Hey, everyone!
Been very busy lately, going to see the new Dungeons & Dragons movie (which was excellent by the way) and the Super Mario Bros movie (not exactly a masterpiece, but better than I expected and worth a viewing if you're a fan), family dinner at Easter, and planning to cook for mom's birthday, plus a lot of projects I promised to start once the weather turned nice – just hope it will stay nice. But as you can see, I'm still writing, and I have had a lot of energy of late.
So, let's continue. Please read and review. Oh, and keep an eye out for more in my other fic, "BLOCKBUSTER: Yu-Gi-Oh!".
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Shadowchasers
Blue Blood
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Chapter Eight
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If It Seems Too Good to Be True…
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A grimoire…
The package contained a small, leather-bound book, like an old journal. A strap made of gilded cloth was fastened to the spine, meant to be used as a bookmark. There was no writing on any part of the cover, just a plain symbol, a cross in a round circle - most Mundanes and even most Shadows would see this as an unremarkable symbol, or if he studied heraldry, a Celtic cross.
Only the faithful of St. Cuthbert knew its true significance. A grimoire was like a spellbook, but with divine magic.
She opened the book and skimmed through it. Most of the pages were blank. The only page with anything on it was the first page, one which had a dozen or so signatures. To read the contents of a grimoire, you had to "register", as in, sign your name. The last signature was Gregory's.
Why? she thought. Why did he send it to me?
As much as she wanted to know, this was one gift she would not, could not, and should not reject. She looked around her small room, certain there was a pen somewhere…
Five minutes later, Nichole had signed her name, placed the grimoire in the drawer of her bedside table, locked the drawer, and locked the door to her room, taking the keys with her, going to meet with the others in front of the cathedral. She knew she might be a little paranoid here, but a grimoire was more precious than gold to one like her. While she was anxious to read it, she'd have to wait. She had responsibilities.
As she exited out the front door, she said, "So, how do we find this place?"
"I don't think that will be an issue, Nichole."
Francis pointed to the street in front of them. There were three fancy-looking palanquins, each held by four men (they assumed) in plate armor.
"No… way…"
The palanquin bearers didn't talk, but seemed polite, bowing their heads as the three Shadowchasers mounted the soft, comfortable thrones. Nichole was at least glad that she could at last cross one thing off the list she had made of things she wanted to do before she died.
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Laurel Hill was a picturesque and rural cemetery, its well-tended and well-manicured grounds exuding an aura of peace and calmness, most of the time. The well-over 40 thousand graves that had been placed since 1836 included many adorned with grand marble and granite funerary monuments, elaborately sculpted hillside tombs and mausoleums. The plans for the cemetery were first proposed and designed by prominent Quaker named John Jay Smith, a librarian and editor who became angered at the shoddy way his deceased daughter had been interred in the Arch Street Meeting House site, and decided the city needed a place to properly show respect for the deceased. A pioneer of sorts, Smith built the cemetery as a civic institution designed for public use. In an era before public parks, museums, and arboretums, Laurel Hill would be all three, a cultural site where the general public could experience art and refinement that was usually reserved for the rich.
Quite a few Shadows were interred here. As far as the Shadowchasers were concerned, it held three graves in a single plot, those of Jodie Dhawan, Erik Manuel, and Morris Flain, the three casualties among the organization during the Amuk Incident.
Jalal trudged up the path towards the hill where the plot was located, with Dolores struggling to keep up - one might say he was in a hurry.
As Saulie had promised, she was waiting at the top of the hill, and she seemed anxious and worried.
"Stormbringer, ah meant to call ye, but ah could'na find yer number, it -"
"Save that for later," he said, interrupting, "what happened… here…"
His own eyes answered it for him as Saulie meekly slunk to the side. "No…"
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The Ace of Swords was certainly a landmark of Cauldron, even though all that could be seen from the outside was the entrance. Between Magma and Obsidian Avenues, an iron gate flanked by burning braziers on each side had been built into a steep sloping part of the inner wall of the caldera, the restaurant itself built within the mountain itself. The only indication of where it led was a plaque above one of the braziers that said, "The Ace of Swords, Est. 1896". Two sentries guarded the outside, their colorful uniforms and halberds reminding the Shadowchasers of the Swiss Guard, but darker crimson and violet hues, each with a steel mask that had two vertical rows of small holes, none seemingly large enough for eyeholes.
One of them lent an arm to Nichole to help her off the palanquin; hardly knowing how to respond, she just said, "Uhm, thank you."
The sentry bowed his head, so it seemed that was enough, and the gate started to open. The other nodded, motioning for them to follow.
"Well, seems cozy," said Hank.
The corridor went down about a hundred feet towards a second gate, which again opened when they approached it, into the Ace of Swords proper. It was a dark and cavernous dining room, lit by torches on the walls and chandeliers with candles. Two of the four walls also had grates making up the bottom halves, giving a view of a dungeon-like cellar, likely a VIP area. The three Shadowchasers couldn't help thinking they had ended up in Westeros and were entering a banquet being held by the House of Stark!
Fortunately, there was a small group to greet them, and Francis at least knew three of them.
"Ah, Mr. Mills," said Lord Governor Lamour, cheerfully, "so glad you could come. I assume you already know Lord Coll and Lady Rivaldi. Oh… I assume this is Ms. Belvins?"
Nichole had known him for all of ten seconds and already she didn't like him. Even as he took her hand and kissed it, she smelled the liquor on him.
"Uh, hello," she said, slowly.
The reason for her - and Francis and Hank - sudden nervousness was the fourth… person they were with. Now, some people are overweight, some are obese, but this fellow was… The best word may have been "bloated". He was about six feet tall, and his torso was vaguely egg-shaped and roly-poly, his arms and legs disproportionately small. His head was slightly hunched forward, he had a hooked nose and his long hair on his balding head seemed unwashed and uncombed. Despite this, his suit (obviously custom tailored) was clean and well-made, though several decades out of style, and he also wore old-fashioned spectacles with gold rims.
"Oh, where are my manners," grumbled Lamour, "mainlanders, this is Viscount Edvin Stronk."
"Edvin Stronk?" exclaimed Hank. "The one who led the expedition into the Lost City of Alagadda?"
"Ah yes," said the strange Shadowkind, "it seems my reputation extends well outside of Cauldron." His voice had a slight Germanic accent and seemed both cheerful and pompous. He offered his hand, shaking Hank's rather vigorously. "Although I would say I was more the funder and supervisor ofthat expedition than the leader. I've heard quite a few things about you as well, Mr. Richards."
"Oh, I deny everything."
"Heh, seems what I heard about your sense of humor is correct at least."
"Uh, Viscount," said Rivaldi, "not to be rude here, but -"
"Ah yes," said Stronk, "shall we?"
