Hiatus

This has been a monumentally shitty week for a variety of reasons, none of which do I feel like sharing.  I gave it some thought and decided that my first, best response is just to throw myself into my book, finish it, and then consider my next move.  That doesn't have a lot to do with you, of course, but the fact is that I just don't have time for you right now, and that's just the way it's got to be.

So.  I'm putting the blog on hiatus at least until I finish my book and maybe forever.  I don't know.  Let me finish the draft and see how I feel.

In any event, please don't take this the wrong way.  I just need to focus on other stuff right now, and that stuff doesn't include blogging.

I'm leaving you a couple of things to read in the meantime.  The first is the script to a 5-episode webcomic that I wrote with my friend Steve about some of the side-characters (villains) that appeared in a few of the later episodes of Awesome Storm Justice 41.  In fact, if you want to read something, start there.  I wrote a good 1/3 of that, and it's probably about as commercially approachable as my work ever gets.  But ASJ-41 is not what I'm leaving you.  I'm leaving you The Freelancers, the unproduced sequel to ASJ-41, and...

Well, here's betting you won't read it, but if you do, I'd love to hear what you think.

Link to The Freelancers script (via Google Docs).

If you make it all the way through The Freelancers, then you can read my first novel if you really, really want to.  It's called The Ballad of Lu-Tze, and it's about Modor and Belle from "The Tower of Al-Kafiri".  Kind of a historical fantasy, set in a Tolkeinesque version of 15th century China.

The Ballad of Lu-Tze (also via Google Docs).

If you make it through both of those, let me know, and I'll send you a Certificate of Completion or something.  You'll definitely have earned it.

***

Thanks for stopping by.  I'll be around, so if you have a question, drop it in the comments, and I'll try to get back to you.

See you later.

The Legend of Tolandias

Over the weekend, I posted a piece that goes with the new story that I'm working on about the Sword of Kings.  But there's only one of me, and there's lots of stuff I need to work on--some of it having nothing to do with this blog and/or writing--and I've been a little caught up in that stuff such that all I've got from the new story is an outline and the Prologue.  Considering that it's a short story, I'm not sure it even need a Prologue, but whatever.  There it is, and that's all I've got.  And then I started working on an article for Triathlon.About.Com.

So anyway, yes, there is a new story, and no, I'm not ready to start it this week.  I learned from Centurion Six that I need a little more cushion.  Thus, I'm running another piece out of my archives, but it's one that I think is pretty good.  It's also about Modor--the guy from The Stone Priest's Wife--so at least you've got that going for you.  And it's a one-and-done.

Enjoy!

The Legend of Tolandias

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there was a warrior named Tolandias.  Tolandias was a good man, a noble knight of great virtue and greater ability.  And thus he did the things that such men do: he fought dragons and trolls and bandits and other such general menaces, and in all ways he served always to protect the people of the Kingdom of Hollgram, the land of his birth.  By the time he had reached full maturity, Tolandias was well-known throughout Hoogram as a force for good and as a protector of the innocent.  He was well-loved, and this perhaps explains his fall.  For Tolandias, like many a good-looking, noble hero, had an eye for the ladies.  And the ladies, in turn, had an eye for Tolandias.

And yet, all might have been well were it not for the fact that Tolandias lived in the Kingdom of Hollgram.  Hollgram was ruled by the wicked King Koltrane, a petty, jealous man who envied Tolandias's prowess in battle and, more to the point, his popularity with the kingdom's people.  Koltrane was the king, and so he knew that he could have any woman in the kingdom if such was his desire.  He was rich, and he was powerful.  But he was also short and cruel and petty, and in those days it was said that never once had a woman gone to his bed truly desiring him.  And so, more than anything, Koltrane wanted to be loved by his people.  Thus, his resentment of Tolandias grew and grew until in time it became a terrible thing indeed.

“The people love that fool Tolandias more than they love me, their rightful king,” Koltrane said to himself one day, “And that is something I cannot abide.  The people must have none in their hearts ahead of me.  I must send Tolandias away or else destroy him.”  Koltrane sat for a moment and pondered, and at last a wicked thought came to him.  “Perhaps I can do both,” he said at last.  And then he laughed an evil laugh for he knew that soon he would be rid of Tolandias once and for all.

A week passed before the King summoned Tolandias to his court.  The great warrior stood before his monarch and prostrated himself.  Koltrane smiled.  “As you know, our kingdom is not on the best of terms with the Duchy of Colvaire.”  Tolandias nodded his head gravely for he was well aware of the military situation in the Kingdom.  Koltrane continued, “Not many know this, but things have lately gotten worse.  Now Duke Colvaire is threatening to invade!”

