Brega, the second city of the great Agathenian Empire, dominated the Empire’s southern hemisphere. Located at the mouth of the Silver River, it commanded the largest harbor outside of the national capital zone and was therefore both a major trading port and an important cultural nexus. A dazzling spectrum of goods and persons flowed through Brega’s port. And while it was true that there was occasional violence in the city’s streets, these skirmishes were related to business deals gone wrong far more often than they were to the eternal struggles inherent in an area where several peoples lived in close proximity. Some racial and cultural tensions bubbled below the surface of Brega’s communal consciousness, but these were largely muted by the fact that the city itself had been an important trading port since long before its amalgamation into the Empire. Thus, it was cosmopolitan in a way that most of the rest of the Empire wasn’t and couldn’t be. That was what Alaira liked best about the city. In Brega, one could find everything.
But there were limits.
But there were limits.
A polite half-demon wearing all black and carrying a five-foot goblin-steel bastard sword that he affectionately called Fang was one of those things that was odd enough to give even Brega’s worldly citizenry pause. On any normal day, Modor would simply have plowed his way through the city’s Market District with reckless abandon. He’d have drawn some angry stares, sure, but at the end of the day, passersby would have recognized him as just one more impolite sell-sword in a city teeming with soldiers-for-hire. However, the site a giant dressed in all black and acting sheepish at the slightest nudge made even the most disinterested observers take note. Alaira was therefore hardly surprised when a pair of City Guardsmen peeled off from their posts and began following Modor. Of course, that meant they were also following Alaira since Alaira was walking with Modor, but fortunately for everyone, Alaira was considerably less noticeable.
There was little choice but to leave Modor to his own devices and hope for the best. Thus a few minutes after she spotted their tail, Alaira asked Modor to wait for her at the gate to Belam’s compound and then stopped in one of the Market’s many shop stalls. The guards passed her by without so much as a second look and continued on after Modor. She considered killing them and hoping that the night’s darkness would hide the bodies until she could get away but ultimately decided that incapacitating them would arouse less suspicion. So long as no one noticed their absence, Alaira thought it likely that the guards would not even report they’d been mugged.
She struck from behind long before either of the guards realized he was in danger. She then pulled their limp bodies off into an alley shadow and splashed them liberally from a flask of cheap whiskey she kept for just such occasions. Passersby would see a pair of drunken Guardsmen. That was hardly an uncommon sight.
Half an hour later, Alaira stood before the gates of the Stone God’s compound trying hard not to be annoyed. Modor hadn’t waited for her. In fact, he hadn’t even attempted to hide his entrance! Instead, he’d simply shattered the gate’s lock with his sword and then nearly brained the attending gate guards when they came to investigate. She frowned. The compound’s walls rose perhaps nine feet on either side of a massive wrought iron gate, but while that suggested several methods of entry to Alaira, the fact that Modor hadn’t waited for her made the point irrelevant. She was glad that Modor hadn’t killed anybody, but it was a minor miracle that the alarm hadn’t been raised. Modor hadn’t even shut the gate behind him! She had half a mind to leave him to his own devices right then and there, but the clumsiness of his entrance made her fear for his safety.
With a shake of her head, Alaira shut the gate and pulled its heavy chain back into place. She then pulled a wire from her hair and wrapped it around a link from either side of the chain, tying the links loosely in place approximately the way the lock must have held them before Modor smashed it. Alaira then pulled the lock back into place and secured it with the wire. Her quickie repair job would never stand a close inspection, she knew, but it might fool bored guardsmen until dawn. With that done, she dragged the two unconscious guards around a corner and splashed them with the same cheap whiskey she’d used on the city guards. If the Gods willed it, that would be enough to make them hold their tongues about the whole incident.
Alaira vaulted the walls a moment later and considered the rest of the compound. A row of hedges flanked a reflecting pool directly in front of her. Beyond the pool stood a marble-domed cathedral with the manse and a low building that was presumably the servants’ quarters sitting adjacent. All three were carved from solid marble. Alaira didn’t know which building housed the harem or even where Modor had arranged his liaison, but she didn’t think it would matter. She knew she’d be able to find her friend if she simply looked for him.
A few minutes later she was perched on the roof of the manse watching as Modor “sneaked” towards a small but lavishly decorated building adjacent to the servant’s quarters. That must be the harem, she thought. She smiled as she watched Modor try to climb onto the building’s second story balcony. She couldn’t hear him cursing, but she saw him stomp in frustration after his second attempt to climb the building’s drainpipe. Alaira laughed. Then a soft ripple of laughter joined hers, peeling out into the night from an open balcony door, and suddenly Alaira was no longer amused. A rope-ladder made from tied bed sheets snaked down towards where Modor stood in growing frustration. Then the girl in the silk robe appeared on the balcony. Her name was Karissa, Alaira remembered.
Alaira got up to join them, but then she saw Modor take Karissa into his arms. They kissed. Alaira stopped. This wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to end up alone, either, but try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile herself to the idea of watching Modor make love to another woman.
It wasn’t fair! She’d looked damn good in that red dress, she knew, and if Modor couldn’t see it, then he was a fool.
Suddenly, Alaira needed a drink.
* * *
Belle was surprised when Alaira walked into the Gilded Goat later that night. She could tell that her friend was upset, but Alaira waved her off before she’d gotten close enough to ask what had happened. Instead Alaira walked over to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. This was tossed back without so much as a shiver. Alaira then climbed to the top of inn’s central table. Belle watched helplessly. Conversations stopped.
“There ain’t a real man in this entire place,” Alaira declared. She spat. “Who’s gonna prove me wrong?” Several rough looking men started to get up. Alaira pointed to one with her empty shot glass. “You think you can drink me under the table, big man?”
Belle sighed. Then she headed to the bar for another round. If Alaira was bent on self-destruction, the least Belle could do was help the process along.
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