He drifted lazily over the dark cliffs below, the gaping black crack in the earth hiding the bodies of those he'd slain in his pursuit of the Sultan. Karhal had hopefully managed to pull up one of the horses for his ride back to the city. It would be a long walk for even the strongest human.
As Mortis cleared the canyon, the great sand dunes of the Dry Hills rose before him. They rolled on forever, like ancient humpbacks in a moistureless sea. The voice had been silent for a while now, giving Mortis time to think about his situation. So many questions already needed answered.
Where was he meant to be going? Who was the owner of the mysterious voice? What was this 'task' it was going to set him? And would the boat with Braca and his next contract wait around for him or would they sail, presuming him to be dead by the Sultan's wilful sword?
A clear snigger revealed that his thoughts were not going unheard.
"My my my, someone seems like a bit of a control freak. Can't cope with orders when the purpose is unclear, ay? How will you survive in our world?"
"I've done fine for more centuries then you'd be willingly to wager on," Mortis growled. He'd slowed his flight now, awaiting directions.
"Oh, I'd be willing to wager. I know quite a bit about you. Let's place a bet. How about… five million gold? That's the reward for the death of the Sultan, is it not?"
Mortis stopped dead again.
"What did you say?"
"Oh you heard, 'Dune Hunter'. I know aaalll your dirty little secrets, your employers, your contracts."
"How?"
"Let's just say the art of mind probing is a rare but useful skill. I didn't sacrifice a portion of my soul to learn it for nothing."
"It sounds like you've sacrificed some of your mind as well."
"Shut up, what would you know."
There was a long silence, and Mortis was just about to continue over the dunes when the voice spoke again in its formal tone.
"Fly two miles straight then a mile to your left. There you will see a long forgotten tomb. Await further instructions there."
Mortis did not reply, but obeyed the directions. The starlight was beginning to fade now, with the first rays of dawn creeping over the horizon. He flew calmly, avoiding thought for the time being. How much information the strange voice had dug out of his mind was unfathomable. And dangerous. Thine enemy should never know you better then you know him.
After a calculated judgement and a winged turn to the left, he saw in the distance, a conspicuous pile of rubble jutting out from the sand. It sat, dark and jagged, obviously worn by unknown eons of wind and sun. The barely visible doorway, half filled with sand, heralded the decent into darkness.
Mortis landed near the entrance and waited for the voice to return. He leaned against a pile of collapsed stone, wings casually folded near his sides, and began to clean the sand from his nails. It really did get everywhere.
"Wait there," the voice suddenly boomed; "the tools for your task are on their way."
Mortis sat up, alert, and scanned the horizon. Something was coming to give him items? Good, maybe he could beat it into telling him who the mysterious voice belonged to.
Nothing came into view for a good many minutes. Then his heightened senses picked up the soft beating of wings and a quiet but constant panting sound. He shielded his eyes from the strange, murky dawn-light and looked to the sky, where he saw a small demon coming his way.
During his long residence in this mortal ruled world, Mortis had rarely seen another demon walking the plains. He found himself staring at the little one before him, as it flapped lightly down at his feet and dropped a scroll. It panted for breath, obviously having flown a long way very fast, and looked up at him curiously.
"You… you demon!" it said at last it a high, squeaky voice. It really was tiny, perhaps only as big as Mortis's hand. The red scaly skin was unlike any the bigger demon had seen. Mortis stooped to pick it up by the scruff of the neck and held it up to study. It didn't struggle.
"And so are you, my little friend. But what species? I've never seen the likes of you in Hell."
"Hell! You been to Hell? Oh, the nights I spend wishing I could visit that place." It was excited, chattering away and tapping its fingernails together; "My master made me. Born from magic, he say. Don't know much more really."
"Ahhh… you're a familiar. Yes I've met a wizard or two that claimed they had demons to help them in their spells, but I'd never seen one."
The familiar's triangular face peered up at him, the big, black eyes filled with curiosity. The tiny, razor shape fangs protruding from its lips created an almost comical buck tooth visage. Mortis turned it around slowly, still holding it by the neck, and frowned.
"But what kind of man can actually summon forth a demon from the mana? This is disturbing. Tell me of your master."
The familiar suddenly became very jittering, and with a sharp twist it pulled itself free from Mortis's grasp. It flew back a short distance then hovered in the air.
