“Can you answer a personal question for me?” Terrant asked. In spite of having been on patrol with George for a week she was nervous being alone with the bandit. Just her and him in Georges office. The old jackal had laid out a good sized spread of food; Meat, vegetables, bread, soup, wine and beer on the table between them. Was this a meeting or a date?
“What’s the question?” George answered between bites of bread. The scout had bathed and groomed himself and was now dressed in a blue and gold robe of very expensive silk. George loved his luxuries and spared nothing to make himself feel good. But Terrant couldn’t blame him for it. Unlike many wealthy people George earned his gold. During the Yule day attack Nasoj had sent several assassins to kill the old scout. It spoke highly of Georges skill to earn that type of special attention.
“You and Misha are old friends aren’t you?” she asked sipping on some wine.
George nodded in response. “We’ve been friends for a long time. We met in the year Six eighty in the spring.”
“Rumor has it you were a mercenary, a Sell sword and a bandit before you came here,” Terrant said trying to sound nonchalant.
“Adventurer, bandit, scout, mercenary, general, robber, body guard, a caravan guard and even a peasant farmer.”
“An impressive life. But I find it hard to believe you started as a peasant,” the woman commented.
“Peasant life stinks,” George commented flatly. “Literally. All my memories of my childhood include the smell of manure and dirt. When I was a child my whole family worked hard from before dawn till long after sunset. Every day of every year and we had little to show for it. One day a group of mercenaries rode through our village. They looked well fed and were wearing expensive clothing. Even the horses and mules looked better fed then we did.”
“I realized I had a choice. I could spend my whole life working in mud and filth and living with starvation. Or I could take up a spear and earn a living by killing. Sure I could be killed. But was that any worse then starving? I could choose a quick death in battle or a slow one in a peasants hut. Not a difficult choice. At least as a mercenary I’d die with a full belly. So I said good bye to my family and ran after the mercenaries. I’ve been running ever since. Until I came to Metamor. Here I’ve made my home and here I’ll be buried when I die. I might even marry if I can find a woman who’ll take an old bandit like me as a husband.”
“You’ll make a fine husband George,” she commented. “You have more honor, dignity and honesty then I’ve seen in many nobles.”
George didn’t speak but lowered his eyes to the table. Terreant realized that he was embarrassed by the compliment. She didn’t think it was possible to embarrass him but she had.
“Did you really lead the troops at the battle of Sandport?” she asked changing the subject.
He perked up immediately. “How did you hear of that?” George asked.
“There is still a two hundred Garrett reward for your head because of that,” she explained. “Part of Edmunds training for me was studying past battles. It’s rather sobering to think that three thousand knights and noblemen could be defeated by peasants and infantry.”
George shook his head. “It was there own fault. What fool charges up hill into a wall of spears and pikes. All we did was stand our ground and the arrogant fools charged straight onto our spear points. The difficult thing was getting them to charge us.”
How did you do that?” Terrant asked.
George laughed. “I made a rather rude comment about Lord Bedfurn’s mother,” he explained. “He was so angry that he just spurred his horse and galloped straight at me. The rest of the knights just followed him.”
Terrant broke out laughing. “It was that easy?” she asked shaking her head.
“Most nobles have one big weakness – ego. Never let your honor get in the way of common sense,” George explained. “Always keep your temper and never act rashly.”
“You sound like Edmund. He’s always teaching and preaching.”
“Is that an insult or a complement?” he asked, laughing.
“A compliment.” Terrant explained. She relaxed and didn’t worry about whether this was a date or not. She just enjoyed being with a new friend.
The last meeting site was a lot more desolate then the first one. Centuries maybe even millennia ago it might have been a bright palace or a bold fortress or perhaps a humble farm house. But all that remained now was a tumble of weatherworn blocks scattered into jumbled piles on the cold and harsh heath that made up the terrain around Nasojassa. Only two tall pillars of rock jutted up over five feet high marked the place as anything unusual. Misha knew that such a plain sight was deceptive for hidden somewhere amongst those rocks was a hiding hole like the OP back near Dark keep.
Moving slowly he approached the ruins watching and listening to everything going on around him. Each foot step was placed carefully being sure that it made no sound or was near any sort of trap. Beside him was Caroline and a few steps behind and to his left was Rickkter. He didn’t like bringing the raccoon to the meeting but he had little choice. There was potent magic guarding both the entrance tower and the citadel itself and Misha needed a mages opinions at this meeting. Misha certainly didn’t trust the teams only other mage Teria. Not that he trusted Rickkter either but at least he understood how the raccoon morph thought and acted.
It seemed to take forever but they finally found what they were looking for; three stones arraigned in a triangle around three small, blue stones. Exactly twenty feet to the north was a square stone almost three feet wide. Misha placed both hands along one edge digging down till he reached the bottom In spite of it’s size the stone moved easily upward when he pulled on it. As the stone moved clear it revealed a large hole that seemed to go down forever.
Misha lowered himself into the hole without a second thought. His legs flayed around in the darkness for several moments before a paw brushed against a stone ledge. He placed both legs on the ledge and it supported his weight. Feeling around in the darkness with his left hand he found another ledge, this one higher up. It was in just the right place to be used as a handhold which is what the scout used it for. He brought his right hand down onto the handhold and lowered himself into the darkness.
There was exactly twenty two handholds down into the darkness before his paws came down onto the horizontal surface of a solid rock floor.
With his hand resting on the hilt of the sword he was carrying Misha examined the world around him. In the darkness his eyesight was of no use but his other senses served him well enough. This first thing that came to him was the smell of dampness and must that seemed to pervade all underground places. Then came the scents of living creatures. First one, then two and finally three separate scents came to his sensitive vulpine nose. Two men and a woman and by the strength of the scent they were close. One of the men he recognized as Philip but the other two were strangers to him.
