Throne of Cards 1 – Prologue of Players and Pawns
When you play the games of the gods, best be prepared to lose more than a hand.
Excerpt from 'Ruminations Of A Master Bard'
As the meeting proceeded with the nauseatingly slow pace of an inebriated slug, Illasera thought about how best to kill each one of her companions, should it come to that. It was very likely that it would, at some point. Theirs was an alliance of convenience, and for now it was to her advantage to cooperate, but one or more of them might well turn on her later on. She intended to be well prepared for that.
The giant, he seemed all bluster and muscles, but he was not entirely stupid. He had a secret, a protective magic. It would be necessary to find a way around that. Even so, he was really a distraction, not the mighty general he styled himself as. Let him throw himself against the wall of the city he was besieging, by all means. He was doing what he was supposed to, and that was likely enough to keep him out of mischief for now.
The Drow was in many ways different from the giant. She was a subtle one, fond of illusions and tricks. A defensive player, one who would fortify herself and only strike from what she perceived as a secure position. But she puts too much faith in her minions, Illasera thought. She thinks of them as her strength, but they are also her vulnerability. Slaying them would weaken her significantly. Or else I might take advantage of them in order to get close to her. Yes, that might work.
The huntress smiled inside the hood of her dark cloak, a small and fond smile. The Drow would be a difficult prey to take down, but difficult prey was the best. The dragon would be even better. Another defensive player, but this one had more strength in himself. Or so it would seem at first glance. He is powerful, yes, but it would only take one arrow in the right spot. And he is so easily riled over his little…weakness. He plays games, trying to recreate himself. It would be easy to distract him.
The monk, there was a puzzle. That one was anything but easily riled. Illasera rather thought the man might have icewater in his veins instead of blood. She did not understand him, and that bothered her. Superficially he seemed to go along with every order, he seemed not to care at all about strengthening his own position, but that couldn't be right. He wants something. He makes no move to seize more power than the others, but he wants something.
"Our plans are proceeding nicely," said the last person present, a tall woman with cold eyes. "Most of the weaker Spawn are exactly where we want them to be, but there are a few stragglers. Illasera, there is one I want you to find."
Illasera straightened up, focusing all of her attention on the speaker. A hunt. Yes. Things had been slow as of late, and a hunt was exactly what she needed. If it was powerful prey, then so much the better. "Who?" She asked.
The tall woman smiled. "Gorion's ward has finally been located. There is one other, weaker Spawn with her. They need to be eliminated, as swiftly as possible. Will you do this?"
Illasera smiled, her fingers reaching out to caress the hilt of her long hunting dagger. "Tell me where to find them."
Elsewhere, another woman paced back and forth, back and forth. Her private garden was normally a serene haven, a place where she could feel truly at peace. Tonight neither flowers nor songbirds could distract her, however.
It will work. The plan is sound, and it will achieve what is necessary. My people…all people…will be kept safe. The agents of chaos will be pulled down. And then…then…
She pushed the thought aside. That was for later, for much later. She could not afford to let herself get distracted, not when there was so much work to do. She needed to focus, to force her determination into the necessary channels, like a true daughter of Rasheman.
Complete control.
She nodded as she felt the network shimmer and tremble around her. Her agents, all of them, working in perfect accord, supported by her power. Over such a long distance the assistance she could render was limited in terms of raw power, but precision was of equal value. The net was trembling, yes, there.
As expected.
She reached towards the threads, tweaking them, alerting her agents. They would need to perform perfectly if they were to succeed. She directed them to close in, converging on the point where the net had been activated, and she felt them obey without hesitation.
As it should be.
Pain, flashing through her mind, raw and real. She flinched, but forced herself to keep steady, to keep sending orders through the web she had created. She was the centre, she must not falter. She had known this would be dangerous, but it was necessary.
Focus your attacks, all of you. He will not be able to avoid you all. Do it, now. Cut off any escape routes. Move swiftly.
A short while later a sending shimmered into life in the air before her, forming itself into the face and form of one of her chosen few. The illusionary woman bowed deeply before the woman in the garden.
"Oluanna," She said. "It is accomplished."
"I sensed deaths," The woman in the garden said, her heart heavy. The sacrifice had been necessary, but it was regrettable. "How many?"
"Four, Oluanna. One grievously wounded."
"And our wayward wanderer?"
"Alive, if barely. We can prepare him for transport, but we have only so many healing spells, our sister needs…"
"No. Our sister knew what might be asked of her, as did you all. It is part of being a Wychlaran. There can be no other choice. The prisoner must be kept alive, for the time being."
The agent was silent for a few brief seconds, but then she simply nodded. "Yes, Oluanna. As you will."
"As I will, for our beloved Rasheman. And now you must leave me. You have much to do yet, as do I. As do we all."