"Um… I sorry, but If I tell you anymore, master will dispel me. I must return. He'll talk to you shortly on how to use the scroll and pentagram." Then it turned and flapped quickly away over the dunes.
Mortis watched him go, both somehow comforted by the presence of another demon and disturbed by the man who created it. A man who was now commanding him as well.
He picked up the scroll and a small silver pentagram fell into his palm. It was warm to the touch, and Mortis felt the uneasy feeling in his stomach quicken. Whatever the voice had in mind, it was not good. The sign of the cross, now that would be less worrisome. But a pentagram…
"Never mind about that, I guarantee you'll come to no harm. I'm pleased my pet found you successfully. Not the brightest of task handlers but they do the job right."
"You have more of these… home-made demons? Of the same species?"
"Oh Baal's balls, of course not! I have everything from vampires, to wraiths, to those very amusing Ratmen that I bred personally from the Zakarum Children in Kurast. You'd be impressed by my collection."
Mortis's heart froze. He very suddenly wanted to be rid of this voice, and fast. A man with such capabilities, and with as little restraint as he portrayed, could be a very, very dangerous individual.
"You better be telling me the truth when you say you'll vanish once I complete this task. Because if we ever cross paths…"
"Oh, don't worry about that. Once you've done what I require, I plan to be somewhere very safe and out of reach. Even the Gods of Heaven and Lords of Hell won't be touching me."
"For your own sake, I hope you're right. What you are doing is forbidden by nearly every fundamental law. There will be forces with power you can't even imagine after you."
"That's for me to worry about and for you to just do what I say."
Mortis instinctively snarled and flexed his fingers, wishing for the soft feeling of raw flesh under his nails.
"Fine. Then let's get this over with."
"Agreed. This tomb is known as 'The Halls of the Dead'. It used to be the burial ground for many families in the city, but it has long since been abandoned. On the second level at the far south end, you will find a lone chamber, containing one sarcophagus. I'll give you the last of your needed orders when you 'think' you've found it. E-heh."
Mortis snorted, and the voice was gone. He glanced quickly at the strange words on the scroll, at the warming pentagram, and at the looming entrance to the Halls before him. He sighed. Then stepped into darkness.
"It's alright, lad, it's meant to be this dark. We're not going to be ambushed. It's just to deter the average citizen from wandering in by mistake."
Mortis paused a couple more seconds in the doorway, then walked into the black corridor. Zac groped behind him. Demon eyes could adjust quite quickly to the dark, but the old man needed more time. Mortis led him down to the end, where a large steel door blocked their path.
"Pull on the chain," Zac said; "It should be hanging to your right."
Mortis looked up, spotted the chain, and gave it a hard tug. A dull 'dink dink' sounded, and a slot suddenly opened in the door. Two beady eyes peered into the darkness, squinting to make out their silhouettes.
"Password?" the man behind the slot said gruffly.
"Open it now before I slit your throat from ear to ear," Zac answered.
"Granted," came the reply, and with a loud 'chang' and some ear piercing screeches, the door slowly began to open. Light flooded into the hallway, and Zac gave Mortis a push to get him inside.
The room inside would have been spacious, if it wasn't jam packed full of furniture and spittoons. A rustic old organ sat in one corner, the man playing it banging away as If he couldn't hear the out of tune notes it was producing. More men sat at the tables; rough, weather beaten men, murmuring away in low voices. Drinking ale or playing cards. The air was thick with cigar smoke.
Mortis had seen Zac smoke these strange, leaf-made objects before in his hut. He thought they smelled bitter and vile, and now in this room where even the oxygen had to battle for space, he couldn't help but grimace.
They were an ugly group; scarred, missing eyes, fingers and reeking like they'd slept with the barn animals. One looked up from his card game as they entered and grinned a toothless grin.
"Ay, what's this then Zac? You got yourself a bodyguard or somethin'?"
"Nah, this be me boy! Mortis, meet the crew; the most respected and feared Thieves Guild in Khanduras."
The men all looked up from their business, paused, then roared in laughter.
"Your boy, Zac?" a thief with an eye patch chortled; "Who's the mummy, a vampire bat?"
"You really are a riot," said a rogue with a limp behind them. He slapped Zac hard on the shoulder, not enough to hurt but enough to make him stumble forward. The old man smiled and laughed hoarsely.
