16th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Suderham, The Pomarj
Alomovar, Samuel, Toar, Hilda, Cecil, Zelhile, Tsugo and Bretagne walked along the sidewalk in the gathering twilight. As was often the case with the group, each member was lost in his or her own thoughts.
Alomovar had risen early and totally unrefreshed. He mumbled to the other three men sharing his inn room that he was going out scouting again and then he had literally taken off- flying out the window in the form of a raven.
The paladin had spent most of the day in one innocuous form or another, eavesdropping in on as many conversations as he could. Unfortunately, he had learned little of interest. It seemed that personal information about The Nine was either a topic of little interest to Suderham citizens or one they were too afraid to discuss.
The sole exception had been in Scumslum, the dock area outside of town. Two men were working on a small boat that had been dragged up onto the rocky beach for repairs.
"Lacedons probably got him," one of the men mused. His hands expertly continued applying pitch to the keel while his rheumy eyes stared out over the lake.
"Who?" His companion, apparently interpreting this comment as sign of a break, asked while pulling out a thin pipe and a tobacco pouch.
The first man's eyes flickered upwards before replying, but it was only a reflex action. He clearly didn't seem to think their conversation was worth overhearing. He shook his head at his fellow worker's laziness, but then wiped his own hands on a dirty rag and leaned back.
"Feetla," he replied. "The Nine probably dumped his body in the lake after they killed him. Let those things clean up their mess for them."
"Wouldn't that be The Eight, then?" the other asked, smiling at his own cleverness while taking his first puffs.
The first men shook his head. "Brains of a barnacle, you've got. You know they've replaced him."
The smoker shrugged in mild indignation. "Maybe, but we've not had the official announcement yet."
"We'll get it soon enough," the other man replied with little interest.
"What I'd like to know is just what he did to get killed. Feetla was their naval commander, and you just don't throw someone like that out to the ghouls for nothing. I hear a large part of the success of their slave raids was due to him. It mighta been something as dumb as being on the wrong side of some argument."
"Probably," the first man responded. He stretched and dipped his hand back in the pitch.
"Course," the smoker went on, none too eager to start working again, "Just 'tween you and me, not too many people gonna mourn all that much. Feetla was the worst son-of-a-mongrel ever to walk a deck."
The first man, just about to start applying pitch again, stopped and stared at his companion.
"Second-worst," he said grimly. "If the rumors I heard last night were true, they've traded up. Come on, get back to work."
"What'd you hear?" the other asked with intense interest.
Aslan never heard the reply. His vision was suddenly diverted by a bird diving straight at him. The paladin's current insect form had attracted hungry attention.
The two men had not noticed the psionic blast, but they heard the swallow's screech and watched in bewilderment as the bird's stunned body plummeted onto the beach. Aslan, his heart still pounding even in his bug's chest, had flown off and done no more spying that day.
Alomovar rubbed his puffy eyes again. He was tired to the point of fatigue, but there was nothing for it. He was growing more and more detesting of remaining in the merchant's overweight form. While in theory Aslan retained his own excellent general health and constitution even while polymorphed, he could swear that his lungs were wheezing with every step he took.
The fact that the party's current destination was a whorehouse did nothing to improve his disposition. Contrary to what some- notably Argo- might have believed, Aslan had no moral qualms against prostitution. His Asgardian beliefs ascribed no particular shame to it. It was simply the fact that a brothel constituted a concentrated mass of potential problems, both for its customers and for its employees. Just as a tavern concentrated drink and drinkers together, often leading to unpleasant events, so too did houses of ill repute do with sexual desires.
Aslan had yet to even think to himself about whether he himself would enter the brothel when the time came.
Alomovar turned his bleary eyes away quickly. He hadn't even been aware he'd been looking over at Bretagne.
Nesco Cynewine didn't know why she'd blurted out the name of her younger sister when Elrohir had demanded of her this morning that she furnish the group with her alias. More than likely it was due to her tremendous fatigue and even more titanic headache she was still battling even now. The ranger simply hadn't had the energy for any mental creativity, so "Bretagne" was what she had said. Nesco could think of no particular attribute her sister possessed that might have triggered some kind of subconscious identification or envy within her.