“My God,” Tolandias said in horror.

“Yes.  And that is why we must strike first, before Colvaire's forces are ready.”

Tolandias bowed.  “I understand your majesty.  Tell me what I must do.”

And so it was that two weeks later Tolandias crossed the border into the Duchy of Colvaire on a secret mission.  His was a mission of duplicity: gain the trust and confidence of the Duke of Colvaire and then, when the time came, open the gates of the Duke's castle for the waiting armies of Koltrane.  Just thinking of it made the wicked king smile in his empty throne room.  He was rid of Tolandias, and soon he would be master of Colvaire into the bargain.  And if Tolandias were killed while on his mission?  Koltrane would erect to a statute to the fallen hero and hold a parade.  Why he would weep right alongside his heartbroken people! 

And he would once again be first in their hearts.

Elsewhere, Tolandias's mission weighed heavily upon his heart.  But though he did not care to think deeply about the rightness of his cause, he wanted to obey his king.  But it was not easy.  On the outside, the Duke of Colvaire seemed a good man.  His court knew of Tolandias's reputation as a man and as a warrior.  Thus, from the start the men of the court accepted Tolandias as one of their company.  And the women of Colvaire loved Tolandias at least as much as had the women of Hollgram.  One in particular, Eriella the daughter of the king, caught Tolandias's eye.  And though she was a woman of virtue, they spent many afternoons together strolling through the Duke's gardens deep in conversation.  In time, Tolandias came to know Eriella in a way in which he had never before known a woman.  At last the great warrior knew true love.  And true happiness.

A year and a day passed before King Koltrane brought his forces to the castle of the Duke of Colvaire.  In secret, the King met with his agent, but where the King expected Tolandias's cooperation, instead his one-time servant defied him.

“You lied to me, my king!” Tolandias cried.  “The men of Colvaire plan no attack upon your kingdom.  They are no threat to our people at all!  You've sent me here on a mission of conquest for your own purposes, but I will have no part of it.  I defy you!  I will not open the gates for you.  Instead, I renounce you and your service and will fight you myself if I must to defend the good people of this Duchy against your evil rule.”

King Koltrane was not pleased.  But he was not entirely surprised either.  He looked upon Tolandias, and hatred shone in his eyes.  “You'll not stand against me, Tolandias.  For too long have the people loved you best, but no longer.  Today you die a traitor!  And tomorrow your beloved Duchy of Colvaire will die with you!” 

With that, the king's assassins fell upon Tolandias in a great heap.  Tolandias fought and fought, but he could overcome neither their poisoned blades nor their weight of numbers.  Tolandias fell unmourned on a field far from his home and far from his beloved Eriella. 

In death he descended to the Court of Atul-Anarkis, the God of Fire.

“And what have we here?” asked the Fire God when he noticed the arrival of Tolandias’s spirit.  “We don’t often get men of virtue in the House of Fire.  What have you done, little man, that has brought your soul here for torment?”

Honorable even in death, Tolandias bowed.  “I am a betrayer,” he admitted.  “I sought to betray a good man but instead betrayed my king.  And I have likely caused the deaths of thousands as well, including that of my one true love.”  Tolandias looked into the Fire God’s eyes and accepted his fate.  “Cast me into the Fire, my Lord.  I deserve it.”

Atul-Anarkis wanted nothing more than to do just that, but he could see at once that Tolandias’s spirit would not burn.  The knight was too noble.  Tolandias would have to be corrupted before he could be consumed. 

The Fire God thought for a moment, and then he got up from his throne and put his arm around Tolandias’s shoulders.  In a soothing voice he said, “I think that I like you, Tolandias.  It has been long since I met a man of your character.  I can see that you’d not be here but for the machinations of lesser men.”  All of this was true, and so the Fire God continued, “I must punish you somehow, but I’ll not cast you into the Fire yet.  Instead, I shall make you as an aspect of myself.” 

With that, Atul-Anarkis turned and drew his sword.  Tolandias fell to one knee.  The Fire God touched his sword to each of the warrior’s shoulders, saying, “I hereby rename thee Tolandias the Deceiver, Harbinger of the Court of Fire.  Henceforth, it shall be your job to welcome the newly damned to my House.  You will be the Liar, ensuring that the damned go unsuspecting into the Fires of Judgment.”

Tolandias blanched at this fearsome decree, but he accepted it stoically and without comment.  And he set about his duties that very hour.  His noble spirit at first recoiled from the lies he told the newly damned, but as an aspect of Atul-Anarkis, Tolandias could see the evil in their souls.  He knew that the damned deserved their fate.  In time, the once noble knight came to take a perverse pleasure in the terror of the tormented. 