A faint rustling noise came to him and Misha’s remaining good ear swiveled onto it but there was no other noises. The very faint sound of breathing came to him from several directions and he slowly pinpointed all three sources. All were widely separated from each other in a circle around him.
After several minutes he was satisfied that there was no ambush. “Marker,” he said softly to the figure with Philips scent.
“Mattress,” the figure answered.
Misha looked upward and then let out a soft yip which echoed surprisingly loud in the underground. Moments later he could hear the faint sounds of cloth and fur against stone that told him Caroline was descending. He waited in silence for Caroline and Rickkter to join them.
After a minute or so he heard the faint rustling on cloth and fur close to him and he smelt the welcome scent of the love of his life. She made a faint chuffing noise and Misha responded with the required yip. A moment later the sharp scent of Rickkter reached Misha’s sensitive nose and he knew that the raccoon had joined them.
“Fish,” Misha said softly acknowledging that he was ready for the meeting.
A faint light suddenly came into existence and illuminated their surroundings. The cave was no where near as big or luxurious as then OP at Dark Keep but it was dry and large enough to fit everyone and a goodly amount of supplies. Misha caught sight of barrels and boxes stacked in various corners.
This time the figure wasn’t covered completely with a cloak. Instead his cloak was pulled back revealing a human body covered by loose fitting clothes that were camouflaged with black, green, brown and white spots like that on the Long Scouts clothing. Over his face was a cloth mask similarly colored that covered his entire head leaving only his eyes and mouth visible.
Barely visible behind the first people were two others clothed just as he was. Both carried swords in their hands. That didn’t bother Misha. After all they had good reason to be nervous.
“You’ve got the information and the pass?” Misha asked in a soft tone barely above a whisper.
“Yes. Do you have the goods?”
“Of course,” Misha answered.
Rickkter dropped a large satchel onto the floor and Caroline placed another one beside the first.
Two of the figures came forward and knelt next to each satchel. Neither spoke but simply went about their work examining the contents of each canvas satchel.
“Best take care,” Misha commented. “Aside from several weapons there are some particularly virulent poisons. Lots of it as a matter of fact.”
One of the two figures stopped searching through a satchel and looked towards Philip. She nodded to the head spy and then went back to examining the contents..
“Why so much poison?” Misha asked.
“We were running low,” Philip answered.
“What do you intend to do with all that poison,” Rickkter asked.
The head spy laughed. “Haven’t you heard there’s a nasty feud going on among Nasoj’s lackeys.”
“And the favorite weapon of choice is poison?” Rickkter countered, laughing.
“Of course!” the man commented. There was a note amusement in his voice. “It’s neat, clean and untraceable. I don’t have to do all the poisoning. Just enough to keep the feud going. I do save the best poisons for the most deserving targets.”
“Who?”
“Arlaig Bilineur,” came the answer.
“Who is Arlaig Bilineur?” the raccoon warrior asked.
“He is the man responsible for planning that Yule attack.”
Misha’s eyes narrowed and his one good ear laid back against his head. All the fur on Caroline’s head stood up and she chittered something under her breath.
Rickkter stiffened but his tail lashed back and forth furiously. “I hope his death was slow and painful.”
“It was. I used Narjillia.”
Rickkter’s muzzle opened a little in an amused grin. “Now that’s an evil way to go. The poison itself doesn’t kill. It prevents the body from functioning properly. The victim essentially slowly rots from within. I saw someone this was used on. He bloated like a rotting cow, still alive while his body necrotized. He died screaming and stark raving mad a month later.”
“I used a stronger dose. He died in a little over three weeks,” he said in a voice as cold as ice. “But he was screaming the entire time.”
“Pity,” Rickkter commented.
“A truly nasty way to die,” Misha commented. “But it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.”
Caroline nodded her head in agreement. “He killed a lot of good people,” she said in a calm tone.
“You have the pass?” Misha asked deliberately changing the subject.
Philip extended a gloved hand which was holding and small package about the same size as his palm wrapped in a piece of gray cloth held closed with a strip of leather.
“It’s as good a forgery as we can make,” the masked agent explained.
Misha took the package and unwrapped it slowly revealing the treasure within. The pass itself was smaller then Misha’s palm and was made of some hard, white material. He had expected the pass to be covered with some gaudy art and words of power but it was bare. Only a faint tracery of lines engraved onto one side were barely visible.
“Is this bone?” Misha asked as he rubbed the faint engraving with his thumb.
“Human bone,” the spy explained. “It had to be. Nothing else would work.”
“Of course it’s human bone,” Rickkter commented sarcastically. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”
“Will it work?” Caroline asked.
“It should. It’s based off of one we managed to see four months ago.”
“Four months ago?” Rickkter asked incredulously. “I hope you at least got a good look at it.”
“Good enough. But there is only one way to test it.”
Misha nodded. “Unfortunately. But we have no choice. Combined with our disguises it should be sufficient.”
“You hope,” Rickkter commented sarcastically.
“Do you have a better plan?” the fox asked.
Rickkter just glowered at Misha and remained silent but the fox understood that the raccoon morph didn’t have anything better. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Misha respected Rickkter’s skills and knowledge. It was his motivation that Misha didn’t trust. Rickkter always seemed to have his own agenda. And there was that ongoing feud with Matthias. That was a worry that never went away. Thankfully the two seemed to have reached a truce and with Matthias living in Glen Avery things remained quiet between them. Still it was a worry that always remained somewhere in the back of his mind.