He and the other nobles led the way into the dining room with the three Shadowchasers following behind. "I don't exactly want to be rude either," whispered Nichole to Hank, "but who -"
"He's a bheur," Hank whispered back, an affirmation that would later make a great deal of sense.
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Bheur were a Shadowkind species who, much like the shadar-kai, were devoted to the Raven Queen, the Shadowkind goddess of death. They were scarcer than the shadar-kai, and nobody knew exactly why they had pledged themselves to the Queen, but if the two races were anything like each other, one can assume their forefathers had such a fear of death that they swore their reverence to the Queen, who promised their souls would be safe once their bodies expired. The two races didn't exactly like each other for a variety of reasons.
One similarity was that the bheur believed in a meritocratic society, one where leaders were not necessarily the smartest, strongest, or wealthiest among them, but the ones who had accomplished the most. But rather than risk their lives and reputations doing absurd and dangerous publicity stunts, they focused on arranging the most creative and bizarre of social events or cultural achievements - often with the intent to make a decent profit in the process. While a shadar-kai might think the path to fame would be to dress as a wrestling diva and offer to fight all comers, a bheur would be the type to buy the licensing rights to such an event and put it on Pay-Per-View. Most Shadows (including most shar-kai) regarded them as egotistical opportunists and spendthrifts who exploited the talents of others, which often wasn't far from the truth.
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As strange as Viscount Stronk was, Nichole was far more concerned about Lord Governor Lamour at the moment. When the party was seated, his place at the table was next to hers, and uncomfortably close.
A waitress came to the table; she was a tiefling, and seemed a bit more fiendish than usual, with short, goat-like horns, very pale skin, and dark veins on her cheeks, with pointed ears suggesting her mortal heritage was that of elves. She had come with a bottle of what looked like red wine, and the three guests noticed she seemed very nervous as she started pouring it into their glasses.
"I assure you," said Lamour, "no cost has been spared tonight. I even had this special burgundy brought in from out of town."
How far out of town? thought Francis. Even the odor of this wine was enough to tell him it was potent. He looked over at Coll, who drained his glass quickly - Francis remembered the man's near-superhuman tolerance.
"Before the soup is served," stated Stronk, "I have a riddle for you, Mr. Richards."
"Gee, it seems we have a regular Mad Hatter here," exclaimed Hank.
"Mmm, quite," replied the nobleman. Then he looked crossly at Hank and stated, "Time existed before me, but history can only begin after my creation. What am I?"
"The fun begins," said Nichole with a sigh.
"Feel free to take some time to think about it. In the meantime, Elizabeth dear?"
The tiefling waitress appeared again, this time with seven bowls of steaming Ungradi mushroom soup. Nichole's stomach growled – she started to wonder if this was some attempt to bribe them…
"Uhm, Edvard?" said Coll.
"Eh? Oh, oh, yes, excuse us a minute folks, Coll and I have a small issue to resolve." The two noblemen stood up. "One of the breaks when you're both the host of a gathering and the owner of the place you have it in, right? We'll be back in ten minutes at most."
After watching them head for what they assumed was the kitchen, Nichole asked, "He owns this place?"
Lamour nodded and sipped his drink. "Well, a 60% share of it. He insisted on joining us, giving us the notification at three this afternoon. Cutting it close, I might add. All he said was that he'd 'explain later'."
"And that he offered to pick up the bill," added Rivaldi.
Of course, thought Nichole.
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The three headstones had been vandalized. Jodie's had been smashed, lying on the ground in several pieces. The other two were in one piece, but foul graffiti had been scrawled on both with a red marker. One of them had also been marked with a strange symbol: a circle with a very small circle in the center, ten lines radiating outward from the circle, each with another very small circle on the end.
Jalal clenched his eyes and his first, his fist trembling. Dolores gulped and took a step backwards, ready to run if she had to - Jalal Stormbringer in a state of rage was not something you ever wanted to witness.
Then he relaxed his hand and started breathing normally again. Normally, this would be where he demanded to know who had done this, but that was not necessary. The symbol was enough explanation.
"The All-Seeing Orbs," he muttered, "the Eyes of Evil."
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Well, if they are trying to bribe us, thought Nichole, I've got to give them an A for effort.
The waitress they had seen before had brought the appetizer; Lamour referred to them as "Demonskarr Dips", but they seemed to be Cauldron's famous potato wedges, albeit now with a generous amount of cheese and bacon topping.
Another waitress had come to refill their glasses, though right after she had done so for Rivaldi (who was sitting right next to him), Francis noticed her whispering a brief incantation while waving her hand over it.
"Uh," he said.
"I'm not the best at holding my liquor," she whispered back, "this stuff is very potent."
Then she spoke up, addressing Nichole. "If riddles aren't exactly your thing, Ms. Belvins, here's a simple question I'd like your opinion on - which do you believe is the greatest threat to our city, the dragons, the Last Laugh, or money?"
"Well…" started Nichole.
"Wait, wait, dragons?" asked Hank. "As in plural? There's a dragon around here other than Bellogos?"
"Three confirmed." The answer had come from Stronk, who had overheard as he and Coll took their seats again. "Sorry about that, folks. Oh yes, the dragons. Bellogos has two sons that occasionally do flyovers over the city, likely to remind us their father is still around. There's also unconfirmed rumors his mate is still with him."
"Moltenwing," said Lamour, ominously. They he cheerfully added, "It takes two to tango, you know!" He put his arm around Nichole as he said it, pulling her close to him.
In most cases, Nichole would have belted him in the face, and it seemed likely right now she would eventually do so anyway, but she managed to keep restraint for now, and knew exactly how to answer Rivaldi's question. "Well, seeing as the biggest motivation for a thieves' guild like the Last Laugh is acquiring money and dragons are certainly motivated by greed, I'd say money is not only a threat, but it's what makes them a threat. As the Good Book says, 'Love of money is the root of all kinds of evil'."
There was silence around the table for a minute or two, but then Lamour drew her much closer, exclaiming, "Beautiful, strong, and clever! Where have you all been keeping her?"
"The two of you do make quite the pair, Ms. Belvins," said Rivaldi in a snarky tone. "I do believe you'd look lovely standing alongside the Lord Governor on the speaking podium."
"Say, Mr. Lamour," added Hank, "you wouldn't happen to be married, would you?"
Unfortunately for Lamour, he had taken a large bite of one of the wedges as Hank spoke, and the shock from that comment caused him to start coughing, letting go of Nichole in the process.
"Uhm, uh, no," he muttered. He drained the glass he was drinking from, then snapped his fingers, calling out, "Uhm, Jacqueline?"
The second waitress quickly ran up to the table with the wine bottle. He was drinking too much, and Hank's voice was starting to show clear signs of intoxication too.
