Prologue
Now
1379 Dale Reckoning, Year of the Lost Keep
"I feel quite vexed right now. Do you know why?"
The shackled prisoner gave no reply, but looked up from the sand and stared blankly.
"It is the middle of the night, and I'm trying to sleep comfortably in my nice, warm bed with my equally nice, warm mistress. But instead, I have to get up and trudge down the many, many flights of stairs in that tower there," He pointed at the soaring, black stone structure at the other end of the slavers' base. "And I'm told I have to go and see some bloody fool that was stupid enough to try and sneak into our camp."
The slavemaster kicked the prisoner in the stomach, and the captive doubled over, wheezing. He continued to address the prisoner. "So here I am, standing out in the frigid cold, half-starkers, because said fool won't let me get a much-needed night's rest. Imagine that. Cold in the desert! I never would have guessed such a thing were possible if I didn't already live here."
Looking between the guards standing on either side of the prisoner, the slaver held out a hand, and one of the guards passed him the key to the prisoner's shackles. He attached the iron key to a ring, alongside a second metallic key with a slightly more complex design. The slaver then took a few steps back toward a nearby tent, leaving footprints behind him in the sand. He made a hand gesture, and the guards each seized the prisoner by an arm, dragging him closer. Near the entrance of the tent was a brazier filled with burning coals.
The slaver picked up a pair of tongs lying beside the brazier and poked at some of the coals, pushing them around in the iron pan. "You claimed your name is Dace. A rather weak name. Sounds like something you would name a fish." Holding the tongs steadily in one hand, he lifted a large, brightly burning piece of coal and carried it with him as he moved to stand in front of the prisoner. The guards yanked Dace up to his feet.
"We know that you were here in search of someone, Dace. Probably trying to rescue one of the slaves held in the pens. That is the only reason anyone would bother travelling this far across the sands of the Anauroch and attempt to breach our camp. Now, you can give me a name immediately, or we can spend the next hour or so enjoying your screams. So tell me, who sent you? Who is the one you are searching for?"
Dace licked his dry lips and cleared his throat. "Tovinsen…"
"Tovinsen?!" The slavemaster cried, laughing aloud. "Arik Tovinsen died months ago! I slit his throat myself. Ha! You've come all this way for nothing, Dace. Well, now that the matter is settled…" He smirked and stepped closer, raising the hot coal toward Dace's face.
"Not Arik," said Dace. "His widow hired me. You are the one I was searching for."
The slaver furrowed his brow. Suddenly, the prisoner kicked up, knocking the tongs from his hand. The coal went flying and bounced off the face of one of the guards, causing him to cry out and cradle his cheek. Wrenching free of the other guard, Dace then drove his head forward, slamming his forehead directly into the boss' face. The leader stumbled backward as his nose began to dribble blood, and he tripped against the side of the tent, falling over some of the struts. A section of the tent collapsed, causing a few large flaps of heavy cloth to fall over the slaver.
Dace spun around just as one of the guards drew his scimitar. Bending his knees and holding his shackled hands apart to keep the chain taut, he managed to block the blade of the weapon, but the blow was not enough to sever the chain. He pushed the weapon to the side and then darted close, punching the guard in the face with his elbow. He quickly raised one arm up and brought the chain around the guard's neck, pulling tightly. As he held the choking man close, Dace continued to step from side to side, keeping the guard as a human shield between him and the second guard with the burn on his cheek.
After a few moments, the scimitar fell from the choking guard's grasp, and Dace released him, shoving the man headfirst into the burning brazier. The mercenary crouched down for the weapon and seized it in one hand, raising it just in time to parry an attack from the second guard. Grabbing a handful of sand from the ground, Dace hurled it in the guard's face, causing the opponent to shut his eyes and step back.
The guard continued to wave his scimitar in front of him, but Dace saw the opening and brought his own blade down on the man's wrist, cutting deeply into the joint. As the man screamed and dropped his weapon, Dace immediately closed in and thrust his blade into the guard's stomach.
Removing his weapon and leaving the man to bleed out onto the sand, Dace walked over to the other guard who was still lying on the ground, cradling several burns and moaning from the pain of falling against the brazier. The mercenary put an end to the guard's misery.
Using the scimitar, he cut a wide hole in the tent fabric, near the writhing lump where the head slaver was tangled. Sitting up and poking his head through the tear, the slaver's face fell when he saw that Dace had been victorious.
"Well, I can see how this is going to end," said the slavemaster. "But since you are going to kill me anyway, please, answer me one thing–"
Dace raised his blade in both hands and then slew the man where he sat.
No. Die in ignorance, the mercenary thought to himself.
"Hey, hey you there!" came a shout from within the tent. Dace peered inside the section of the tent that still stood, and he saw a metal cage standing in the corner. A woman in tattered clothing was crouched inside, holding the bars tightly. Judging by the cracked, sand-encrusted look of her face and skin, she must have been held in there for several weeks, at least. "You've killed him! Oh, thank the gods! He carries with him the master key that can unlock most of the other cells in this part of the camp. Please, hurry before the rest of the guards become aware of what happened!"
