Ch. 1 – The Leader of the Band

The small thief twirled his moustache and bowed before the High Seat. He was dressed all in black, the exquisite silks that were his trademark perfectly cut to show off his lean, slim-hipped body to fullest effect. A matched pair of rapier and dagger hung from his hips, and his black, wide-brimmed hat was tipped jauntily over one eye. A black gold band shone darkly on the finger of one hand over the thin leather gauntlet he wore, while around his neck an onyx pendant with the words "Bombyx Mori" graven upon it in a language that had been forgotten before the rising the mountains, sparkled duskily in the light of the smoky torches burning in their cressets on all sides of the Great Room. All eyes were on him as the small group awaited the Lord's pleasure.

"And what do we have here?" the Lord Gax boomed, twirling a beaker of wine in his hand as he absently fondled the breasts of the naked slave girl who looked adoringly up at him from where she kneeled beside the huge, rough-hewn, obsidian throne. Gax was stripped to the waist and his massive thews shone with fine oils. Glittering blue eyes beneath a lowering black brow frowned down at the group. A mane of square-cut black hair framed his scarred face, and his skin where it showed was seamed with ancient scars. A mighty, two-bited axe rested against the throne, its blade showing the marks of many re-sharpenings. A huge weapon, beyond the ability of any normal man to wield.

"Travellers, sire," his major domo said, bowing suavely, "come to seek permission to abide within our fair city."

"Lord," the small thief purred, bowing again, "I and my small band of humble musicians desire to take up residence in this, the fairest of cities, fabled far and wide for its wealth and power, for the wisdom of its mighty ruler and the beauty of its women."

"Musicians?" the Lord rumbled in a voice that seemed like it came from the depths of an ancient thunderhead towering high over the blue peaks of some distant mountain range. "You look more like a band of ruffians to me, come to plunder our storehouses and ravish our daughters, like my exquisite Gelflette, here." He gave the girl's breast a particularly sharp tweak, causing her to jump slightly and squeal with delight.

"Your daughter, sire?"

Lord Gax shrugged his massive shoulders. "After a while, who can tell? But if you are musicians, where are your instruments?"

"Before you, Sire," the thief rejoined, grinning mischievously. "Save that I play the three-stringed vulva, which, due to its size, I have, perforce, left on my horse, Sandra. But my compatriot, Karst – " he nodded toward the burly, mail-clad dwarf beside him – "is a Master of the Kazoo of Smiting, having come in second in the Argh-Noparkian regional battle of the bands last year." Karst growled and hefted his two-handed kazoo, surreptitiously wiping off a trace of blood and brains decorating its business end with the hem of his tattered, wool cloak.

"I see," said Gax. "And these?"

"This is Dank," the thief said, pointing to the towering half-ogre behind him. "He plays bass." Dank grinned, revealing a mouthful of large, complicated teeth in a face of unrelenting ugliness, and waved his spiked bat in the general direction of the throne. "Beside him is his twin brother, Dusty, who sings and is known across the lands for his understated wit."

"Twin brother?" scoffed Gax. "Are you drunk? I see before me a beauteous elf-maiden, fair as the moonrise, her eyes like the reflection of stars shining in a darkling mere in distant Gondhoria."

"A sad story, Sir Guy," the thief said, bowing once again, "but one that has been told and re-told all across the West these many years, wherever Men and Elves gather to raise a horn of ale and sing the ancient tales. Suffice to say that when born, they were as alike as two peas in a pod, albeit grotesquely ugly peas, as you might imagine. Indeed, it is said the stars wept at their birth, and that a fit came upon their mother and she killed herself with a three-legged stool, as foretold in prophecy. On their 16th birthday, an enchanter came and cast a mighty spell, changing Dusty to this form which he carries to this day. It is our hope, Great Lord, that we shall find here in your fabled city the means to lift this strange curse."

"Indeed." Gax glowered down at the diminutive thief. And you? Who are you, little vulvateen rabbit? You speak much on behalf of your friends. Are you their leader?"

The thief bowed yet again. "I am Trefoil, known by many as the Marisu."

"Ah. I have heard of your kind before. It does not surprise me that you are the leader of the party. It was ever thus, with the Marisus."

"Lord, I should tell you that there are others in our group who are not present. They are in my backpack, having been magically transformed into small statuettes because they couldn't come tonight."

Gax nodded again. "A wise precaution," he said, tweaking the slave girl's breast again, "you may enter my lands, subject to your solemn word that you will floss regularly, obey all laws, and keep to the right when approaching oncoming traffic."

"Indeed, sire. Dental hygiene is our watchword." The guards flanking the door grounded their pikes and took a step to the side so that they might pass. With a final bow, the group left.

After they were gone, Gax held out his beaker for more wine and pondered what he had learned. A naked, barefoot, slave padded silently from the shadows behind the throne, the golden chain belted around her waist that was her only attire jingling noiselessly, and poured mixed wine from her ornate jugs. Gax regarded the beaker. It was carved from the skull of a mythic hero of ancient times and, strangely, came as a matched set. There was, he thought, a moral in there somewhere.