"Excuse me," said Nichole, "I have to go… powder my nose."
As she stood up, meaning to head for the lady's room, she passed by Hank and Francis' chairs, placing her hand on both their shoulders in the process. Francis, at very least, recognized what she was doing, the clerical magic slow poison being a remedy very useful in delaying intoxication.
Naturally, she did not give the Lord Governor the same treatment.
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By the time Nichole had returned, the waitress had brought out the next course, something called Suramar Sunrise, which seemed to be a local rendition of Napolitan fettuccine. Lamour was very tipsy by now, and again pulled himself even closer, far more than she would have liked.
She was not having a good time. After the pasta had been given out, Lamour had insisted on feeding Nichole. As embarrassing as that was, she ended up feeding him back, and it reminded her of babysitting a young child. She almost regretted not giving him the spell.
"So then," said Stronk, "any thoughts on my riddle yet, Mr. Richards?"
"I believe the answer is 'writing'," replied Hank.
Stronk's question had been a tricky one, as it had been phrased in a way that made one assume that it was something that existed before civilization or even before civilized beings. However, he claimed this concept caused history to begin, and the true definition of "history" (by an academician, at least), is a written account of people and events of the past. Anything before the invention of the written word is called "prehistory", and thus "writing" was the answer.
Stronk nodded. "Indeed. Seems what I heard about you had some truth to it."
"If I may, I have one for you too."
"Really? Well, Mr. Richards, I never turn down a challenge."
Hank cleared his throat. "I have forests with no trees, rivers with no water, towns without people. What am I?"
"Ahem, not to interrupt," said Coll, "but I believe our main course has arrived."
"Oh yes, yes," said Stronk, "I instructed the preparation of something special - roast fhorgling with garlic and pepper."
While the three guests were not familiar with what a fhorgling was (it was "a young fhorge", they'd hear later) they knew a roast pig when they saw one, though this seemed more like a small boar, with two sets of tusks. "Small" of course, meant "proportionate to an actual boar", as the large roast on a platter was so huge that both the waitresses and two male cooks were carrying it to the table.
And then, it seemed it was too heavy. One of the waitresses - the tiefling, Elizabeth - made a small, shriek, stumbled, slipped, and fell, causing the other three servants to strain and struggle to hold it up.
Both Francis and Nichole dove out of their seats as Jacqueline collapsed too, launching themselves towards the tray and grabbing both sides of it before it fell.
As they lifted the large roast, everyone in the dining room stood up and started clapping. "Impressive," commented Rivaldi. Nichole almost blushed.
"This, uhm," started Nichole. She and Francis lifted and lowered it onto the smaller table where one of the chefs would carve it. "This is far too much food for seven people…"
"Fear not," said Stronk, "I fully intend to donate anything left over to your fine organization. Waste not, want not, as they say."
Nichole was actually starting to like this guy. Far more than she liked the lecherous dwarf sitting next to her. Once she had drained her water glass - that display tiring her significantly - she got an idea.
"Here's a riddle for everyone." Nichole had a crafty look as she stated, "When your father is a dwarf and your mother is an orc, what are you?"
"Wait, what?" asked Lamour. It seemed like he was sobering up. "That's uh…"
"You're a dork!" said Rivaldi with a laugh. Everyone except Lamour laughed too, Nichole adding, "Oh, you've heard it."
"I believe the answer to your riddle, by the way," said Stronk, to Hank again, "is 'a map'."
"Exactly," said Hank with a nod.
The chef started to pass out the meat while Jacqueline started serving mashed potatoes.
"I suppose I should say now, I did indeed have an, uhm, ulterior motive for insisting on coming tonight so I could meet with you and your allies. I had heard through the grapevine you were inquiring about… the Soul Pillars."
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To say the All-Seeing Orbs was an organization - even a decentralized or loosely-organized one - was a misnomer, even though it had started out as one. Much like Prohibition, it had its roots in the Great Depression of the United States.
Beholders are not like other Shadowkind in many ways. They're not the most social of beings - most any Shadow who knows anything about them will agree that they are greedy, arrogant, condescending, and narcissistic. They look down upon other races and are paranoid that "lesser" creatures coveted their wealth, magic, and knowledge. It wouldn't be far off to say that a beholder was the sort that hated everybody, but a beholder's misanthropy and xenophobia are such that the creatures a beholder hates most of all are other beholders. Some experts on Shadowkind culture say that the best way to get rid of a beholder is to tell another beholder where it lived, which is not always a joke.
A "common" beholder's basic body shape - large sphere with a central eye and ten smaller eyes on stalks - was fixed, but much like humans, there is a great deal of variation in their appearance; some beholders have smooth skin, others have scaly skin; some have small sharp teeth, others have large, blunt teeth, and so on. Each and every beholder considers itself to be the "perfect" example of a beholder, with all others being no more than ugly copies that should be disposed of.
But going alone with no allies is always a dangerous mindset, as beholders are believed to be rare even in the homeworld of Shadow and even scarcer in this world. In 1932, an unidentified beholder (possibly Khun) realized this, and made propositions to other beholders to form an alliance for mutual protection. Fortunately for the world at large, this agreement didn't work out. None of them were willing to be subordinate to anyone, or share their resources, territory, or spoils in any way.
Still, the "visionary" beholder (ironic entendre intended) did leave one lasting legacy. A big part of its plans included recruiting human followers from a specific demographic, the lower class. The financial crisis caused by the Wall Street Crash of 1929 had expanded that group, with thousands of Americans homeless, jobless, and all too often, hopeless, more than willing to both accept help from any source and turn against those who had neglected them, even if it meant turning against humanity itself. The All-Seeing Orbs had been born. Despite the disbanding of the original cabal, any and all beholders view these unfortunates as their rightful minions, as each beholder was, after all, the "most perfect" of its kind.
To this day, beholders presented themselves to society's downtrodden, claiming to be a powerful force from beyond (which was technically true). They offered these people power, protection, and a sense of community in exchange for their help bringing rightful retribution to the uncaring world above. Those who agreed became the All-Seeing Orbs. Their task was simple: they would get close enough to eavesdrop on politicians, businessmen, or celebrities, anyone with info the beholders might find valuable, a form of clairvoyance focused through the strange symbol tattooed upon them relaying that information. Most of them didn't know the nature of the beings they worked under, and those who did rarely cared. After all, from their point of view, they had just traded one type of slavery for another, and at least the new masters fed them and gave them shelter. Of course, fewer still figured out that to a beholder, this was the same idea as feeding a cat.
The most disturbing part about the All-Seeing Orbs was that symbol. While few understood the magic used, supposedly a beholder - any beholder - could see through the symbol as if it was a scrying device.
