The Stone God’s compound in the city of Brega was located on prime real estate—on a bluff overlooking the city’s bay far from the noise and traffic of the Docks District. Morning found War Master Orisis at the edge of the cliff looking out over the water for something he knew was mostly likely not out there. He’d come to decide once and for all how to handle his present commission. But though his thinking spot was as beautiful as ever, the answers to his questions continued to elude him, and now time was starting to run out. Cindar Belam had thus far been more than patience with his War, but he’d made it abundantly clear at their last meeting that the time for consideration and reconnaissance was ending. Belam expected results, and soon.
Orisis could not afford to fail in any commission, but when the commission was for the High Priest of the Stone God, failure meant more than just disaster for his standing in the War Master’s Guild. Failure meant death. And yet, even with that thought foremost in his mind, Orisis still could not see how he was going to get into the Tower of Al-Kafiri without getting caught. Though Orisis was sure that he could carve a path of blood through the Temple’s guards and retrieve the Eye of Giscaine through main force, Belam had been specific that this was not what the job required. No, Cindar Belam wanted it done quietly. He wanted to possess the Eye, yes, but he wanted to do it in a way that would not invite war between the Stone God’s Faithful and the outlanders of the Al-Kafiri clan.
Anyone could retrieve the Eye via simple violence. Belam had hired a War Master because he wanted the job done with discretion.
Orisis close his eyes. Brooding on the problem would not help solve it. He needed to find peace. He needed to meditate. He paced the cliffs for a moment, fighting a feeling of restlessness. Around him, the fire of the morning sky coupled with the sounds of lapping waves below. Orisis breathed deeply, trying to still his mind. Thoughts of the Tower came to him. Perhaps he could go in through the sewers...
Orisis shook his head. It was no use. His thoughts would not be so easily quieted. He would have to take more active measures.
He drew his blades. His wakasashi moved first and from his left, blocking out and up. His katana followed, flowing in the opposite direction through the space that his companion sword had just cleared and then out through a simple riposte. Orisis closed the circle and brought both of his blades back to their ready positions. Then he began again. At first, the movements came slowly, but after a few iterations, his arms and legs warmed. A quarter hour later he was breathing hard, his body flashing through an increasingly complex series of attacks and defenses that might have left an entire company dead had such tried to stand against him. Throughout that time, he kept his mind focused solely on his movements.
At last he felt his mind floating free.
As his body whirled and flowed through the motions of battle, Orisis considered the Tower of Al-Kafiri from a position of strength. The Tower itself was a tall structure with a massive courtyard at its base and three large battlements at the top. Even a novice thief would see two primary entrance points. The first was the front door. Orisis could assassinate any of the Tower’s many guards and then theoretically walk right in through the gate wearing the guard’s robe-like uniform. The problem with this was that the Tower was home to one of Brega’s most powerful sorcerer’s guilds. The Tower’s wizards used a Rune of Identity to make it impossible for unknown person’s to pass through the front gate undetected.
The other obvious way in was through the Tower’s upper story windows. But that method presented two problems. First, the Tower was in the middle of Al-Kafiri Square, a popular marketplace located just one block from the city’s Government District. Thus, War Master or no, it was likely that Orisis would be seen breaking in. And then too, if the Tower’s wizards could place a rune on the front gate, the gods alone knew what they’d do to protect their windows. Without adequate reconnaissance, Orisis wouldn’t know how to defeat whatever traps were on the windows, but any attempts to properly scope the job would be seen by passersby below.
Then there was the third possibility. Orisis could go in through the sewer. That meant exposing himself to the unspeakable horrors of the Brega’s human wastes, but it was an approach that would allow him to enter unseen, and that would allow him time to disarm any traps he found along the way. But just thinking about the horrors he’d face in the city’s filthy, antiquated sewer system made Orisis shudder. That in turn caused him to stumble, which broke the rhythm of his exercises and dragged him abruptly out of his meditations.
Damn! He thought. There has to be another way.
