the streets - to starvation and from deprivations inflicted by their fellow citizens. Some had stayed on that wall and done their best to keep people safe; some, like the scions of the Merivanchi House, had gone above and beyond, risking their very lives to aid in restoring order; and some had abandoned all hope, all honour, in order to seek their own betterment or simply for the sake of personal safety. Tonight I wondered into which of these groups I fell… But tonight, after what seemed an Age of waiting, the city readied itself for the coronation of Queen Ileosa.

As a form of recognition for the services we had rendered to the throne, Queen Ileosa had invited Marcus Merivanchi, his family, and the individuals associated with his House such as Tain Locus and myself, to attend not only the coronation itself, but the ball afterwards. In some ways I felt that the invitation was something to be proud of, a significant step forward socially for a bastard Half-Elf mercenary from the Borderlands; however such a pattern of thought would not only forsake the facts of my heritage - for I was born of a royal mother and father - but also it would run contrary to the agenda I had set myself; to gain power and position within the city, not simply as a puppet soldier of a higher authority, but as a man of influence in his own right.

While it was with a happy heart that I clothed myself in my Formal Dress Uniform, my joy was less to do with the Queen’s coronation than to do with two happy facts: first, that I was one step closer to the throne and hence to one of the elements of power in the city’s political arena, and secondly, that my dear Sabine Merrin would be present at the Ball, and that I would have another chance to see her.

Oh, Gentle Reader, I assure you I am well aware of the sad figure I must sometimes cut when I do prattle on about Sabine Merrin, but just as hyperbole can be sometimes justly indulged in, so too can the highs-and-lows of blind infatuation with its tender grace and merry sensuality be fit subjects for an author’s musings.

To me Sabine was, of course, a figure close to the queen and hence a path to power. She was also, and much more presciently in mind, a beautiful, powerful, mysterious sexual woman who held for me an amazing attraction. Our flirtations could be one of a hundred things, and I delighted in the possibilities, knowing that no matter the outcome of that noble quest, the experience itself would be one for me to treasure throughout my life. And what was I to Sabine Merrin? I honestly had no idea. To discern the minds of politicians, nobleman, warriors and criminals are relatively simple things; but I am by no means hubristic enough to believe I could truly fathom any woman’s true thoughts.

A tinge of bitterness swept across my features as I inspected myself, tall and proud in my formal uniform, in the looking glass. The lack of a badge of rank was becoming a sticking point that loomed very large in my mind and my impatience for a commission was growing without check. With a deep breath I drove the frustration from my mind. Tonight was for other duties and, should the gods so allow, actual frivolity; it was not the night for painful wallowing.

Oddly, I had not seen Felix since our earlier argument over Trinia Sabor. I had wanted to ask my brother if his involvement with the accused assassin was casual or if he harboured genuine affection for the girl. She was lovely to look upon, it was sure (she reminded me in no small way of Mari, truth be told), and I could attest to her powerful feminine attraction. What concerned me was exactly what troubles Felix’s involvement with Trinia could bring back to me, and to my plan of gaining position and influence for both Felix and myself. Without being able to speak with Felix, I could only trust that his judgement would be … well, less terrible.

I decided to ride to the castle for the coronation. My riding horse, Storm-Dancer, was a fine looking beast. I knew I would cut a dashing figure as I arrived, and a little horsey-smell from the ride might fit in well with the uniform. As I cantered up through the Heights my anticipation for the evening began to grow. Tonight Queen Ileosa would assume the throne, and no matter one’s particular politics, a royal shin-dig with all of pageantry was always an exciting event.

The castle shone with a thousand lights, and a subtly haunting melody drifted across the rooftops of the nearby district to announce the solemnity and celebration about to occur from within and castle grounds. A host of servants, all perfectly turned out in their finest livery, scurried to and fro dealing with carriages for arriving guests, and gently guiding V.I.P.s to the ceremony - no easy task when almost everyone present considered themselves to be some kind of V.I.P.! I dismounted with practised ease, handed the reigns to one of the servants, pocketed my receipt chit and strolled into the throng of Korvosa’ nobility.

Inside the castle every space available was decked out in magnificent fashion; no expense had been spared. I tried not to think of the cost, of how many hungry poor could have been fed through the sale of just a few yards of the cloth-o’-gold that flowed from corner-arches. No, I could find other ways to occupy my time other than petty anger the wasteful excess of the aristocracy.

With me in the halls and courtyards of the castle were the best of Korvosa’s noble Houses - the rich, the powerful and the depraved. Being a subscriber to the “follow the rich Chelaxian” school of crime investigation, I figured I was pretty much in the nerve centre of the true criminal fraternity of Korvosa. I walked through the crowd, seeing who was there, who was speaking to whom, and what was being said. I was not as good as Marcus at playing these sorts of parlour games, but I got a good sense of the city’s elite.

Oddly, I saw not a single other sole in possession of Varisian ancestry, not even among the servants. I did, however, spot the Elven Ambassador, Perishial. A sudden need to be among those with whom I shared at least some heritage came over me and I approach the Ambassador for a chat.

I was pleased to discover through the course of our conversation that he knew of my father, Prince Erevel of the Kyonin Forest. The Ambassador mentioned that he had met my father briefly - more than I had - and so expected good things of me. When he said he had heard only good reports of myself and my brother I assumed he was shining me on with diplomatic flim-flam for my brother’s illegal activities were widely suspected and my own flagrant disregard for the protocols of the Korvosan Guard were common knowledge among those ‘in the know’. The Ambassador seemed to note my suspicion of his motives; he cited the old expression that the bard’s happiness comes through his audience rather than through how he plays. He then left me to ponder his meaning, asking my brother and me to come by the Consulate for dinner during the week; an interesting invitation to be sure.

I spotted Marcus across the crowd. He looked every inch as if he belonged - proud, powerful and a master of all he surveyed … so long as he didn’t survey his wife, Christina who, while she looked magnificent in a wide pearl encrusted ivory coloured dress styled in gold thread, also looked as if it was she, not her husband, who ruled the roost. I smirked to myself, perhaps she was concerned Marcus would run off at the appearance of Lady Elizabeth! I smiled a ‘hello’, but as Marcus went to return the greeting, his wife directed him off to schmooze another aristocratic couple. Such is life.

I looked for the rest of the team. Marianna was, to my genuine disappointment, trapped next to her future mother-in-law and looked to be reluctantly receiving a lecture of some kind. While I debated whether or not I was brave enough to rescue her, Tain stepped up to the breach and delicately saved Mari by asking her for a dance. The fearsome matron let Mari go with some reluctance, and acceded to the humble and gently put request. Well played, Champion of Adbadar!

Before I had the chance to move much further through the crowd I was sucked into conversation with Connor Gralhund, the son of “Duke” Gralhund, head of a noble family long associated with the Guard. These days the Gralhunds were known more for their drunkenness than their acumen but there was no denying their powerful string of connections. So I smiled, nodded, laughed when appropriate to do so, and privately thanked the Goddess when the announcement came that the coronation was about to commence, giving me an excuse to slide away into the crowd before Connor could pour too many glasses of wine down my throat.

I stood with Marcus and his family for the coronation. The Cambions, my patrons, were amici with the Merivanchi after all. Colonel Cambion, the grand old man of military healers was there with us too, and I felt no small amount of pleasure to have done well by him in securing the invitation.

It was my first coronation. The priests droned on, murmuring their prayers to uncaring gods all for the sake of seeming to grant some form of divine authority onto the new sovereign. The audience watched on, at first entranced, then politely interested, and finally as things dragged on, bored and beginning to be distracted. Personally I kept myself busy by trying to catch the eye of Sabine Merrin, the Queen or Lady Elizabeth through willpower alone. While my technique didn’t work, it did give me plenty of opportunity to observe the three beautiful women; being a normal red-blooded man with an active imagination I considered the scenario something of a ‘win’.

An odd thing happened at the moment of coronation. Did you ever feel as if someone was ‘walking over your grave’? What I mean is a kind of supernatural shiver, like there is a … presence nearby, and not a good one. Just as the High Priest was moving to place the crown on Ileosa’ head, I had that dread feeling; however I am a superstitious man by nature and did not count my own feeling as odd. No, the oddity was that –everyone- in the audience had that sensation. You could see it, as well as feel it; a kind of ripple that spread out across all present. It passed swiftly, and was gone as soon as the crown settled on Queen Ileosa’ brow, but the fact of the sensation caused a great number of whispers to circulate through the crowd.

The thought did cross my mind to spread a rumour that it as the dread sensation disappeared at the moment of crowning that this should interpreted as a positive sign. As it was the crowd, left to come up with their own interpretation, had decided the dread sensation was very much a negative omen. I kept my tongue for several reasons, but mainly because no-one was paying me to give a damn, and while I wanted the support of her Majesty in my personal quest for power and position, a monarch sure in her power would have no need for someone with my talents.

I exchanged a look with Marcus and read in his eyes that was thinking exactly the same thing! And people wonder why he and I are friends! Looking at the young aristocrat I was reminded of an expression often used by my mother in her stories - the very best of enemies! Yes, Marcus and I would never truly be on the same side, but I felt there was room in our growing rivalry for the continuance of genuine friendship.

With the crowning and act of history, there was a drop in tension about the room, despite the odd sensation that had come over all of us. People relaxed more, and a feeling of celebration began to flow through the room. The people of Korvosa are an altogether conservative lot. While many had, no doubt quietly, felt misgivings at Queen Ileosa’ assumption of the Crimson Throne, now that she -was- the legitimate royal ruler, almost all of the citizenry would rally behind her; well not so much behind her, as behind the throne on which she now sat and ruled.

And so with a growing atmosphere of celebration, combined with the free-flowing drinks, the after-coronation gathering slowly began to turn into a party. In short order, the band started up and couples began to drift into the open space set aside for dancing. I looked over and, to my horror, could not find the Queen among the dancers! She circulated through the crowd, accepting the congratulations of her admiring public, but no-one had asked her to dance.

I did not think it any fault of my upbringing that I, as Marcus pointed out to me later, failed to see how inappropriate it would be for anyone to have the temerity to ask the Queen for a dance. From my perspective, there she was at her own party and none of the men-folk had asked for a dance. In my books, this was a great failing of the Chelaxian blue-bloods. So I resolved to ask Queen Ileosa for a dance myself

I’ve danced before. I’ve asked pretty women to dance before. More than a few have even said ‘yes’. But for some reason, as the Queen approached where I stood, I got progressively more and more nervous. Of course I am not such a dullard as to not realise that the customs of the Chelax aristocracy would be different to those of my own ancestry, and hence my asking the Queen for a dance could well be interpreted as some kind of insult. But what the heck! You only live once, right?

She smiled warmly as she came to me, and I would like to think the smile was genuine. I did my best imitation of a courtly bow.

“Congratulations, your majesty. If it is not beyond my place to ask, can this humble servant have the honour of a dance?”

Queen Ileosa blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered, her smile growing wider, but still politely regal. Even Lady Elizabeth was surprised by my boldness. From around me I heard the ripples of whispers at my temerity begin to spread.

“Thank you for your invitation, Agon, but my first dance is reserved for another.” I felt no shame in her graceful response. “Might I suggest you share a dance with my bodyguard instead?”

“You majesty is kind and wise.” My smile was matched by the one I saw in Sabine. Queen Ileosa moved aside, I took Sabine’s hand, and we moved into a dance.

Sabine wore no armour that night; instead clothing her magnificent body in a long sleeveless dark red dress of velvet decorated with delicate embroidery and costume jewelry. She wore her hair up, as seems to be the custom of women in formal gowns. The long expanse of skin from her neck to her bosom had been the subject of more than just my gaze throughout the night.

We didn’t make the most comfortable of couples. At first, we both tried to lead, and the nervousness we felt in each other’s company was obvious in our physical awkwardness, but soon enough we began to move together well. I made a joke about how we danced and about how we probably didn’t look as fierce as we were supposed to. She took it in good heart and conversation began to come as easily as our dancing. We remained in conversation throughout the break in songs, and danced again when the music re-started.

The rest of the world faded away and I frankly did not care the slightest for politics or conspiracies. I was with the most beautiful lovely amazing powerful and exciting woman I had ever known, and she was enjoying my company. We danced; we talked, we flirted. It was noticed, too, and I fought the temptation to stand up on one of the tables and yell “wahoo, look at me!” – an instinct in any man who is proud of the woman by his side.

So, dear reader, forgive me if I cannot speak to the politics of the occasion, or of any foreshadowing of what happened next. I was ‘otherwise engaged’, and delighted to be so.

Distracted as I was, I had no warning of the attack. All of a sudden, I heard a woman scream, and turning, saw her point at the balcony above me. Following her gaze, I saw three black-clad men, assassins, dressed to imitate the old Korvosan vigilante of legend, Blackjack. Bloodied knives were in their hands, and I saw the body of a member of the castle guard at their feet.

Instinctively I stood in front of Sabine. She, on the other hand, ignored my chivalrous gesture, pushed me aside and began to run to the side of the Queen.

“Death the false queen!” Yelled one of the assassins. Together they threw their daggers at the Queen.

The Queen stood some 50 feet away – an ambitious throw on their part. I was too far away to help. So was Sabine. Tain, fortunately nearby, moved and threw himself in front of the Queen, hoping to shield her with his body. He might have succeeded, had the daggers been aimed at the Queen.

All three daggers plunged up to their hilts into Lady Elizabeth’s chest – ruining, by the way, one of Nature’s most perfect creations. She collapsed noiselessly to the ground, her white silk dress stained with crimson. As Queen Ileosa went to kneel beside her boon companion and friend, Sabine bustled the Queen off to a side-chamber, the other guards flooding protectively around the new monarch like ants.

Aria, who has been near Tain at the time, was at Lady Elizabeth’s side almost straight away. Healing prayers were on her lips and the ghostly forms of the spirits of Pharasma flowed from the ground and between Arai and Lady Elizabeth.

People ran everywhere in panic. (I was actually mildly, and darkly, amused to see the Chelaxian nobility of Korvosa in such a panic.) There was no order, no structure to the flight, and the more people ran, the more fear spread through the room; more than a few of the slower moving guests were knocked down in the stampede. Marcus, I noticed, moved vary calmly, shielding his wife under his arm and moving with purpose through the crowd.

Sabine was at her duties with the Queen. Lady Elizabeth was being seen to, not just by Aria, but now by other court priests and healers. I turned my attention to the assassins.

It was futile. Unless I could have flown, or scaled the walls at a run, I would have never caught them; and the teeming crowds only eased their escape. In the minutes of panic, the assassins escaped. The castle guard could do nothing. They ushered everyone outside, flushing the castle to make it safer for the Queen.

I approached one of the officers, questioning the wisdom of these actions. Surely, I argued, holding everyone for questioning would, while a tedious exercise, likely yield fruit by way of descriptions of the assassins, or clues to their identity. I was rudely rebuffed, and told in no certain terms that I had no jurisdiction there.

I returned to where Lady Elizabeth had fallen. They had not yet moved her, for she was still too near death. Aria had been moved aside by elder, more experienced, healers of the various faiths of Korvosa. She and they shared the same worried look at the health of their patient.

I tried to sneak a look at the daggers used for the assassination attempt, hoping to learn something… but the throng of priests, priestesses, healers and guards made the attempt a futile one. While I caught a glimpse of the weapons, they yielded no information at the time.

Feeling more than a little useless, I headed home, collecting my horse and riding back into an uncertain city. I was far from the only one who felt ill-at-ease with the portents of that night.

*

END OF BOOK ONE

5th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
The afternoon of the Coronation Day of Queen Ileosa

I wrote earlier how Osric Emporium of Fine Goods was a fortress and nearly impossible to break into. That was before. Having been inside, having walked the corridors and observed the personnel ‘on duty’ in the warehouse, I felt confident I could get inside without being shot.

I was dressed in the outfit of a day labourer, having taken the disguise from Felix’s closet. I wore no armour, wishing to appear as any local would. Under the simple brown cape was a short-sword, crafted without a hilt so as to be more concealable – again, a loan from Felix. Well, I am sure he would have loaned them to me had I asked him.

I stood just off Warehouse Way, munching an apple and waiting for my moment. While I did not see sneaking into Osric’s as a task that would too difficult, I still did not wish to upset Osric or his staff by being caught out.

As Seldon and his companion Alezthal returned from their expedition, I saw my chance. Seldon’s cart-horse reared and whinnied at some unknown disturbance. The draft-horse’s protests drew several of Osric’s staff to come assist the Half-Elves in quieting the beast, and the incident at the warehouse’s front doors drew attention from all those who could see it.

With a silent prayer of thanks to Calistril, and a tip-of-my-head at my Half-Elf allies who had provided the distraction, I quickly clambered over the wall into Osric’s compound. Osric had, of course, glued broken glass to the top of his wall to dissuade intruders. Having noticed this security measure before, I had brought along some tailored heavy leather gloves and boots. I pulled myself onto the wall, balanced along it for several body lengths, and then leapt from the top of the wall to one an open window. The noise from the draft-horse drowned out the noise of my entry and I was inside!

My eyes adjusted quickly to the dimly lit interior. I removed the heavy gloves and moved as stealthily as I could through the many boxes and crates towards the rear stair-case; I planned to reveal myself simply by walking down the stairs. Ta duh! As I near the top of the landing, a soft movement above me caught my ears – the sound of a knife being drawn.

I rolled to the side, drawing the short-sword. Onto the space I had only just vacated dropped Osric with a mean look in his eye and a dagger in each hand. He had made almost no sound, and it was only by chance that I had heard him and avoided a grisly fate.

The Dwarf looked angry, but stopped when he saw the blade pointing at his throat. Recognition flashed in the Dwarf’s eyes, he knew both my brother and I were better than average swordsmen, and I daresay I saw him smile.

“Agon lad,” he said, trying to sound gruff. “Well done. You’re as quick as your brother.”

Osric lowered his daggers. I lowered the sword a fraction, wary of any trick. As we spoke, I circled to my left, being sure to keep the Dwarf in front of me. Osric mirrored my movements.

“What makes you think I’m Agon?”

“Your brother prefers knives. You prefer swords.”

I reached the landing. Hearing a noise over to my left, I put up my sword.

“Good point. Now Osric, did you want to tell that fool to my left to stand down, or do I leave you short one worker?”

Osric waved his goon off. We both returned our weapons to their sheaths.

“Now lad,” he said amicably. “What’s this all about?”

“Breaking in? Well,” I said off-hand with a smile, “I just had to know.”

“I understand,” he replied. “And your visit?”

“I’ve got some information for you.” I bounded down the stairs, calling over my shoulder as I went. “Come, put the kettle on, you bearded miser!”

Several of Osric’s workers had come to see what was happening. As I jumped down the stairs among them I was greeted with a mix of ambivalence, warm greetings, and mistrustful looks. I saw Seldon and Alezthal and waved them over.