Except that she got to marry the man she loved; the rest of the world be damned.
"Bretagne" scowled and rubbed the sides of her head again, trying to brush the errant thought away along with the pounding in her temples. She almost stumbled but caught herself. Lady Cynewine had arisen early and totally unrefreshed, having been unable to full asleep until perhaps an hour before daybreak. It had not been a productive day for Nesco. Her headache had precluding any meaningful activity on her part in the way of information-gathering, and she had nearly had a heart attack when she'd run into Elrohir again at midsun. The ranger had taken a quick look at Nesco's chainmail and shook his head.
"Go buy some new clothes, Bretagne- and quickly. None of us are going to be armored up tonight."
Nesco had gaped at her team leader while the ramifications behind his statement sunk in.
"I… I thought I'd be standing guard outside. You want me to go into the brothel, too?"
"The man in white said they cater to women as much as men, and most whorehouses frown on customers waltzing in armed and armored. We're leaving all that behind in our rooms. Cygnus and Zantac will cast alarm spells to deter robbery."
A thought suddenly occurred to Bretagne, and her eyes narrowed.
"Tsugo won't leave his swords behind. You know that."
Sam sighed. "Tojo will wait outside. He is the sole exception."
"He always is, isn't he?"
Elrohir stared back at Nesco. He could still see the hurt in her eyes. The pain she'd endured from Tojo's anger. But this was not a scar that could be reopened now.
"This is my decision, Nesco," he said quietly. "Get some new clothes."
Bretagne could feel herself trembling. "What exactly do you expect of me once we're inside, Samuel?"
The ranger bit his lip and eyed the floor. "I don't know precisely what we're looking for. It may be information, or it might be something of a physical nature. Or both."
He took a deep breath and looked Nesco in the face again.
"I expect each and every one of us to do whatever it takes to find it."
Bretagne had brought new clothes as was requested- ordered- of her, but she would hardly be mistaken for a women who might patronize a brothel. She now wore a pair of undyed linen pants and a grey blouse, over which she wore a dark woman's coat. Samuel had frowned when she saw his fellow ranger's new attire but has said nothing.
Nesco not only felt terrible about this whole affair, she couldn't even find anything to distract her. Even when she looked at Aslan, she saw only the fat Alomovar with his gaudy silk outfit.
As they walked on, she silently prayed to Zeus.
Samuel could sense Nesco's unhappiness, but it really couldn't be helped. Most of them were not in a particularly good mood right now. Elrohir's mood had plummeted the previous night when Aslan had asked him if he had ever heard anything about "dark elves."
He had been about to reply in the negative when suddenly his knees grew weak, and the ranger had been forced to sit down in a nearby chair. It took several moments to realize that his subconscious mind had realized something his conscious mind hadn't.
A tale. A tale from long ago, when he was a boy.
When Elrohir finally spoke his voice was barely above a whisper, and Aslan was sure it was not merely from a desire not to be overheard.
"There are stories the elves tell. They are not usually meant for rounded ears," Elrohir added, looking up at Aslan, Argo and Tojo. The three nodded to indicate their understanding.
"It is said, that after the Creator of the Elves, Corellon Larethian, shot out the eye of the orc-god Gruumsh, that he discovered that his consort Araushnee had betrayed him. She was cast out of the Elven Court to the furthest reaches of the Underdark. This goddess, who was said to have skin as black as night, took many elves with her; elves with souls blackened by evil. In time, they came to resemble her, and it said that they still live, nursing a terrible hatred against all who live on the surface; particularly the true elves."
He hesitated. "In the Common tongue, they are called svartalf."
There was a silence among his audience. Eventually, Argo asked, "Is there anything we should know about these drow, Elrohir? Anything of an immediate, tactical nature if this truly turns out to be what we're dealing with?"
His fellow ranger shook his head. "I don't know, Argo. The legends that I heard were not that specific; only that their cruelty surpassed anything seen in the other races."