Orisis kicked a rock in frustration. It sailed out over the edge of the cliff and into the bay below. Orisi turned, snapping his weapons back into their scabbards. He was not going to go into the city’s sewers, and that was that. There was another solution. He just didn’t know what it was yet.
* * *
Modor awoke slowly and far more comfortably than was his norm. Karissa’s bed held him cocoon-like in a state of drowsy luxury the like of which he’d never before imagined. Her body spooned into his, adding a sense of companionable softness to his already lush surroundings. A red haze of early morning sunlight streamed in through the room’s long glass. The light reminded Modor that he should be up and about. He had gotten into Belam’s harem safely, but he still had to get out again, and that task would not be easier once the sun was fully alive in the sky.
Modor stirred a bit and considered. Just as he hadn’t had any real plan for getting into the compound the night before, so too he had no firm idea of how he was going to get back out again, either. Had Alaira been there, Modor was sure she could have handled the problem without issue, but Alaira hadn’t shown. Modor had no idea where she’d gone, but at least he was sure she was okay. Had she been caught by Belam’s men, guards would have long since come looking for him, too. The fact that Modor had slept soundly meant that Alaira had made other plans. But what that meant in turn, he had no idea. It wasn’t immediately important.
Karissa’s smile brought Modor out of his reverie. “Good morning,” she said. She rolled over and ran a finger across his cheek. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
Modor looked towards the balcony. The sun was still rising. He kissed Karissa’s forehead and then started getting up. “You’re right. I need to go.”
Karissa grabbed his arm at the wrist. “Don’t leave me.” She stuck out her lower lip, pouting outrageously.
Beyond her pout, Modor sensed a kind of wistful sadness. He thought he understood it. Compared to the closeness of the night before, the idea of being alone was difficult to contemplate.
He held her face in his hands. “I wish I could stay. But the longer I’m here, the more dangerous it gets.”
“Some risks are worth taking.” She kissed his chest and then his stomach. Then she winked and began working her way lower.
Modor lay back and let her work. He knew he should get up, but somehow he couldn’t. He had no idea how he was going to get home in broad daylight, but Karissa was right. Some risks were worth taking.
* * *
After his exercises, Orisis walked back towards the compound’s main gate. Though his present commission weighed heavily in his mind, he had other things to think about as well. For one thing, it was the Sabbath, which meant that the morning’s supplicants were about to arrive. And although it was not strictly a part of his duties, Orisis made it a habit to observe the compounds guards at such times. He considered the observation a kind of investment in professional courtesy, especially since that courtesy was being rendered to a wealthy and powerful patron who was as yet not overly pleased with services rendered. And then too, Orisis had no way of knowing what his next job would be. Belam had many enemies both inside the city and beyond its borders. It was entirely possible that one of these would become Orisis’s next patron. In such a case, the War Master’s familiarity with the temple’s routines would be an asset.
As Orisis watched, the temple’s guards hustled a crowd of white-cloaked supplicants in through the compound’s gate. A dozen guards monitored the ingress of perhaps four score worshippers.
“Morning War Master,” said a voice to Orisis’s left. Orisis turned to see who amongst the herd would dare call out to him. His eyes went wide. The speaker was Gustav Moeller, the leader of one of Brega’s most powerful merchant syndicates. Though white-haired and wrinkled, Moeller’s eyes were sharp. His body was wiry and strong.
Orisis bowed and smiled. “Why good morning, Mr. Moeller. May the Peace of Stone be upon you.”
“I wasn’t aware that you’d found faith,” Moeller said wryly.
“I am but one of the curious,” Orisis admitted, “But I know that you believe, and I have always found it a good practice to respect the beliefs of my patrons. Or potential patrons.”
Moeller waved his hand away, dismissing the comment. “Of course.” He turned away from the cathedral and began walking back towards one of the compound’s many gardens. “No doubt Belam’s got plenty to keep you busy…”
Orisis gestured towards the cliffs and the bay. “I am just here for the view.”
“Yes, of course,” Moeller replied, clearly unimpressed.