“Cousins,” I called. “Join Master Geldheim and I in his office. I want you to hear what I have to say!”

Osric didn’t particularly like me taking over his office, but he was patient enough to allow me my theatre. Soon the three others were sitting in Osric’s office. I was standing, pacing with excitement.

“Seldon, Alezthal,” I began in Varisian. “I wanted you in here to witness my paying of a debt to Osric. You and the others need to know not only that I pay my debts, but how I do so.”

Both of the Half-Elves nodded. Osric’s eyes told me he understood as well, which was worthwhile to know, but not too surprising. I continued in Taldane.

“Tonight is the coronation of Queen Ileosa. Every single aristocratic family in the city will be at the coronation ball, or somewhere else celebrating the event. And this means it is easy pickings for the thieves that prey upon them. Yes, I know the Guild has lists of who can be targeted and who cannot. I also know there are those groups that ignore these lists. And we all know that the Guard, as a part of its duties, is making extra special effort with its patrols tonight to ensure as broad and as random coverage as possible to protect the homes and possessions of Korvosa’s wealthiest.”

I was saying nothing new, and my audience of three nodded as I spoke.

“And guess who just spent an hour in Guard HQ, where he had the opportunity to observe all of the Guard patrol routes and plans for tonight?”

I grinned. The Half-Elves looked at me in disbelief. Osric smiled, shook his head and gave me a little round of applause.

“Well done, lad.”

“Now I don’t care what you do with the information, but a debt’s a debt and with this I consider us square once again, Osric. Agreed?”

The Dwarf assassin-cum-merchant-cum-information broker agreed. For the next twenty minutes I took him through all that I had learned of the Guard patrol routes for the evening of the coronation. I had no doubt that Osric would profit from this information, both by selling it and personally by staging at least one theft; but my debt was paid, and I had well and truly positioned myself as someone who would ignore the duties of his office for personal loyalties and/or personal profit – which was exactly the image I wanted to project; Agon Deparle of the Korvosan Guard, but first and foremost a mercenary.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th Calistril
Winter
MIdday of the day of Queen Ileosa' Coronation

Squeezed into the carriage was Tain, Mari (still invisible), Aria, myself and the invisible and manacled Trinia Sabor. Tain and Mari say opposite Aria, Trinia and I. As we traveled through the city I felt an invisible hand on my thigh – my upper thigh.

“Please, Agon,” Trinia whispered in my ear. “Please let me go.”

“Milady,” I began. “You are being taken into protective custody. We are keeping you safe.”

The others looked quizzically at me for this outburst. They could only see me fliching oddly, and did not know the reason. Trinia kept whispering in my ear; I felt her breath on my neck. It felt good.

“Don’t you remember? I can be so good to you.” Her hand crept higher, and I felt the softest of kisses on my ear.

All women have a certain magic about them that men find hard to resist, and my blood runs as red as the next man’s. I found myself starting to think how it was I could satisfy my fleshy urgings with this woman without seeing my own head in the chopping block. Fortunately, Aria came to my rescue, placing a Pharasma-touched hand on my temptress and putting her to sleep. I mouthed a heart-felt ‘thank you’ to Aria.

“Say,” I remarked, pulling at my collar. “Is it hot in here?”

I opened a window. Tain smiled and I heard Mari’s faint chuckle at my discomfort.

*

The red tape of procedure melted quickly away when we rolled on into the citadel with Trinia Sabor. My friend Lieutenant Mel Brown was on duty, and only too glad to help her friend being in such a high-profile fugitive. In very short order we were standing, all of us visible, before Field Marshall Croft. The Field Marshall was so pleased she actually smiled.

“Well, well. The infamous Trinia Sabor at last.” She looked at each of us in turn. “Well done. Sergeant,” she called. “Put her in the cells.”

“Field Marshall,” Aria said stepping forward. “I have questioned the suspect under the Truth of Pharasma. I do not believe… that is, I am convinced that she is innocent.”

“I agree with Priestess Aria,” said Tain.

Field Marshall Croft held up her hand.

“This is not the time for such debate; that is for the trial.”

“Field Marshall,” Aria said with a deep breath. “We are not sure if Trinia will get a fair trial. She seems to be already convicted in the minds of … some members of the royal court.”

I was impressed with Aria’s verve. So too, it seems, was the Field Marshall.

“Thank you for your honesty, Aria.” Croft said. “I too suspect that Ms. Sabor is innocent of the charges, but she HAS been charged and will face trial according to the law; would you not agree that this is proper, Mr. Locus?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the champion replied.

“Then it is settled. I will have the clerk make a note of your comments and he will ensure you are notified of the trial date so that you can attend.” Croft gestured to her clerk, seated nearby, and the orderly made notes in a wax board.

At the gesture to a waiting pair of soldiers, Trinia Sabor was led away. She thanked Aria and Tain for their support as she was led to the cells, still wearing the manacles I had placed on her. No-one even looked like giving me a receipt!

“Now, Cadet Deparle,” the Field Marshall said, her voice heavy. “You are being uncharacteristically silent. Was there anything you had to add?”

“Only regarding a possible complication in the near future, ma’am.”

“There’s always something, Cadet Deparle. Isn’t there?”

I assumed the question was rhetorical and continued with what I was going to say.

“During the arrest, ma’am, I learned that my twin brother had been impersonating me and protecting the fugitive through at least the last week.”

“You and your fvcking brother,” the Field Marshall exclaimed, shaking her head.

“I had no knowledge of his activities, ma’am. But he seems to have formed a personal relationship with Trinia.” Field Marshall Croft’s eyebrows rose. “I suspect, ma’am, that he may impersonate me again over the next few days and try to see Trinia in her cell.”

“Of. Course.” The Field Marshall swore again. “And what do you propose we do about this?”

“Well, ma’am, I suggest that the next time ‘I’ come by here, you have me arrested and questioned, because the ‘me’ that comes here will in fact be my twin brother.”

“And have him strip-searched, to prove that it is him,” Aria added. “Check for the birth-mark on his backside.”

“What birth-mark?” I asked.

“Exactly!” Aria replied. “This way they’ll just keep looking.”

“Very well,” Field Marshall Croft replied, cutting off further discussion. “The next time I see you here, Cadet Deparle, I shall have you arrested. Now get out of here and sort out your brother before I arrest you too just to make it easier!”

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th Calistril
Winter
Midday of the day of Queen Ileosa' Coronation

A few minutes earlier, Aria and I had taken positions in the back alley behind the apartment. We scanned the area. I noticed that Trinia’s building had no serviceable fire exit – a fineable offence by the way, should a Guardsman wish to shake down a fine from the inhabitants or the owner; or more usefully a valid excuse for a ‘spot inspection’ to cover up the break-and-enter no doubt about to occur. The flanking buildings, however, had sturdy fire exits. I signaled to Aria to move up one, while I climbed the other. I also grabbed a handful of dirt from, and motioned for Aria to do likewise. It occurred to me that if Mari could turn invisible, maybe Trinia could too, and a handful of dirt to throw around might come in handy.

It was an easy matter to jump from the roof of one building to the other; the Thieves Highway was a well used pathway after all. As I heard the shouting and bells from the building below us Aria and I threw the dirt over the flat roof. I hoped that even if she was invisible Trinia’s footsteps would crunch on the dirt and let me know where she was. It was long-shot, yes; but I had good hearing and it never hurt to gamble.

Aria and I did not have to wait long. I heard a footstep on the dirt, and then another and another, approaching me. I took off my cloak, weighted for a relatively easy throw thanks to Osric’s tailoring, and threw it in the direction of the footsteps. The black cloak settled over a feminine form. Before the cloak could be removed, I’d tackled the figure to the floor. She struggled, but soon I was joined by Aria. The priestess called upon the power of the goddess and touched the struggling woman with a hand that seemed entwined with a ghostly bone hand. The invisible woman collapsed, her enchantment faded, and below me lay Trinia Sabor: fugitive, accused assassin and patsy.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked at with a haunted and heart-broken expression.

“Agon, my darling,” said cried. “Why are you doing this?”

*

Aria and I exchanged looks of confusion as Tain made his way onto the roof from below.

“Trinia Sabor,” I began formally, “You are under arrest on the charge of regicide. You will be taken into protective custody.”

“But why Agon,” she cried – with real tears too. “Why are you betraying me?”

“Agon,” Aria asked suspiciously, “what is going on?”

“Good lady,” I replied to Trinia, “I have never seen you before in my life.”

“Why are you lying, Agon?” Trinia asked. “Why have you kept me safe this last week? Why have you shared my bed only to betray me now?”

“But Trinia I have…” Realisation hit me. I looked at Aria. “It was Felix! Sh!t.”

“Felix? What do you… Oh.” Aria rolled her eyes as she understood. “For the love of the Goddess, Agon! We don’t have time to deal with this.”

Aria reached out and touched Trinia again, and the accused assassin slumped into unconsciousness.

“We need to get her off this roof and out of sight. Now,” I said emphatically.

Tain hefted Trinia onto his shoulders.

“Bring her back to the edge,” he said. “Mari is back in Trinia’s room. Between the three of us we can man-handle her back down there.”

I did not tell Aria and Tain the reason for my urgency. It seemed while Sabine Merrin wanted Trinia alive, Lady Elizabeth did not. I did not know for sure if Felix was working for himself for fun and profit, if he was sincerely helping Trinia, or if he was setting her up for assassination by himself or another party. All three were as likely as each other, and the possibilities meant we needed to move Trinia to a secure location – away from that building – as soon as possible.

In short order the three of us, plus Trinia were back down in Trinia’s room. Marcus was there too; he and Tain shoved the dresser against the door to make sure it stayed closed. I smelled Mari’s perfume and realised she was with us, but still invisible. As Aria chanted some prayer to her goddess, I put Trinia in manacles, took my cloak from her, and gently roused her. As she woke, she looked at me at first with sincere affection, and then fear.

“Agon? What is happening? Why have you done this?”

“Well Trinia, seeing as I have never met you before, I suspect the person you have known as me over the last week has in fact been my twin brother, Felix.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” She had a good point. It did sound a little far fetched. “If you don’t love me, then just be man enough to say so. Don’t lie to me, you betraying bastard.”

Aria finished her chanting and could not resist putting her two coppers in.

“If it makes any difference, Trinia, Agon does have an evil twin brother.”

“He’s not evil,” I said immediately in my brother’s defence. “He’s just …”

“Save it, Agon,” Marcus said over his shoulder.

“Besides,” Aria continued, “I have cast an enchantment over the room. No-one can tell a lie here.”

“What do you mean exactly by ‘no-one can tell a lie’?” Marcus asked, suddenly suspicious and defensive.

“Yeah,” Mari asked, her concern at being forced to speak truthfully overcoming her hesitancy to speak while invisible.

Given my recent change in lifestyle from one of the city’s law enforcement operatives to hopeful-future-crime-lord, I was more than a little unsure of this ‘truth spell’ myself. Marcus and I eyed each other with folded arms, neither of us prepared to open to betting on subjects we would rather not discuss. Mari too, fell silent.

A violent banging at the door provided a welcome discussion.

“Open up in there. What have you done with Trinia.”

“Clear off!” Tain’s response was to the point.

“Says who?”

“Says the Church of Abadar!”

Tain open the door just enough for the tenants to see the size of his armoured form and the size of his great-flail. They fell to quiet discussion among themselves and Tain shut the door.

Inside, Aria was speaking gently to Trinia.

“Did you poison the king?”

“Oh no, I would never do that.”

“Did you bring the king his food?”

“Sometimes. I used to paint for him and entertain him. Sometimes I would bring him food as well.”

“Could someone else have poisoned the king’s food?”

“I suppose so. But who could have done that?”

I needed no ‘truth magic’ to see that the girl was no murderer, but I wanted to know more. In the little time we had I got her to talk about her relationship with the queen and with Lady Elizabeth. Trinia opened up to me fairly easily; getting people to confide in me is a gift I have, and given the circumstances I think fear played as much as role as my smile and blue eyes in getting Trinia to share what she knew.

She told me of how she had grown up with Ileosa and Elizabeth, learning their lessons together as girls. When she told me of how she was a servant in the house of Ileosa, I asked why it was she was given the same lessons as the daughter of the house. Trinia said she was born to one of the servants of the house and always looked on her favourably. Aria and I exchanged a look, but it was Marcus who gave voice to our thoughts.

“Who was your father?”

“I never met him. My mother did not speak of him.”

Ahh; all of us exchanged a knowing look. (Well, except for Mari, who could have been looking at us knowingly but was still invisible; and frankly that made non-verbal communication exceptionally difficult.)

So it seemed likely that Trinia Sabor was the half-sister of Queen Ileosa; an interesting piece of information, but not particularly relevant at that red-hot minute.

From outside came a familiar voice; my voice.

“Open up in there, by order of the Korvosan Guard!”

Felix.

“Hide her!” Marcus ordered.

“Gag her,” said Mari. She then mumbled under her breath, making unseen movements. Before our eyes Trinia Sabot disappeared, turned invisible by Mari’s magic.

Tain, after checking all was in order, opened the door.

“Sh!t,” Felix said as he saw who was in Trinia’s room. “Hi Tain! How’s things?”

“Felix!” Tain’s voice was full of menace.

“I’ll handle this, Tain,” I said, moving quickly passed him and out onto the landing. I threw and arm around Felix, who was dressed identically to me, and led him away a few steps.

“Brother,” I began, “what is going on? You’re pretending to be me?”

“I’m just protecting the damsel-in-distress.”

“By pretending to be me.”

“Well she’s hardly going to want to be protected by ‘Felix Deparle, gentleman smuggler’! So I borrowed your name for a while. Besides, it turns out she has a thing for men in uniform, heh heh.”

I slammed Felix against the wall, my elbow at his throat. I felt his hand drop to one of his daggers, and grabbed that wrist with my other hand.

“You’re supposed to tell me when you do this, Felix! Don’t you realise what’s a stake here? This is no game!”

“Hey, don’t be like that, brother; I saw a chance to make some money and I took it. You would do the same, or you would have, once. Your uniform’s gone to your head.”

“Tell me,” I whispered, “Is this just for you, or are you lining this woman up to be taken out by someone else, or by you?”

Felix was a good liar, better than I had given him credit for seeing as he tricked me over this, but he knew when I needed to know the truth.

“No, brother, I’m not looking to have her whacked. I’ve kept her safe and I plan to keep doing so.” He shoved me back away from him. “Now where is she?”

And now it was time for me to lie to him. As we spoke, Marcus and the others filed down the stairs. Tain walked a little stiffly as if hurt – he must have been carrying Trinia – and Aria walked beside him to keep him steady.

“She wasn’t in her room when we came for her. I think she fled across the Shingles.” Felix nodded, knowing that is what she would have done. “Felix,” I continued, “Trinia is in terrible danger. Powerful people want her dead. Where would she have gone?”

“She could have gone to Bloody Finch,” he said after a moment’s thought, “or to my place on the other side of the Narrows.”

“Okay,” I said thinking. “We need to find her. You check your place, I’ll check with Finch. We’ll meet up back at Brock House – it’ll be safe there for her.”

“Done,” Felix said, and ran off. His entourage of tenants went with him, having looked to see that Trinia was not in the room with us.

Downstairs, Marcus had hailed a carriage. He gestured for us all to climb in, but stated he had business to tend to and would meet us later. Before he left he expressed his anger at me for suggesting Felix meet me back at Brock House for it meant he could not take Trinia there to keep her safe, and was now forced to deliver her to the Guard Citadel (and to Field Marshall Croft) for safe-keeping.

As he walked off, I smiled to myself; you see, manipulating the others into taking Trinia Sabor to Field Marshall Croft had been my plan from the beginning – after all, I had the beautiful Sabine Merrin to impress and an officer’s commission to win.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th of Calistril
Winter
Just before midday in the day of Queen Ileosa' Coronation

I swung by the Cambion Manor-house on my way to Osric’s warehouse to collect some equipment my weapons & equipment and to prepare instructions for the coronation later that night. Johan, the house steward, took note of my requests to have my dress uniform given a ‘once over’. He knew I would look over it again when I returned.

I noticed that one of my ‘every-day-wear’ uniforms was absent. Johan said he had not seen it. I assumed Felix was using it for some kind of scam, and I resolved to have a word with him sooner rather than later. I planned for the two of us to carve out a niche within the city’s politics and trade, but I needed his co-operation, not competition.

Leaving a note for my brother to seek me out and speak with me, I stole out of the house and made for Osric’s Emporium of Fine Goods.

Osric’s Emporium of Fine Goods was located down at the Midlands docks. It was a large warehouse which, as well as housing the myriad of items Osric bought and sold, served as the Dwarf’s armour-smithing forge, his home and his office. To my eyes it dominated the block, but that was only because it was my destination-of-choice; unless you knew you were looking at a criminal front, Osric’s warehouse looked much like any other.

He did not live there alone, and kept a staff of orphans on hand to help him maintain security. Osric had a knack for remembering slights, for holding grudges and for paranoid security. Despite the very likely possibility it was otherworldly magic that had placed a Harrow card in his ledger, Osric had continued holding to the same high-presence high cost security arrangements he had taken immediately after finding the Harrow card and his assumption that his sanctum had been breached. He had even written about the incident in his Book of Grudges, his prized recording of every slight against him.

Had I tried to sneak in to Osric’s warehouse, I was certain I would have been spotted and shot long before I could establish my identity. Shrugging my shoulders at the security measures, I simply knocked on the door. A little question-and-answer session allowed me to enter.

Inside, rows and rows of goods or every kind imaginable – most of it of dubious origin – lined the warehouse interior. A loft held the owner’s private quarters, and an interior bricked (and hence relatively sound-proof) chamber served as an office; the forge and workshop was out the back by the private dock.

Also out the back was a series of scaffolding mimicking the rooftops of the Shingles. Osric had had this constructed, at my suggestion, when we were originally given the commission of finding and arresting Trinia Sabor. Knowing the likelihood of some kind of rooftop chase to secure the suspected assassin, I knew some of the others such as Aria, Mari and Marcus would need some familiarity with working and moving in such environments. Practise, after all, makes perfect and it made good operational sense to have the less limber members of the team to gain some terrain-specific athleticism.

This scaffolding had been used over the last week, but when I arrived that morning I instead spotted Aria wandering around the warehouse looking at random at the different crates. Mari was there too, rummaging in one of the boxes and pulling out dresses to hold against herself. So much for practise!

Osric came out his office towards me.

“Agon, lad,” he began. “Come here. I have that order for you.”

I followed the Dwarf into his office; there, out of sight of the others, Osric handed over the poisoned arrows.

“As I said, lad,” he told me, “I could not get the deadliest of poisons in the short time you gave me, but these two arrows are coated in venom from a particularly nasty type adder; the poison works in wounds. If your assassin puts both into the same target, odds are they’ll get the kill. They’re sheathed and I’ve had the fletched with red and green so they can be differentiated from your normal arrows, er... I mean from your assassin’s normal arrows.”