Atul-Anarkis saw this and was pleased. 

In this way passed another year and a day, until at last King Koltrane himself came in death to the Court of Fire.

Tolandias saw Koltrane’s terror and smiled inwardly while outwardly making his face a mask of sympathy and understanding.  He bowed.  “My king,” he said, “I see that you are afraid, but please, have no fear here.  Atul-Anarkis is a just God.  He is misunderstood in the World Above, but here you will find only the gentle embrace of one who understands how you suffered in life.”

“B-b-but,” began Koltrane, “I have heard--”

“You have heard lies, Your Highness, and nothing more,” said Tolandias.  He looked earnestly at his former ruler.  “You have nothing to fear here, I assure you.”

Koltrane heard these words and knew the reputation of the man saying them, and he was at last reassured.  He embraced Tolandias as a brother.  “Thank you, my friend.  And thank you for meeting me today.”

“I would not have missed it,” Tolandias replied.  “Now please, if you’ll come this way…”

Tolandias escorted his former king along a long corridor and up to the heavy door to which he had delivered so many others over the course of the past year.  The fires burned especially hot, he thought, as he opened the final door at last for his very own killer.  Kotrane’s eyes grew wide when he realized the truth.  The former king screamed, but it was too late.  With a shove Tolandias threw Koltrane into the Fire.  And for the first time ever, Tolandias knew no guilt over the betrayal.

Atul-Anarkis watched this with great satisfaction.  “He is almost ready,” he thought to himself, “I have only to push him a little farther, and then he will burn!”  Thus, later that day, the Fire God called Tolandias to his throne room for a private meeting.  He again placed his arm around the warrior’s shoulders and said, “You have done well for me, my Harbinger, and I am proud of you.”  Then the two of them looked down into the Fire.  They saw at once the place where Koltrane suffered for his sins.  “I think you’ve learned at last that being my Harbinger is not without its perks.”

“It is true, my Lord,” Tolandias replied.  “I cannot help but take pleasure in that one’s suffering.”

“Yes, I’d noticed,” Atul-Anarkis said, “And it is for that reason that I’ve called you here today.  I have decided to grant you a boon.”

“Highness?”

“Ask me anything, Tolandias, and if it is in my power, I shall grant it.”

Tolandias thought for only a moment.  “Eriella, my Lord.  I would like to see my beloved again, if it’s possible.  Even if it is only for a single day.”

Atul-Anarkis smiled.  “Very well.  I grant you a day of life in which to go and find your one true love.  But what will you say to her?  Have you thought about it?”

“I have thought of little else, my Lord,” Tolandias replied.  “Am I not now the Deceiver?  Surely I will think of something.”

Atul-Anarkis heard this, and his smile grew.  “Excellent,” he said.

Sunset that evening found Tolandias standing again as a living man in the garden of Duke Colvaire.  He did not have to wait long before Eriella appeared.  When he saw her, he thought he felt his heart stop.  For Eriella, the shock was at least as great.  Without a word, she rushed into his arms.  He started to speak, but she put a finger to his lips.  They stood for a moment and remembered. 

Then reality intruded upon their happiness.

“Oh Tolandias, where have you been?  I thought I would go mad without you.  I thought--”

“You thought I was dead.”

She nodded.  He started to speak, but she beat him to it.  “If I’d but known…” she began, but then she trailed off.  At length she continued, “I’m to be married in the morning.  But I can call it off!  Or we can run away together!”

Tolandias broke the embrace.  He realized at last that, much as he might have liked to, he could not lie to the one woman he had ever truly loved.  He bowed his head.  “No,” he said, “I should go.  And you should marry.  For, you see, you were right.  I am dead. 

“I was condemned to the Fire, but Atul-Anarkis has granted me a boon for my service.  And so I am come to see you today. But as much as I might wish to say otherwise, I shall be gone on the morrow.  The Court of Fire will not long allow my absence.  Still, though I am a damned thing, I am yet enough of the good man that I was to know that I cannot now take you under false pretenses.  There is no future for us, Eriella.  I shall not make false promises to the contrary.”

A tear ran down Eriella’s face, but even as it did, she made a decision.  She looked into Tolandias’s eyes and said, “You are a good man, my love, and you have always been one.  And though you’ve come twice to deceive me, you’ve yet to break my trust.  For that and for everything else, I love you.  And though tomorrow you shall belong again to the God of Fire and I shall belong to the house of another man, tonight we belong to each other.  So come.  I would know the touch of my one true love before I know the touch of him who will be my husband.”