"Where are they?" asked Jalal, sternly. "Saulie, do you know where they are?"
"Jalal, calm down," said Dolores.
Saulie just nodded. "I'll… I'll show you."
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"With due respect, sir, we weren't inquiring about the Soul Pillars, we were inquiring about a criminal who had been… inquiring about them."
"Then you'd obviously be interested in why he was, ahem, inquiring about them. A man of your profession certainly knows how value is often measured by age. I believe such a man from your country said it best, that if you take an ordinary inexpensive object like this," he picked up his now-empty wine glass, "bury it in the ground, and if dug up thousand years later, whoever does so would regard it as priceless. Indeed -"
"Uh, not to interrupt here, but that was a movie."
"Eh?"
"A movie, you know, fiction. Oh, and the man who said it was from France… And he was the villain of the story."
"And his death at the end of the movie was pretty gruesome," added Nichole.
She and Francis were doing their best to listen, both on their third helping of roast fhorgling. This was superb, even if slightly gamy.
"I see, I'll have to look into that sometime." Stronk held up the glass and Jacqueline went to refill it. "Still, the longevity of the Soul Pillars makes it a remarkable site. The ophidia didn't build the place, via their own admission, they discovered it. The site is so old no race of Shadowkind has any memory of it, not even the elves. The ruins that can be seen on the surface also match no known style of architecture, and it's too old to have been built by any civilization known to mortal scholars, human or Shadow, and no mythology of any culture hints at the place being a temple to any gods."
Hank was trying very hard to hide how interesting this conversation had gotten. "So then, what we have is an OOParts site, like Stonehenge?"
"In a sense, yes. However, the runes upon stone in the Soul Pillars are not mere carvings left by a primeval civilization. Simply walking through the surface ruins, even during daylight, makes the average hiker anxious and nervous. Doing so at night causes fear and paranoia, while camping out there causes horrific nightmares that prevent sleep from being restful. And those who dare to go below the surface and into the actual complex start to have waking nightmares, horrific hallucinations that can drive even celestial servants of the gods to madness. The nightmares even persist long after such explorers leave the place, if they ever do."
"But the ophidia," said Nichole, "they -"
"- used to live there?" said Coll. "I think they actually liked having nightmares. Either that, or they weren't sane to begin with, can't lose what you don't have."
"Coll, hush!" said Rivaldi. "In all likelihood they knew about the effect the place had on the mortal psyche and had some way to stave off the effect, considering the risk worth the end result of some project they were engaging in. But something went very wrong, and it may have in fact what caused the cataclysm that created the Demonskarr."
"Let me tell you a story of more recent origins," continued Stronk. "Fifty-seven years ago, a protege of mine, an ophidia herself named Kyria, was working on a simple exploratory dig. Now, she had expressed some interest in investigating the Soul Pillars, something I forbid, but at the time, she was far away from the place. However, she was uncomfortably close to Bellogos' lair, and somehow got lost and entered it. He wasn't home at the time, but the poor girl became tempted by the vast amount of wealth kept within. Had she been older and more pragmatic, she would have run for her life then and there, but instead, attempted to steal all she could carry from the giant pile of gold, and was caught in the act by Bellogos himself."
"That is, sadly, what happens to many who see a dragon's horde for the first time."
"Now, Bellogos was, of course, angry, but Kyria was, in fact, lucky. He had already gorged himself on a herd of sheep and wasn't in the mood to eat this thieving ophidia, at least not right away. And while deciding on just what was the best way to torture her to death, a conversation started between them - no idea why, maybe he was just bored, it's not like anyone would go back to ask him.
"Eventually, she asked him both about the Demonskarr and the Soul Pillars, and seeing as he never intended to spare her, he seemed to feel there was no harm in answering her inquiries.
"He told her that her kin had tried to enter Heaven by going through Hell."
There was dead silence for a minute or so. Nichole finally said, "How -"
"Not as unlikely as it sounds, Nichole," said Hank, "ever read The Divine Comedy?"
"I'm not all-that into Italian Renaissance poetry," said Francis, "but I believe the idea there was for Dante to learn the nature of Evil so he could cleanse himself in Purgatory in order to comprehend the glory of Heaven, sort of a 'trial by fire' thing."
"I personally wouldn't trust the old worm farther than I could throw him," growled Coll, clearly annoyed by the mere mention of Bellogos.
Stronk continued to talk as Jaqueline started to clear the table of their now-empty plates.
"Well, whatever it meant and whether he was being truthful or not, Kyria escaped, returning to Cauldron delirious and terrified, with the words the dragon had told her. Two weeks later, the dragon attacked the city. Whether he had come out of revenge or to silence the poor girl, nobody knows. He was driven away, and that was the last time - for now - he bothered us or any of the other towns of Cauldron."
"You think he ever went in there?" asked Nichole. "Hard to believe anything could frighten a dragon."
"Maybe there's something in there that only a dragon would be scared of," added Francis. "Like that stuff Malys used on Jalal's dad, what was it called?"
"Dragonbane," said Nichole. Saying the name of that vile poison caused the three mainlanders to shiver.
"Like I said, we can't exactly go there and ask him. What he said has continued to be debated to this day, but it seems that whatever the ophidia were doing in that place, their efforts failed. Possibly even the whole reason for the cataclysm that created the Demonskarr."
"So," started Hank, "how exactly does this concern us?"
"Well, I -"
Then Lamour belched loudly, and grabbed hold of Nichole, pulling her even closer than before. "You know, Ms. Belvins, I still need an escort for a formal I have to go to next month, would you -"
Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately, depending on the point of view) Elizabeth was bringing out dessert at that exact moment. It was indeed cake, black forest cake, from the look of it.
"Oh, sure!" she said, hugging him back and doing as best she could to sound like a giddy schoolgirl and making sure everyone heard. "I'd be happy to!"
As all the attention in the room turned to them, Francis took advantage of the distraction, taking his spoon and deftly flung it under the waitress' foot. She slipped, let out a shriek, and fell forward, dropping the cake and landing on her stomach. Even worse, her blouse caught the edge of Hank's chair, causing it to tear, which caused a barrage of whistles and catcalls.
Of course, the poor girl was hysterical, even as Nichole rushed over to help her. Nobody noticed Hank pull a plastic bag from his jacket pocket with a small set of tongs kept within. He used them to scoop up part of the now ruined cake and place it in the bag, then seal it before tucking it back in his pocket.
One thing that at least Coll noticed quickly was the strange sigil on Elizabeth's back as Nichole hurried the sobbing waitress to the ladies room. Anyone who did notice it likely wouldn't have thought anything of it - tattoos were rather common among tieflings - but Coll's reaction was one of incredible shock.
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Five minutes later, Rivaldi and Stronk were with Hank and Francis in front of the main entrance.