“Yes, thank you.” Some comments are best ignored. “You will be paid in time.”

“I know, lad. I know.” Osric clapped me on the back in a friendly fashion. “You’re an up-and-coming officer in the Guard, I’m sure it you’ll be able to lend a hand to me and mine.”

I placed the two poisoned arrows into my quiver, and moved out to speak with the others.

“Oh, by the way, Osric,” I said, turning as I got the office door. “I need another cloak.”

“What about the one you grabbed this morning?”

“I need one with weights in the bottom, something to give it some volume if I need to throw it over someone.”

“Hmm,” the Dwarf rubbed his chin. “I can take care of that myself. Give me that cloak and about fifteen minutes.”

I handed him the cloak and left him to his work.

Marcus and Tain arrived just as Osric was finishing up the modifications to the cloak. I had used the time to run over the scaffolding a few times with Aria and Mari. I was confident that Aria was able to handle herself, but Mari did not look confident in her skills. She was nimble enough, but lacked the necessary athleticism. I was glad I would be taking just Aria up on the Shingles.

In short order the five of us were ready to go. Marcus had organised with Osric for all of us to hitch a ride on one of his delivery carts. I was pleasantly surprised to find the driving crew consisted of two Half-Elves of Varisian descent.

“Prince Felix,” the driver said, addressing me in Elven, “it is good to see you well. What’s the caper, and who’s the rich lord?”

“Thank you, ahh…”

“Seldon.”

“Thank you, Seldon, but I am Agon, not Felix.”

“The Guardsman?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” The driver exchanged a look of concern with his cohort. “What I mean is… ahh… err...”

“Relax, cousin,” I laughed. “Whether I’m on duty or not, you have nothing to worry about from me. I honour the forest, not just the trees.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Call me Agon. I insist.”

Even though she was invisible, I am certain that Mari was listening in as she was curious and fluent in Elven. It would not be the first time she had seen the reaction I drew from many people of Varisian descent. For the rest of the trip through the town I chatted with Seldon and the other Half-Elf, Alezthal. They were good people; thieves, obviously, but good of heart. They had worked for Osric for several months, working as ‘transportation specialists’. I made a mental note to get Felix to speak to them about further work.

Trinia Sabor was, according to Mari’s spell, hold up in an apartment block on Wave Street. The proximity of Arkona Street made me slightly uncomfortable, but I admit I am prone to paying too much attention to omens. The others were unfazed and I think all of us took some confidence from Tain’s calm attitude. After Seldon and Alezthal dropped us off near the apartment, Marcus gave us one his inspiring little speeches about how we were prepared and working as a force for Goodness and Justice. It cheered the others, and myself, and we made out way to Trinia’s bolt-hole with enthusiasm.

Aria and I slipped around the back. Tain led the way for Marcus and the invisible Mari. They did not get far before a silver-haired resident popped her head out and address Tain in a sweet voice frail with age.

“Can I help you dearie?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” the champion replied. “We’re here for Trinia Sabor. Do you know where we can find her?”

“Of course,” came the old lady’s gentle reply, before she took a breath and yelled, “TRINIA! THEY’VE COME FOR YOU!”

The old lady pulled on a rope and bells, strung up and through the building began to ring. Tain ran past the woman and up into the building. Mari, still unseen, ran behind him. Marcus pushed past the old woman to see if she was hiding Trinia in her apartment – I guess noblesse oblige doesn’t apply to the old and infirm who hide accused assassins.

Tain dashed up the stairs, following the cords attached to the bells and climbing quickly to the third landing. On the landing he was confronted with a choice of doors. Mari, using her magic, had located Trinia and from behind Tain gave her assistance.

“That door, there Tain,” she said pointing.

“Mari, you’re invisible. If you’re pointing, I can’t see you!”

“Oh, I mean the door to your right.”

“Got it.”

Tain threw himself at the door. His armoured shoulder slammed into the door, but it did not budge. He backed up to hit it again.

“Tain…”

“Not now Mari, I can handle this. Stand back.”

“But Tain, Trinia is…”

“Behind this door, I know. Now stand back.”

Tain backed up and hit the door again. It flew open on the one-room apartment. Several paintings, a blank canvas on an easel, a clothes dresser, a chair and a bed furnished the room. Tain saw Trinia lying still on the bed.

“Trinia Sabor,” he proclaimed. “You are under arrest.”

Tain wondered why Trinia didn’t react. In fact, why hadn’t she reacted to the alarm and the door being bashed open?

“Ms. Sabor?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Tain,” Mari said from behind him. “The image on the bed is an illusion. She’s gone out the window and is up on the roof.!”

“Blast,” Tain swore. “Let’s hope Agon and Aria have got it. I’m going out the window after her. Go tell your brother.”

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
Late Morning on Coronation Day for Queen Ileosa

The kitchen at Brock House had turned out a spectacular brunch – the aromas of brewed coffee, freshly cooked omelet and crunchy cooked bacon battled in the air above the scions of the Merivanchi House.

Marcus Luciano Merivanchi, nobleman, former rake and now responsible administrator of the Merivanchi holdings, sipped his coffee and contemplated those around him.

Cristiana d'Ivoso, his ambitious wife, was making chit-chat with their newest house-guest, Ms Yasmin Marcella. After rescuing her the previous evening at sword-point from her captors, Marcus had offered Yasmin sanctuary at Brock House – she would remain under Marcus’ care until she wished to return to her family, the House Arkona.

House Arkona… Marcus frowned as he thought of them. For so long now, the Guardsman Agon Deparle, amici to Marcus’ family, had been telling him they were corrupt, that they were behind the slave trade and every other criminal industry within the city; and for so long, Marcus had demanded Agon give him proof rather than the prattling of the Guardsman’s “instincts”. Yet last night, in the slavers’ auction house, Marcus had with his own eyes seen Lord Glorio Arkona himself sitting as a king within the criminal underworld. Perhaps there was something to the bastard Half-Elf’s suspicions after all…

Marcus’ delightful sister Mariana was there, eating heartily for once after a long and harrowing night. She had used her magic openly, slinging spells at the wizard Lagren who had been Yasmin’s captor. Marcus was proud of the spirit for the fray that his little sister showed, but concerned at how reckless she was becoming; surely she knew the dangers of using magic, of how the Academae would lock her away if she was discovered. He had already lost one sister and was determined not to lose another. Perhaps he should have another word to her about her magic…

Yasmin herself looked comfortable enough over breakfast – Christina was seeing beautifully to that. Oddly enough, it was only in moments of reflection like this that he realised how much he truly did admire his wife for her skill, for the way she worked so well with people. She was his wise counsel... just like Lady Elizabeth was to Queen Ileosa… Marcus blushed as his thoughts turned to the breath-taking and beautiful advisor to the queen. With an act of Will he turned his mind back to the Here and Now. Yes, Yasmin felt safe here. For now, that was all that was needed.

Tain Locus, champion of Abadar, Marcus’ brother-in-law and good friend, sat opposite Marcus at the end of the table. He ate slowly, with the same ordered dignity he lived his life ever since the death of his wife, Marcus’ sister. Tain saw Marcus looking at him and gave a reassuring smile. Last night had been rough, but they had survived; they had won. Tain had spent his time in meditation to Abadar this morning and his mind was clear, focused, and full of the joy that comes after any victory. They would all build on their success today, and find Trinia Sabor before the queen’s coronation that evening; such were the thoughts behind Tain’s confident smile. Marcus only wished he could agree.

“How is your sister, the priestess?” Marcus turned his attention from his brooding to answer Yasmin’s question.

“She has recovered well. She spends her morning in communion with her goddess, Pharasma, and assures me she will be healed in time to join us over breakfast.”

“And the Half-Elf” The one who fell in battle last night?”

“Agon slipped out this morning,” Tain replied. “I got the feeling he wanted to be alone.”

“Don’t worry,” confided Mari, “he’ll be along soon now that breakfast is served.”

“Somebody say something about breakfast?” I said as I marched into the dining room.

Gavik, Marcus’ footman, came in behind me.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I didn’t see him come in.”

Marcus waved the servant away.

“That’s fine, Gavik,” he sighed. “Take Officer Deparle’s weapon and find him a place at the table.”

“I’ll sit here, Gavik, across from Mari so I can look at something pretty while I eat.”

Mari gave me a “stop that” look. Gavik sat me at the other end of the table, close to Tain.

“Spoilsport,” I said as I sat, handing him my sword.

The atmosphere was friendly and welcoming. Light-hearted banter and chit-chat flowed back and forth as everyone ate, and ate well. With the tension of the night before, we all needed the release.

I overheard Yasmin speak quietly to Marcus – she was obviously not aware I could eavesdrop so well. She said how she would like Marcus to send a message to Ambassador Amprey, telling him that she was safe, and that she would be happy to see him, should Marcus be able to provide an appropriate chaperone. Marcus’ wife patted the girl’s hand and said she would be the chaperone, and that Marcus would arrange the meeting soon.

Down at my end of the table, Tain was re-enacting his battle last night, using a chicken bone as an impromptu flail. He made good sport of my quick collapse, and I did my best to laugh at the incident. Perhaps I was not convincing enough in my laugh, for the champion soon stopped and apologised if he seemed rude at my expense. I assured him it was fine, but did not think he believed me. Still, it was better to have Tain think I was upset at being beaten, than to have him know that earlier on that day I had been getting ready to assassinate the woman we were trying to arrest.

Before we had finished breakfast, Yasmin retired, claiming a headache. Marcus directed his wife to another part of the house so the rest of us could withdraw and plan out our capture of Sabor. We moved to the study and spread out Marcus’ map of the city. We were soon joined by Aria who looked remarkably well healed considering the damage she had sustained the night before – truly her goddess favoured the young priestess.

“I have learned,” Tain began, “that Trinia Sabor is not within the Hell Knight blockade as we had been led to believe.”

Feeling a hint of an accusation, I responded.

“Hey, if my brother says that’s what he heard, then that’s what he heard. He doesn’t lie to me. Maybe Trinia’s snuck herself out of the blockade.”

“Agon,” Marcus interjected, “your brother lies to everyone. Deal with it.” Before I could argue the point, the nobleman continued. “I’m inclined to believe Tain’s information, and that means we’ll have to start all over again trying to track down this woman. A difficult task given the time frame we’ve set for ourselves. The coronation is tonight.”

“So what are our ideas for getting to Trinia?” I asked.

“Well,” Mari began, “I can cast that spell again; the one that nearly killed me.”

“Oh gods!” I said, rubbing my face in frustration. “Why did I have to start by asking Mari?”

“Well this way,” Aria replied off-hand, “we know early on if we’ll be spending the day finding Trinia or being mobbed for using witchcraft.”

“I can use my magic to find her!” Mari proclaimed. Seeing Marcus begin to speak up, Mari continued. “I know what went wrong last time. I can control it. I can protect myself better. Oh let me try, Marcus!”

Marcus looked down, ordering his thoughts. When he looked up he saw his sister’s keen and pleading eyes. He looked around the room. Aria and Tain gave solemn nods. I was non-committal. Marcus relented.

“Very well, Mari. Get it done.”

“Oh thank you, Marcus.”

Mari took out her crystal pendant and hung it over the map, channeling her powers and using the words of power to focus her mind to a razor’s edge.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Marcus said, “I think I’ll send my wife to Yasmin, to see how she is.”

“By the goddess,” Aria exclaimed in jest. “He’s remembered his wife! It must be days since Lady Elizabeth has dropped by.”

I laughed out-loud before Tain silenced my with a reproachful look. Obviously the near-death experience and subsequent time in prayer had done Aria the world of good, for I could not ever remember seeing her to jovial. Marcus gave Aria a stern look and walked from the room to find his wife; he did not wish to watch Mari perform her magic.

The rest of us watched on in silence, respectful of Mari’s need to concentrate. It was fascinating to watch. (In truth, I found Mari fascinating to watch at most times.) I had literally no idea of how it was she did what she did, but somehow the knowledge or awareness she needed came to her; the pendant swung over a part of Old Korvosa and came to a stop on the map itself. Mari opened her eyes and blinked several times before spouting out the address with certainty. She did not even seem out of breath or fatigued by the effort. Magic!

“So we know where,” said Tain, breaking the awkward silence. “What about the ‘how’?”

Marcus re-entered the room.

“I have a plan,” I said.

“Of course,” replied Marcus, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. I ignored it and went on.

“I suggest a straight up approach; we are the good guys here. Marcus, you Tain and Mari go in through the front door. You’re the legitimate authority there to arrest a suspect and take her into protective custody. Trinia is smart enough to know she’s being hunted, and the three of you – the most respectable of all of us – should be able to convince her to come quietly for her own good.”

“And when that doesn’t work and she runs for it?” Marcus asked, folding his arms.

“Well, I’ll be waiting out the back, with Aria,” I replied. “We’ll nab her as she tries to run!”

Everyone agreed it was a sensible plan. Marcus wanted us all to leave the house piecemeal and rendezvous at Osric’s warehouse to collect our supplies. The Merivanchi’s dressed themselves in suitable attire, swapping brocaded silks for more durable and sensible clothing. Marcus wore his new Thassalonian chainmail shirt, covered by a black doublet and woolen coat. Aria wore a pirate costume similar to the one destroyed by magical fire the night before. I wondered why she would have a spare, but it turned out it was borrowed from Mari’s closet. Mari had a slighter frame than Aria, making the pirate shirt a rather tight fit. I had not previously noticed Aria’s figure and found myself a little distracted by the ample portion of bosom the priestess was now showing. Mari dressed simply, wearing a riding skirt and jacket. She told us of her plan to use magic to make herself invisible during the arrest of Sabor. Tain and I wore the trappings of our offices, the Church of Abadar for him and the Korvosan Guard for me. Neither of us saw the need to disguise ourselves for what was a legitimate mission of law enforcement. Everyone wore some kind of weapon. Being in my uniform, I also carried my bow and a quiver of arrows.

“We’ll need something to restrain her when we find her,” I stated.

“I can do some shopping,” Mari said, “but I’m not sure buying manacles is a good look for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that Mari,” I replied with a leer. She slapped me playfully, but hard.

“In other news,” Aria said, speaking up before Marcus could remonstrate with me about his kid sister. “I found out some information about the Hell Knight blockade.” We waited for her to go on. “The Hell Knights are working with the mages of the Academae. They have cordoned off the blocks – nothing and no-one gets in or out.”

“I too have heard talk of this,” said Tain. “But I do not know the nature of the blockade.”

“Nor I,” Aria replied. “No-one I spoke to does, or if they do know, they won’t tell me; well,” she continued with a smile, “they won’t tell me yet.”

“Well in any case,” Marcus said, refocusing the team. “It’s nothing for us to worry about now.” We all nodded in agreement. “Tain, what is this area of the city like?”

“Hmm,” the champion rubbed his chin in thought. “It’s close packed housing. Terrace housing for the most part, with many of the houses leaning in on each other or joined by common walls. The Shingles would give Sabor an easy escape if she was prepared to run on the roof-tops, and it’s likely the people there don’t take too kindly to the Law.”

“I know,” piped up Mari. “Perhaps we can disguise ourselves as locals. I know a great little costume shop not too far from here.”

Marcus and I, for once in accord, looked at each other shaking our heads.

“Perhaps we could use those manacles sooner that we thought,” I suggested to him.

“If we go now, I can see Remardo; he’s the tailor. I know, I’ll send a message to Rosalind, she knows Remardo quite well, ever since he helped her with that boy.”

Mari started to head from the room, but was held back by Marcus’s hand on her shoulder.

“I wasn’t kidding, Marcus; just manacle the girl. And gag her.”

A knock at the door stopped any further badinage. Tain quickly exited the room to answer the door.

Tain beat Gavik to the door and opened it to find Sabine Merrin standing on the street, fully dressed in the plate-mail armour she wore so easily, her hand-and-a-half sword slung casually at her hip.

“Mr. Locus,” she said in surprise.

“Ms. Merrin,” Tain gave a slight bow. “It is a pleasure to see you. Won’t you come in?”

“Of course,” Sabine replied, stepping inside.

Gavik belatedly tried to perform his duties at the front door. Finding himself with nothing to do, he hovered in the background. Back in the study, Marcus quickly removed the map from view.

When Sabine entered the study she looked quizzically at Aria’s clothing, a pirate costume complete with eye-patch.

“We’re about to go play a game of bridge!” Aria said in response to Sabine’s unasked question.

“With real bridges,” added Tain, following along with Aria’s enthusiasm.

I leaned over and whispered in sotto voce. “I think she get’s that part, Tain.”

I smiled at Sabine, winking hello. Again, my world grew that much brighter to see her smile in response.

“Master Merivanchi,” she began, turning her attention back to Marcus. “I am here on the formal business of Her Majesty, Queen Ileosa. Her Majesty is pleased to note that work that you and your associates have done for the Crown. She wishes to show her appreciation, and has asked me to inform you that yourself, your family, your associates here and their guests, are hereby invited to attend the coronation in the castle this evening as a part of the formal celebrations and to attend the coronation dance afterwards.”

“Ms. Merrin,” Marcus replied, “this is an incredible privilege you bestow on my family. We would be honoured to attend.” Marcus noticed the looks from the rest of us. “We all would be, Ms Merrin.”

“That is good to know. I shall inform Her Majesty. She will be pleased to know that you will be there given the close relationships we have had in the past.”

“And the not-too-distant future,” I interjected.

Marcus rolled his eyes. I am sure he would have said something but for the smile that forced its way onto Sabine’s face.

“How goes your mission, Master Merivanchi? Are you close to capturing Trinia Sabor?”

Marcus answered for all of us.

“We have several leads, Ms. Merrin. We are close to a breakthrough.”

“That is good to know.”

“But I do have a few questions, if you have the time.”

“Of course, Master Merivanchi,” Sabine replied.

“Once Sabor is in our custody, where would be the best place to deliver her? I hardly think delivering her in a sack to the postern gate of the castle would be appropriate.”

“No,” Sabine smiled, taking Marcus’ words as the jest he had intended. “Trinia must be delivered appropriately. You have several options, but I believe it would be … safer for her to be delivered to Field Marshall Croft, if that can be done.”

“As you wish, Ms Merrin,” Marcus said.

“That is good to know too” Sabine replied. “But I must go. I have duties to attend to. Agon, it has been too long.”

“Far too long.”

“I look forward to seeing you later tonight,” she said, with a happy edge to her voice that spoke, at least to me, of many wondrous possibilities.

“As do I, Sabine.”

Sabine nodded to Marcus and the others, and left us to our work. Once we heard the front door shut, the others turned to look at me, shaking their heads in wonder at my brashness, and with surprise that my brashness had actually been well received.

“Well my friends,” I said, heading for the back door. “I do believe I have some strutting to do. Heh heh heh.”