Tolandias returned the Court of Fire the next morning deeply troubled.  He found Atul-Anarkis deep in thought as well.  For many long moments, the Fire God took no notice of his Harbinger, but after some time had passed, Atul-Anarkis spoke.  “My dear Tolandias,” he said, “You’ll never fit in here, will you?”

Tolandias bowed his head.  “No, my Lord.  I fear that I will not.”

“And yet now we are stuck with each other for eternity, no?”  Atul-Anarkis sighed a heavy sigh.  “Very well then,” he said after another moment, and he again drew his sword.  “I can see that you will never truly be the Deceiver that I had hoped you would become.  I therefore re-christen you with a new name and as a new aspect of my divine self.  Henceforth, you shall be The Modor, my Heart of Righteous Fury.  You shall be the aspect of my rightful vengeance upon evildoers in the World Above.  And if you serve me well, then I shall grant you your boon once every half-year.  You may visit your wife and your son for one day and one night at the coming of every solstice.

“What say you?”

“But, my Lord, I have no wife--”

“But you do.  Observe.”  And with that, Atul-Anarkis waived his hand in front of his crystalline mirror.  The image of a woman heavy with child came into view.  It was Eriella.  The Fire God looked at Tolandias.  “This is how she will look a half-year from now.  And she will know that the child is yours.”

“But--”

“Her child has infernal blood.  The signs will be unmistakable.  She will renounce her false marriage and flee her father’s kingdom.  She will have need of you.  And she will name her son for his father. 

“So now… Do you agree to my terms, or shall I torment you after all?”

The Stone Priest's Wife, Part VII: Aftermath

“That was not what we agreed upon, Modor,” Orisis said.

Modor didn’t turn around.  Instead, he spoke as though to himself.  “It was a tough job.  You knew that going in.”  Modor took a drag on his cigar.  “I want what you owe me.”

Modor had made arrangements to meet with Orisis within an hours of leaving Kafiri Square.  He’d insisted on meeting at the docks.  For his part, Orisis had insisted that the meeting take place after dark.  That had suited Modor.  Still, even though he’d been expecting Orisis to sneak up behind him, Modor found the experience unnerving.  It had required considerable restraint to keep from turning around, especially considering that the War Master probably wanted Modor dead.

“The coin was to be given for stealth.  Stealth was not achieved.  Give me the Eye, and count yourself lucky to have survived.”

Modor took another drag on his cigar.  “I know a fence who would give me a lot more than twelve crowns for it.”

“There is not one fence in all Brega would touch the Eye after what happened today.”

“Good thing my man is in Agathon,” Modor replied.  He knocked the ash off the end of his cigar.  “After all this excitement, that trip’s starting to look mighty appealing.”

Orisis leveled his gaze.  “I could kill you where you stand.”

“You could try.”  Modor put a hand on Fang’s hilt.  “But now that you’ve seen what my crew can do, I expect you’d rather not.  And let’s face it.  Even though we were seen in the Tower, you got away clean.  That means the Stone Priest got away clean as well.”

“And what of your affair with his wife?” Orisis asked.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking about that, and Karissa isn’t one of his favorites.  She told me as much herself.  So what I’m thinking is that hunting me down over an affair with a girl he barely knows and rarely sees probably isn’t worth his time and effort.  Especially if I’m in Agathon.”  Modor turned and looked Orisis in the eyes.  “You, on the other hand, he might feel different about.”

“And why, pray tell, would he hunt me down instead of you?”

“Because of the danger to his reputation,” Modor said.  He shrugged.  “I figure he can handle an affair.  The man’s not an innocent, after all.  But he won’t want knowledge of that affair getting around.  His reputation means something.  And you know about the affair.  Plus, you’re right here in Brega.  And the fact that you mentioned it once—even to him—means that you might talk about it again.”

Orisis laughed.  “Very good.  But why would he not kill you for that same reason.  Surely even you must realize that your continued existence is a threat to Belam’s reputation as well.”

“Maybe,” Modor said, “but then again, I’m not the one who’s threatening to talk.  Plus I’m leaving for Agathon tomorrow.”  He took another drag on his cigar, and when he exhaled, he blew a smoke ring.  Then he smiled.  “So are you gonna give me my twelve crowns, or are we gonna have to fight about it?”

“Where’s the Eye?” Orisis asked.

“It’s close.”

“Very well.”  The War Master drew a small purse from beneath the folds of his robe.  “Here.  It’s all there.”

Modor smiled.  “I never doubted it.”

At Modor’s nod, Belle emerged from a shadow at the far end of the alley.  She handed the Eye to Orisis.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, War Master,” she said.