“What can you say about the town itself?” Rickkter asked.
The man produced a small folded piece of paper and handed it to Misha. “A complete map of the town with important places marked. Nasojassa is basically two concentric circles, one inside the other. Both surrounded by tall stone walls that each have only one gate protected by a large gate tower. The outer town is for the peasants and the slaves. The inner town is for the nobles and Nasoj’s lackeys.”
“Where is Dubhar Tur?” Misha asked.
“The dead center of town. That means getting past both the outer and inner gates.”
“Plus any patrols that are wandering around,” Rickkter added.
“When do you plan on infiltrating in?” the spy asked.
“Tomorrow,” Misha answered. “We’ve waited far too long already.”
“We have arrived at the charming town of Nasojassa,” Teria commented sarcastically.
“Welcome to hell,” Finbar added only half jokingly.
The air was thick with smoke and had a sharp tang of chemicals that clawed at the nose and made the Keepers sneeze and cough at times. There was no color to the place, everything was stained a dark brown. Even the ground underfoot was barren and lifeless. It felt cold and greasy to the touch, like it was soaked in the very evil of Nasoj. It was an evil place and she couldn’t imagine how anyone could stand it. Never mind setting up a town and living here. No doubt they didn’t want to be here either but stayed only through force and slavery. She wondered if the guards on the wall were to keep people out or in.
The small group was hunkered down on the far side of a hill that overlooked the town. The town walls were of stone at least forty feet high with towers twice that height spaced evenly all around. In front of that was a deep, wide moat full of some vile brown and gray liquid that reeked of rot and decay. Behind the wall they could make out the shapes of buildings whose tops peeked over the wall like a prisoner looking out at the free world through the barred window of a prison.
Towering over everything else, glowering down at the world was Nasoj’s citadel. It’s black stone form cast a dark shadow over the town that surrounded it. They could see no lights emanating from it. No even the slightest pinprick of light. It was like a dark, evil shadow thrusting up from the foul, polluted ground.
The sole entrance to the town was a massive tower that bristled with all manner of turrets and overhangs. The gate itself was of solid iron and weighed at least two tons. In front of it stood a score of humans on guard for any sign of trouble. Looking over the tower Teria counted over a hundred soldiers standing watch. She had no doubt that at least as many more were hidden from view.
“Now how do we get in?” she asked.
“I need the dagger,” Misha said suddenly to Rickkter.
“Why?” Rickkter asked.
“If you don’t know by now,” the fox countered as he extended his left hand. “You’ll never understand my explanation.”
“I’m not stupid Misha,” Rickkter countered still withholding the dagger.
“I didn’t say you were. But you’ve had the dagger for over fours years. That’s plenty of time to learn about her abilities if she wanted you to know them.”
All Misha got in response was silence.
Teria suddenly realized that Rickkter knew little about the dagger in spite of having owned it for several years. Misha had never held the dagger and yet he knew more about it then Rickkter did and probably ever would know. That must really rankle the raccoon.
Rickkter,” Misha ordered in a soft tone. “What you don’t know about her you’ll soon learn. It’s easier to show you then waste time trying to explain. Now GIVE ME THE DAGGER!” he snarled to the raccoon. “Please,” he added forcefully, showing his teeth. “I’ll give it back when I’m done.”
There was a moment of profound silence as neither of the two spoke or moved as Rickkter just stared at Misha’s outstretched hand. Teria understood the raccoon reluctance to part with the dagger even if he couldn’t really use it or understand what it could do. Just as Misha was obsessed with recovering the axe Rickkter couldn’t part with the dagger. She wondered if it was the lure of the power in the weapon or just some sort of potent magic compelling them to protect and covet the weapons. Perhaps it was both.
Reluctantly and with an incredibly slow movement the raccoon mage reached into a pocket and pulled out the weapon. Slowly he stretched his hand with the dagger gripped tightly in it.
“What do you know about the axe?” Misha asked casually as he pulled the weapon from Rickkter’s hand with surprising ease. “Whispers full name is Tchau Uae,” the fox explained. “That means Shadows Edge.”
He held up the dagger at eye level. “This ladies name is Tchaas-hurti. That means knowledge and wisdom.”
“They’re related?” Teria asked.
“They are two of five,” Rickkter explained as he slowly lowered his hand.
Misha nodded. “They’re called The Five Sisters.”
“This is one of the Five Sisters?” Teria asked her voice betraying both surprise and concern.
“You’ve heard of them,” Misha commented.
“I have heard rumors and legends.”
“The fox laughed. “Everyone’s heard the legends. I even wrote some of them down and had them published.”
“I knew about the axe but I didn’t know the dagger was as at the Keep too,” Teria exclaimed.
The fox nodded. “Oh yes. She’s been in Rickkter’s possession for several years and she came to Metamor when he did.” Misha laughed. “His idea to come to Metamor might have actually been HER idea and she just planted it in his mind.”
Rickkter chuffed and shook his head. “Please. She doesn’t like me that much.”
“Are you so sure?” Misha asked in a chiding tone. “After all you couldn’t even HOLD the dagger for two years.”
“And how do you know that?” the raccoon mage asked coldly.
The scout simply held up the dagger. “She told me.”
Rickkter’s eyes narrowed. “She certainly likes you better then she likes me,” he commented bitterly.
“It isn’t a matter of whether she likes me or not. She does trust me. Like me Rickkter, she doesn’t trust you,” the fox countered waving the dagger at the mage. “I want to trust you, but I can’t.”
“What about her? Does she want to trust me too?”
“What do you think?” Misha asked in a serious tone as looked at his friend.