"I sincerely apologize for the debacle, Mr. Mills, most of my employees are more, uhm, coordinated."
"We can call for the carriages again if you'd like," said Rivaldi.
"Oh, uh, no thank you, ma'am," said Francis, "we can get back ourselves. If you see Nichole, just tell her we went on ahead."
"Oh, and Mr. Richards," added Stronk, "if you'd ever like to reconsider my offer -"
"I'll call," replied Hank. Of course, Stronk hadn't actually made any "offer", but it was obvious what he wanted. If even a few things that were stated about the Soul Pillars had any truth to them, he wasn't going into the place without a lot of preparation and backup.
The two Shadowchasers waited until the two nobles had entered the place again and the large door had closed before making their leave.
"How long before you can analyze that stuff?" asked Francis.
"A few hours, give or take. Hopefully we can get some shuteye first, this has been a long day."
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Two streets away from the employee entrance to the Ace of Swords, Nichole was still trying to console the waitress. Nichole had given her the T-shirt she wore under her blouse (a habit she had picked up years ago during freezing winters when stores and classrooms felt the need to turn the heat up to maximum), but poor Elizabeth was still crying.
"It's okay, really!" she tried to tell her, "it was an accident, not your fault."
This was not a lie, it was completely their fault, but it seemed Elizabeth didn't believe her.
"It's always my fault," she said, crying softly. "It always is."
Through her sobs, the poor girl told Nichole that this wasn't the first time she had spilled food she was supposed to serve, nor even the first time with cake. For years, "Dizzy Lizzie" Skilorni had the reputation as the worst waitress in Cauldron. She had been fired from the Snoring Ogre Tavern, The Spider's Web, and the Minuta Board for spilling drinks and food, usually on customers. She once knocked a customer over and spilled hot soup on his face, and the worst accident of all, killed some woman's poor cat (by accident). The only establishment she could rely on not to fire her was The Devil's Horns (It was, suffice to say, the type of place where you had to be 21 years old to enter). Getting the job at the prestigious Ace of Swords had been a big break, but now…
"There are… other jobs," said Nichole. Damn, she thought. How was she going to explain this, tell her that the reason they had likely gotten her fired again was because someone (possibly her boss) had tried to poison them?
Then a dark thought came to her. Was the cake poisoned? Hester had just told them not to eat it and hadn't said why. Could they even trust Hester?
Then, an idea came to her. "Hey," she said. She took Elizabeth by the shoulders, lifting her to her feet. "Listen, I know a place that might be hiring, if you -"
"BEHIND YOU!" screamed Elizabeth.
For a brief moment, it had looked like she was about to stop crying and was relieved, but then switched to full panic. Naturally, Nichole spun around…
…her hand went for her sword, but before she could draw it, a swarm of bats swooped out of the sky with a cacophony of shrieks…
What in the world? These were not regular bats, they were dire bats, but she hardly cared about biological nomenclature as they swarmed her, biting and clawing at her face and arms, ripping at her clothing…
…getting tangled in her hair…
Now Nichole was the one who was trying to stave off panic as she flailed her arms yelling curses… And then, she screamed…
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"Never thought I'd have to come here again."
The Calespin Cabaret had seen better days. A nightclub owned by a rich businessman who was, unbeknownst to anyone, a puppet for Malakkus Khun, it was where the final - they assumed - showdown with the fiend had occurred. The Shadowchasers had been deceived, led into a trap by the diabolical mobster, and while he had sorely underestimated their capabilities, the victory was very much a pyrrhic one.
Dolores had never been here, but she still felt nervous looking at the building, which seemed to exude an aura of evil - and it did. The device she used to scan the place still registered it as a source of negative energy, a "chill-grill" as it was called in Shadowchaser jargon.
"Give me the bad news," said Jalal.
"Strong Chaos aura permeating the whole building, and auras of all forms of magic except Necromancy. Divination and Conjuration are Strong, the others are Moderate."
"Terrific," said Jalal. "That bastard probably already knows we're here."
"Wait, wait, also a faint aura of Positive Energy."
That was unexpected. But they figured they'd have to figure that one out later.
"They're in the sub-basement," said Saulie, "You do know about his jail and arena?"
Jalal nodded, it was where Khun had kept those who he owed retribution towards but had too much "entertainment potential" to kill outright.
"Someone decided ta reopen it as a fight club an' broadcast it on the internet. That's how ah found out about the All-Seeing Orbs, this place was… where I made some extra cash now an' then."
"Saulie!" snapped Dolores.
"Ey, better'n the alternative, y'know?"
"Saulie, listen." Jalal sounded much more understanding, but still a little upset. "DO NOT go home, do you have any friends you could stay with?" Saulie nodded, and was about to answer verbally, but he stopped her. "NO! Do not tell me. Wherever it is, go there and stay there. We'll find you if we need to."
She nodded, and the two Shadowchasers watched her leave, and then turned to the boarded up door to the Cabaret.
"Well," said Dolores, "seeing as they know we're coming, a direct approach might be the best option."
The leader of the Shadowchasers nodded, and a swift kick smashed the front door to pieces.
The loud cocking of a shotgun told Dolores to dive for cover, and the shout of, "Eat lead, sucker!" followed by the weapon's louder discharge was enough to determine they had been expected.
Of course, despite taking that shot to the forehead from about ten feet away, Jalal wasn't hurt - the curse of immortality he had accepted so long ago made such a weapon little more than an annoyance. Much like the punk using it whom he quickly grabbed and slammed against the opposing wall.
"Tasted terrible," he said. "Now what's the shortest way to the arena?"
The thug gulped and replied, "The, there…" he nodded to the hallway to his left. "Door at the end of the hall, you can't miss it."
"Good call." He shifted his grip slightly, using a pressure point application technique he had learned many decades ago; the thug groaned, then slumped to the floor, fast asleep.
After all, angry as he was, he had someone else to focus his rage on.
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Briefly, the whole neighborhood around Nichole turned from night into brilliant day, and when it subsided, she gasped for breath, looking around at the dead bats all around her.
Ow… The cry of radiance she had done right there had sunburned her exposed skin and winded her, but it seemed to do the job…
And then Elizabeth screamed in fear.
Looking up, she saw the largest bat of all, about six feet long with a wingspan of over twenty feet, diving out of the sky. She managed to draw her weapon now, lifting it threateningly at the beast. "Come on, come and get me!" she dared.
Unfortunately, it didn't want her. The huge bat soared over her head, and a loud scream from Elizabeth confirmed who its actual target was.
Nichole had no idea what to do, the huge bat had grabbed the poor waitress and was carrying her off like an owl that had grabbed a mouse.
Then, her Duel Disk buzzed.