Aslan gave a grim smile. "We've seen plenty of vileness and cruelty, Elrohir; even amongst elves."
Samuel, however, shook his head.
"Not like this. Some High Elves say that when one of their own turns to evil, it's due to contamination from those around them. Non-elven influences, so to speak."
"And they say elves aren't snobbish," Toar put in with rolled eyes, but Samuel ignored him.
"But not the svartalf. It's said that they are the very essence of elvendom- that innate kindness and goodness- turned to evil."
Elrohir sighed as the party walked on. Like his fellow warriors, he hated being unarmed and unarmored in the midst of hostile territory, but it couldn't be helped. Samuel's new outfit consisted of black breeches, a thin silk shirt, and a sleeveless, soft black leather jerkin worn over that.
Samuel. Only Cygnus knew that was the name of Elrohir's uncle; his father's brother. He had been lost on Rolex, during the Devastation. Elrohir knew next to nothing about the man. He was originally going to give himself his father's name as his alias, but something had stopped him at the last moment.
He hadn't felt worthy of it.
Sam turned to catch his wife's eye. She favored him with a rare encouraging smile.
Talass had gone through no agonizing soul-searching for her new name. She never even considered using her sister's. Hilda was simply one of her best friends from childhood. It was a happy memory; one of good times, and Talass had had precious few such times lately.
The cleric kept her holy symbol of Forseti underneath her blue blouse, but her warhammer and chainmail armor were back at the White Knight. This didn't bother her as much as some of the others. Talass always knew her faith in the Justice Bringer was her primary weapon- and her best protection.
Likewise, going to a brothel didn't faze her. If Talass hadn't been married, she might even have looked forward to enjoying herself, but Forseti was not only the Justice Bringer, he was a god of contracts and oaths as well.
Including the oath of marriage.
This was one of the reasons her deity was falling out of favor amongst the Fruztii. Fidelity was paid no more than lip service by the rest of the Asgardians. Indeed, having many children by many different women was considered a mark of virility and strength among the men back home.
All of this was merely distraction, however. Talass had dwelled more and more on her vision ever since the party's arrival in Suderham and had recently come to a private decision.
What was decided by the Fates would occur- but there was nothing that forbade their servants from taking whatever actions they could.
Hilda's right hand again went to her belt pouch. The two small circles she could feel through the thin leather gave her a feeling of security.
Noticing her husband's positive reaction to her smile, Talass slipped her arm inside Elrohir's as they walked on.
Cecil and Zelhile were, as usual, a study in contrasts.
Cygnus was still clad in his worn brown frock, while Zantac had purchased a brand-new set of cherry-red robes, plus a bright orange chapeau, from the Wizard Guild's own clothing shop. While Cygnus trudged along morosely, his companion wizard was nearly skipping.
Zelhile caught Cecil's eye. "The ladies love a wizard, you know!"
The taller mage only shook his head, but Zelhile could see him struggle, if only for a moment, to keep from smiling.
It was odd, Zantac considered, that Cygnus seemed to deliberately court depression in himself. Especially since he among of all them today had scored the biggest coup in gathering any useful information.
It was in fact due to Cecil that they knew exactly where they were going.
It had been several hours after sunup. After a quick breakfast at the Magic Missile, the two wizards had returned to the guild. Zantac had set off on his latest fashion fiasco while Cygnus made sure they weren't leaving anything behind in their rented room.
"Ready to leave, eh?"
Cecil spun around.
Thellent was standing in the open doorway.
Cygnus regarded the scholar. Thellent's eyes, still slightly bloodshot, were fixed on his. The Aardian mage nodded slowly.
Thellent hesitated. His eyes flicked upwards for a moment.
"I… I don't remember everything we discussed last night, but I do recall you and Zelhile were asking about the Nine."
Uh, oh, Cygnus thought. I may have misjudged him.
Thellent tilted his head. "Are you seeking an audience with them?"
Cecil's throat went dry. It was a moment before he found his voice.
"There is business that needs to be resolved."
The scholar stared at him a moment longer and then nodded. When he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate.