Rickkter didn’t answer at first but looked at the dagger in silence.
“No need to answer that question right away,” the fox said softly. “You’re both patient.”
“I know what the axe can do but what about the dagger?” Finbar asked.
The fox didn’t answer at first but simply looked at the dagger, staring at the black, metal blade. It was almost like he was talking to it. “Her name means Knowledge and wisdom.”
“We know that already,” the ferret commented sarcastically.
"I have learned a lot of her history," Rickkter commented calmly. “I’ve have been able to use it but only on a basic level. Of the rest of her powers I know little.”
"It’s easy to explain why. She doesn't like you," Misha answered calmly.
Rickkter’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything.
“You aren’t her Ayha Smai,” the fox countered, as if that explained everything.
“What does that mean?” Edmund said asking the obvious question.
“The term means Battle Mate but it doesn’t truly explain it,” the fox answered. “Each weapon has its Ayha Smai – the one who is meant to wield it. Who has the courage, soul and heart to use her. Together they become like one in combat, each drawing from and guiding the other.”
“You make it sound like marriage,” Edmund scoffed.
“In a way it is. We both have to give to the other in order to get something back,” Misha paused, trying to find the right words. “I wish I could explain it better. All I can say is that the bond is very close.”
The fox twisted the dagger about looking at all it’s surfaces. “I do understand that someday I’ll be passing the axe along to someone else. When my time is done she will pick another Ayha Smai. Just as the dagger will. Rickkter was not destined to be hers. At least not yet. He can’t really use the dagger, just a few of her lesser abilities. Mostly he is to guard and hold her till the right one comes along. You should be flattered Rick that she even lets you touch her. Her defenses are just as strong as Whispers. Had she really wanted you dead there would be nothing left of you but a dried up husk. Your death would have been slow and VERY painful.”
“I might surprise you,” the raccoon countered.
“I doubt that,” Misha answered with the firmness of steel. “I know exactly what her magic can do. You don’t. All you can do is guess. You are just going to have to accept the fact that the dagger is just not for you. The axe was meant for me to use and guard but the dagger wasn’t. Nor was the sword. THAT weapon was meant for another person to wield in this era.”
“The sword’s been lost for centuries,” Rickkter commented.
“I know but it will turn up eventually,” Misha answered enigmatically. “They always do at some point.”
“And it will disappear just as quickly too,” Teria added. “That too always happens.”
“All too true,” the vulpine answered. “The weapon must wait till it’s next Ayha Smai appears. That might be years, decades, even centuries in the future.”
“Powerful artifacts like that drop in and out of history constantly,” Teria commented. “They spend more time hidden in some rotting tomb then they do in the light of day.”
“And when they do appear a lot of people die,” Edmund commented.
“I know the Five sisters history is very bloody and violent. They have left behind them a long string of wars, murders and battles,” Rickkter said.
“They were MADE for violence. Their whole job is to fight evil.” Misha countered. “The axe may be powerful but it’s hardly subtle. War isn’t subtle or simple.”
“Now this,” he said and held up the dagger. “Was meant more for subtlety and trickery. Her skills lie in deception and deceit. She’s more an assassins weapon then anything else.”
“I know one thing about weapons like that,” Padraic said suddenly. “Their users usually die a bloody and violent death. Some would say they were fated to die young. That they gave up a long life for honor and glory.”
Caroline didn’t speak but looked very upset by those words. Misha laid his good hand upon her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“We all die someday,” the fox explained. “But I don’t see myself dieing young. My wilder days are over with. If I managed to survive them the Great One won’t let me die too young. He has some plan in mind for me. Besides. My grandfather wielded her for twenty years and he died peacefully in bed.”
“Enough with the history and grand speeches,” Eldrid said coldly. “I want to know how that old dagger will get us into the town and the citadel.”
Misha laughed. “Good point. It’s really very easy.” He held up the dagger again. “From this moment we are no longer Keepers but Druzhina returning from the south. We were sent there to suppress revolt around the city of Caralore. But there was no revolt so we hung a few peasants and came home.”
The fox pointed the dagger at Rickkter’s chest. “You are a mage assigned to the Druzhina for the mission, probably as punishment by a superior.” The blade touched the raccoons chest and his image changed in an instant. No flashes of light or sparkles. One moment a raccoon morph keeper was standing there and then he was replaced by a tall woman in flowing blue and purple robes. Her black hair was bound tightly to her head with braids intertwined with gold chain.
“You look sexy,” commented a tall, brawny looking man who been Matthias a moment before.
“And you still look ugly,” the woman countered in a soft, feminine tone.
“You both look ugly,” Finbar said sarcastically. Where there had stood a ferret morph keeper now stood a thin, wiry looking man dressed in full plate mail armor. The man looked nothing like Finbar. Nor did the man standing to him look anything like Danielle. Instead this black haired man was dressed in a tight fitting blue, cloth shirt and green pants. A pair of leather boots protected obviously human feet. The staff in the mans hands marked him as a mage of some sort but there was little else of note about him.
“This is an illusion?” a short, stocky man who was standing where Eldrid had been a moment before. The voice didn’t sound anything like the wolverine’s normal tones.
Everyone in the group was disguised like those four.
“This is very strange,” a brown haired woman carrying a bow said. A moment before that woman had been Caroline.
“How complete are these illusions?” the figure that might be Rickkter asked. “Obviously auditory and visual. What about touch? How close an inspection can we risk?”
“Very complete,” Misha answered. The fox now appeared to be a short, stocky man dressed in scale mail armor that covered his whole body to below the knees. A scimitar of impressive size was strapped across his back. “And they’ll withstand very close examination too. They’ll even stand up to brief touching. No spell will break this illusion no matter how strong.”