* * *

Three crowns didn’t buy much, Alaira reflected, but they could pay for a bath in a fancy inn and a very nice bottle of bourbon.  She leaned back in the soapy water and savored the feeling of being clean.  Then she tipped her head back and ran her hands through her hair for perhaps the two hundredth time in the past hour.  When she came up, she grabbed her glass.

That’s very nice, she thought of the brandy.

She heard the door open as she set her glass down, but she didn’t turn around.  “You  disturb my bath at your peril.”

“And here I thought you were waiting for someone to scrub your back,” Modor replied.  He sat down next to the bathtub and poured himself a tumbler of bourbon.  “You did a nice job today.”

“Thank you,” Alaira replied.  She lifted her glass in mock salute. 

Modor clinked his glass to hers.  He took a drink then started to pull off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to scrub your back?” Modor asked in response.

Alaira sighed.  It was just too much.  She could still see Khalid Al-Kafiri’s dead eyes looking up at her, and she could still feel his dead flesh under her fingertips.  Like it or not, she needed to process that.  And more to the point, she needed to reconsider the people in her life that continually put her in these sorts of life-and-death situations.

Bottom line: she needed a break.  From Modor.  From burglary.  From everything.

“Put your clothes back on, Modor.”

“What?” he said, clearly surprised.  “But I thought you’d want—“

Alaira looked at him.  “What I want is to not have crawl through any more sewers for you.  Just let me finish my bath in peace, okay?”

“Then you’re not going to Agathon with us?”

“No.  You and Belle can go.  Xarian asked me to stay here with him, and I’m going to do it.  We might head out to Grob’s Folly until things cool off, but that’s it.”

Modor frowned.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  You’ve been a good friend to me.”

Alaira smiled.  “I still am your friend.  I just need some time to think things out.  But don’t worry.  When you and Belle get back from Agathon, I’m sure we’ll all hook up again.”

“But—“

“No buts!  Now leave me alone.  I want to finish my bath.”

Modor concept sketch by Sheldon Goh

The Stone Priest's Wife, Part VI: Disaster!

Alaira ran out of the latrine, cocking her crossbow as she went.  She turned a corner, took aim, and fired in one fluid motion.  Her bolt struck the Kafiri soldier squarely in the back of the neck, piercing his throat and leaving him dead before he could make another sound.  But there was no triumph in the kill.  All Alaira could think about was how badly she wanted to bathe.

“Nice shot,” Modor said when he came up behind her.

“You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me clean up this body?” Alaira asked.  She gave Modor a look that she hoped would take the decision out of his hands.

“Right,” Modor replied.

Without a word, he grabbed the dead man under the arms.  Modor had little trouble lifting the man, despite the fact that he was literally dead weight.  Alaira watched them go.  She had no desire to witness what would come next.  Modor already looked like utter shit.  Foulness ran down his neck and the back of his head and all across his normally gleaming black armor.  She could only imagine how much worse he would look after he had hacked two Al-Karfiri soldiers’ into pieces and then stuffed them down the toilet.

She pulled a rag from one of her belt pouches and began to wipe up the bloody streaks left behind by the soldier she’d shot. 

I hope I die in soapy water, she thought.

* * *

“Pretzel while you wait, sir?” a voice asked.

Orisis turned.  “What?”

A boy stood next to him hocking pretzels.  He was a street vendor, Orisis realized.  Of course, Orisis had known that Kafiri Square was a major Bregan marketplace, but still the boy had taken him completely by surprise.

“Do you want a pretzel, sir?  While you wait, I mean,” the boy asked again.

“What makes you think I’m waiting?”  Orisis noticed that he had been tapping his foot.  He took a deep breath and uncrossed his arms.  He tried to look casual. 

“Sir?” the boy asked, “You been starin’ at the Tower there for nearly three quarters of an hour.  Ain’tcha waitin’ for one of them wizards?”

Orisis sighed.  Despite himself, he’d begun to question his decision to use Modor and his company to go after the Eye.  Orisis still had no desire to go through the sewers, but that was little comfort considering that a goodly portion of his professional reputation now rested in the hands of a man he hardly knew.  Still, given their method of ingress, the mission should be a relatively easy one.  It should be all right, he knew.  But Orisis was a man who was used to making his own luck.  It was bad enough that he was not in a position to help events go his way.  Not knowing what was going on was intolerable. 

And yet, he reminded himself, using Modor had been a good play.  Modor had no known ties to the Stone God.  Even if things went wrong, the situation would be salvageable.  Orisis just had to get into a position to help events fall in the direction he wanted.

Orisis looked down.  The boy was still staring at him, making no effort to hide his curiosity.  “He must be an important wizard to make a War Master wait.”