"The standard procedure is to of course go to Drachen Keep and announce yourself and your business to the guards outside. As you might expect, not all who desire an audience with the Nine receives one. They are- and rightfully so- a cautious group; always mindful of security. Wherever they are, at any time, they never allow themselves to be boxed in. They always leave themselves multiple options."
Here he gave a short laugh that seemed forced to Cecil.
"So many in fact, that if they weren't The Nine, one might think they'd have a hard time keeping track of them all."
Abruptly, the scholar's posture seemed to relax.
"Well, that's all then. I wish you and your friends a pleasant and profitable stay here in Suderham. I must take my leave now. I have an item to sell, and I need enough time to get the best price for it."
It was then that Cygnus noted that Thellent was holding the art book he had seen last night, only now the older man was holding it open in such a way that one of the pages was facing Cecil.
It was an absolutely beautiful painting of a rose in full bloom.
"I hope you find what you're looking for," Thellent said quickly, then shut the book and left.
Argo Bigfellow Junior had feigned disappointment upon hearing the news.
"So we only get to go one brothel? Too bad; I was looking forward to checking out all three!"
The big ranger's smile dared a riposte, but none of his friends took the bait. Toar had shrugged and settled in with them as they began their stroll towards their destination. Like Zantac, Argo was in a relatively cheerful mood.
Or at least he would have been had it not been for the dream last night.
Strangely, there had been no sound at all in the dream. He had been sitting at one of the tables in the Brass Dragon's common room. Nameless and wordless worries were making the ranger tired. His cheek drooped down to rest on the polished wood.
A light tap on his shoulder roused him. Caroline was standing beside him holding a burlap sack of some kind. From the way it bulged, Argo assumed it was full of money, but it almost looked as if might be squirming on its own. He couldn't be sure.
His wife had reached inside and pulled out two platinum pieces. She held them in her hand and gave Argo one of those smiles that simply enveloped the ranger in love. His fatigue washed away, and he sat up straight. Their lips moved to touch.
From nowhere, a blast of cold wind knocked Argo off of his chair. Trying to scramble to his feet in the continuing maelstrom, he saw Caroline staggering backwards in the wind towards the open front doors of the inn. Outside it was dark- it must have been night- but there was a reddish glow of flames from beyond that suddenly made Argo very afraid.
And then it began to rain.
It began to rain rats.
They were everywhere. Black rats, brown rats, even some dire rats. All had glowing red eyes. They were at Argo's feet, his knees, his hips.
It was hard to make out through the falling curtain of vermin, but Argo was still able to see the sack fall from Caroline's hands as she was pushed out the door into the black. The ranger saw the most heart-rending look of terror and sorrow he had ever beheld on his wife's face.
And then she was gone.
The rats were unaffected by the wind, but Argo wasn't. Pain exploded at a thousand points in his lower body as the creatures attacked; gnawing, nibbling, and biting. He felt his legs giving way, but the rats were so high now instead of toppling over, he merely sank down into the sea of fur, teeth and red eyes.
And only at the end was there sound. Three sounds, intermingled.
His scream, a baby crying, and someone laughing.
Bigfellow was long accomplished at pushing unpleasant memories away- he'd done it for most of his life. An hour after he had woken up, Argo had forgotten the nightmare completely, but it had suddenly come back to him as they walked.
"Are you awe right, Toar-san?"
In a rarity for Argo, he'd actually tried to give a regular smile for once but failed at it.
"I'm okay, Tsugo."
The samurai was plainly unconvinced but said nothing.
"There are the brothels," Samuel announced from up front.
"Seems there are already some regulars waiting for the doors to open," Hilda commented.
Toar looked at the group of five men who were loitering near the front door of the Alley Cat. The ranger frowned even as one of the five caught his eye.
"Well, well," Davis sneered. "Look who's come to call."
Argo had suspected that Davis belonged to some kind of nobility when they had met the previous night, and now his suspicions were confirmed. All five men wore expensive looking doublets, gilded mantles or cloaks, well-made boots and gloves and sported a fair amount of jewelry. Longswords in elaborate scabbards hung from their hips.