“But I am!” Orisis replied in turn. He put a hand to his heart as though Moeller’s comment had wounded him. “I have been taking my exercise out by the cliffs for the better part of a fortnight. It’s quite lovely, you know.”
Moeller’s face grew grave. “I’m a bit too familiar, I’m afraid.” He gestured towards one of the more elaborate gardens. “My wife is buried in that one.”
Orisis let his eyes fall to the ground. “I’m so sorry. I did not know.”
Moeller grinned and patted Orisis on the shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s been almost a year now. I’m managing.”
The War Master was not surprised. Moeller had never been a man of vice. Instead, Orisis decided, he must have literally worked through his grief, with evidently good results if one judged by the rumors around the guild house.
Orisis put the thought aside for later. “I will light a candle for her.”
Moeller nodded. “Thank you, War Master. That would mean a good deal to me.” Then Moeller paused a moment as if considering something. “Listen. Why don’t you come see me after your commission here is concluded. I’ve a new contract with House Il’Danati, and though the Stone God knows you’re not the cheapest member of your Guild, I could use a good hand to guard my ships on the journey. Can you make some time in your schedule?”
“It would be my honor, Gustav,” Orisis replied. “The Isle of Fire can be a dangerous place without the proper guardian or guide.”
Moeller smiled. “Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
Orisis nodded at the dismissal. “Of course. Thank you, sir. I shall look forward to seeing you.”
* * *
“I still don’t understand why you have to leave me,” Karissa said. It sounded almost like a whine. “You could stay the day. We could—“
“Gods woman! Is there no pleasing you?”
“It’s not that.” Karissa looked away. “It’s certainly not that. It’s just...” She got up and began pacing. “I get so lonely here. None of the other girls seem to like me very much, and it’s never any fun. You don’t know what it’s like to be somebody else’s plaything.” Karissa looked down at her feet. “I’m a neglected toy.”
Modor struggled to contain a retort. His time with Karissa had been more than pleasant, but they both knew that he’d stayed far too long. At that moment, he’d gladly have stuffed her into his backpack and taken her home with him if that would have guaranteed his safety in getting away. But that wasn’t possible, and his safety was far from guaranteed.
He pulled himself away from the window and looked Karissa in the eye. “Listen to me, this is dangerous. I’ve got to get out of here. Can’t you help me?”
Karissa turned away.
“Karissa? Please don’t be like that.”
“You’re such a poop.”
“Maybe I am,” Modor said, “But I’m a poop who cares for you. That’s got to mean something.”
Karissa brightened. “Of course it does. I just don’t want you to go is all.”
“But I can come back… as long as I get away clean.”
“You would do that? Really?”
“Really,” Modor replied. He tried not to let relief show in his face. “Just help me get out of here, and I’ll come back to see you as soon as I can.”
“That’s great!” She pulled Modor to the window and pointed down towards a nearby garden. A lone white-haired man wearing the white robe of a supplicant was walking amongst the stones below. Modor had no idea why. Karissa said, “Getting out is easy. All you’ve got to do is get one of those white robes. Then you can walk out after the service is over with all the worshippers.”
Modor grabbed her and kissed her soundly. “Gods you’re beautiful!”
* * *
War Master Orisis was looking at the broken lock on the front gate when the commotion started. He turned to find several of Belam’s guards hauling an unconscious man up towards the gate. Orisis sneered. He couldn’t yet see the man’s face, but he could already tell that the man reeked of cheep booze. And he wasn’t even a supplicant. How had a white-haired geezer like that managed to destroy the compound’s iron lock? Orisis wondered. Then he saw the man’s face.
Blades of Fire, he thought. “Put that man down now!”
“What?” said the nearest guard, the one holding the man’s feet. He looked confused. “Ain’t this the guy what busted the gate down last night? We was just gonna take him outside and dump him in the street. Weren’t gonna hurt him none.”
“Fool,” Orisis replied, “That’s Gustav Moeller. Dump him in the streets, and I guarantee you’ll be dead by next week. I will personally carry out the commission.”