“Agon, you peacock,” Aria said shaking her head. “Will wonders never cease?”

“Hey Tain,” I said, clicking my fingers. “Sabine said we could bring guests, right?”

“Ms. Merrin did say that, yes.”

“So why not invite that beautiful foreign noblewoman you rescued from the otyugh; the one from Galt? Bringing her as a date to the coronation would impress the Hell out of her!”

“I am not sure, Agon, that it would be appropriate.”

“Of course it would! She’s new in town. She wants to meet people. You, her noble heroic protector, offer to take her to the coronation celebrations and introduce her to the Queen. She’ll love it!”

“It’s not that…” Tain found the subject difficult. “It’s my wife. I…”

“Oh.” Blast. I keep forgetting about Tain’s murdered wife. “Well it’s your call, my friend. Anyway, I’m off. I’ll see you all at Osric’s.”

True to my earlier word I strutted from the room, my head high in the clouds with thoughts of the coronation, and not at all concentrating on the mundane matters of capturing accused killers, city politics, dead spouses, or my duties as a Guardsman; a young man with his head filled with the thoughts of a beautiful woman doesn’t really notice much else, not even the black-clad figure that kept a vigilant watch on Brock House from a nearby rooftop.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
Dawn on the morning of the Coronation Day for Queen Ileosa

I arrived at the castle-palace just after dawn. The servants had obviously been busy for several hours for the castle looked fully active as staff proceeded to get on with the day’s activities taking blissful advantage of the lack of nobility; bureaucracy always runs itself remarkably well when it can ignore its political masters.

The castle guard halted me with crossed pikes at the gate.

“State your business, Half-Elf.”

“Agon Deparle: here to speak to Sabine Merrin.”

“Ms Merrin doesn’t speak to the likes of you,” the guard sneered. “Bugger off.”

“Listen closely, Private. Sabine tasked me personally with certain duties; duties of great importance which I am not at liberty to discuss with you.” The guard was clearly taken aback at my icy professional tone. “And if you wish to avoid the certain punishment that will befall you should you turn me away, I suggest you inform Sabine that ‘Agon is here to talk with her’, and that you do so immediately.”

That should do the trick – there’s nothing like talking like an educated officer to confuse, bamboozle and influence a ranker soldier. I read the hesitation clearly in the guard’s face… curiousity mixed with self-preservation won the day. I was shown to a simply furnished waiting room while someone fetched Sabine.

Despite the early hour of the morning I did not have to wait long; and, like the dawning of the sun just outside, my world was brightened as Sabine entered the room.

She was dressed in simple clothes – a long crimson shirt belted over brown linen pants with soft leather boots. Warrior that Sabine was, she wore her hand-and-a-half sword in a scabbard over her shoulder. Her hair was still wet, and hung disheveled over her shoulder forming damp patches on her shirt. An enchanting and subtly intoxicating perfume hung about her; and aside from its delightful scent, the very fact that she had paused to apply it before seeing me made my smile at seeing her grow even wider.

“Agon,” she began; a smile of her own forming at the corner of her mouth, “I would not have expected to see you so early. What news?”

“News best spoken of in private.”

“Then follow me.”

She turned and led the way through the castle.

“With pleasure,” I said softly, noting the lovely way her hips and backside rolled as she walked. I saw Sabine tilt her head in response, and then shake it in a slight chuckle. In a few minutes we had climbed one of towers to its roof viewing level. Sabine dismissed the guard keeping watch. We waited for a few minutes for the guard to move away back down the stairs. The dawn sun, having risen over the hills in the Eastern distance, shone over the city. The sun’s light bathed the city in a soft glow that seemed to wash away the filth, the crime and the danger of the streets leaving only beauty and hope. It was an amazing sight.

Sabine leaned over the battlements, with the wind plucking softly at her hair.

“So lovely…” she said quietly. “I never get tired of looking at it.”

“I know what you mean,” I replied. Sabine turned to find that I was neither looking, nor speaking of, the view of the city. She blushed and looked away, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Now Agon,” she said, raising her eyes to look directly at me, “there was something you wanted to tell me?”

The dawn’s light was gently waking the city; I stood alone at the top of a castle tower with the most beautiful woman I had ever known… At first, I could do nothing but take a breath and try to burn the image into my memory. Sabine saw that she had made me just a little uncomfortable, exactly as I had previously made her a little uncomfortable; of such moments were made the little flirtatious dances that were the most delightful part of any genuine courtship; and as much as that was what I wanted to share with this beautiful amazing woman, it was not what I was there to do. With some effort I drew my attention back to the dark business at hand. Sabine saw the shadow of black thoughts cross my face, and in turn I saw her eyes cloud over and the bewitching smile fell from her lips.

“It was some time ago, Sabine, that myself and the scions of the Merivanchi House were asked to bring in Trinia Sabor.”

“Go on, Agon.”

“In all likelihood, myself and the others will be able to bring her into custody very soon.”

“That is good to know,” Sabine replied. “I shall tell Her Majesty.”

“Before you do, Sabine, I would seek some … clarification.”

“Go on,” she said, giving away nothing.

“If we are alone up here, I shall speak plainly.”

I wanted to be sure.

“We are alone, Agon.”

“From what I and the others have been able to establish in our investigations, Trinia Sabor seems like a patsy more than an assassin; but from the way Queen Ileosa and Lady Elizabeth presented this request, Trinia’s guilt or innocence didn’t really seem to matter.”

I paused, believing I would get a response from this rather inflammatory remark. Sabine said nothing, simply standing with her arms folded waiting for me to continue.

“And I got the distinct impression that a fair and impartial trial was not really what the Queen and Lady Elizabeth had in mind. If that is truly the case, and it would be better for the throne if Trinia never saw trial, then let me know now and I’ll see to it that an … accident happens to Trinia during the arrest.”

“Why Agon,” Sabine said with a smirk, “I never thought you could be so … cold.”

“I can be lots of things, dear Sabine, when I need to be.”

“So I see,” she said. Sabine leant against the wall, appraising me, trying to ascertain if I was being honest in what I said, that I would be prepared to kill an innocent woman for the sake of the throne. After a few moments, the noises of the waking city rising up to fill the silence, Sabine came to her decision.

“Thank you for the offer, Agon, but I can assure you that Queen Ileosa does not wish for Trinia Sabor to be killed ‘resisting arrest’. The best thing for everyone would be to make sure she’s delivered safe and unharmed to Field Marshall Croft.”

“If that is your wish, Sabine,” I replied.

“It is.”

“Then I shall see it done,” I said with resolve. “But I admit to being a little curious. I got the impression that you wanted her … removed.”

Sabine frowned, and I got the feeling that the frown was not directed at me.

“Not I, Agon,” she confessed. “Lady Elizabeth and I have … different beliefs as to royal policy.”

“Meaning she wants Trinia whacked and you don’t?”

“Ha ha hah,” she laughed. “Yes, Agon, that’s what I mean.” She paused and sighed. “I don’t know why Elizabeth has such a hold over Her Majesty; it’s downright unnatural…. Oh the gods! I shouldn’t have said that.”

Sabine clutched at her stomach and covered her mouth with her other hand in shock. She had revealed her most private thoughts about the people she was sworn to protect at all costs. To allow herself to become so vulnerable as to give voice to such indiscretion, to let her guard down so much was horrifying to her; and her heart hung in her mouth, fearful in anticipation what I would do with such knowledge.

I smiled as reassuringly as I could, trying to let her know I would not betray her confidence.

“Forget it, Sabine. Let’s just say the words were caught in the wind.”

She looked away, and then back at me suddenly. Her lapse in professionalism could not be so easily forgotten.

“I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Before I could stop her, she had disappeared down the stairs and into stony depths of the castle, leaving me alone with so many thoughts, and the world of my mind now dominated by matters of the heart between two young people, and the politics of the city’s power elite.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

5th of Calistril
Winter in Korvosa
Early Morning on Coronation Day for Queen Ileosa

I rose before first light, in that chilly time when the sky is at its darkest and no-one sane wants to move from their warm beds. It had been a long night filled with thought and the laying of plans, but I needed to get moving; I needed to put things in place I would require later that day; and while the guest quarters at Brock House were a credit to the style and class of the Merivanchi Family, I could not let indulgence stand in the way of what I needed to do.

I made little noise as I woke and dressed, silencing any sound from my armour with layers of cloth. I had done these actions many times in the cold Borderlands of the north where sharp senses and quiet movements were the necessary elements of any long life. The ears I wished not to disturb that morning were not the sharp ears of Shoanti warriors, but the delicate city-bred ears of the Merivanchi Family; ostensibly my allies, but in no real need to know the purpose of my journey that morning.

The events of the rescue of Yasmin Marcella, so dramatically played out night before, had opened my eyes somewhat and caused within me a revelation of thought. At the slave auction centre of the House Arkona I had seen the city’s elite mixing freely with the city’s underworld, and indeed with the poorer elements of the citizenry itself. The vast majority of the ‘slaves’ present were simply the victims of poor economic circumstances who, being weak of will, had chosen a life of slavery as a way to end their bad debts. What was the point of the Korvosan Guard pursuing an anti-slavery policy when the sheep of the citizenry used that very slave-trade as an element of their economic life?

Oh, I still believed most strongly in the sovereignty of Korvosa, its city and its region, and as such would always serve where I could in the establishment of the military security of the city-state, but I struggled now to see the point in putting myself out to maintain a civil order that served only, at its end, as a way to shore up the rich and powerful. The mercenary side of my soul, born and bred from my parentage and upbringing in the mercenary camps of the Borderlands, now rose to the fore; to put it poetically, the wolf I was could no longer run with the dogs.

I admit that I was most likely reacting in part to my shameful defeat the previous night at the hands of Peryarv Lagren – wizard, Councilor of Magnimar, and a leader in the city’s Grey Wars. His magic had overwhelmed me so comprehensively and with such speed that I felt profound embarrassment; my companions had to remove my unconscious sleeping body from the scene! I had failed them and failed myself. That anger, I am sure, clouded my judgement.

But nevertheless, the life of a simple officer of the Guard no longer seemed even slightly attractive. This had been coming for a while, ever since I had been taken from war-fighting duties and shackled to this role of law-enforcement. I would not simply be an officer of the Guard. There was more now available to me, if only I could take advantage of this tide in the affairs around me, and through action and Will, achieve the position and wealth I desired.

For some time now, the scions of the Merivanchi House and their allies – of which I was one – had been sitting on the request of Queen Ileosa to bring in the woman she had accused of murdering her husband. We had all sat on this, doing nothing, because we firmly believed that Trinia Sabor, the accused, was merely a patsy. While the others, loyal to the crown due to feelings of kinship or an adherence to society’s established rules, had not yet given voice to any suspicions that Queen Ileosa was herself implicated in the death of the late husband, I had formed this opinion some days previously. I had no intrinsic desire to aid any murderer or usurper.

However, this was a (possible) murderer and usurper who could reward me should I aid her. In the face of my newfound despondence regarding the Guard, I realised I had no problem in sacrificing Trinia Sabor if doing so bought my position and favour with the most powerful woman in the land. I had resolved myself – if Trinia Sabor was a patsy, then I would happily be her executioner; better her than me.

With these dark thoughts in mind, I slipped quietly from Brock House. None heard me depart. I left the door to the guest chambers closed and slipped out a window, climbing as easily down the wall as easily I had up and down the trees and gorges of the Borderlands in my youth. The cold of pre-dawn bit into my skin, but risking a light jog once I had turned the corner from Brock House, I soon warmed with exercise. The night is never so cold and so dark once one has something to do; it is a lesson every soldier knows, and they know just as well that still silence is all-too often a boon companion to the imaginative terrors of the night and the dark.

In the Heights, street lights kept the dark at bay, but soon I crossed into the Midlands. Lacking the wealthy inhabitants of the Heights, this area of the city was more prone to darkness and the crime that accompanied it. But in this witching hour of first light to dawn, the nightside of the city took itself to bed, crawling into safe havens from the light of day. I moved quickly through the streets at a light jog, ignoring those I saw and knowing they would likewise ignore me. I had not worn my Guard’s uniform last night and traveled now dressed much like the city’s criminal underclass, in dark clothes with a small sword at my side – for traveling unarmed was never wise in Korvosa during those days.

Korvosa was just beginning to stir as I crossed the city. The bakers had been up for hours, plying their trade in the semi-darkness of their kitchens. Labourers gathered at construction sites to begin their day’s hard work. And along the docks sailors readied their ships to move off on the morning tide. Voices traveled easily in the cold and semi-darkness, and as I jogged I heard snatches of morning conversations as people prepared themselves for the day. Sleep would last longer for the Merivanchi Family – the nobility could often enjoy a sleep in while the underclass did their work for them.

I arrived at Osric’s warehouse with little trouble, panting slightly for breath, but unmolested and having made good time. I banged loudly on the door, not stopping until I was answered; I did not recognise the face in the peep-slot that opened in the doors, but he looked young; no doubt one of Osric’s orphans, recently given a home with the merchant-cum-assassin after we disposed of Gordon Lamm.

“Who are you?”

“Felix,” I replied, giving my twin brother’s name, who I knew was a more habitual visitor to Osric than myself. “Open up.”

“Password?”

“Open the door, maggot, or I’ll knock it down and cut your face off.” I waved a knife in front of the peep-slot.

“Close enough.”

The door opened, revealing a lad of no more than sixteen summers. He had an arrogant look in his eye and fingered a dagger at his belt. Without hesitation I punched him in the face, knocked him to the floor, and walked on.

“First rule, boy,” I said, “is to know who you can push around and who you can’t. Learn it fast.”

The boy stayed on the floor, rubbing his chin. Smart lad; had he made an issue of it, I was in the mood to have killed him outright.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” roared Osric, coming down the stairs from his loft, wrapping a gown around his otherwise naked body. He cradled a loaded crossbow under one arm and looked ready to use it.

I held up my hands.

“It’s only me.”

Osric stared for a moment, lowering the crossbow.

“Agon,” he grunted. “Why are you here?”

“Private business,” I replied, folding my arms across my chest.

Osric nodded for me to follow him, leading me into his office. I shut the door and locked it. Osric sat behind his desk, placing his crossbow, still loaded, within easy reach. It was so nice to be trusted.

“How’d you know it was me, and not Felix?” I began.

“Your brother doesn’t wear chainmail. You hide it under your clothing, but it can be seen if you know what to look for, and I’m an armoursmith, remember?”

I nodded. Osric made a valid point. I would have to start arming and equipping myself identically to Felix if we were to continue carrying on our “it wasn’t me, it was my twin brother” chicanery.

“Now lad,” Osric prompted. “What’s this all about?”

“We won’t be overheard?”

“No,” he replied. “This office is as secure as it gets.”

“Good.” I could hear no eavesdroppers and Osric seemed to be speaking the truth. I leaned in closer. “Long story short, Osric: I’ll need to source some poisoned arrows for a job.”

Osric nodded, understanding my meaning.

“What’s the job?” he asked. “Now lad,” he said, holding up his hands, “I don’t need to know who or why, but if you give me the basics of your plan for the hit, that’ll help me help you.”

It sounded fair to me. It was good to know Osric was professional about this.

“The inside man of a bodyguard team does the hit. As far as everyone knows he’s providing covering fire. One of the arrows goes astray and hits the target. The arrow is poisoned. End of target. Make sense?”

“When?”

“I’ll need it by later this morning.”

“That will be difficult,” Osric replied. “The best I can do won’t be a one-hit job. The target will need to be hit twice to be sure.”

‘That will do.”

“I’ll make the arrangements then.” Osric stood and held out his hand. “And payment?”

“I’ll owe you,” I said, taking his hand in affirmation of the deal.

“Very well,” Osric said, smiling, “Officer Deparle. We have a deal.”

I left more discretely than I came in, wrapping a borrowed cloak against the cold and walking quietly through the streets towards the castle-palace. As I walked it occurred t me that I, a member of the Korvosan Guard, had just made an arrangement with one of the city’s criminals to procure an illegal item for the purpose of committing a murder; and to seal the deal was an implied promise that I would use my position within the Guard for the furtherance of other criminal enterprises. In theory, I could now be tried and convicted of attempted murder and corruption. In practise, I couldn’t have cared less.

*

Very quickly, in response to the question about Half-Elves being immune to sleep spells. Half-Elves get a bonus to resist them. Agon was able to include that bonus in resisting the sleep-style spell, but it was not enough. I don't know if it was exactly like a sleep spell or if it was something unique; currently I am enjoying playing a warrior-type who knows little to nothing about magic. To help me role-play this well as a player I am deliberately blinding myself to how the system works or what it entails regarding magic. This was I can happily role-play out my character's ignorance and just take in the 'kewl' effects as described by fellow players and the GM.

"Mari did not use the wand against Lagren, she was thrilled to try her own magic against the wizard. So she cast magic missile herself and followed that with spectral hand and shocking grasp."

She did? Cool! I didn't know she was powerful enough for that. My apologies for getting it wrong, Chubbs. In Agon's defence, he was not at the scene at the time. (I shall change the official records to reflect the truth.)

Moonbeam, thanks again. I'm glad the write-ups are fun to read. And what happened to Agon? He got taken down by sme kind of Sleep spell, I just wrote it as dramatically as I could based on the GM's description.
(Yes, a freaking Sleep spell! How embarassing.)

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

“ENOUGH!” Olac the Orgre’s voice boomed across the night and held everyone still.

House Arkona guards and surrounded the street fight. Their weapons, melee and missle, were pointed at all parties.

Bodies lay everywhere. Aria and I lay still at the feet of Lagren. Marcus stood protectively over Yasmin, still bound. Marcus’ remaining opponent was out of breath and bleeding. He was glad for the respite. His companion lay still and was too far gone to be glad of anything anymore. Tain crouched by Aria, ignoring all else to mouth silent prayers of thanks as the power of his god restored some of the damage done by Lagren’s magical flames. Mari stood shaking slightly, lowering her magical wand and glad for the moment that she did not have to fight Lagren’s magic with her own. And Osric? The Dwarf was nowhere to be seen, having slipped into the shadows as the House Arkona’s people arrived.

Lagren broke the silence.

“These people are thieves, trying to take my property.”

“He lies,” Marcus replied with authority. “That man there was holding this woman illegally. She is a citizen of Korvosa. We are simply acting to restore her freedom.”

“She comes with us,” replied Olac the Ogre. “She’s ours.”

“She belongs to herself alone,” replied Marcus. “She is of the House Arkona, as you know, and she will stay with me to recover from her ordeal. When she decides to return to you, I will deliver her; on that, you have my word as a scion of the House Merivanchi.”

The ogre considered the words, his head tilted almost as if he were listening to someone else’s voice.

“It is agreed, Marcus of the House Merivanchi,” he said at last. “She is hereby released into you custody.” The ogre chuckled as he continued. “After all, if we want to come get her, we know where to find you.”