Orisis forced himself to smile.  “All wizards think they’re important.” 

“I’m surprised you don’t just go inside and see what’s keeping him.” 

* * *

“Now, about those baths,” Alaira said when the others had joined her in the hallway.

“No time,” Modor replied.  “We need to get the Eye before those two are missed.  We can’t afford to be seen here, and you know it.”  He handed Alaira one of the dead guards’ robes.  “Here.  This is a big place with a lot of soldiers.  Nobody can possibly know everyone.”

Alaira couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  “You think we’re going to be able to sneak out of here looking like this?  And smelling like this?”

“We only have to make it up two flights,” Modor replied.

Xarian handed Alaira a warm, wet towel.  She wondered where the Hell he’d gotten it.  “At least wipe your face,” he said. 

She smiled. 

He shrugged.  “Best I could do on short notice.”

Alaira wiped her face and her hair and tried not to think about the rest of her body.  When she finished, she handed the towel back to Xarian.  He smiled at her again.  She shook her head.  She turned back to Modor.  “You’re pushing me too far this time.  I hope you know that.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Modor replied.  “I promise.”

Alaira smiled.  “You better.” 

Behind Xarian, Alaira could see that Belle had already cleaned herself as best she could.  And she already wore one of the guards’ robes.  Alaira donned the other and then led the group to a nearby stairwell.  Heading up the stairs she thought, Just two flights up, grab the Eye, and walk out.  And then Modor will owe me one--big time.  All I have to do is get us out of here without getting caught.  That should be easy.

At the top of the stairs, the stairway opened onto an alcove, which in turn led to a massive stone-floored courtyard.  Sunlight streamed in through sets of stained glass windows on every side.  In the courtyard itself, a groups of soldiers drilled at weapons practice.  All wore robes similar to the ones Alaira and Belle were wearing.  Beyond the soldiers lay a set of shadowed archways leading back into the recesses of the Tower itself.  Through one of the archways, Alaira could see sunlight. 

We’re close, she thought.

She turned and motioned for Modor and Xarian to stay in the stairwell.  Then she pointed to Belle and gestured for her to follow.  And then, with one hand on her dagger, Alaira stepped out into the courtyard.

She more than half expected to be challenged by every soldier in sight, but no one paid the least attention to her.  She and Belle walked up a set of stone steps without being seen.  In the robes of the Tower’s soldiers, they were practically invisible.  A moment later, they stood outside the room that War Master Orisis said belonged to Khalid Al-Kafiri, the present owner of the Eye of Giscaine.  Alaira started to knock but then thought better of it.  Instead, she turned the handle and walked boldly into the room.

“Excuse me, Master Khalid?” Alaira said without preamble, “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Yes?  What is it?” the wizard asked.  He turned. 

He was an older man, perhaps sixty, and he smiled when he spoke.  Alaira shot him in the forehead with her crossbow before he’d had time to fully register her presence.

“Blazing Bulls!” Belle cried behind her. 

 “Shut the door,” Alaira replied. 

“You don’t think that was a bit brutal?”

Alaira didn’t turn answer.  If Belle wanted to go on acting like a naive bitch, that was on her.  Alaira wasn’t going to help by feeling guilty about doing what was necessary.  Instead, she walked over to where the wizard lay in a pool of his own blood. 

“I need a fucking bath,” she said more to herself than to Belle. 

She turned back to the wizard.  His dead eyes stared up at her.  She ignored them.  She ran her fingers under his robe.  His flesh was still warm to the touch.  At last her fingers settled on a heavy gold chain.  As gently as she could, she lifted the dead man’s head and slid the chain out from around his neck.  Alaira held up the chain and looked at it.  A round medallion hung at its end.  A single ruby of perhaps eight carats was set into the medallion’s center.

“Think this is it?”

Belle nodded.  “Yeah.  Orisis said he’d have it on him.  You want to search the rest of the room?”

Alaira shook her head.  “No.  Let’s just get the Hell out of here.”  She didn’t wait to see if Belle agreed. 

A few moments later, the women arrived back where they’d left Modor and Xarian.  Alaira saw that the men had grabbed robes and dressed.  A part of her wondered where they’d hidden the new bodies.  A larger part of her decided she didn’t care.

“You ready?” she asked.

Modor nodded.  “Let’s go.”

Alaira followed Modor out into the courtyard.  Xarian and Belle trailed behind.  Modor took a circuitous route through the Tower’s open spaces, obviously trying to keep as far as possible away from as many soldiers as possible.  Alaira approved.  All she wanted was to get away without being noticed.  The hard part was over.  Now they just had to get out.  Every step brought them closer to that goal.