Samuel turned to address his companions.
"Listen to me," he hissed. "I don't care what these rakes say, we are not going to get drawn into a fight here! We absolutely cannot afford it now! Do each and every one of you understand me? I don't care what they say!"
He finished up staring directly at Tsugo. The samurai stared back but made no response at all.
Davis nudged the man next to him. "That's them."
The young noble stepped forth. About Tojo's age, he seemed to be the leader, as the other four were watching him carefully. He wore a starched white muslin collar that splayed out in a circle around his neck. His expression was one that most of the party had come to know and loathe- that of contempt for ones lessers.
"And what have we here?" he queried. "The common folk hoping for a night's debauchery at one of our fine establishments?"
Samuel was about to reply, but Toar stepped forward first and bowed.
"Greetings, my lord! A pleasure to be before you on such a fine night! And we do indeed seek to slake our desires within those walls." The ranger indicated Aslan and Nesco. "As you know, Alomovar and Bretagne there are an item, but they're both adventuresome enough to seek new experiences. As for the rest of us," and here Toar made a sweeping gesture to indicate them all and then turned back to the youth with his famous pained smile…
"Sadly, we find ourselves incapable of finding true love any other way."
Here, his tone and expression turned conspiratorial.
"But I'm sure you and your friends know what that's like, don't you?"
"Goddammit, Argo!" Elrohir muttered under his breath.
The nobleman's face grew livid and he stepped right up to Bigfellow, seemingly unconcerned about the six-inch difference in height between them.
"Are you wagging me, peasant?" He paused. "Do you have any idea what my surname is?"
Toar abruptly looked serious and held out his hands in a placating manner.
"Please don't tell me it's Frump. We just ate, and I don't think my stomach would appreciate all the laughter."
"No," he spat out. "It's Etenwulf, as in my father- Duke Etenwulf- the ruler of this town. Perhaps you've heard of him?"
"Indeed we have!' Now Cecil stepped forward and likewise bowed. "Forgive our insolence, oh son of Figurehead."
"Cecil!" hissed Elrohir. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Really?" continued the young Etenwulf. "So, you think my father and all his peers powerless pawns, do you?" He smirked at his friends and then turned back, his brown eyes blazing. "Then it may come as a shock to you to find out that blatant disrespect to a noble such as you're showing is punishable by up to six months slavery."
The Duke's son folded his arms across his chest and let a smug smile appear on his face as the party looked at each other.
"Now, let's start this again from the beginning, shall we? I and my friends are nobility; you and yours are dirt-rabble. I command, and you obey. If I want something, such as your sword," and he gestured at Gokasillion, "or the company of that woman," and here he pointed at Nesco, "then you will give them to me, or I will have you all in chains before the moons rise tonight. Is that clear?"
Here Davis shook his head. "Not that one, Farris. Look at her taste in men; how good could she be?"
This generated hearty laughter among the other three rakes. Nesco however, fixed Davis with a noblewoman's glare.
It was her mother's withering stare.
"Well," she intoned, "despite all your pathetic begging last night, you'll never know, will you?"
"Et tu, Bretagne?" asked Elrohir wearily.
Now the laughter was directed at Davis, and the young aristocrat seethed while trying to find his tongue. Farris Etenwulf spoke first, though.
"Apparently you do need to be taught a lesson. That's fine- the night is young, and the brothels yet to open. I know all of the girls in there anyway; I feel like some new blood tonight."
And he strode straight up to Talass.
The priestess could feel her husband's hand clasp hers. It was a warning to restrain herself.
"Are you listening to me, you cur?"
Samuel tensed, but incredibly Hilda did not only not strike him, she actually nodded.
Etenwulf smiled smugly. "Good. Now, you and I are going back to my manor. You will wait for me in my master suite whilst I make myself ready and attend to whatever other business I may have. Then when I enter the room, you will take these peasant clothes off, and then you will lie down on my bed, and then you will spread your legs apart and then-"
And then Elrohir's fist smashed into his face.