Marcus nodded his head once, ignoring the ogre’s final words. The nobleman extended his hand to assist Yasmin to her feet. As she stood she hugged him, clinging to her saviour.

“Thank you. Forever and ever, thank you.”

Marcus looked around. Tain signaled that Aria was going to be okay, but needed temple healing. Mari stood over me, gently shaking my shoulders to wake me. Up to the rooftops, Marcus saw Osric wave. His people would be okay, at least for now. Marcus sighed. What mad journey were they one that was taking them so close to death and destruction so often?

Lagren fumed, but wounded as he was, with more than three quarters of his bodyguard dead or incapacitated around him, he could do little but acquiesce to the dictates of House Arkona now. With a nod of his head at Olac, and one last stare at Marcus, the Magnimar Councilor stormed off into the Korvosan night.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

“Bastard!” I yelled, bounding across the street, dagger in hand, to tackle Lagren to the ground.

I had not been fast enough to stop him burning Aria with his spell, but I would take my revenge. I would look into his eyes as I drove my dagger into his chest.

We rolled on the ground, through the muck and more than once bumping into the charred body of Aria. She murmured as my foot kicked her during my wrestling match with Lagren. By the gods, she was still alive!

I rolled on top of Lagren. His hands and mine were wrapped around the dagger and I slowly forced it down into his chest.

‘Die you fvcker!”

Yes, in hindsight I’d to have thought of something wittier, but it was the best I could do at the time.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw Osric maneuver for a shot, his sling whirling around his head. Deciding he might he me by mistake, the Dwarf changed targets. I didn’t see who hit hit, but heard a grunt of pain and heard a body hit the ground.

Lagren was smiling, even as my dagger began to cut his skin. My hand, in contact with his, began to go numb. My arms lost their strength. The dagger was pushed back. The cold numb sensation flowed through my arms like water, reaching my chest and my head. My vision swam. I tried to fight it. I could do nothing.

Lagren looked at me with his cold mean eyes and smiled.

“Die you fvcker,” he whispered back at me.

No, this could not be my end! I’d figured it all out. I knew! I knew! And here, with one of the key players at the end of my blade, I was failing.

The cold grew more intense and could hold out no more. The darkness took me and I knew nothing more.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

“The Way of the Pharasma is found in death. When it comes to either/or, there is only the quick choice of death. It is not particularly difficult. Be determined and advance. To say that dying without reaching one's aim is to die a dog's death is the frivolous way of sophisticates. When pressed with the choice of life or death, it is not necessary to gain one's aim. If by setting one's heart right every morning and evening, one is able to live as though one’s body were already dead, one gains freedom in the Way. One’s whole life will be without blame, and you will succeed in your calling.”

Pharasma was displeased with her servant, Aria. She had always chosen death until just before she died. In the closing seconds of her life, her priestess had hesitated. She had shown fear. Her heart was not right. She had more to learn. Pharasma would give her servant the chance to learn more before she joined her in the halls of Death.

Death’s icy hand was stilled, and Aria’s life-beat did not still in the presence of the unholy flame; it beat weakly, but steadily on, it’s home a charred and unconscious woman lying still in the street.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Aria did not pause in her attacks. She used magic herself and she knew that to hesitate, to give the magician time to finish his magic, could be deadly. Her mace found Lagren’s side. She had put all of her force into the blow and felt it must have broken his ribs.

From behind her, three missile of pure magical force streaked by Aria’s head and slammed into Lagren, forcing him backwards. Mari’s wand! The others must be in the fight! Pharasma had rewarded Aria’s courage and brought her family to fight by her side. The young priestess felt the touch of the Death Goddess herself as she fought.

Blinding ferocious flame was all that Aria knew next. Lagren had, in spite of his wounds, completed his magic spell. He had called forth form realms beyond mortal men’s understanding a flame filled with the wrath of demons best never named, and that fire licked over Aria, filling her vision and knowledge; all she knew was fire and pain as she felt her very face melt in the heat.

And then she knew nothing at all, but the silence and peace of Death.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Aria watched Lagren’s henchmen take Yasmin into the street. If she didn’t stop them now, they would take this poor girl away and she would never be seen again. But Aria was just one woman, what could she do?

No. She was NOT just one woman. She was a priestess of Pharasma, the Death Goddess. There were two choices in front of her, to act or not. One choice led clearly to death, the other did not. It was, in fact, no choice at all. Whirling her sling, Aria chose death.

The sling bullet hit Lagren squarely in the chest. Aria heard his cry of pain. Good, she thought, ready yourself to meet Pharasma. Aria readied another sling bullet, yelling her challenge to Lagren and his henchmen. Lagren signaled for his henchmen to keep going as he turned to face Aria. The councilor raised his hands and began the words of a spell that would reduce his enemy to a frozen corpse.

“Hold villains! Release that prisoner at once or taste Abadar’s wrath!”

Tain, always with a flair for dramatic entries and tough-guy lines, stepped to block the path of the henchmen carrying Yasmin away. He held his crossbow ready, pointed at them dead on.

The henchmen ran for cover. Tain shot one in the leg, keeping his aim well clear of Yasmin. The champion of Abadar then dropped his crossbow, hefted his great flail, and charged, yelling “For Abadar” as he ran.

His mystical gestures complete, Lagren’s hands wove ice straight out the air, formed it into thin spear-like icicles which launched themselves at Aria. Aria threw herself behind what cover the gazebo could provide. Two of the icicles pierced her shoulder and chest, causing numbing bloody wounds. Valiantly, the death priestess climbed to her feet. Raising her shield and with her mace held high, Aria charged towards Lagren.

The councilor, clearly a wizard of some kind, smiled and repeated the spell to smash the priestess to the ground with more icy magic. But his spell died on his lips as a crossbow bolt thudded into the back of his right shoulder. Turning, the councilor saw a small dark figure slip into the shadows.

Osric, his shot taken and the wizard distracted, dropped and moved to another firing position, leaving his crossbow and its readied supply of bolts at his first firing position and pulling out his sling as he moved.

Aria charged Lagren with her shield and mace. The wizard side-stepped her charge, his wounds doing little to slow him down, and readied more magic to use against the priestess.

Tain took and gave blows with two of the henchmen. All three soon bore bloody injuries and quarter was neither asked for nor given.

Yasmin, her gag muffling her screams, could do little as two of Lagren’s henchmen carried her from the street-fight. Despair raced through her mind, overwhelming all rational thought and replacing it with fear, a icy hand that reached inside of her, pulling everything away and leaving her only with despair.

But then, out of the shadows of the side-alley, came a dashing figure, a man that reminded her of her beloved Amprey. With a proud noble voice to match his look, the figure spoke.

“Unhand that woman and stand down. This night you face a student of Vencarlo Orsini himself, and you cannot prevail here.”

Yasmin was dumped without ceremony to the ground, as the two henchmen drew their blades. Marcus Merivanchi smiled as he squared off against them – this was, after all, his first chance to see just how good these Thassalonian sword, chain shirt and buckler were. Seizing the initiative, Marcus lunged at the henchmen on his right, scoring the man’s leg. Marcus quickly recovered, meeting the other henchman’s opportunistic attack with crossed sword and buckler. A clever twist had that opponent on the floor, and Marcus wasted no time in slashing down quickly with his short-sword. Stepping away from the two, and placing himself between them and Yasmin, Marcus smiled again. This was going to be easy.

*

From the Journal of Felix Deparle

“So you see,” I said, finishing my theory, “this Lagren fellow must be one of the people behind the single group controlling two-thirds of the underworld in Korvosa!”

“Because he wears purple and has patterns on his belt?” asked Marcus.

“Exactly!” I replied, happy that he had understood my thesis.

“Agon,” Mari said, “that makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Mari.” I explained. “The Harbingers are religious zealots. They are tools, puppets of some puppet master. Why would religious zealots need influence and power within a city’s underworld? By reducing the power of the House Arkona they can reduce the power of the ‘dragon’ over his throne, just like that prophecy they like. This Lagren guy wears purple robes, just like the cloaks the Harbingers wear!”

‘That seems a bit of a stretch.”

“And it’s not the only thing,” I continued. “We knew Lamm had to be working for someone else. He couldn’t have gotten so powerful on his own. But who was his boss? Remember, Lamm’s operation was using the butcher’s cleaver as its symbol. That is the same symbol this Lagren guy has on his belt. He, or the people behind him, are or were the one’s behind Lamm! It’s not three groups fighting for control of the streets in the grey war, it’s only two – the House Arkona and whoever Lagren’s backers are; but he’s powerful in his own right, make no mistake – why else is he here negotiating with Glorio himself?”

Marcus and Mari looked at me like I was mad.

“And then there’s the matter of the queen’s broach that we found with Lamm. Has anyone ever checked into the queen’s religious background, or her influences? What’s the bet she’s involved in all of this, and is using the grey war to reduce the influence of House Arkona so she can secure her own position on the throne! Who else would have the reason to back all of this? Qui bono, people – who benefits? It is the oldest and truest adage of criminal investigation!”

I admit it. I was ranting. And the two scions of the Merivanchi House were looking at me like I had literally gone mad. But hey, I was excited.

Further ranting was forestalled by the arrival of one of the Auction House messengers.

“Oi, you Deparle?”

“Go on,” I replied.

“Got a message for you, from your short friend. He says ‘he has your bag ad if you want it, you’d better come quick’.”

“Okay, thanks,” I replied. Then to the others, “let’s go.”

“Oi, I got another message, from Olac the Doorman. He says we don’t like Guardsmen coming here.”

“Well,” I said, waving as I moved off, “if I see any, I’ll let them know.”

Marcus, Mari and I raced through the departing crowd and through the tunnels that had earlier sped Lagren and his men from the scene.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

The familiar sight of the tunnel dead-end stopped the Dwarf’s sprint. He banged on the wall, and the peep-hole opened.

“What is it?”

“Let me back in!”

“One visit a night per customer. Rules is rules. Once your bracelet falls off when you leave, you can’t come back in.”

Osric swore in frustration.

“I can give someone a message if you like, Osric,” suggested the doorman.

“Yes! Tell him that I have his bag and he needs to come quickly if he wants to pick up his delivery.”

“Okay,” the doorman nodded, “But who is the message for?”

“For the guy who’s twin brother he is pretending not to be,” came Osric’s confusing reply.

“What?”

“For Felix,” yelled the Dwarf. “Felix fvkcing Deparle!”

“If you say so,” the doormen replied.

The peephole closed. Osric turned and ran to rejoin Aria.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Aria and Osric followed Lagren and his men as they strode down the tunnel corridor. Behind them, more of Lagren’s henchmen appeared and began marshalling his newly acquired slaves.

The tunnel turned into stairs and opened out into the street under a gazebo facing out from an alleyway opposite number forty-seven Shambala Street. Osric and Aria followed, noting the irony of how close they’d been to this entrance earlier in the night.

Lagren marched up to the house’s double doors and threw them open. Inside the front room, Aria saw Yasmin Marcella, alive and unarmed but tied up. Several more guards sat near her. Lagren circled his hand in the air and everyone got up to leave. Yasmin began to struggle but was quickly brought under control.

Aria turned to tell Osric to find the others, but the Dwarf had already begun to run back down the stairs to the auction chamber. Aris settled in to wait, unwrapping her sling as she did so and wondering just how she could stop them alone.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Without warning the doors were pushed violently open and Lagren came storming out of his meeting with Lord Glorio Arkona. Lagren turned and issued a warning to Glorio, his voice full of barely controlled anger.

“Last warning.”

Then Lagren turned and walked away, not bothering to acknowledge the disdainful sneer that was Glorio’s only reply. Lagren and his bodyguards walked right by me on their way to the auction stage. In a heartbeat I saw what I had missed earlier, and everything suddenly fell into place.

I saw the stitching on Lagren’s purple robe, how it fell from his shoulders like a cloak. I saw the inlaid patterns on his belt, patterns of a butcher’s cleaver repeated in circles. I saw in my mind’s eye the three-way split parchment in Brock House that mapped of the city’s underworld. I saw the tokens, found on bodies throughout the city that marked the bodies of victims slain in the grey war over who would control what underworld influence in the city. I remembered the discussions we had held, trying to discern the identity of the third party in the city’s grey war, who it was that was behind Lamm, and who it was that controlled the Harbingers of Doom. And in that moment in time I saw the identity and purpose of Peryarv Lagren.

But Time did not stand still for me. Lagren was already up on the auction stage, and having pushed the auctioneer to one side, dropped a purse onto the stage. Gold coins spilled out from the pouch as it hit the floor.

“All these people are now mine.”

The Magnimar councilor then strode from the stage, the crowd scrambling to get out his and his bodyguard’s way.

I saw Osric and Aria follow Lagren through some doors as he exited the auction chamber.

“Mari,” I said, grabbing her arm. “I know who this guy is! He's Lamm’s boss, or rather he’s one of the higher-ups in that faction. He’s also with the people who are controlling the Harbingers. It’s the purple, don’t you see? And the symbols on his belt!”

“What?”

“The belt, Mari. Didn’t you see his belt? It’s the same symbols. Well, it’s close.”

“Agon,” she replied. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Yes,” came Marcus’ voice as he sidled up next to us. “Explain to me what you saw.”

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

The auctioneer, a short, overweight balding man in his later years, was calling out the next auction. It was the last for the night. Mari and I made eye contact with Marcus. He was shaking his head. Yasmin was not here. She was not up for sale this night. We were all confused.

And we missed them as they came up.

Two of the local muscle appeared out of the crowd in front of Mari and I. Two more appeared to flank Marcus across the room. They were big fellows, as their role required. They were dressed in black pants and wore black sleeveless leather armour, their forearms protected by thick dyed black leather armguards. Each wore daggers on their belts and were looking for trouble. The band on my wrist grew uncomfortably warm. One stood directly in front of Mari and raised an accusing finger.

“Why the magical disguise?”

“Fvck off, leatherneck,” I replied. “The lady wants to stay anonymous.”

“Rules are rules. Drop the disguise, now, or there’ll be trouble.”

The band on my wrist was starting to burn my flesh. Mari, too, was feeling it. People were beginning to stare. Damn. I was confident I could handle these two, but their twenty friends plus whatever mage created the magic in this place would easily kill me and my friends.

“Fine,” I relented. “I’ll drop the magic.”

I knew Mari would not want to reveal her talents so publicly, so I thought I’d provide the distraction. I fished for the pendant I habitually wore, a Shoanti charm I’d purchased in the Borderlands years before. Taking the pendant out, I ostentatiously closed my eyes and mumbled in Shoanti “let the false face be lifted”.

Nothing happened.

The bouncers didn’t like it.

“Quit stalling!”

“Sorry,” I replied. “Sometimes it doesn’t work perfectly. I’m sure it will work now as I remove the magic.”

I gave Mari a look, and saw her slight nod. I mumbled the Shoanti words again and, Hey Presto, the magical disguises disappeared. The bouncers took a half-step back, a little awed at seeing someone who was clearly a warrior, wield magic. I was quite pleased with the deception, and smiled a little in spite of the situation.

I stared at the bouncers.

“Problem, lads?”

They held my stare for a long while, and I began to think a fight was only a few heartbeats away. I was not the only one who thought so, a small space clearing around us. Behind the bouncers, Osric and Aria started causing all sorts of ruckus. I heard them raising their voices about someone pushing them, or owing them money, or something. The longer the bouncers and I stared each other down, the louder they became. Eventually the bouncers broke things off, deciding the noise-making customers needed dealing with.

"No more magical disguises, or you won't be allowed in again," were their parting words.

It was then that I started to hear the whispers. The name “Merivanchi” was spreading throughout the room. Marcus and his sister were being recognised! I heard comments like “what are they doing here?”, “first timers”, “didn’t expect that of her”, “will have to mention this to his uncle” and so on. Across the room I saw Marcus hold his head up and eye-ball those staring at him. His noble demeanour was such that very quickly he was given his due and accorded the respect of his family’s name.

Mari was a different story.

She was the sweet innocent thing, here in a house of depravity. Perhaps she was not so innocent? Perhaps she had been led astray? Mari tried to laugh off the comments being made, but there was only so much she could do. She was a sweet girl, and everyone who knew her loved her, but these people did not know her. They just judged her.

And me, one of Korvosa’s up-and-coming young Guard officers, how did people react to seeing me? That was easily dealt with, and I didn’t even have to do anything. Everyone who recognised me simply assumed I was my twin brother, Felix. Felix was a known smuggler and rogue. He’d probably been here once or twice himself. And besides, a member of the Korvosan Guard, to be here, would have to be in on the scheme, or suicidal. Noting people’s reaction, I suggested to Mari that she tell people I (Felix) had brought her here in order to corrupt the young Merivanchi princess; it seems a plausible enough story.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Mari and I were on the lower level now and as Mari wondered off to look closer at one of the double doors I felt that I had not yet found the information I was here to get. -Something- was waiting for me, some piece of information was drifting around the ether that night, just waiting for me to stumble across it, but I did not know what.

I looked over the slaves. They were not the desperate prisoners I had first thought. They were debt-slaves. They had sold themselves into slavery, or had been sold into slavery, in order to cover their debts. To my mind, their peaceful surrender to that form of debt-bondage was the reason for their shame and shameful state. What free and thinking being would ever submit to another authority so completely? And yet before me on the block, these … sheep stood waiting whatever Fate had chosen for them. They had given up and given in. I felt little for them but pity and disgust.

And yet here too also lay a darker industry, that of the sale of children and women for sexual servitude. Whatever tricks of morality or commerce were used to justify the transactions of flesh, it was at its heart an evil trade; one that I would stop if it were in my power to do so.

As I stood amongst the power elite of Korvosa, thinking through my own views on the morality and commerce I saw around me, I began to think of whether what I saw was totally wrong. If a person chose to sell themselves into debt-bondage to pay their debts, then so be it; the choice is theirs. A slavery industry based upon those principles was not something I had any problem with. But so easily this industry led the darker one I would see destroyed. What path should I take in my investigations…

Coming out of my confusing thoughts I saw Mari beckoning me over.

“What?” I mouthed at her.

She gestured with her head towards the doors. The double doors, made of solid oak and burnished with copper rivets, were covered in carvings of foreign designs I could not place – scenes of jungles and temples to foreign gods.

“Huh?”

“Look at the doors!” She mouthed.

I strolled over to take a closer look at the doors. The closer I moved to the doors, the more I noticed a heat around my left wrist. Sure enough, the bamboo strip that had been placed on my arm was becoming hotter the closer I went to the doors. Testing my theory I reached for the doors with that hand … and withdrew it suddenly when the heat grew intense. I explained what happened to Mari.

“Hmm,” she nodded. “Some kind of magical warding. Interesting.”

“So glad I could be of assistance to you,” I replied sarcastically. “That hurt, Mari.”

Before Mari could reply, our attention was caught by a scuffle across the room.