"Easy, Dreg, I'm not as young as I –"
-WHUMP-
Mortis, not understanding the quirks of human interaction and friendship at this point in time, had grabbed the man by his filthy shirt and pinned him firmly against the wall. A silent snarl was on his face, and he looked ready to rip the man's heart out.
The organ stopped suddenly with a single chorus of ugly notes, and the room was alive with the new sounds of scraping chairs and readying weapons. Crossbows, throwing knives, and even a short sword or two were drawn and pointing in Mortis's direction. He looked at them all, still snarling, and didn't release the man.
"Put him down, Mortis," Zac said softly, smoothly. He put a hand on the big demons arm and slowly pushed it; "He meant me no harm."
Mortis gave a final glare at the thief who'd hit his friend, and dropped him. He turned around, wings closing in and out, trying to force himself to step back from the edge.
"Everyone," Zac started, "this is Mortis. And yes, he's a demon from Hell. Anyone have a problem with that?"
Silence. One man finally piped up.
"What if we do?"
"Then you can feel free to take it up with me any day," Zac said coldly. The thief went silent.
"Right," Zac continued, "Mortis has been my pupil, and I think he's almost ready to take part in a raid. What have we got planned for the future?"
A young rogue, perhaps in his early twenties, stepped forward.
"There's a caravan belonging to a rich family coming through the pass soon. Some of us thought we might pop 'em a visit. Lotsa shiny trinkets on that one I'm bettin'."
A few jeers and snorts of laughter followed his statement, then went quiet again. An older thief next to the speaker spoke up.
"Yeah, and if we're lucky maybe a juicy daughter or two as well."
"Shut your trap, Jake," Zac said sharply, cutting off any agreement from the rest of the guild; "You know better then that."
He placed his hands flatly on a table, and leaned in towards the grubby group of thieves around him. To Mortis, it reminded him of a daily lesson. But the way the men went deathly quiet, lips sealed in thin lines and eyes wary, Mortis could tell it meant much more to them.
"Even the thieves have rules to abide by," Zac stated, "We are not ruffians. We are collectors. We seek out and steal the most valuable items we can find, because we enjoy the challenge of its acquisition. It is a game. No one should get hurt. We threaten, we scare, but in the end we will only kill if we have too. If our own lives are in immediate danger, for example. And we never," his expression darkened even further, "never hurt women. Goes for children too.
The thieves muttered and nodded their agreement.
"And don't let me catch you chatting about it neither," Zac added.
The men began to pick up their cards and cigars again, the lecture they'd heard perhaps every time Zac visited, over once again. Later on, the loud mouth who'd mentioned the 'juicy daughters' would be suitably punished for his brashness.
"Well, anyway," the young thief started again, cautiously, "if he wants to join us on that raid, he can meet us at the pass tomorrow afternoon. We'll show him the ropes. Though I don't think a big guy like him is going to be much good at stealth work."
"You'd be surprised," Mortis said, speaking for the first time. "I may not be well versed in human activities, but I've had a good many years of practised hunting with the beasts of the woods." He narrowed his eyes coldly and scanned over all the faces watching him through uneasy eyes. "I won't slow you down."
"Good then!" Zac said, signalling the door man to open it for them to leave; "We'll see you boys tomorrow. Don't gamble away all your chips tonight."
The cards players chuckled and continued their game. The drinkers clinked drinks and downed them, ready for more. Mortis followed his tutor from the room back into the dark hallway, and they walked the passage together.
"I don't like them," Mortis said after awhile. "They don't feel right."
"Oh, that's just first impressions. They never jump to welcome anyone new to the guild, and this is the first time a non-human has asked to do so. It was a better reaction then I expected."
Mortis nodded silently. He still felt on edge, and he supposed he always would around men like that. A constant, paranoid feeling that one would plunge a knife into your back the second you turned it.
"You'll get used to them, as will they to you," Zac said calmly, reading Mortis's thoughts from the look on his face. "In time, you'll see they're just like other people, just hardened by years of a career that's social unaccepted. It isn't the easiest living to make, even harder if you aren't skilled at it. And there's no telling how much share of the loot you'll get if you go on these joint raids. It's a dog eat dog world."
"I think I'd prefer to work with the dogs," Mortis grumbled. Zac laughed.
"Just remember not to bite the hand that feeds you…"