“No illusion is perfect,” said a black haired woman bundled up in all manner of furs. Under that illusion was Teria. “It is bound to break down eventually.”
“It will last long enough for us to get in find the axe,” Misha countered.
Teria shook her head “It will fail. You aren’t the first to try and use illusions as a disguise. Nasoj will have wards in place to dispel them.”
“Try and dispel it,” Misha answered coldly and held out both arms.
Confident but suspicious Teria walked over to Misha and grasped his arm. She should have felt the thick fur on the fox morphs wrist. Instead she felt the cold, hardness of steel scales. She jerked her hand back like it had been burned.
Teria pulled a pearl from her pocket and spoke softly under her breath as she touched the jewel to Misha’s outstretched hand. The pearl just lay in her fingers and did nothing.
“Impressive,” the canine mage said. “That should have dispelled it. I’ve know Grand Masters whose magic couldn’t resist the Pearl of Truth.”
“You forget,” Rickkter commented. “This is Rune magic. The most powerful in existence.”
“Few people know just how powerful Rune magic really is,” Misha explained. “It will withstand all of Nasoj’s illusions until I decide to dispel it. To everyone of Nasoj’s minions we will be his loyal Druzhina.”
“What happened to the real Druzhina we are imitating?” Rickkter asked. “You did not just dream up all these people from your imagination.”
“Dead,” Finbar explained. “We ambushed them just outside of Caralore and then hid their bodies. No one will find them till spring.”
“Hopefully,” Rickkter added sarcastically.
“This is suicidal,” Rickkter commented in whispered tones. The group was boldly walking up to the gate and the countless soldiers guarding it. At least two dozen heavily armed soldiers had weapons aimed at them.
“You can always leave if you want,” Misha retorted.
“What? And miss all the fun.”
“Keep quiet and pretend you’re a Druzhina. Act arrogant.”
“Rickkter doesn’t have to ACT arrogant,” Matthias commented sarcastically.
“Hush both of you!” Misha ordered. “This is not the place for your petty feud.”
Rickkter scowled at both Misha and Matthias but didn’t say anything.
Misha stepped up to the twenty soldiers who stood in front of the closed gate. All were dressed in thick, steel, plate mail armor that covered their entire bodies from head to toe. Even their faces were covered with helmets of steel and bronze with faces of frightening monsters.
Towering over them was the massive metal gates covered with the same rust and grime as everything else. At this distance Misha could easily see the rivets that held the metal plates together and noted the high quality of the workmanship. A lot of care but no love had gone into it’s creation. He wondered how many slaves both human and lutin had died building it.
One of the guards stepped forward and confronted Misha with an upraised, gauntleted hand held up in a gesture to stop. The group came to a halt and the scout examined the man in front of him. He was armored like the other soldiers but unlike the others his armor was trimmed with gold and silver. His helmet had four blood red feathers sticking up in a plume. This had to be the captain of the guard. An important person and a trusted lackey of Nasoj. “Who are you?” the armored figure asked in a voice full of confidence and contempt. “What are you doing here?”
“I am Reynard of Marthwell,” Misha answered calmly.
“What are you here for?”
“We are returning from the south.”
“Any problems dealing with Caralore?” the captain asked.
“None. There didn’t seem to be any rebellion but we killed a score of them just to be certain they didn’t forget who rules the Giantdowns.”
The captain nodded. “Good. Their jewels are always in need. Those ignorant miners never understand their place.”
“They do now,” the disguised Keeper answered.
“You may enter,” the captain and wave towards the gates behind him.
A section of the right door opened revealing a small door cut into the metal itself. It was an access door made to allow groups like his to enter without the bother and hassle of opening the rest of the massive doors themselves.
Trying to look confident and self assured Misha stepped past the captain and up to the small doorway. His eyes couldn’t pick out anything beyond the open doorway which loomed like a black maw in front of him. He didn’t dare hesitate or show any fear as the man he was disguised as would have been through this gate countless times. Boldly he stepped through the doorway and into the blackness beyond.
Misha found himself standing in a long tunnel that was dark except for a small rectangle of light at the far end that heralded the inner gate and the only exit into the town. He had been in similar places before. It wasn’t really a tunnel but in reality a long corridor. There were only two ways in or out; the gates located at either end. Lining the ceiling and walls were small openings barely large enough for an arrow or spear. If an enemy managed to knock down the outer gates and charge in towards the inner gate soldiers in the rooms on either side would rain arrows ands spears on the invaders. And from above rocks and boiling water and oil would be poured down. Anyone caught in that hellish crossfire would be killed in seconds. This long stone chamber had only one purpose; killing people.
As he walked Misha could hear the steady thump, thump, thump of the boots of the illusion that was wrapped around him. It was an impressive illusion that disguised him and all the rest, complete down to the smallest details and included the appropriate sounds. A part of him knew that no one here could see through that illusion as the Runic magic involved was too powerful but doubt crept in anyway. Was the disguise perfect or had something given them away. Was he walking into an ambush? He did not show any doubt and kept walking. Runic magic had saved him countless times before and it had never failed him. It certainly wouldn’t fail him now. With his doubts removed he felt reassured. Still despite that he couldn’t help but look up. He half expected a shower of arrows and boiling water to pour down on him but all that he saw was the blackened stones overhead.
It was a relief when he reached the far end and stepped out into the open air. Polluted and foul smelling as it was the air felt better then the tight confines of the gatehouse.