The sending winked out, and the woman in the garden turned around, finally allowing the tears to fall. Four. No, not four. Five. And that is only the victims of one night. How many others, taken from us too soon because of that wild beast? I could review the reports again, add them to the tally. No. It would make no difference. The monster must not die, no. Not yet. There are far more important concerns to consider.
She wiped the tears away, arranging her face carefully so that it might appear smooth and serene once more before she let herself be seen.
Yes, I can do this. For the good of everyone, I can. I will.
The city of Saradush was burning. Not completely, and not all the time, but now and then the catapults outside the walls would get a few missiles through. It was a wonder that the besieging army hadn't already broken through, but it could only be a matter of time. There were too many people in the city, and too little food and water. Already there had been outbreaks of disease, and with tempers fraying there were those who seemed as likely to fight their own as the enemy.
And to think that I came here because I wanted to be safe. What a joke.
Camrys Felden had never asked to be a Bhaalspawn. She hadn't even known she was a Bhaalspawn until all the…trouble started. She was a baker, that's what she was, and a pretty good one at that. She'd never wanted anything more out of life than to live in peace, to maybe have her own bakery some day, to get married and have a few children. That wasn't so much to ask for, was it? Certainly she'd never asked to be hunted by crazy people wanting to kill her.
It's not fair. I never hurt anybody!
Yes, she'd been having nightmares for a while, really strange ones, but that wasn't her fault, was it? And yes, those dreams had involved blood and….and hurting people, but she hadn't done anything. Not really. That business with Mira Arlington might well have happened anyway. That little slattern should have known better than to barge into her bakery like that, looking for trouble. Accusing Camrys of things, that was so wicked of her.
I have a right to be walking of an evening with who I want, so there. It's not as if Devan and she are official, or anything. And why should he want her and her shrill voice?
So when Mira had grabbed her by the arms, shaking her and calling her horrible, horrible names…well, she'd gotten angry. That was all. Just angry. And the oven was right there, and so invitingly hot, ready to be used. It had been as if somebody was standing right behind her, telling her what to do. She'd never thought of herself as very strong, but right at that moment she'd broken out of Mira's grip as if the other woman was a little child. She'd seized hold of her, and forced her over to the oven, and…and…
But I didn't kill her! I didn't!
Nobody had wanted to listen, and that wasn't fair at all. There had been two cityguards, and a priest, all of them crowding her, making her confused. Her face had still been flushed from the heat of the oven, and her hands felt hot, but they didn't hurt. She'd tried offering them all some cake, asked them to sit down so that she could explain, but none of them wanted to listen. The priest had started saying things then, calling her names. Not the same names as Mira, but just as nasty.
I'm a decent woman, of a good family! Not what they said! They had no right to say something like that of my Mum, they didn't!
She'd grown angry again, and that friendly voice had told her what to do, just like before. It was good to have somebody who wasn't calling her names. And she was still feeling strong, much stronger than usual, and the rollingpin had felt so right in her hand. So smooth, so solid. She'd made good use of it.
Afterwards, she'd tidied the bakery because being clean and tidy was important. Then she'd baked a cake. A nice and big one, making up the ingredients in her head as she went along. It tasted good.
She'd known that she'd need to leave. She was a decent woman, a good sort, and she'd had good reasons for what she'd done, but sometimes people just wouldn't listen. She'd put on a clean dress and apron, and she'd taken the safety money from out of the pretty blue porcelain box on the shelf next to her bed, and then she'd walked out the door. She'd brought the rollingpin, because it was a good rollingpin and waste not, want not. At first she hadn't known where to go, and she'd been feeling lost and confused, but after a while she'd heard rumors. Rumors of a safe place, where people with her little…problem…wouldn't get into trouble. Rumors of a kind lady who'd make everything allright.
And now she was here, and at first it had seemed like a nice place, but then the war had started. There had been no mention of a war, and what was a decent woman like her supposed to do in the middle of a war? Well, she could bake, and the soldiers did need bread, but this was not a good place to be. It wasn't fair, not fair at all.
Camrys gave a small sob, dodging the unmoving form of a dead beggar child and nearly slipped in a pool of something nasty. There had been killings of late, inside the city, more and more of them. How could anybody do such horrible, horrible things? Just because they were a little…a little different? She'd never wanted to hurt anybody, but if they were to find out, they might want to hurt her too!
I want to go home. I just want this nightmare to end.
The fireball struck her full in the face as she turned the corner, knocking her to the ground. She rolled, and screamed, her hair and skin blazing. And the smell, oh gods, the smell! Through the pain, she heard her own screams, sounding so very like those of Mira Arlington, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much!
Father! Please! I've been good, I've done what I was supposed to!
Then the voice, the warm, encouraging voice inside her head.
YES, DAUGHTER. YOU HAVE.
Then the world dissolved around Camrys, and there was only a cloud of ashes, scattering in the dry winds of Saradush.