Saying nothing, Dace walked over to the lead slaver's bleeding corpse and retrieved a key, then used it to remove the shackles that bound his wrists. He then tossed the key ring aside, letting it fall somewhere in the sand.
"Wait, what are you doing? You can't just leave us!"
Dace continued to ignore her and instead cut out a large section of cloth from the tent.
She went on, "The rest of the guards will punish us when they find out the commandant was murdered!"
The mercenary quickly finished his work on the slaver's corpse and began to walk away, not even offering the captive woman another glance as she began shouting obscenities after him and yelling for the guards. A casual glance around assured Dace that no others were within earshot.
As he made his way toward the encampment's stables, he held a package wrapped in the white cloth at his side. If the rest of the guards were as incompetent as those he'd faced so far, he'd have no trouble slipping away. There probably wouldn't even be a chase through the desert. Especially if he killed the rest of their mounts and stole as many canteens as he could carry.
He'd likely be back in town in under a week. And here he thought this job would be a challenge.
Dace unwrapped the bloody package and unceremoniously dropped it on the countertop. "The head of Warrack Sturm, as promised. Where is the reward I was pledged?"
Nose wrinkled, the town deputy stood up and waved a hand in front of his face, trying to fan away the smell of the rotting head and the flies that circled it. He eyed the face that stared up at him and then looked at the sketch hanging on the bulletin board nearby. "You know, those posters say that they're wanted dead or alive. You might try 'alive' one of these days."
"Do not waste my time. I am owed a debt."
"Fine." The deputy reached below the counter and began reciting in a monotone, "On behalf of the township of Hawkspoint, we offer you our gratitude for this valuable service, blah blah blah, you've heard the rest before. Here. Take it with Lady Tovinsen's regards and then get out." He tossed a sack of gold onto the counter, next to the bloody head. Without waiting to count it, Dace scooped up his bounty and then tied it to his belt. The deputy began his unenviable task of gathering up the head and muttered, "I am so sick of dealing with you, blackheart."
As the mercenary turned to leave, the deputy called after him, "By the way, a messenger arrived in town asking about you, while you were gone. He'll be waiting for you down at the tavern. If he offers you something that takes out out of my county for good, then I hope to the gods that you take it."
Later that evening, Dace managed to track down the messenger and took a seat across from the stranger in the local pub.
"I have an offer for you from my employer, sir." The messenger brought out a small box and pushed it across the table. Dace appreciated the man's lack of pleasantries, but found it odd that the courier didn't even attempt to verify Dace's identity.
"Whom do you represent, and what are the terms of this job?"
"Ah, I should let him tell you himself." The messenger gestured toward the box, and then sat back in his seat, waiting patiently as he nursed a drink.
It felt like a trick, but Dace swallowed the risk and decided to at least see what this was about. After giving the box a glance-over for any obvious traps, he lifted the lid of the wooden box and found a narrow sliver of purple crystal lying inside on a bed of cloth. It was shaped like an icicle, and seemed to sparkle slightly, even in the dim lighting of the tavern.
When he reached to pick it up, a slight static shock ran through him as his fingers touched the cold crystal.
"Thank you for agreeing to hear me out, Mister Dace." An odd voice seemed to echo loudly from all around him. Dace pulled his hand back and looked up at the messenger, but the man simply sipped his beer, not paying attention. A quick glance around the tavern told Dace that nobody else had heard the voice either. So he was dealing with magic. Always a bad sign.
He warily touched the crystal again, and the echoing words continued, unfazed by the interruption.
"I require someone with your ability and experience to execute a special task on an island off the Sword Coast," said the voice. The echoes made it difficult to narrow down the characteristics of the speaker… Dace couldn't even tell if it was male or female, young or old. Another strange detail was that the unseen person seemed to put excessive emphasis on every hard consonant in their speech. "You may address me as… Shard, for now."
Cute. "What exactly do you require?" Dace asked, keeping his voice low.
"This is a rather complex task I have in mind. It will require you to travel to the city of Riftmere, due a few days south and west off the coast from Tethyr. The messenger can provide you with directions if you require them, but I believe you are already familiar with the place."
The mercenary frowned. It was years since he'd even heard about Riftmere, and he briefly wondered how much this stranger already knew about his past.
"You will be compensated, of course," Shard continued. "And in case you have your doubts about why you should take this job, look beneath the cloth."
Setting aside the crystal and lifting the cloth, Dace saw that there was an old piece of wilted parchment inside, well wrinkled and folded in half. When he unfolded the page, Dace stared at the image in shock. It was a wanted poster from about thirty years ago, for a young man whose face Dace recognized instantly. His lip curled into a sneer when he realized what it meant. His grip tightened on the crystal shard.
"You see, I've learned a great deal about the man in that poster. Loynis was his name, and he once set out from Riftmere on a journey with a bounty hunter by the name of Dace. What's more, I know what really happened to him. For that reason, I think you will want to accept my job and the lucrative amount of money I will be paying you." The voice continued, "What I require of you will be a… challenge, to say the least. But I am confident that you are not the type to be daunted by such an undertaking, Mister Dace."