A tall bald nobleman, swathed in finely stitched purple robes, swept imperiously into the chamber. One of the house guards had tried to step in front of him. The sound we had heard was that of one of Purple-Man’s three bodyguards wrestling the house guard to the ground quickly and efficiently.

Purple-Man marched across the room towards the doors Mari and I had been examining. The crowd gave way before him and his bodyguards trailed in his wake. On his approach, the carved double doors swung open. Inside I saw a very richly decorated audience room. Couches were arrayed around a low central fountain; and on the couches sat none other than Lord Glorio Arkona, the leader of the House Arkona. He sat like a king on a throne, in his seat of power. I knew I was looking at one of the leaders of the city’s underworld. He gave nothing away in his expression, no hint as to his mood, or why he was meeting the Purple-Man.

The doors swung shut behind Purple-Man and his entourage, and the chamber behind me was filled with whispering and gossip at what was going on.

Neither Mari nor I moved from our spot in the intervening minutes. Mari was as curious as a cat, and I was certain that I had missed something, some clue as to the nature of events here this night.

“Who was that guy?” I asked.

“His name is Peryarv Lagren, from the Council of Ushers in Magnimar,” Mari replied. “He’s a foreign diplomat.”

As we waited I saw Osric and Aria moving among the crowd. Aria was dressed like a pirate lass, an eye-patch covering her birthmark. Osric seemed to be speaking firmly to some minor nobleman; possibly collecting a debt. It was good to know our friends had made it inside.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Osric and Aria approached a dead-end in the tunnel. Osric walked up and banged on the wall. A previously invisible peep-hole opened. A pair of intelligent brutish eyes stared back.

“Who is it? Oh it’s…”

“Never mind who it is, just open the door.”

“Who sent you? What’s the password?”

Osric just stared at the eyes watching them through the peep-hole. Behind him, Aria began to get concerned. Maybe she should say something? Osric did something with his hands that Aria couldn’t see.

“Oh it doesn’t matter, I suppose,” relented the doorman. “If you’ve come this far you must be okay.”

The blank wall dissolved away, revealing the squashed large ogre doorman. Osric stepped forward, depositing a pouch of coins into the doorman’s hand was he passed by.

“Thank you… stranger-who-I-haven’t-seen-before,” smirked the doorman.

Osric strode through and Aria hurried to catch up. As she fell in beside the Dwarf assassin, Osric murmured under his breath.

“A good bribe works every time, lass!”

Aria looked down her nose at the Dwarf, thinking ‘how dumb does he think I am?’
But what mattered was that they were inside.

The two marched into the slavers’ auction chamber.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

The chamber into which we walked was large, almost one hundred feet wide in each direction. Tapestries and intricate carving lined the walls; their motifs were of lust, dark mythology and violence. It was a two tiered chamber, with the display floor twenty feet below the gallery where we had entered. On the stage below us stood eight desperate figures, bound in chains and looking miserable. The auctioneer next to them plied his trade and sold away the lives of the slaves.

We were in the right place.

The crowd observing the auction would have numbered at over a hundred. There was a mix of people from the richest to the poorest. A quick glance showed that people in the crowd hailed from one of a small number of categories: the rich and society’s elite, their bodyguards, members of the city’s thieves’ guild, and those working for the auction house.

Mari’s face was an interesting study as she reacted to what she saw. She had spoken previously of her distaste for slavery. It seemed she was not lying and the girl looked almost physically uncomfortable to be so near such suffering of the soul. And yet around her, chatting and observing the world, were so many of the city’s social elite, all arrayed in their finery, that she was delighted to be out amongst them. Lying beneath the surface of these two warring emotional states, one could see Mari’s mind ticking over faster than a falcon in flight, cataloguing who was present, working through the magic she had seen, and holding a certain concentration back to maintain her own magic.

Marcus had recovered from whatever initial shock, if any, he had felt at seeing the slave auction. He drifted off into the room, casually asking me to stay by Mari, and walked into the web of intrigues present in the room. He chatted casually to people, made polite conversation and witty observations, and soaked up all the knowledge he could. He worked the room the way Bloody Finch would wield a blade, and I felt certain that the information he collected in his travels would serve him, his House, and their shared ambitions well. I made a mental note to speak to him about what he learned.

As for myself, I followed Mari around; in itself a not entirely unpleasant exercise. As we circled the room I took note of who was there, who people spoke to, and did my best to keep track of the subtle little clues of political alliances and motivations present here in the rich core of Korvosa’s underworld.

I noted the large number of female scions from the House Arkona. I felt like yelling out, “hey Marcus, I told you this family was dirty”, but owing to the circumstances, I satisfied myself with a smile.

I noted the presence of Sergeant Riggs, the boon companion of Lieutenant Stevens, whispering quietly into the ear of the auctioneer’s assistant. Stevens, assigned to the Midlands District, had been the officer signing off on almost all of the missing children cases in that district prior to Gordon’s Lamm most violent and satisfying end. At the time I had strongly suspected Stevens of facilitating the child-smuggling ring that the pedophiles Lamm and Balko had established. That suspicion was becoming more likely. I resolved to make a priority of looking further, and to do so soon.

Servants, most likely slaves themselves, circulated with trays of food and drinks. I thought that it would be best to play along with my role as an uncultured bodyguard and so helped myself to more than my fair share of the tasty snacks and drinks on offer. Mari thought a little bit further ahead, and sent one of the servant-slaves for a scroll listing the sales scheduled for the night. We saw no indication of a sale or class of sale that might be Yasmin Marcella. I would have liked to hang on to the scroll, but Mari passed it back without a second thought.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Osric considered how to split Tain from him and Aria. The three had stolen inside the house where Yasmin Marcella was being held – at least according to Mari’s magic – and they stood alone just outside the kitchen. Osric wanted to enter the slave chambers below. He knew how to gain entrance, for in truth he had been here before to conduct business. This was a fact he kept from the others, not wishing to upset their noble thoughts or half-smart opinions of him. Besides, he figured the champion of Abadar might be upset to know the finer details of the company he was now keeping.

And it was the champion of Abadar, or more specifically, his reactions that concerned the Dwarf assassin now.

Osric was fairly certain Aria, a priestess of the Death Goddess, could be relied on to be discreet in and amongst the slaves and slavers; but Osric was fairly certain that one whiff of oppression and injustice would be all it would take for Tain to cry “In Abadar’s name!” and start smiting half of the patrons below. This was not what Osric wanted.

As the Dwarf stroked his beard in thought, the solution came to him.

“Aria, Tain,” he began. “Wait here while I check something in the kitchens.”

The other others nodded and Osric slipped quietly into the kitchens. Excellent! There was a tray of food prepared and more ready to be served. With stealthy efficiency Osric poured a liberal dose of poison over the food before slipping back outside to the others.

“Aria, Tain, my friends, it is as I suspected.”

“What is it?” the priestess replied.

“The food in there has been poisoned. It is a common slaver’s trick. They poison some of the food being served at functions like this as a way of … ‘finding new recruits’, or of quietly removing troublesome guests.”

“Fiends!” said Tain.

Aria murmured over the food, praying for the insight of her goddess.

“It is as Osric says.”

“We must slip inside and warn our companions to this danger,” Osric said, “but…”

“But what?” Aria asked.

“But if we are down there, what is to stop someone else, some poor servant who doesn’t know any better, from tasting the food up here, and falling to some unknown and terrible agonizing fate?”

The three stood in silence, thinking up a solution. Osric spoke up.

“I have it. I shall go downstairs to the slaver’s auction house. I’m sure you can appreciate that I should be able to blend in there quite well.” The others nodded. “Aria, you come with me. While I can blend in I’m not tall enough to see through the crowd and find your cousins.” Aria nodded. ‘Tain, you stay here, out of sight, and make sure no-one eats this food. You keep people safe.”

Tain nodded his agreement and settled himself in position outside the kitchen window to keep watch. Osric and Aria moved off to enter the slavers’ chambers. Tain was out of earshot, Aria broke the silence.

“I am assuming, Osric, that you made that story up to convince Tain to stay behind.”

“Clever girl,” replied the Dwarf.

“The magic of the Goddess told me there was poison present. Should I ask how it got there?”

“Probably best you don’t lass.”

Aria smiled as the two moved through the tunnels.

*

From the Journal of Agon Depalre

A corridor took us to stairs going down under the house to the sewers. The twisting tunnels through which we walked were clean, warm and well tended. The walls seemed to have a phosphoresce to them that provide enough light for Marcus and Mari. (My half-Elf eyes could see perfectly well in the twilight of the corridors.) I estimated we had traveled some fifty yards before the tunnel ended. The butler had not followed us down. We were alone.

Marcus took the lead.

“We’d better knock, I suppose.”

At Marcus’ hesitant knock a small eye-level partition slid open. I blinked in surprise. I had not seen the tell-tale marks of construction for the peep-hole. Peering out was a pair of eyes set deep within a brutish face.

“What do you want?”

“We want to come in,” Marcus said, standing up straight.

“Who sent you?”

“The butler.” Marcus replied immediately.

“Oh, a smart-arse is it?”

I stepped forward and kicked the door, taking the door-man’s focus off Marcus.

“Open up, you lout!”

Mari placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Agon,” she whispered, “don’t start any trouble.”

The door … dissolved. It didn’t slide up or down; it just dissolved. It was magic of some kind. The whole place was, I realised. I was beginning to realise we were out of our depth.

The doorman in front of me was, in fact, a large ogre. Had he been able to stand straight he would have stood almost nine feet tall. As it was, his seven hundred pound muscled frame was bent over and cramped in the corridor. Even the slipperiest of customers could not have physically gotten past this doorman – there was no room! His eyes held an unusual amount of intelligence; a dark and hateful mind that now focused its ire on me.

“And who the fvck are you supposed to be?”

“I’m the muscle,” I replied. The doorman sneered at me. “And I’m here to see my boss doesn’t get fvcked around by power-tripping doormen. We’re here by invitation or we wouldn’t be here now, would we? So stop wasting our time, Tiny.”

The doorman thought through my logic. It made some small degree of sense; it made enough sense. He wasted more time indulging in a staredown. I obliged him, knowing the etiquette of such dog-vs-dog situations required such things. Behind me, I could feel Marcus and Mari grow uncomfortable in the silence. After half a minute of aggressive silence, the doorman blinked, shrugged, and did his best to stand aside. More of the corridors dissolved away, giving us room to pass.

“Hold out your arms before I let you go in.”

I complied without hesitation, sensing this was merely some sort of admittance procedure. I also hoped that we would be receiving some sort of stamp of token instead of a thumping with the doorman’s large cudgel. Marcus & Mari followed suit. Quick as a flash, with the speed that comes from having done the same thing many times over, the doorman slapped a small bamboo strip on each of our wrists. The strip sealed itself and shrank to a tight fit over our arms; more magic!

The doorman smiled, showing that despite his heritage, he actually did have good teeth.

“These strips allow us to keep an eye on youse lot at ALL times. There will be no fighting. If you make a bid, you MUST honour it. All purchases are final. Do not go into any place restricted; we will know if you try. Do you understand?”

Marcus and Mari nodded. I gave him a casual salute. As we moved to walk inside, the doorman put a meaty hand on my shoulder.

“You got a problem with me because I’m an orge? You think I’m dumb or something? You wanna start something?”

I didn’t try to move the hand off my shoulder, I just returned his stare and spoke quietly.

“I don’t have a problem with you being an ogre. I have a problem with you being an @rsehole. But I’m not being paid tonight to kill you, so take you’re fvcking hand off me.”

The doorman laughed, a deep laugh full of menace. He removed his hand and stood back.

Following Marcus and Mari, I moved continued into the slaver’s den.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

I’d been watching the street for almost ten minutes when I saw another guest approach the party-house. He wore a hat pulled down over his face, obscuring my view. As he entered the house he disappeared from my view, and in my mind’s eye I saw him exchange greetings with the butler. Something stuck in my mind…. The butler’s greeting! He had directed us up the stairs, away from the ground floor. But more than that, he had held out his hand. I had thought he was scamming for a tip, but I was wrong. He was waiting for the secret handshake!

When the man wearing the hat did not come up the stairs I knew I was right. I gestured to Marcus and Mari to join me on the balcony.

“These people, Agon,” Marcus began, “they’re not the ones we’re looking for. It’s as if all of the clueless rich young people are here, making noise to cover for something else.”

“I agree, Marcus,” I replied, “and I think I know what and why.”

“That butler was all wrong,” Mari interjected. “I don’t think he was asking for a tip, holding his hand out like that. Maybe he’s the one whose hand you’re supposed to shake with the secret handshake thingee.”

Clever girl.

“Of course.” Marcus closed his eyes, mentally berating himself. “Well then. Let’s go rescue a damsel in distress.”

Marcus led the way downstairs.

The butler waited for us.

“Had enough of upstairs, sir?”

“Quite enough, thank you. Now I’m looking for … other entertainment.”

The butler just looked at Marcus and blinked, feigning ignorance of his meaning.

“Come on, man. I’d like to see the ‘other entertainment’,” Marcus insisted, stepping forward, taking the butler’s hand and giving it the secret handshake.

The butler was a little taken-aback.

“May I ask who sent you, sir?”

“I forget his name,” Marcus said stalling. “What does it matter? We’re here now!”

“Please?” Mari added, batting her eyelids and not being at all helpful.

“Of course,” the butler said, turning and fishing at his belt for a key.

I didn’t trust him. By the gods, I wouldn’t have bought that lame duck routine of Marcus! I stepped forward and placed a hand on the butler’s shoulder.

“Forgive the young master. It’s his first night, and he’s a little drunk.”

The butler gave me a look, head to toe. He saw a professional soldier, moonlighting as muscle. I kept my free hand away from my sword, but any reasonably trained eye could see it was not my only weapon.

“And you, sir. Is this your first time?”

“My first time in this city,” I replied. “We do it a little differently where I’m from, but Balko said you could fix up my boy here, and his kid sister.”

Either the name carried some weight, or my conviction did. The butler nodded, changed the key he was about to use, and opened the hallway door for us.

“Enjoy your night, milady, sirs.”

The butler stood aside to let us pass. Taking the lead, I walked into the slaver’s den.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

Stepping inside the party-house, I was greeted by a middle-aged butler. With deft and polished diplomacy he politely, but firmly blocked my path, enquiring as to my purpose. I stepped aside for Marcus to take the lead.

“Are you here for the party, sir,” asked the butler holding out his hand, “or would you like a drink?”

“No thanks,” Marcus replied, “I bought my own!” He brandished his liquor bottle, his prop tonight in his role of ‘drunken nobleman’.

Marcus headed up the stairs, lurching a little according to his role. The butler repeated his question to Mari and to myself. Mari shyly murmured an answer and followed her brother up the stairs. I slapped the butler’s hand in the fellowship of servants against the ruling classes and follow the two nobles up the stairs.

All three of us had missed the sign, so obvious in hindsight.

*

The party was populated by the nouveau rich and bored young aristocrats. I ignored the lot and headed for the balcony. Marcus began to work the room, making small-talk and assessing the feel of the room with a practiced mind. Mari saw some people she knew and went to say ‘hi’.

Out on the balcony I could see nothing of interest. The sounds of the party inside, the small group of musicians playing in the corner of the room, drowned out the noises of the street, and the poor angle of observation to house 47 made observing the house difficult. I was getting nowhere.

*

Out in the shadows, Osric had moved his team into position near the back-alleys by 47 Shambala Street. He counted four guards, armed goons patrolling and lurking near the house. With deft hand signals, he explained his plan to the others.

With blank looks the champion and the priestess signaled they had no idea what the thief was trying to say. After all, the hand-signals of robbery and murder do not often get practiced by members of the churches; well, not by Ari and Tain’s churches.

Osric moved back to whisper his plan. With the familiar count of one-cabbanat-two-cabbanat-three-cabbanat keeping time silently in their heads, Osric moved off into the shadows.

*

Timaeus was bored. Guard duty was always boring, but never more so than when he knew the sweet young pieces of feminine meat that were inside; in the warm, and in the dry. And he was out here, in the cold, in the wet. Life sucked as a goon.

But then, waltzing around the corner, her hips swaying suggestively, was a woman. Just what he was thinking about!

Sort of.

She was a whore that was for sure. And she was cruising for some work. But she was awfully new at this. Timaeus could tell. He’d known enough whores, and this one looked like this was her first night or something.

Plus, she was kind of funny-looking. She had a messed up eye.

“Hey big-boy,” she purred. “Come closer.”

“Missy,” he said. “You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, honey. You gonna teach me a trick or two?”

“Heh heh. Don’t mind if I do.” Timeaus said, reaching out to stroke her hair.

A noise behind TImeaus made him turn around. Through the shadows he saw a short black-clad figure dropping from the roof and wrapping its arms around his partner. He saw a knife flash in the streetlight, saw blood, and heard his partner’s near-silent gurgle as his throat was cut clean through.

Before Timeaus could yell for help, Ari’s mace crashed down on the back of his head. Timeaus crumpled silently to the street.

Osric signaled for Ari and Tain to drag the bodies into the shadows. Again, the priestess and the champion just looked at him blankly, forcing the dwarf to whisper his instructions.

Osric sighed. It was going to be a long night.

*

From the Journal of Agon Deparle

So we knew where to go to rescue the girl. Now we had to summon up the courage to do so. Mari and Ari closeted themselves in Mari’s room, two girl-talking privately. I imagine they were discussing Mari’s magic, and how she should be controlling it or using it in our quest to find and rescue Yasmin. I’d also like to think at some stage they had a pillow-fight in their underwear, but that is somewhat less likely.

Marcus and Osric sat down and planned out the operation for the night. They really were quite organised. They wrote up lists and sent their people scurrying back and forth across town to get the equipment they felt was required. I kept an ear out and was more than satisfied at how they approached things. I was happy to leave them to it.

Tain and I separated ourselves from the others. Our faces were grim and we saw in each other a shared concern.

Summoning Street was near the Temple of Asmodeus, the dark devilish god worshipped by far too many Chelaxians in the city. The worshippers of that dark god had a habit of using unwilling sacrifices in their rituals, both as sex-slaves and as victims on the altar. Little, if anything, could be proven, but folk like Tain and I knew the truths behind the rumours. They were a powerful and well connected church. They paid the Guard well to look the other way, and the most powerful and influential of the Chelaxian nobility could be counted in their flock.

So we were going to one of the compounds where the finest in slave stock was regularly held, run by an organised crime syndicate that had operated for years with total impunity from the law, that in all probability had the backing of a powerful and influential demonic church. Understandably, I had my doubts as to how we were going to do this.

“We can’t just march in there Tain,” I said. “Unless I miss my guess, and you know I rarely do, if we cause trouble we’ll be going up against the local Guards and the Temple, as well as whatever security forces the slavers have. And if this salver ring is as connected as I think it is, then we could be p!ssing off the powerful Houses in the city.”