If the town looked dismal from outside the walls it looked even worse once they were inside. The town was darker, drearier and even more dismal then it had looked from the outside. Everywhere there was a dank, fetid smell that assaulted Teria’s sensitive canine nose. It reminded her of a mixture of raw sewage, decaying garbage and the foul smell of rotting corpses. That evil scent seemed to be everywhere. It quickly seeped into their clothes and fur in a subtle more un-nerving and frightening then any magic spell or slashing sword.
There were few people on the street and those they did pass looked dark, frightened and beaten down like a dog whipped too many times by a cruel master. No one challenged them but simply scurried along as fast as possible without making eye contact.
The worst part of this frightening town was the feel of the place. It was nothing so palpable as a foul smell or a terrible sight but just a general feeling of evil about everything. It was like the very evil of Nasoj was soaking into everything, even the air they breathed contaminating them with each breath they took. She could help feeling like they were being watched and she had to resist the temptation to look behind her. It made her fur stand on end and grated on her nerves.
In her long travels she had been in some terrible places. Cities so full of trash and filth that you could smell the place days before you laid eyes on it. But none compared to the sheer evil of this place. The worst dung heap of a village was better then this foul place.
They passed a building some two stories tall. It was made of some sort of wood and plaster and seemed solidly built. Yet the wood itself looked warped and twisted and she could not fathom what tree would produce so alien looking a material. The plaster was even worse. Once, many years ago it might have been tan or even white but was now reduced to a vile, greasy black. There were no windows and only a single doorway with no door, just a brownish, black piece of cloth across the opening. Around it’s edges a faint gray light escaped giving hint to some activity beyond. Over the doorway was a battered and weather beaten sign so covered with soot and grime as to be almost illegible. She could barely make out the finely drawn image of a mug of beer. The foam might once have been white but was now tainted a red that made it look like a mug full of blood instead of ale or beer.
“We are in hell,” Teria muttered out loud.
No one disagreed with her.
Everywhere there were soldiers, guarding, patrolling or standing sentry duty. Every street had at least two soldiers walking side by side down it. Each street corner also had a pair of men watching what little passing traffic there was.
“I’ve never seen a place so heavily guarded,” Rickkter commented.
“All of these can’t be for us,” Matthias said.
“Why not?” Rickkter countered. “He has to know we would be coming to get the axe back.”
“Why waste soldiers in town? The more in town the fewer that could be defending to citadel,” Ferwig said.
“Perhaps the axe is here?” Caroline suggested.
Misha just shook his head. “She’s in the tower. No doubting that.”
“Then what are all these soldiers guarding?” Rickkter asked.
“Nasoj has a lot of enemies not all of them at the Keep,” Misha said. “He’s had a lot of tribes rebel and turn on him. He has to be paranoid about betrayal.”
“Paranoia goes along with being a megalomaniac and a brutal dictator,” Rickkter commented sarcastically. “And with how bad things are going for him now he has to believe that everyone is trying to kill him.”
“Right now everyone IS trying to kill him,” Finbar countered.
“Eldrid, where is the portal tower from here?” Misha asked.
The disguised wolverine looked around for a moment. “That way,” he said and pointed off to the east. “In the center of town.”
They came to large gate tower that blocked the way into the center of town. The gates themselves stood wide open. Only three soldiers stood guard in front of the open gate, one on either side and another directly in front. Without pausing Misha walked up to the gate and straight towards the soldiers guarding it.
Teria expected Misha to be challenged but the soldier who blocked their path simply stepped aside without speaking or even looking Misha in the eyes. He took four steps to the right and all three knelt in unison and remained that way with bowed heads as the group of disguised keepers walked past.
Wary of an ambush Teria kept alert but tried to effect a casual attitude as they moved through the gates. “Those three weren’t guards,” Teria realized. They were simply window dressing put there to look pretty. Any good they might have accomplished for security was ruined by their fear of Nasoj and anyone connected with him. Teria was relieved but she didn’t relax, instead she just kept up her guard as they moved through the gatehouse and into the Inner town without stopping.
Teria was amazed by the contrast between this place and the fetid outer town. The inner town was surprisingly different. The walls and even the streets themselves were made from white marble that glistened in the light. Everything was pristine and clean. The walls, windows, doorways even the streets themselves were absolutely immaculate. There wasn’t even the smallest scrap of paper or clod of dirt in the gutters.
In the outer town she had been nervous but here she was even more nervous then before. Teria wanted to be anywhere but here. Even the most filthy dungeon in Metamor was preferable to this place. Just being here made her skin crawl and raised her hackles. But she couldn’t understand why she felt that way.
A group of soldiers marched along the street. Their leader bowing in respect to Misha as they passed the disguised Keepers. Teria looked them over carefully making sure of no trouble from them. The soldiers appearance was a neat and clean as a figure in a painting. Their armor was polished to a mirror fineness that reflected the grim light that pervaded this town. Their boots were of a black leather and shined as brightly as the armor. They wore white gloves on each hand. The pikes they carried were made completely of steel, even the shafts and looked as if they had been cast in one piece.
But all those were minor details. What really caught her attention was how clean and neat they were. She couldn’t see so much as a lock of hair out of place or a strap even slightly loose. Even their boots were spotless. Never had she seen any soldier so absolutely immaculate. Not even the royal palace guard in Arethia had been so clean. It was unnatural. Suddenly she realized what was wrong with this place. It was clean. Too clean. It was a clean devoid of warm and life. As filthy as the outer town had been it was the dirt and filth of life. It was a place full of life. But this place was as cold and devoid of life as a block of glacial ice.
“And I thought there could be nothing worse then the outer town,” Ferwig muttered under his breath.
“I think I liked the outer town better,” Rickkter commented quietly.