The guard blanched. Orisis smiled thinly. But though intimidating the guards was enjoyable, it didn’t answer the question of what had happened to Moeller. And where was his robe?
Orisis turned and scanned the area. He didn’t immediately see anything suspicious, but that didn’t mean there was nothing to see. He looked beyond the gate. Again, he didn’t see anything. Several groups of worshippers were walking away from the compound. Beyond them a single, muscular man was shedding his robe. None of that seemed out of the ordinary. Then Orisis noticed that the man was carrying a sword.
“What do you want us to do with him, your Excellency?”
Orisis waved his hand. “Put him in my quarters. I’ll be back shortly.”
* * *
Modor’s mood improved immediately once he was outside the compound. He dropped the old man’s robe in an alley trash heap and put his swordbelt back onto his shoulder. He silently congratulated himself on getting away clean.
“Cuckolding the High Priest of the Stone God is a dangerous proposition.”
Modor turned at the sound, ready to do violence to its owner, but the man who had spoken backed away before Modor could grab his collar him.
“Tell me,” the man said, “Can you think of any reason at all why I should let you live? I feel certain that Cindar Belam would pay me for your dismembered gonads.”
Modor tried hard not to let surprise show on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, War Master,” he said. “I’m just out for a morning stroll. Why should that concern the Stone Priest?”
The War Master stepped in close and looked directly into Modor’s eyes. “I am not a fool, Modor. I saw you dump a white robe back there in the alley. And I know your reputation. I also know the man from whom you stole that robe. So tell me, was she worth it?”
Modor took a step back. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the War Master. He also wanted time to remember the War Master’s name.
“What do you want?” Modor asked, “Whatever chance you had to kill me quick was gone when you gave up the element of surprise. Without that, not even you could best me before the City Guard shows. So this must be about something else.”
“Perhaps this is simply about knowing whom I am to kill later—after I have discussed the matter with the High Priest and secured a paying contract for your execution.”
“My crew won’t let you just kill me like that. You’d have to kill all of us.”
“What of it?”
Modor swallowed. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You must want something. Can’t we help you somehow?”
The War Master smiled. The expression was nasty. At last Modor remembered that the man’s name was Orisis. He was an utter mercenary, even by the brutal standards of his particular Guild.
“As it happens,” Orisis said, “I think there is perhaps something you can do for me. You have heard of the Tower of Al-Kafiri? Yes, I can see that you have. Well, High Priest Belam retained my services explicitly for the purpose of retrieving a certain artifact from within the Tower. The Eye of Giscaine. It is no more than a trinket, really, but Belam wants it, and he’s paying.
“I was going to go there myself and retrieve the Eye personally, but as it happens, now I have you to do the job for me. I find that desirable. The job requires discretion, you see, and you have no known ties to the Stone God. Do you follow?”
“So we break into the Tower and steal the Eye, and then we’re square? That’s it?”
Orisis nodded.
“Fine,” Modor said. He smiled. “I just need something to pay my crew.”
“Then I suggest you steal enough from the Tower to cover your costs,” Orisis replied. “You will do this job for me for free, and after it is over, you will thank whatever gods you choose for the opportunity to continue breathing.”
“Don’t push me, War Master. We can be on the next ship to Agathon if we need to be.”
“And? Belam would pay me to follow you to Agathon, surely.”
“That’s ridiculous. If you think—“
“Mind your mouth, Modor. I am your employer now.” Orisis paused and put a finger to his lips. “And tell me the name of your lover while you’re at it. I think I shall extract a few concessions from her as well.”
“No!” That went way beyond simple bargaining. “I’d rather die than betray a lover and risk my friends’ lives… especially for nothing.”
Orisis looked at him. Modor could tell that the War Master was studying him, trying to decide if what Modor had said was true. Well, Modor thought, let him look. It is true, and if that bastard thinks he can just kill me where I stand, he’s in for a rude awakening.
At length, Orisis seemed to realize as much. “Very well. I shall give you three crowns per man. But I want the name of your lover in return. Are we agreed?”
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