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Hank and Francis had seen the cry of radiance, much as they were sure the whole city district had. Whoever was behind this didn't care much for subtlety. Nichole would cue them in on specifics - the specifics she knew, anyway - while Francis ran after the kidnapping bat-fiend.
Strangely, the beast seemed to know he was following, turning its head and circling over a building, then continuing at a slower pace after Francis got within about 100 feet. While it outdistanced him quickly, after about a minute, it started to circle again.
Is it leading me into something? As that realization came to him, the bat-fiend dropped the screaming waitress on the top of a three-floor building, alighting on the roof. Whether he was right about this didn't exactly matter to him, if someone wanted a fight, he would certainly give them one.
Francis scrambled up the building's fire escape, and as he reached the top, an annoying voice he was only too familiar with quipped, "We meet again, Shadowchaser."
It was Xokiek again, though Francis had yet to get his name. He referred to him as "the strange blue goblin", and Xokiek had described himself to Francis as "unfathomable rage, madness, and death, all in spiritual form, a soul damned and corrupted by gazing into the very Abyss looking for its darkest secrets, until finally finding them, and regretting nothing."
By now, Francis could describe him in one word: annoying.
The goblin was making a rush for him, holding his magic staff aloft, the gem on the tip glowing with magic fire. "Make peace with your -"
Francis wasn't amused - he made a swift punch to the goblin's face, knocking him backwards, the staff falling to the floor with a clatter.
"How dare y -" he shouted, only for Francis to reply with "Shut up," and belt him a second time.
Francis had encountered this creep twice before, and both times he had been caught off guard. Goblins who were able to become competent wizards were unusual. Now, the shock had worn off, and Francis could deal with him the way Shadowchasers were trained to apprehend a wizard. Such an enemy tended to be the type who couldn't take punishment nearly as well as they could dish it out, so the best approach was to hit as hard and fast as you can, and never let him focus. And as one solid punch knocked Xokiek against a duct vent, it seemed this was true for him.
He turned to Elizabeth and lent a hand. "You okay?"
Elizabeth grabbed hold of him and kissed him deeply. The crowd that had gathered on the street below cheered.
"Okay, okay!" he said. He blushed as he gently pushed her away.
They both looked over at Xokiek. "Is he…" she asked.
Francis didn't verbally answer. It seemed he had knocked the goblin out. To make sure, he knelt and put his fingers to his neck to take a pulse…
The shock hit him hard, causing him to back away in fright. Xokiek was not only dead, he was stone cold.
This made no sense - even if that last punch had been enough to kill him, the corpse would be warm for an hour or so. That wasn't the only thing wrong. His eyes were dull gray and sunken, the irises and pupils having faded.
"I have to say, Mr. Mills, I'm impressed. And I'm not the type that is easily impressed."
Elizabeth gave a small scream of surprise. The words had come from the bat-fiend that was now perched on the building's main chimney.
And its eyes… It had the same eerie blue eyes
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"Boss, boss?" shouted Dolores. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"Ugh," said Jalal. "Just my pride."
Indeed, what had happened a few minutes ago had been a pretty embarrassing mistake on his part. The door that the thug had directed them to had been both locked and deadbolted, and Jalal had been a little too anxious to get through it, ramming it down with his shoulder. In fact, the door was a ruse for a rather archaic trap and opened directly into an empty vertical shaft leading down to the sub-basement.
Dolores was fortunate that among the equipment she had brought was a ring of feather fall - of course, following him was not the wisest of moves, as such traps often include something dangerous at the bottom, but she heard angry shouts coming from the entrance hall and decided that was a better option.
"Well, at least he wasn't lying when he told us that was the fastest way. Where are we?"
Jalal stood up, looking around at the prison cell where they had fallen into. "A holding cell," he answered, "this was where Khun kept 'recruited' fighters until it was their 'turn'. By the way, this didn't happen."
"I'm a secretary," said Dolores with a sly smirk, "confidentiality is what I'm best at."
"Afraid I stink at it," said a voice at the door.
"Where's the boss?" demanded Jalal.
"Don't worry," said the jailer, "the emcee will be here in a few hours, so you two just make yourselves comfy in there."
"Right, sure. I'd advise you to move away from that door."
"You seriously think you can break this door down? It's three times as thick as that one upstairs and -"
He was cut off as the door was kicked off its hinges and he was smashed between it and the wall behind him.
"Yes, seriously," responded Jalal. It was a wasted wisecrack, of course, as the jailer was out cold. He turned to Dolores and said, "When there's one guard there's usually more. This way!"
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"GET DOWN!" shouted Francis. He tackled Elizabeth, hoping to shield her as the - obviously possessed - bat-fiend swooped. Its claws raked across the Shadowchaser's back.
"Damn it," growled Francis. This had been his best suit!
"It's going away!" shouted Elizabeth.
No, it wasn't, and Francis knew it. The bat-fiend was flying away from the building, but it was doing so in order to put distance between them for a much deadlier swoop.
"Get behind me, get on the floor." Elizabeth obeyed, covering her eyes as the bat-fiend turned, its eyes fixated on Francis.
But it wouldn't get the chance. Hank had finally caught up, looked up at the beast as it turned. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew another accessory he always carried, three weighted iron balls connected by leather cords, a bolas. Stepping back, he gripped it by the nexus of the cords, spun it around, and then hurled it at the diving bat-fiend. It hit, with the weighted cords wrapping around the beast's right wing. It screeched, then crashed and slid across the roof, crashing into the main chimney.
Elizabeth lifted her head and peeked. "Is…. is it dead?" she asked for the second time.
"I don't…" he started. Then the chimney collapsed, falling on the bat-fiend and crushing it. "Yes, I would say so." To himself he added, Assuming it wasn't dead to begin with. Something is seriously wrong here.
"Francis!" The exclamation came from Hank who had climbed up onto the roof via the same fire escape that Francis had. "What the bloody hell is that thing?"
"Well, uh," started Francis. "That blue goblin, the bat, he -"
"I will field that question -"
It was the goblin's voice again….
"No…" gasped Francis.
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"Like I said, there's usually more."
Jalal and Dolores were met by some resistance - sort of - on their way to the lowest part of the complex. The large mob of vagrants, though, was proof that quality was not quantity.
The two Shadowchasers sheathed their swords after the first group engaged them, it wasn't like a group of toughs with baseball bats and brass knuckles were any threat, and knocking down half of them caused the other half to flee. Further down, they encountered some thugs with martial arts weapons, including sai and nunchaku (none able to use them correctly) and firearms (all with terrible aim) but neither of the two Shadowchasers even broke a sweat dispatching them. Obviously, they were being led into something, and whoever was in charge didn't seem concerned with hiding that intent.