“Keep moving and keep quiet,” Misha ordered and steered the group down a smaller side street.
After twenty minutes of walking they came to a small courtyard surrounded on all sides by more dark and brooding buildings. In one corner was a tall brick clock tower whose shadow kept all the surrounding buildings in darkness.
Misha nodded towards the tower. At ground level was a single door of iron rusted to a dull reddish color. “I want a good look around first and that’s the highest place we can use safely,” the fox explained in whispered tones.
The fox didn’t walk straight across open courtyard. That would leave him too exposed. Instead he walked around the edges keeping his back to the wall. He tried to look and act casual but it was hard to do while sneaking around the edges of the courtyard like a mouse sneaking around the edges of a room, too afraid to go into the open.
After several minutes he reached the door which was of a wood darkened to the color of pitch bound with badly rusted iron. A large and hefty looking lock kept the door closed. The fox gave a quick wave of his left hand.
Finbar came forward moving with the natural, flowing grace of a ferret that no illusion could disguise. None of his movements made a sound. Not even the faint rustle of his clothing.
The ferret looked at the lock for a few moments then produced several small, metal rods. He bent over the door and set to work carefully with his lock picks. After a few moments there was a loud click. Misha winced at that unexpectedly loud sound that seemed to echo for a long time.
Finbar carefully pushed on the door with one hand and it opened slowly revealing a blackened interior. Beyond the doorway was one, large room that occupied the entire ground floor of the tower. In one corner a set of wooden stairs led upward into the darkness.
Moving slowly and carefully Misha stepped lightly into the room and made his way across to the stairs. He paused at the foot of the steps for a moment before he started up the ancient and well worn steps trying to be as quiet as possible. He looked around constantly and listened carefully with his sensitive vulpine ears. His nose, being as sensitive as his ears picked up thousands of scents no human ever could. He could smell the scent of decaying wood and rusting metal. There was no smell of humans or Lutins but he could detect the faint smell of a rodent and his ears heard a faint scratching sound. No one had been in here in a long time except for some rats and mice.
Misha was very grateful for being a fox morph as it’s fine hearing and sense of smell greatly helped him. He had lost track of how many times his improved hearing or smell had saved him. How often had a faint whiff of lutin or ogre warned him before he would have walked into an ambush or stumbled into an unseen guard. The scout was genuinely grateful to Nasoj for the curse. Misha found it hard to call the magic itself a curse as it had helped him so much.
Slowly the group made it’s way upward until they passed through the ceiling and into another room located right above the first. This one was filled with all manner of gears, wheels and shafts needed to make the clock work. Misha noted that the floor was covered with a thick layer of dust. Oddly enough there was no bird excrement on the floor or any of the horizontal surfaces. He had never been in a tower like this that did not show such signs of bird habitation. The avians loved to nest in the rafters of places like this where they would be safe from most predators. But this place had no birds and Misha had seen none the entire time they had been in this polluted town. He spotted a door located on the north wall and gingerly stepped towards it. The floor boards beneath him creaked in protest as he put his weight on them but none cracked or gave way.
In moments he reached the door safely. Opening it slowly Misha stepped out onto the roof of the tower. The rest quietly followed close behind. All eyes turned towards the citadel to get their first look at the place. If the town had been bad the citadel was worse. A lot worse.
Brooding clouds of black, evil smoke hung over the chasm, pierced only by a single tower that rose high into the blood-red sky. Black, twisted, looking like a thing that had been grown and then starved rather than built, the tower loomed over even the mountains that formed the valley walls.
Smaller buildings surrounded the dark citadel at a distance, as if afraid
that to come too close would risk awakening the creature to devour them all.
The dark fog that covered the ravine was produced by the tower itself, issuing
from yawning cracks and fissures along its surface that glowed red in the darkness
-- furnaces of arcane energy, fueled by processes too hideous to contemplate.
The citadel had no entrances -- no windows, no doors -- until halfway up its
form, where gaping mouths opened iris-like to the four points of the compass.
Only those with wings -- or the foolhardy belief that they could scale this
organic stronghold -- could even consider the possibility of entry. This was
the heart of darkness, the throne of evil in the land.
“And you want to go in there?” Teria commented sarcastically.
“No. But we haven’t really got a choice.”
They stopped at the end of the street keeping to the corner of one building so that they remained hidden. Misha carefully peered around the edge of the building to get a good look at the tower and it’s defenses.
The tower was a massive monster that towered far overhead and cast a shadow that fell over everything. It was made of a dark colored stone that at first glance seemed to be black. But this wasn’t the same pure black that Whisper was. Instead it was a corrupted, grayish black with red flecks all through it that looked like splattered blood. Misha saw no windows at all and there was only the one door for entrance. It made the massive structure look like an immense shadow. Some ghostly image of a building destroyed long ago in some ancient cataclysm. The black tower stood alone in the center of a small plaza separated from the small buildings that were huddled around the edge of the plaza like field mice near a lion. The small creatures too scared to move. Too afraid to run or get any closer to those slashing claws and ripping teeth.
The very stones of the square itself were made of the same, black material as the tower and it seemed as if the tower had grown upwards from the courtyard rather then been built on it.
“Dubhar Tur, Shadows tower, an appropriate name,” Misha thought to himself.
There had been twenty soldiers standing in front of the gates leading into this corrupted town. There were at least three times that many in front of the gate into the tower. There were so many that they crowded the small square surrounding the tower.
The only entrance was like everything Nasoj did, large grandiose and incredibly ugly. Massive pillars a full two stories tall flanked a door made of metal. All were colored a deep, blood red. Still it served it’s purpose of protecting the entrance to the tower.