“It doesn’t matter, Agon,” Tain replied. “Yasmin Marcella is a captive, held unjustly against her will. We know where she is. We’re going to get her. If we have to fight the Temple of Asmodeus, then we fight the Temple of Asmodeus. I have no problem at all in fighting the Temple of…”

I cut Tain off.

“Tain, if you say one more word I swear to the gods I will stab you in the face!” Tain look confused. “Saying the name of a dark god three times in a row? That’s bad luck!”

The champion laughed.

“My soul’s prepared, Agon. How’s yours?”

“Not ready to fight a god, that’s for damn sure.”

The moment served to lighten our otherwise black mood. We turned from our depressing thoughts of suicide-by-cultist-slavers-and-their-filthy-rich-aristocratic-overlords and moved to help Marcus and Osric with their planning. We were soon joined by Mari and Ari.

It was decided to split in two groups.

“Yeah, because things always work out when we split up!” My comment was ignored. I shouldn’t have been so pessimistic, but sometimes you just have rough days.

Marcus, Mari and I would walk right into the place. We knew the secret knock. Marcus and Mari would be ‘rich bored aristocrats’. I was to be their bodyguard.

“Should I dress a little risqué?” Mari asked.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “Definitely!”

Marcus just gave me a filthy look.

Osric would lead Tain and Ari as the back-up team. We all knew that the champion and the priestess were not likely to stay quiet if what they saw offended their morality. Marcus, Mari and I were far more … flexible with our scruples.

Osric did the shake-and-shine test on his group, leading his team out of Brock House some ten minutes ahead of us so they could get into position. Mari, Marcus and I were dressed in dark but well-made clothing. I wore my armour, but left my shield. Marcus, I was pleased to note, was wearing his new Thassolonian armour under his outer garments. Mari made some arcane gestures and, before my eyes, changed the faces of herself, Marcus and I. Magical disguises! I was very impressed and Mari blushed a little when I complimented her skill.

The walk to Shambala Street took some twenty minutes. In the mind’s eye of my memories, the quiet city was holding its breath, waiting for the storm of violence that was sure to follow in our wake. Very dramatic, but a trick of my memory only I am sure. The reality was that the city had exhausted itself with all of the recent troubles, and we were walking through one of the most patrolled and safest areas of the city.

We spotted our target, 47 Shambala Street, easily enough. Osric’s people had mapped out the house for us. There seemed to be no obvious way in as we approached. Even to my half-elven eyes, I could see nothing that signaled a “all people interested in slaves enter through here” sign. A party was going on a few doors down. I led my two noble charges there instead, hoping to buy us some time to think and plan. Some revelers shared drinks and conversation on the balcony; perhaps from there I could see something I did not see from the street.

We saw no sign of Osric and his team.

*

From the Journals of Agon Deparle

Tain and I traveled to Brock House to recruit the Merivanchi scions to our cause. As we arrived a flustered Ari ran by us to get inside, yelling something about Mari having taken suddenly ill. Tain and I joined her in rushing inside the manor.

The household servants were in a panic, their equilibrium obviously upset. Ari growled curses as adeptly as any veteran sergeant and brushed slow moving servants aside as she took the stairs two at a time to get to Mari’s room. Tain and I followed in her wake.

The scene inside Mari’s room was a confusing chaos. Mari herself lay near motionless on her bed, propped up by pillows and comforted by the nervous form of her elder brother, Marcus. Mari’s cat was licking her face, trying to comfort his mistress. One of the household servants hesitantly picked up pieces of a broken dish or vase; it was hard to tell which. Ari, like Tain and I, stood mouths agape at the other sight filling to room – scores of images of Yasmin Marcella, floating around the room in all directions; images glowing with their own light like little fireflies.

It could only have been magic.

I overheard Mari’s whispered explanation to Ari and Marcus.

“I tried…. Use magic …. Find Yasmin… Backfired.”

Ari took charge.

“Everybody out. I need to speak to Mari alone.”

I went to make some sort of half-hearted joking comment to the contrary. Ari read my eyes.

“Out!”

We all left.

Ari came out of Mari’s room ten minutes later and told us what had happened.

“Mari tried to use magic to find Trinia Sabor. The spell backfired and hurt her.”

“I knew this magic was foolish and dangerous,” exclaimed Marcus. Ari held up her hand.

“I have used the power of the goddess to heal Mari’s wounds. She is fine now. She believes she has mastered the spell and will try again.”

“I forbid it,” vetoed Marcus. “She must stop this silly game before she gets hurt… again!”

Ari laid a hand on his arm.

“Be careful, cousin,” she began. “Magic is in Mari’s very blood. It is her dream and her passion, and she truly has a talent for this. Let her explore this side of herself. If you do not, she will come to hate you; and what is worse, she will never grow to be the woman she could be if you stifle her in this.”

Marcus took a few breaths.

“I will try, dear cousin,” he said. “Thank you.”

I felt like an intruder in this intimate family scene. Tain and I kept quiet as we all re-entered Mari’s room. During the lull, Osric had arrived and joined the group. No-one really paid attention to him. Don’t ask me how the Dwarf thief-cum-smuggler-cum-assassin managed to fit in here in the nobleman’s house, but he managed it. He stood, statue-like, nearby absorbing the scene.

Mari had placed the map of the city in her desk. She stood hovering above the map. A small crystal dangling from a silver chain was held above the map. Her eyes were closed and she canted under her breath in strange words. The crystal began to move, circling above the map. After a few swings it seemed to almost pull at Mari’s hand, drawing it down towards the map. The crystal came to rest just near Summoning Street. Mari spoke aloud in triumph.

“Yasmin Marcella is here, at 47 Shambala Street.”

“Yeah, Mari, we know,” I replied. Mari looked at me questioningly. “We asked around. Investigated. That sort of thing.”

“But I found her, using my magic.” Mari seemed deflated that she had not solved the mystery for all of us.

“That was pretty cool, what you did,” I said, hoping to reassure her.

“Yes,” Tain added. “Very impressive.”

“But completely pointless,” I finished.

Mari looked hurt.

“My magic was not pointless,” she pouted. “You didn’t know for sure where she was.”

“Well, yes, we did.” I said. “But still… impressive spell and all of that.”

“Oh phooey!” Mari stuck out her tongue and sat on her bed in a huff. Damn she was cute when she was angry.

*

4th of Calistril

It was the last month of a cold winter. The rains had settled in, not heavy but the sort of cold damp that gets in everywhere and leaves everyone thoroughly miserable unless they happen to be near a warm fire.

As a member of the Korvosan Guard on active duty I was rarely in by the fire. Oh yes as an acting patrol leader I could have stayed indoors and driven a desk, but I’m not the sort of leader who stays indoors while his troops walk in the cold and the wet. Besides, I hated paperwork.

I was coordinating patrols in a part of the Heights District, the home of the city’s rich and elite. It was, relatively speaking, a fairly cushy job. One of the benefits was to my eyes, that Tain Locus, a Champion of the Church of Abadar also had a habit of patrolling the area. One relatively drizzly morning a chance meeting by the Cliff Street coffee shop gave Tain and I the chance to catch up and compare notes on the tasks that lay before myself, Tain and the Merivanchi family.

Queen Ileosa herself had asked us to find a former lady-in-waiting by the name of Trinia Sabor, the woman the queen claimed poisoned her husband. Personally, I was almost certain this was a frame up and poor little Trinia Sabor was a patsy. Still Her Royal Highness had made it fairly plain to my eyes that we find Trinia Sabor or wind up on the wrong end of ‘royal justice’ ourselves. While I hadn’t hurried to find Sabor, with the queen’s coronation fast approaching I felt it was time to find the patsy.

Tain had also received this instruction. Like me he felt Trinia was more than likely to be innocent, but Tain was under the impression that the rule of law would be adequate in insuring a fair hearing for Sabor. He did not share my cynicism for the ruling classes.

What concerned Tain far more was the state of a noblewoman called Yasmin Marcella. We had found Yasmin’s diary some time ago. The diary spoke of a relationship with a mysterious stranger. Tain and the scions of the Merivanchi Household had discovered that Yasmin’s stranger was a Chelaxian diplomat, and that the young lady had been imprisoned and held for ransom by the same group of criminals and slavers we had run across (read: fought and killed) the night that King Eodred Arabasti II had died. Just under a week had passed since that night of violence and Tain had begun to worry that the poor Yasmin was withering away locked somewhere without food or similar support.

But what should our priority be? Rescue the damsel in distress or complete our tasks for queen-and-country? For me, a mercenary soldier, the question was a selfish one – which task would benefit me more or harm me less? For Tain, a champion of one of the city’s churches, the question held deeper significance. While I was honoured he felt he could speak to me openly of his conflicted thoughts, I was drastically ill-equipped to handle any debate on morality or ethics.

As we walked along the street, me idly slurping my coffee, Tain pondering the questions of his troubled mind, we chanced upon a crone fortune teller. Providence, I claimed, and directed the champion to here her words. I recall her statement in answer to his questions.

“What is the purpose of law if not to enforce the good? What use is it without good? Good surely comes first.”

Tain, who had in my opinion already resolved his mind and was merely seeking permission from a third party, interpreted this to mean that finding and rescuing Yasmin was to be his (and our) priority.

We had only one lead on finding Yasmin Marcella, the drug-dealer slaver and alchemist, Balko.

*

Balko had been the right-hand man of Gordon Lamm, the perverted slaver who had murdered Tain’s wife, a scion of the Merivanchi Household. I had been with them on the bloody night where vengeance was taken. Balko lived through the fight. I had shot an arrow into his stomach after he surrendered, but he had lived nevertheless. Even since, Balko had been confined to the cells of the Abadar Church. Tain and Ari Merivanchi, a priestess of Pharasma the Death Goddess, had visited Balko and violently interrogated him. Balko would know the details of how or where we could find Yasmin, but I was determined to adopt a different approach to the interrogation.

Tain agreed to follow my lead. He would look tough but keep silent. I had Balko moved to a room for questioning, his hands tied behind him to a chair; a table nearby was strong enough for me to sit casually upon it. Tain stood back, his arms folded.

“Hello Balko,” I began, all smiles.

“Not you guys again. Haven’t we done this before? I’m tired.”

“New questions, Balko. New information. If you’re a good boy.”

“And if I’m not? More beatings? We’ve done this before. I’m not talking.”

“Yes, you are,” I corrected him, standing and walking around behind him. Tain just stood back, arms folded, silent. “You’re going to talk because of what I can give, Balko.”

“Go on…” He was curious now.

“A fair trade, Balko. You tell me what I want to know, I give you what you want. Does that sound fair?”

“You’ll let me go?”

I laughed.

“Probably not. We’re looking for a woman, a noble-woman.”

“Have you tried working on…”

I cut him off.

“On my personality? Yes, Balko. Very funny. I’m looking for Yasmin Marcella. You and Lamm were holding her somewhere. I want to know where.”

“Ahh yes,” he said, remembering. “Pretty woman. Fine quality stock.” His sneer reminded me why I shot him in the stomach. “I don’t know where she is.”

“You’re lying, Balko.”

“Yes, yes, hero. This is where you tell me I’m lying and threaten to beat me up. Then when I keep telling you the truth that I don’t know where she is, you hit me. Eventually you get tired and take me back to me cell. Can’t we skip all this?”

“Okay,” I said, sitting back down on the desk. “You don’t know where she is, but you know something. How about… who do I speak to in order to find her?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Seriously, I don’t know who is holding her or where she is. It wasn’t really my area.”

I paused, assessing his story before continuing.

“But you know something, Balko, and I’ll be here with you until you tell me what that is. You know it. I know it. Why not deal with me? What do YOU want?”

“I want to go outside. Let me out for a couple of hours a day. Let me see the outside world.”

His request seemed a genuine need. It was something I could work with.

“Not going to happen, but I can bring the outside world here. What do you want to see?”

“I want a beer. I miss beer.”

“Hmm,” I mused. “How about a beer a day? You help me and I’ll make sure you get a beer a day while you’re here.”

“Really?” He asked. I nodded. “Okay.”

“Let’s start now. Tain?”

“Yes, Agon?”

“Can you go get a beer for Balko?”

Tain hesitated. I turned and motioned for him to leave. He left, shutting the door behind him. I slowly turned back to face Balko, now alone in the room with me, and still tied to the chair.

He saw the look in my eye and the truth finally hit him.

“Oh sh!t.”

“Yes, Balko,” I chuckled, my voice soft and full of hate. “Now it is just you and me, and you have sent your only protection from the room.” I paused and let the truth of his situation sink in. He looked at me with despair in his eyes. “So, Balko, will you tell me what I want to know, or do I get to kill you now before the champion returns?”

He swallowed nervously and then sung like a canary.

By the time Tain had returned I had information on two locations used to hold slaves. A site in the camps outside the city walls served to hold the more … ordinary stock; a baser place fit only to be torched. The more … ‘quality stock’ was held in an address in the Heights District near Summoning Street. Balko passed on details of the correct handshake to give in order to be recognised, and how to gain entrance at each of the locations.

He was still trembling in fear by the time Tain returned. I had not once touched the prisoner.

“Thank you, Tain. I have the information we need. Please give Balko his beer and leave instructions he is to have a ration of beer once a day. He was a good boy. He played nice, so I will too today.” I turned to Balko as I left. “Thank you, Balko. I’ll be sure to come back and kill you another day.”

The alchemist smiled weakly in response, unsure of how to take my goodbye.

*

(Another session run... campaign journal will be added to shortly... quote of the night, imo....

TAIN: Well if we have to fight the Temple of Asmodeus, then we fight the Temple of Asmodeus. I've got no problem fighting the Temple of <cut off mid-sentence by PC lunging across table>
AGON: Tain, say one more word and and I swear by the gods I will stab you in the face!

"the Sea-Wyvern can only really be destroyed by ramming it or boarding it. To ram it, the enemy ship needs to be faster & more nimble in the water. To board it, the enemy has to out-fight White Watch & Mitch. Neither are likely to be easy to accomplish which means the Sea-Wyvern becomes a lengthy kill and a difficult one for the Crimson Fleet to accomplish."

Hah hah hah.

I had planned every detail of the battle. Like *th Dwarf said, I really went to town and used all of the military planning tools. (Mitch was meant to be ex-Sassarine naval academy so I figured it was fair enough.) But, perhaps unsurprisingly, I was somewhat arrogant in my planning and in my appreciation process.

We played the final battle over two game nights. We did the naval battle first. As I was really the only player involved, two of the other players (Zacote & Deranthil) aided the GM by playing hero-villains in the enemy fleet. All of a sudden my enemy just got a whole lot smarter and deadlier.

Zacote played a psycho evil priest. He really got into it, using magic to harm his own crew when they didn't do what he wanted. he cackled gleefully a LOT during the night.

Deranthil's player - an actual naval tactical veteran - played an enemy captain. When he got out his slide-rule and started plotting the ship intercept paths on the charts I began to get a little worried. The enemy captain was a snake-woman ninja (naturally). The enemy ship has storm-ballista (fired lightning bolts at my ship and crew), chain-baliista (fired large chains at the 'Sea-Wyvern' to capture it, and was crewed by some 30 lvl 4 pirates. Bolstering the enemy crew was 'Kom', an 8th lvl lizardman barbarian strongman - and a minor NPC much loved by Deranthil's character.

The Sea-Wyvern was faster (but this mattered little when it got hit by the enemy ship chains), was armed with ONE ballista, and crewed by 15 lvl 1 sailors (rogues), a dozen or so lvl 2 Burrowo warriors (barbarians), and White Watch (the 'hero' NPCs who'd been with us for the journey and were about 4 to 6th lvl).

The enemy was vastly more pwoerful and was led by an actual naval tatician. But I had my plans, my tricks and I knew my crew and ship intimately. With a few deep breaths, we kicked off.

Straight away my valiant first mate, a powerful monk, was shot and killed by a poisoned arrow from the enemy captain. White Watch's most junior member stepped up to the helm, doing (it must be said) an incredibly job throughout the battle.

An effective use of the Wind Wall spell allowed my crew & marines to get in a few arrow volley at the enemy for little effective return fire. It did little more than annoy the enemy, but this itself was useful. Captain Deparle brought out his 'Wand fo Acid Arrow' and kept pinking the hide of the enemy captain. Again, this did little but get the enemy captain more and more annoyed - which was my plan!

Kom, the super-barbarian, did some sort of mighty barbarian leap onto my ship and into my crew; where he proceeded to kill EVERYTHING. I mean it was bad. In the resulting panic the enemy ship closed and they boarded. The enemy ninja captain pulled a ninja vanish trick, waiting to jump out and backstabe Captain Deparle for 10,000 points of damage. Captain Deparle had likewise pulled his invsibility trick, and was using ventriloquism to direct the crew. It was desperate, but really a amtter fo who broke cover first.

So my crew, outnumbered and outgunned, found itself in deep poop.

But in the midst of blind terror, sometime inspiration strikes.

The Priest of procan on White Watch cast a Hold person spell on the super barbarian. Enough to hold him for a few rounds, but not enough to harm him. Instead, the priest gave the roder to throw the barbarian over the side. Up and over! To this day, Deranthil's player rages in equal parts frustration and admiration at how swiftly this terrifying foe was removed from the fight.

Luck turned my way. The enemy ninja captain made her move, icing the priest. So Captain Mitch made his move, sneak attacking the enemy captain ... only to have her ninja stealth save her. Blast!

A duel ensured, in which Mitch was outmatched, his crew losing, but all hands turning to watch. So Mitch called a truce, and challeneged the enemy captain to "mano-a-mano", no weapons to the death!

Psycho Enemy Priest: What are you nuts? Just kill him!
Enemy Ninja Captain: Well I know he will have a trick, but my trick is better. I accept.
Captain Deparle: Guess what? I have TWO tricks!

So Captain Deparle out wrestled the enemy captain. In frustration the psycho priest threw a spell at the pair of them... Mitch dodged and threw the enemy captain in the way. One dead enemy captain!

The tide quickly turns and soon the enemy pirates are overwhelmed by a Sea Wyvern crew riding high on the tide of victory.

Sea-Wyvern crew losses .... barely half a dozen.
The enemy ship was captured and their crew thrown into the sea and shot to death. (Mercy was not high on my list of priorities at the time.)

After the battle we sat around and sort of went ... "wow". Such a pwoerful foe defeated by such a puny force. Luck and timing, and planning I suppose.

We wondered what Kom the lizardman barbarian would think. Revenge? Deranthil's player thought that just as likely, Kom would see out this tricksie captain and see if he had room for one more on his crew. My reaction, should that have ever happened.... a chaotic evil, vile debased super-strong elf-hating lizardman barbarian pirate on my crew .... awesome!

We emerged into the light of day from the sewer tunnels an hour or so later. We had had much to talk about.