Finally, they reached the part Jalal of this complex that stood out the most in Jalal's mind, the dual steel doors that led into the fighting arena. They didn't have to do much to enter, as the doors swung outward to let them in as they approached.
Inside was the large, circular arena, the floor covered by sand. There were four cells, two on each wall to the left and right; these cells had two entrances, one where a prisoner entered before "festivities" started, and the large one facing the arena where they were let out when the fight was to start, usually after spectators arrived. Speaking of which, there were balcony spectator seats above, where those who had paid admission would jeer and mock the combatants while placing bets on who would be victorious, along with side wagers, like how long it would take for one combatant to break down and weep or plead for their lives. The ghouls who frequented these events weren't the most supportive. Most disturbingly, four of the insignias of the Orbs were painted on the walls, over the balconies. Khun could likely keep his eleven eyes on any of the crowd any time he wanted, and all of them would be none the wiser.
But there was one feature that Jalal did not remember. A pedestal was on the far wall, in front of a fifth cell that had now been bricked up. A statue was on the pedestal, made of what looked like emerald. It depicted a male dwarf with an angry face, in the process of shaking his first.
"What the bloody hell -" started Jalal.
"My apology in advance, Stormbringer."
Before he could react to the voice, a solid blunt object slammed into the side of his head, and he toppled to the floor.
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They still had no idea what Xokiek was, but whatever it was, the goblin had just been a shell, one it had possessed. It had been no match for Francis this time, so it had possessed the bat-fiend it had used to grab Elizabeth. The bat-fiend proved an even worse vessel, so now it had taken another.
"I almost have to thank you, Mr. Mills," said the thing in Elizabeth's body, "that goblin's body was seriously starting to chaff. This one… Actually seems more pleasing."
Of course, neither Francis nor Hank found this the slightest bit amusing. "Come out of there and fight like a man, you little creep!"
"I'm afraid I cannot, Mr. Mills, as if I were to come out right now, I'd have nothing to fight you with. Though I'm sure Elizabeth will be adequate for the time being." Then its voice changed, switching to a creepy version of Elizabeth's. "Come on, want to go one on one?"
"Okay, okay,"said Hank with a tone of disgust. "I've seen a lot of… disgusting things in my time, but this is just -"
"Perverted? I've heard that a great deal, Mr. Richards. Gender makes no difference to me, male or female make equally adequate hosts. Some might say I'm an equal opportunity employer when it comes to such things. But fear not, I fully intend to release her - eventually. Say, here's an idea. Seeing as you mainlanders love that card game so much, what say we make a wager with it? I'll try anything once."
"You're on!" shouted Hank.
"Oh, no, no, I didn't mean right now. After all, it's an ungodly hour and everyone's had such a hard day." Then Elizabeth's eyes turned that same eerie blue color, the same color of the fire that now enveloped her right hand.
"Twenty-four hours from now. Meet me in front of the Courthouse, I assume you know where that is."
Then blazing blue balls of fire shot from her hands, exploding around the two Shadowchasers. The attack caught them unawares and knocked them both over, and they didn't see exactly how he retreated from the roof, but they did hear what he said before doing so:
"That is but an inkling of the power I possess, mainlanders. Let it be known it is now 11:00 PM."
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"SAULIE?" shouted Dolores. "Have you lost your mind?"
The assailant who had just ambushed Jalal was indeed Saulie, but she had changed her outfit in the past hour or so. Now she was wearing a gray, cropped sweatshirt with hoodie and jeans. But the modern clothing had some far older accessories - she wore gauntlets of ogre power on her hands and a girdle of giant strength around her waist. The weapon she had hit Jalal with was an iron warhammer, the head of which was on fire.
Worst of all, the insignia of the All-Seeing Orbs was now visible, tattooed on her exposed midriff to the right of her navel.
She didn't answer right away, making a swing towards Dolores' face. She arched backwards to dodge it, but it had been a feint - Saulie stamped the weapon to the floor, shaking the room and causing the off-balance Shadowchaser to fall on her back. Cheering came from above - there were more members of the Orbs up there.
"No, Dolores, ah haven't. Sometimes ah think it's the one part'a me ah haven't lost."
Then, she was the one caught off guard. The wound she had dealt to Jalal had stunned him a little and would have been fatal to most people, but he wasn't "most people", and she wasn't prepared for him bull rushing her with his shoulder, and the three punches to the face that followed, then a much stronger fourth one that knocked her against the wall, causing her to drop the warhammer.
"Mewling maggot," she cursed. Then she chanted in dwarven, tossing a small object at him, a metal sphere about three inches in diameter. Again, Jalal's overconfidence got the better of him, and he didn't think to dodge - as the sphere darted towards him, it unfolded into a tangle of metal bands, wrapping around him and pinning his arms to his sides.
"What, you -" But she was on her feet quickly, and kicked him in the face, knocking him down again.
As that was happening, four of the other Orbs - whom, it was clear by now, were working for Saulie - grabbed hold of Dolores, dragging her to her feet.
Seems things had escalated fast…
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Xokiek re-materialized in a vault-like chamber below the Ace of Swords. Below the VIP lounge and wine cellars, this large room had no doors - in order to get in, you needed to use magic to either teleport yourself or make yourself intangible. The Cagewrights who did so called the place "the Crypt". It was indeed a crypt, belonging to previous owners of the restaurant, who ordered servants to seal it up with brick and mortar once they had been interred.
Xokiek found such a place cozy, as well as a decent place to meet with someone.
"Ahem," said a deep, gruff voice.
"Ah, speak of the devil," he said. "You'll be glad to know that -"
"Yes, the failure of your initial plan has accidentally identified one of the remaining Shackleborn," said the gruff voice. "A fortunate accident. However, I assume you also know that for the ceremony to succeed, the bodies and souls of the still-living Shackleborn must be intact when the ceremony is done, and that allof the Cagewrights are required to perform it. While there is no specific rule that says an individual cannot be both -"
"Calm down, this vessel is a temporary host. This time tomorrow I'll have a much stronger one."
"I see. You intend to force that Shadowchaser to wager his body for Elizabeth's, I assume? You seem quite confident in your abilities, Xokiek. Assuming you do manage to win, what would keep his allies from restraining, sedating, and detaining him?"
"I'm counting on that," said Xokiek. "Should that happen, covertly switching to one of them would be much easier, and all I would need is aid from Rivaldi to gain this Shackleborn. And should I lose that duel, I could simply steal his body, remain incognito for a while, possibly even using him to recover Elizabeth. I could then pursue my original endeavor any time I desired."
"Infiltrating Jalal's stronghold like a Trojan horse, a bold plan, indeed. I do, however, notice one thing you may have overlooked…"
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Back on the roof, the body of the goblin Xokiek had previously used for a host (who they now realized was just as much a victim as Elizabeth) had quickly decomposed and rotted, but the clothes were still intact. Including a belt with a large pouch on the side, a spell component pouch.