But then Alaira heard a booming voice.  “What the Hell is that smell?”

* * *

Modor turned and tried to look casual, but he very nearly lost it when he saw who was speaking.  It was a gods-damned sand giant!  In fact, there were three of the big bastards standing just off to one side of the Tower’s main gate in one of the looming alcoves.  Modor’s heart hammered.  He forced himself to take a deep breath.  Sand giants could be dangerous, but they were hardly deep thinkers.  And the gate was barely more than a few dozen feet away.

“Hey you!” a voice called from the other direction.  Modor’s head whipped around.  A human soldier, an officer judging by his red sash and dress saber, was speaking.  “Where are you heading?  And why on earth do you smell like shit?”

With an effort, Modor smiled at the officer.  “Sorry sir,” he said, talking fast but not breaking his stride towards the front gate.  “We got put on latrine duty.  And then Master Khalid told us to—“

Modor never finished his thought.  A massive bell’s tolling cut him off and sent all around him into a distinctly more alert posture.  From the other side of the courtyard another voice called out, “Close the gate!  Master Khalid’s been killed!”

 “Oh hell…” Alaira said behind him.

The officer looked Modor in the eyes.  “What’s this about Master Khalid?”  He reached for his pistol with one hand and beckoned to the sand giants with the other.

There was no decision.  Modor simply reacted.  He slapped the pistol out of the officer’s hand and then forgot about him.  The others would have to finish the officer.  Modor needed to worry about the giants. 

Modor looked at Xarian.  “Can you take the last one?”

“I think so.”  Xarian patted his blunderbuss.  “But what about those first two?”

“Leave them to me,” Modor replied.  He shrugged off his robe and drew Fang.  His shield hung loosely at his side.  He smiled. 

“What’s this then?” asked the center giant.  A head taller than his fellows, it was obviously their leader.  It brandished a mighty hammer as it spoke.  “You’d make a nice mid-day snack if you didn’t smell so gods-awful.”

Modor started to reply, but the giant struck faster than he’d imagined possible.  He was barely able to get his shield up in time, and even then, the force of the blow knocked him from his feet.  He rolled and spun to his side, landing beside his opponent.  Fang slashed through a backhand.  The blade caught the giant’s leg above its calf, severing the tendons behind its knee.  The giant roared and crashed to the floor.  Modor reversed Fang and slammed it home.  The blade sank into the back of the giant’s neck all the way to its hilt.  Modor let go and dropped his shield.  

He unlimbered Claw.  “Your friend was saying something about a mid-day snack?”

The second giant drew an enormous sword.  It advanced more cautiously.  “You will die in agony,” it promised.  Its companion stepped to one side, flanking Modor and holding a huge axe. 

The sword-wielder struck first.  Modor scrambled frantically, barely dodging.  The giant’s sword struck chunks from the stone floor.  Modor recovered quickly, sending Claw through an overhand sweep he hoped would drive the giant back.  But even Modor’s strength was no match for that of a sand giant.  The giant’s sword turned Claw without issue.  It stepped forward to deliver the killing blow.

Behind it, Xarian’s blunderbuss exploded.  The third giant cried out in pain, holding its face and bleeding helplessly.  The sword-wielder turned in surprise and saw its companion toppling backwards.  Then it turned back to Modor.  But it was too late.  Claw hacked at the creature’s thigh.  The giant’s quadriceps exploded, sending blood spurting in every direction.  The giant lurched.  Modor stepped in and caught it with a second strike as it fell.  Claw opened its jugular.  Its lifeblood gushed, coating Modor where he stood.

Modor turned.  Alaira had killed the Tower officer.  Belle had disappeared.  Beyond them a squad of musketeers was forming by the front gate.  Modor started to run. 

“Follow me!”

But even as he ran, the soldiers scrambled to form ranks and fire.

* * *

Up until the bell sounded, Orisis had enjoyed his conversation with Kaj Al-Kafiri, the surprisingly young leader of the Tower which bore his family’s name.  Orisis had been surprised by how easily he’d gotten in to see the Tower’s leader, but after a few minutes of conversation, he’d come to realize that the Al-Kafiri clan believed itself in need of a War Master.  He didn’t as yet know why, but he sensed opportunity.  It had made it easy to get Kaj to agree to take him on a tour of the Tower’s main defenses, and indeed, that was where they had been when Modor and company had emerged from the sewers.  Orisis had watched with pleasure while for several long, happy minutes, it had looked as though Modor would get away cleanly—so to speak—while Orisis himself secured a new patron. 

Orisis had never been happier.

But then the bell began tolling, and Orisis reluctantly remembered why he’d really come.