In front of it stood no less then sixty soldiers all dressed the finest plate mail armor. Misha counted five figures that were dressed in the long robes of mages. At least two the fox recognized as being fairly powerful magic users.
Misha pulled back out of sight and softly spoke to the group. “I only see one door and there are at least sixty people in full armor and weapons protecting it.”
“Sixty? There were a hundred at the gate into town and now sixty more. Where is he getting all these guards?” Finbar muttered under his breath.
“Money,” Caroline answered simply and Rickkter and Edmund both nodded in agreement.
“Gold can buy peoples loyalty,” Rickkter commented.
“Not everyone’s,” Edmund countered. “And gold can only buy so much loyalty.”
“And what happens when all the money chests are empty?” Edmund asked.
“That won’t happen for a while,” Misha answered. “Nasoj has been looting and extorting huge amounts of gold and jewels from the Giantdowns for decades.”
“But he spent a lot on the Yule attack and he’s spent even more since,” Finbar said. “Got to be running low on gold.”
“Good point,” the fox commented.
“Instead of trying to defeat him on the battlefield we could destroy his economy. With no gold Nasoj wouldn’t be able to buy the loyalty of soldiers or Lutins,” the raccoon suggested.
“It’s better then trying to kill all the Lutins in the Giantdowns,” Caroline commented.
“That is a strategy we can discuss later,” Misha said interrupting the conversation. “Keep silent till we get past these last two gates and into the citadel itself. After that we kill everything in sight till we find Whisper.”
“This plan won’t work,” Rickkter prophesied..
“You keep saying that,” Matthias commented. “And you’ve been wrong every time.”
“Don’t you two ever stop bickering?” Misha snapped. “This is neither the time nor the place for an argument. So both of you shut up!” he ordered.
Rickkter folded his arms and glared at Misha but didn’t speak for which Misha was profoundly grateful. What they were doing was dangerous enough without the rat and raccoon letting their own feud getting in the way.
Misha did understand how the Sondecki and Kankoran had been blood enemies for centuries but that was in the far south. Such feuds had no place at Metamor Keep. Things were already bad enough trying to deal with Nasoj without those two starting a civil war at the Keep. They had agreed to a truce once and both usually lived up to it but the tension remained even at the best of times. He knew that both wouldn’t knowingly break that truce but it remained something to be worried about. It was a distraction he could ill afford.
The fox scout looked over the people gathered around him. The illusions from the dagger made them all look vastly different. He found himself looking at men and women who had been dead for weeks. He knew that it was all just an illusion that he himself had helped create but it was still unnerving. “You know what you are to do and how to act so take care.”
Misha boldly walked out of the shadows and straight up to the middle of the soldiers who closed ranks and blocked his path.
“I AM REYNARD OF MARTHWELL,” the disguised fox shouted boldly and arrogantly. “Who are you to get in my way,” he finished in quiet voice as hard as steel.
“No one passes without orders,” came the cold reply from an officer who stepped up to Misha. “And I was not told of your coming.” The man was taller then Misha and more solidly built. The only part of his face visible though his helmet was his eyes but Misha could tell he was scowling.
“I have brought my people to report our suppression of the revolt in the south,” Misha answered.
“No one has told me to let you through,” came the answer.
The disguised fox reached into a hidden pocket and produced a card which he handed to the officer. This was where Misha would learn if the spy was really as good as he claimed. All their lives depended on just how good the forged pass he had just handed over really was. Misha had seen the remains of several such passes but never captured one intact. Each pass was imbued with magic that destroyed it when a Keeper touched it.
Misha waited, trying to act calm and in firm control. But he was anything but calm. He kept a close eye on the officer for some sign of whether he accepted the pass or not. But the mans face held only the same scowl as before.
The man examined the false pass for a moment and then handed it back to the Keeper. “You may enter.”
Misha, still disguised as Reynard stepped calmly past all the guards without speaking or even looking back. He showed nothing but calm in spite of the danger he was in. He couldn’t risk showing any doubt at this point or it would jeopardize them all. But the guards didn’t really worry him. He had fought their likes before and won. What truly worried him was in front of him.
The tower brooded over Misha as he made his was to the gold colored door that
was the structures solitary entrance. He couldn’t help but feel as if
the entire structure was looking down at him, ripping through his weak disguise
and seeing straight through to his soul. It was as if the place was watching
and waiting for him to get close enough for it to strike and rip him apart as
he shrieked in agony. With considerable effort he suppressed a shudder and kept
walking forward.
As Misha came close to the building the massive door swung slowly open without
making a sound. It’s vast bulk moving with a strange, eerie grace in total
silence. An odd white light streamed out from the opening revealed by the door
and spilling out onto the pavement. Misha paused just before stepping into the
light. His body refusing to move forward of it’s own accord. The fox scout
had to will his legs back into motion. With great effort he placed his left
paw onto the light from the doorway and he felt a cold chill run up his leg
and through his whole body. It was like he had stepped into a pool of ice water
and his body started to shiver uncontrollably. He came to an abrupt halt, his
body refusing to go any further into this unnatural light. It was light some
icy ghoul had it’s arms wrapped around each leg. Misha recognized a powerful
ward at work. Some potent spell meant to stop all intruders.
Calming himself Misha tried to ignore the strange sensations and concentrated on getting his legs to move again. After a long moment his right leg moved up forward and then back down onto the pavement. It was like wading through waist high mud but he moved slowly forward till he came to the door sill itself and the magic fighting him suddenly vanished like a tree snapping under the weight of a tidal wave. Caught off guard Misha was propelled forward by his own momentum into the tower.