Nichole had finally caught up, Francis helping her up as she climbed up onto the roof. As she was explaining her perception of what had happened, Hank was looking through the pouch.
"Oh brother," he muttered. "This is twilight bloom."
The very name of that notorious plant got the attention of his two allies, even more so when he held up a handful of large, dried fronds.
Twilight bloom (also known as the purple blossom doom and purple death) was a partially-carnivorous plant of Shadow origins, which was incredibly dangerous. Resembling a small palm tree with violet blossoms, its visible roots were covered with soft moss; most hikers and forest animals might mistake this as a comfortable, shady place to rest. But this would be a fatal mistake, as while the moss was harmless, the sap from its flowers was lethally toxic. The plant was very sensitive to sound, and when vibrations (such as footsteps) indicated a living creature was near, the sap would drip from the flowers, potentially killing any animal (including humans and most Shadows) who lingered under it. The decomposition of creatures killed by the sap would fertilize the plant's root network.
Most Shadows who recognized a twilight bloom for what it was tried to destroy it, usually using fire. Some people with less morals and more bravery than most tried to harvest the sap in hopes of selling it, an incredibly dangerous endeavor that was rarely successful, but even when it was the sap lost its potency after only a day, becoming useless.
But in one attempt to do so, someone discovered a way to use the leaves of the plant. While not as lethal as the sap, they could be used to make a drug that was dubbed violet dreams. When ingested, they caused the victim to fall into a coma-like state that was near-indistinguishable from death. Bounty hunters and traffickers often found it easier to take a victim alive when everyone believed the victim was dead.
It was also used frequently by cults who had dealings with fiends and other entities that could control mortals via possession - the effect made it near–impossible for a victim to resist.
"It will take me an hour or so to analyze those cake crumbs I picked up, but it seems we know why that woman warned us not to eat it."
It certainly didn't look like they would get much shut-eye after all. Nichole's suspicion that they may have gotten Elizabeth fired over nothing had been debunked, but a lot of good it did the poor girl now.
Francis checked his watch and nodded. "So then, we have twenty-four, or rather twenty-three hours and thirty minutes, to find out what this thing is and decide on a plan. Maybe we should try to call the boss."
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And speaking of which…
"WHY?" shouted Dolores.
Saulie let out a long, tired sigh. "Why what?" She looked down at the tattoo. "Why do I have this?"
"You're working for him… WHY?"
"I'm not 'working' for him." She made "air quotes" with her fingers with the word "working" as she said it. "Like I had a choice." Then she noticed that Jalal was doing his best to struggle against the bonds. "Jalal, before ya embarrass yerself further, those iron bands of binding ain't made of iron, they're made of Carcerian steel. Chains made of that stuff could've held yer dad if they were big enough. Heh, you know, that's the thing about bein' immortal, nothin' can kill ya but ya can be tied up just like anyone else."
"Your grandfather…" he said.
Saulie nodded slowly, looking up at the statue. "Yeah, that's him alright. Khun called it 'magic shaping'. Ah mean, why use yer eye ray things to turn someone into plain old stone when ya can have a statue a' diamond? An' as for this, do ya seriously think I'd want to sign up to join some sniveling, sleazy band of louse-ridden rats?"
Dolores stopped and turned her head slightly. The four men restraining her didn't seem to object to that at all.
"Believe me, Dolores, they've all heard worse. Doesn't matter when the sleaziest rat of all is the one callin' them that."
"What happened?"
Saulie was actually close to tears, starting a hasty explanation. Twenty years ago, she and her grandfather were clearing out this building, looking for anything that could be salvaged before they demolished it. That's when Malakkus Khun returned, confronting her grandfather in this very room. Seems he had kept that contract that Brogni had signed a century earlier and was here to collect interest owed. Naturally, Brogni laughed.
"An' you can see what the bastard did ta him. Grandfather was the strongest an' toughest member of our clan, it did'na look good for the rest of us. Ah made the worst mistake ah ever could'a made - ah begged for my life."
"Extortion," said Jalal.
Saulie nodded. "Seemed a simple task, just had to hang around any rich and influential folks who might spill some info he'd find useful. That's why I kept workin' at the tavern, folks spill a lot when they've had a few." She looked upward at the balcony seats. "They spill even more when they're watchin' a brutal, bloody battle to the death. Almost funny you know, most of the folks who come here have no idea he's anything but a statue. Some greedy jerks have tried to steal him, some have even succeeded! One of 'em got as far as Vancouver before we caught him!
"Last time I had the 'pleasure' of speakin' to Khun was two days ago, he said you were lookin' into other beholders and figured you'd be here sooner or later. He specifically told me ta 'take care of the half-breed mongrel's wench' - paraphrased that a little, I might add - and make ya watch. Pretty sure that meant he wanted me ta kill ya."
"So then do it and be done with it!" hissed Dolores.
"Ah said he wanted me to!" Saulie opened a satchel on her belt as she continued to talk, sounding a lot angrier and more pissedthan before. "Didn't say I would, Dolores, I still have some scruples you know, and there ain't a snowball's chance in the darkest, deepest, bloodiest bowels of Hell I'm gonna be some hired gun for that monster." She withdrew something from the bag - obviously some variant of a bag of holding as it was larger than the bag itself - and threw it to Dolores as the four men released her. Dolores fumbled as she caught it. It was a Duel Disk. "Ah take it you know how to use that?"
"I wasn't planning to do so today, but -"
"Well good. So, here's the deal, he told me he'd be here at 4AM, which is -" she checked her watch, "- three hours from now. No idea what he plans ta do then, ah assume he has some way ta deal with you two, but you win, we'll let ya leave before he gets here. I win, well, ah'll just have to keep you here until he shows up."
"You do realize, he'll kill all of us."
Saulie had taken a second Disk from the pouch, and latched it to her wristband with a loud snap. "Mm, probably, ah figured out a short time ago that he would do that sooner or later. Ahm a fighter, Dolores, ah ain't a killer. So, if he wants me ta 'take care of ya' this is the best way ta do it."
She closed her eyes and slowly muttered, "Moradin have mercy on my soul…"
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And, that's that for now.
Next chapter, Dolores vs Saulie! Plus, more info on just what Xokiek is as the group in Cauldron look for a way to get Elizabeth out of danger, by getting Xokiek out of Elizabeth.
Heh, joke there.
We're coming down to the wire on this part of "Shackled City", and I expect "Blue Bloods" to run for two chapters more, which will likely put us about halfway through the series as a whole. I'll still be here as long as I am able.
And look for the next chapter of "BLOCKBUSTER! Yu-Gi-Oh!" coming soon.