Mari was now openly practicing magic in front of us, and her brother had accepted this. We had agreed to keep this to ourselves. Her skills were not to be a matter for discussion outside the immediate circle. We were all aligned through the Merivanchi family, either through blood or marriage or the relationship of ‘amici’. None of us would betray Mari or Marcus with that secret. And now that the matter had been made public there was no small amount of gushing and congratulating Mari for her excellent and interesting skills.

It was decided that the tomb would be handed over to the Church of Pharasma, the Death Goddess. There were matters here that needed investigating, even if only in a scholarly context. Obviously reports would be given to the Guard regarding the tomb-raiding, and to the University regarding the interesting find, but the Church of Pharasma would have jurisdiction.

The armour, buckler and short fencing sword proved very interesting finds. Even ignoring their intrinsic value as finely worked arms and armour and their inherent value as collectors items, both the blade and the buckler were, according to Mari, magical in nature. The discussion as to who should claim the items was brief – all of us thought they should be kept as a set and would look best on Marcus. The young nobleman was hesitant to gain such a lion’s share, but in truth neither Tain nor myself were too interested. I jibed that Marcus needed all the help in personal combat he could get.

When we emerged into the light we were greeted with cheers from the local. A crowd had gathered, eager to hear the news of their local heroes. And the tale of the danger beneath the streets had grown in the telling, no doubt thanks in part to my inflated report.

While Marcus was humble, Mari and I waved happily to the crowd. Even Tain smiled and waved back. Pulled along by peer pressure, Marcus smiled and waved, the crowd responding with even bigger cheers. Ari, naturally taciturn, merely nodded in acknowledgement of the crowd’s support.

It was a good day. We had done good things. We had profited. We had emerged with relatively few injuries and with a glorious tale.

And, I noted with pleasure, someone else was now handling the clean-up and the scroll-work.

A good day all round.

*

We were not total idiots. I wrote a quick report of what we had found and what we were attempting to do. Obviously I made this sound as dangerous and high-level stakes as possible… an ancient powerful evil threatening to destroy the peace and security of the citizens of Korvosa… I was leading a specialist Guard unit working with members of two churches to eliminate threat to city… etc.

Hey, one does not gain a reputation as a miracle worker by writing boring reports!

I informed the Guard on the street as to what was happening. I also told them in all seriousness that this could go very wrong very quickly and that they were to treat this area as being under lockdown.

One of the advantages in being so dramatic in my report was that it guaranteed a personal response and presence from the local area commander. This in turn guaranteed that he (or she) would then have to deal with the clean-up and scroll-work regarding the mess on the streets. Heh heh heh.

Back in the mausoleum I ran through our tactical approach with everyone. Tain and Ari, with their ability to channel the power of the gods, would act as our main melee combatants. I suspected that ordinary steel would be useless against whatever was inside the tomb-slab. I would fight in close not to harm the creature, but to protect the others and to obstruct the creature as much as possible. Mari would use her magical wand from a distance. And Marcus would use the vials of holy water brought along by Ari, gifts from her church to deal with this threat.

We walked through the assault a few times, including how we should react when people were injured. Everyone seemed ready. Ari said her prayers and the blessing of the Death goddess flowed over us. Marcus spoke a few words that filled our hearts with courage. I cannot remember what he said other than that he took away what doubts I had – we all knew we would win.

Tain and I heaved against the covering marble slab.

The sound of air escaping the marble coffin was far louder than it should have been. We could almost hear the magical wards snapping, an echoing tear that sounded in our very souls.

Inside the tomb, lay a naked man. He was a thing of beauty, his features as young and lovely as ever the gods had crafted. I knew in my heart of hearts that women would throw themselves at his feet and crawl across broken glass just to be with him. He was well muscled without looking like a cloth stuffed with walnuts. He was perfection.

He opened his darling violet eyes and smiled into the eyes of Tain and myself.

<“Thank you for freeing me.”>

(Mari tells me that is what he said. It was in Thassalonian, a language I do not speak.

He looked across from us at Marcus, ignoring the ladies.

<“Kiss me,”> he purred, staring deep with his violet eyes and sending his ancient will into the Marcus’ mind.

Possibly this chap preferred the company of men…

In any event, the Thassalonian chose the wrong toy boy. Marcus blinked and with a deft response of “eat this”, hurled a flask of holy water into the Thassaolian’s face. The vial broke and the holy water burned at the ancient man’s perfect skin. He cursed again in this ancient language I did not know. The spell of his awakening gone, Tain, Ari and I attacked.

I rushed at him with my shield, throwing him off balance. Tain, calling upon the power of his god, struck the ancient a terrible blow, Tain’s flail opening up a gash on its head. The ancient howled and cursed again.

Ari’s mace struck the ancient’s side, pulping ribs. Mari, her will focused and ready, sent three burning magical bolts of energy into the ancient’s torso.

Through his curses, the ancient muttered words that could only have been magic. The door to the side responded, unlocking its complex locks, and violently opening the door. Inside was a small personal armoury: a chain shirt, a small shield, an ornate sword. All of these items flew through the air to clothe and arm the Thassalonian. I tried to knock them aside with little success. In an instant the ancient evil was armed for the fray.

But the preparation came too late. Again we attacked. I threw the ancient off balance, Tain and Ari struck home, as did Mari’s magical missiles and Marcus’s well-aimed holy water. Again the ancient evil screamed in pain, cut, torn, burned and bashed by our blows.

Again, it struck out with its mind, trying to dominate Marcus.

<“Attack him!”> It commanded pointing at me.

Again, Marcus resisted its siren song.

The Thassalonian moved to escape its confining marble coffin. Tain, and I combined shield and flail to hurl it back. It fell badly, giving Marcus an opening. He lunged and his rapier struck deep, drawing blood and eliciting a cry of anger and pain.

So ordinary steel would hurt this creature! Excellent.

We attacked again from all sides, our attacks supported by Mari’s magical missiles. Harried from all sides, the Thassalonian struck out weakly and I easily deflected its feeble blows with my shield, pressing in close and pinning it down. From its flank, Ari and Tain called again upon the power of their gods and crushed their weapons into its skull.

The flurry of combat ended as the Thassalonian sank down, slumping over the edge of its marble coffin. I took a quick step in and, bringing my officer’s longsword down hard, cleft its head from its body.

“Just to be sure,” I said the others.

My statement was given a chorus of agreement.

*

Some three hundred feet down the tunnel we encountered both a branch and a door. The branch of the tunnel ran off downwards into the darkness. The door was slightly ajar and, prompting our immediately attention, had scorch-marks on the stonework frame.

We examined the doorway as best we could. Marcus urged caution, as is his wont. Mari was curious – this was a good way removed from her experience and knowledge of magic. Tain was impassive as always. And me? Well I got bored.

“Stand back everyone.”

I stepped through the doorway.

And into Hell. Flames erupted from the floor, burning and blistering my skin, causing to crackle like pork.

Well not really. I leapt aside as soon as the flames erupted, rolling into the room and out of harm’s way. I got singed a little, but was mostly unhurt.

“Nice moves,” I heard Tain say.

The flames still burned, an artificial door of heat and fire.

“Can you see a switch? Something to turn off the flames?” Mari called out. She added, “and, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. There’s no switch I can see.”

My sword was out and I examined the room around me.

“I’m in a large chamber. It’s like a temple. There are pillars down each side of the room; eight or so a side. Good quality stuff, but I can’t place the carvings. It looks old. There’s a tomb at the end of the chamber. This place is a mausoleum.”

“Can you see a switch?”

“Wait out.” I examined the area around the door. Nothing. I moved away from the doorway to search the nearby walls. When I was more than ten feet away the flames switched off. When I stepped closer, they came on again. I stepped away to allow the others to look into the room.

“It’s Thassilonian, the people who rules this land long long ago.” Mari explained. “They built the city foundations. This city…”

“…was built on top of it.” Marcus finished. He stared in wonder at the ancient vault. “The pyramid that houses the castle-palace….”

“Let me guess, Marcus, these guys built it?” I finished. He nodded. “Great, so how does that help us now?”

“It doesn’t,” Mari supplied. “We’re just telling you how old this place is.”

“And I’m impressed, I swear.”

“You don’t look impressed.”

“That’s because I’m worried that some weird thing from beyond the grave is going to leap up and try to eat my soul and my friend won’t be able to help because they’re too busy looking at the artwork and commenting on how ‘cool’ all of the old stuff looks.”

“Maybe we should find a way around the fire-trap,” suggested Tain.

Lacking any way to shut off the flames, and lacking anything remotely like a sensible plan, Marcus and Tain collected some of the larger pieces of rubble from back where we arrived and ferried them back to the tomb’s entrance. With the rocks laid at the base of the doorway, I set off the flame-trap again. The flames were muted, but present. With some agile stone-hopping the others were able to join me in the mausoleum.

We approached the tomb slab. I noted that a steel doorway with a complex lock was in the chamber’s far corner. Marcus and Mari again admired the old stonework on the marble facings of the tomb-slab, obviously the resting place of the member of the Thassilonian nobliity. Tain’s serious face grew more serious.

“A great evil dwells here.”

“Huh?”

“I can sense its presence. It lies dormant, waiting to rake resurgent to life. It is old and it is powerful.”

Mari incanted to herself again. Marcus fingered the hilt on his rapier.

“There are powerful wards here,” Mari began, “but it is divine magic, not arcane. It is beyond my knowledge.”

Silence descended upon us as we each dwelled in our own thoughts.

“Look,” I began, “Let’s break this down. What has happened here.”

Marcus and Tain broke from their reflection and helped me pace out what had happened. (Mari we sent back up the tunnel to inform the Guard we required assistance from the Church of the Death Goddess, specifically from Acaolyte Ari.) We re-examined the chamber from the doorway in. I had been taught investigative techniques as a part of my Guard training. Tain had not advanced in his training as far, but knew the basics. Marcus had a sharp mind and was able to assist. Eventually we reconstructed what had happened.

A group of three people had broken into the tomb from the sewer tunnel using a combination of finesse and brute force. They had triggered the fire-trap and dispersed. This had occurred sometime within the last two days. The otyugh had, upon finding the now open door, investigated. It had been badly burned by the fire-trap, gone mad and broken out onto the street level.

One of the conclusions Tain and I reached was that whoever was responsible: (a) they were most likely tomb raiders, and (b) they would be back. When they did come back, they would most likely break open the sealed tomb-coffin in the mausoleum. Whatever wards were in place would be broken and whatever was inside would be released….

An old and great evil released upon a city in chaos…

Tain and I agreed something had to be done.

Marcus and Mari advised against action, doubting our ability to properly deal with “an ancient and powerful evil”.

Ari arrived. We explained what we had found and had concluded. She channeled to divinatory magic of the Death Goddess, her eyes glowing with holy power.

“No Death resides here. Whatever is within these Seals, it lives, though it is not of this world. It is … an interloper.”

We all looked blank. Well, Marcus, Tain and I did. Mari explained.

“She means whatever is in here is from another Plane of Existence.”

We stared blankly.

“Ari means whatever this is, it is way beyond us. Let’s get out of here.”

Tain folded his arms.

“No. An evil lies here that threatens this city.”

“I agree,” I said, pacing as I spoke. “Whatever this … ‘thing’ is, whatever its powers or abilities, it is US who have discovered it. It is US who have come across it. Like it or not people, Fate plays a hand in our dealings. Consider all that we have done and continue to do. We are far more powerful than we think, and our greatest fear is that we may be even more powerful than we dream. None of us here would turn our backs on the people of this city, not even me. Whatever it is that lies beneath this slab of ancient marble, it IS something we can deal with. How do we know this, because WE have found it. I do not profess a great faith in the gods, but I know they place no challenge before us that we cannot deal with, and I do have faith in each of you.”

My friends returned my gaze with silence.

“So, what’s it to be?” I challenged them.

I was please to find it was Marcus who spoke up first.

“Fvck it. Let’s do this thing!”

*

I lowered Mari down, her foot on a loop of rope, and then climbed down after her. The four of us, exploring a dark tunnel where we knew something had driven away a monster tougher than all four of us.

Just maybe this was a bad idea.

Thinking of the bureaucracy and scroll-work that awaited me above, thought better of retreat.

Mari was examining the corpse.

“There’s something stuck in it’s mouth…. Here!”

Mari pulled out a rotted hand, on which was an untarnished silver ring, and an ornate bone scroll-case. Without so much as a pause, she closed her eyes and incanted over the objects. It was magic. It wasn’t impressive or spectacular, but it was an open admission by the aristocratic girl that she was a spell-caster. Tain, Marcus and I all exchanged looks of surprise. Tain spoke our thoughts.

“So I guess we’re all admitting this now then?”

“So it would seem,” Marcus replied sighing.

After a few moments, Mari opened her eyes.

“The ring is enchanted. So is whatever is inside the scroll-case.” She examined the scroll-case. “It’s good workmanship too; waterproof and worth quite a bit in its own right.” She looked up at her brother, her eyes daring him to speak against her. After exchanging stares, he held his hand out, pulling her to her feet. “Thank you, brother.”

“Just be careful,” he whispered before turning to me. “Lead the way, Agon.”

“Aye.” I handed a torch to Tain and walked out in front, leading the way down the tunnel. ‘So what did you make of the burns, Mari?”

“You’re right. Magic. But it’s a magic I am unfamiliar with, so there’s not a lot I can tell you. The burns are in a line though. They might have come from a magical trap of some kind, maybe something in the tunnel itself.”

I froze. Was such a trap just ahead for me? Was I about to burn my legs to a crisp? Was that Mari chuckling behind me?

I turned and saw her and Marcus laughing quietly at their joke.

“Bastard.” I said to Marcus. He waved at me and grinned. I turned and continued down the sewer.

The muck we waded through was knee height and nasty. The smell had not gone away, but had so permeated our noses that we had grown inured to it. The torchlight behind me gave off more than enough light for me to see by. The others followed my footsteps and so we kept good order. Aside from our echoes and the squeaking of rats, no sound reached my ears. We were alone in the tunnels.

*

As the Guard began to arrive and restore some semblance of normality to the street the enormity of what had transpired began to set in.

An outbreak by a sewer monster was, by the book, dealt with by close to twenty trained and well-armed Guards. This incident had been dealt with by three individuals, one of them a slip of a girl.

Marcus, Mari and Tain were heroes, and the locals – their shock wearing off – treated them like that. Food and drink were brought out and gifted to the feted heroes and the Guards. (Good lads that they were, none of them turned down the offered food and rink, although I did see Marcus turn his nose up at one of the offered horns of ale.) People spoke about the heroes and retold the battle a hundred times.

Those who had lost loved ones sheltered in quiet groups, but it was the bystanders and locals who feted the three young heroes.

As I surveyed the damage around me, the grief of those who had lost people, and the unabashed pride and hope in the eyes of the locals, for my sins my mind was dominated by one thought, one pressing desire…

I’m not cleaning up this mess!

Looking around, I found my inspiration at the gaping hole in the street. It lay open like a wound, and out of it came not only the very real stink of the sewer, but the semi-tangible threat of the unknown; the vague promise that more danger lurked beneath the surface. Investigation of the sewer tunnels in the immediate proximity, in order to properly end the threat of the sewer monster or ascertain the extent of the incident, seemed like a good way to avoid cleaning up the mess of over half-a-dozen corpses while still looking like I was doing my job.

Tain was easy to convince.

“Tain, it occurs to me that these people could still be in danger.”

“How so, Agon?”

“The sewers. What if this monster was not alone? What if it’s mate lies beneath, ready to crawl horridly into the world above? What if another danger below, greater and more terrible, is what forced this creature out of its lair? What if…”

“Yes, yes, Agon. I understand. Let’s go.”

Marcus was more difficult.

“Agon, there is no way I am going down there. It’s dark. It’s dangerous. It’s filthy. And it’s not my problem or responsibility. Let the Guard do it. That’s what we pay them for.”

I nodded in resignation. I noted the crowd, and the way they doted upon their local lord who had kept them safe from the sewer monster. I jumped up onto a nearby cart, raising my voice to the crowd.

“Citizens of Korvosa, hear me! The great and noble Lord Merivanchi, who has this very hour slain the sewer monster that was wreaking such havoc on the streets as you see before you, has now volunteered to go beneath the streets and ensure this threat has ended.” Several scattered cheers greeted my proclamation. I carried on before Marcus could recover from his surprise. “He will not step back from keeping you, his people, safe no matter the risk. With your safety and security foremost in his mind he will now an expedition down into the unknown dark depths to ensure all of you can sleep soundly tonight. Hurray for Marcus Merivanchi!”

The crowd cheered and toasted to Marcus’ success.

Marcus walked slowly over to me, expression stuck between hatred and amusement.

“Bastard.”

I clapped him on the shoulder and just smiled.

Tain had secured a rope and torches from a nearby merchant. While he and marcus argued about gas and the wisdom of bringing flames into a sewer tunnel I lit a torch and threw it into the hole, following it down by means of the rope.

“Hmm, he’s almost as good as a canary,” I heard Marcus remark as I disappeared into the depths of the hole.

Below the corpse of the sewer monster reminded me of the danger that lay below. Several rats, already feeding on the corpse, fled from the light of the torch. I jammed the torch into the corpse, my Elven eyes rapidly adjusting to the gloom.

Upon examining the beast I saw burn marks on its lower limbs. The burns were from an intense heat, more than would come from any torch or small fire. And yet the burns were extremely localized. Not being able to think of a natural source of flame that could cause this, I began to suspect magic.

“Agon,” Tain called from above. “Is everything alright?”

“Peachy,” I replied. “But there are some strange markings on the corpse. Maybe …” I fell silent. I had thought of getting Mari to examine the corpse and the injuries. Her knowledge of the arcane could provide some clues, but I was hesitant to speak about her magical aptitude so openly in front of the others. “Let me come up.”

I scrambled quickly up the rope. Marcus raised an eyebrow at my proficiency, surprised at my ready agility in armour.

“There are some interesting burn marks on the corpse. Take a look. It’s safe enough.”

I left Marcus and Tain to climb down and examine the corpse while I approached Mari.

“You stink, Agon.”

“Thank you, dear. I’d like you to come look at the corpse.”

“Why do you think I would want to do that?”

“I think it has been burned by magic.”

“And what is that to me?”

<sigh>

“Still, Mari? Still you pretend?”

Mari just looked at me as if I was mad and a gutter-snipe she had no wish to deal with.

“Look Mari, ignore the grandstanding I did to get your brother down that hole. I was playing to the crowd and listening to my instincts. And they were right! Something drove that otyugh up onto the streets. Something to do with magic. My skills only go so far. Yours can help. And by the gods, I think the people here could do with a little help.”

Mari sighed. She put down her cat, shooing it away. She took a few deep breaths, steadying herself.

“This dress is going to be completely ruined, you know Agon.”

“That’s okay Mari,” I smiled, “I’ll help you out of it later.”

“Cheek!”

But she chuckled, so I guess everything was okay.

*