“Perhaps you’d like to retain my services now?” he asked Kaj.  Like all of his clan, Kaj was a wizard, but Orisis had thus far found him to be a practical man as well.

But Kaj surprised him.  “No, my friend,” he said.  He laid a hand on Orisis’s forearm and gestured towards a darkened corner.  “Watch this.”

Orisis did watch.  When the sand giants emerged, he watched with something like trepidation.  Trepidation that quickly became disbelief.  He watched Modor slay one giant after another in rapid succession, and he tried not to gawk.  But then a squad of musket infantrymen closed up at the front gate.

“Ah… the sand giants were just a diversion,” Orisis said in a voice he hoped sounded casual.  “The musketeers will finish it.”

“Of course,” Kaj replied.  He hardly sounded certain.

And indeed, even as he said it, Orisis watched one of Modor’s companions drop amongst the soldiers with a pair of knives in her hands.  She was strikingly bald save for a shock of red hair at the back of her head.  Orisis blinked.  He hadn’t even seen her.  As for the musket soldiers, their surprise was total.  A pair of musketeers fell before the rest knew what was happening, and when the others did finally react, it was as a terrified mob rather than as a disciplined fighting force.  Then Modor charged into them, laying them out two at a time with a massive claymore. 

It was over before it began. 

Kaj cleared his throat.  “Uh... you mentioned that your services were for hire?”  He didn’t look at Orisis.

Orisis thought it over.  He could take Kaj’s money and confront Modor and his company, but that would get him no closer to completing his commission for Cindar Belam.  And then too, Modor and his friends were already in a fighting frenzy.  And they were formidable.  If he had to take them, it would be better to do so from an ambush.  Fighting them now would be both foolish and dangerous.  Fortunately, the courtyard was starting to fill with gun smoke.  And all eyes were on Modor.

Orisis drew his wakasashi and rammed it into Kaj’s gut.  The wizard’s eyes went huge with surprise.  Orisis twisted the blade to be sure.

“Sadly my friend, I already have an employer.  Though I would have much preferred to do business with you as well.”

* * *

A few moments later, Modor led his people into the sunlight outside the Tower of Al-Kafiri.  Kafiri Square was packed with people, and it seemed to Modor that all of them were staring in his direction.  Most gawked.  Some pointed. 

Well, Modor thought, they probably weren’t expecting to see a war in the middle of their marketplace.

Beside him, Belle said, “Oh man...  War Master Orisis is going to be pissed!”

“Tell me again why we didn’t go in through a window?” Alaira asked.  “Wasn’t it because we didn’t want to get caught?”  She patted Modor on the shoulder.  “Good call, chief.”

The Stone Priest's Wife, Part V: The Tower of Al-Kafiri

The sewer tunnel under the Tower of Al-Kafiri was a dark, compact place with a squishy floor covered in the gods-alone-knew-what.  The air was foul with the inescapable stench of excrement.  Combined with an already wretched headache, it made Alaira feel more miserable than she’s ever imagined possible. 

“You sure you’re all right?” Belle asked. 

Alaira turned and looked up.  “I’m fine!”  It wasn’t true, but Alaira didn’t want to waste time answering her supposed friend’s stupid questions.  Lying in a pitch black sewage pipe covered to her elbows in human waste would tend to put anyone off her game.

“Okay,” Belle said, “Whatever you say.  It’s just that with your hangover and whatnot, I thought maybe...”

Alaira turned and looked Belle in the eye.  “Will you shut up, so I can concentrate?  Picking this lock is harder than it looks.” 

Alaira turned back to the lock and again tried to focus, but it was tough with her headache.  It didn’t help that the sewer slime was making her tools slippery.  She’d had to lie down in the tunnel’s sludge just to reach the lock, which was bolted to the bottom of the metal grating that stood between Alaira and her friends and the Tower of Al-Kafiri above.  Alaira had argued against infiltrating through a two-foot tube filled with human waste for the obvious reasons, but stupid Modor had insisted it would be safer than trying to go in through one of the Tower’s many upper story windows.  Thinking about it did little beyond making Alaira angry.  She took as deep a breath as she dared amidst the tunnel’s stench and tried to relax.  Then she leaned into the grating to try to gain more leverage.  If she could just force her picks a little further into the keyhole… 

“Dammit!” she cried. 

She slipped forward and only barely avoided landing face first in unspeakable muck.  As she fell, the lock let off a loud click.  A small dart flew from the keyhole into the sludge below.  It missed Alaira’s hand by a quarter inch.  Had Alaira not slipped, the dart would have hit her left palm dead center.

Belle reached down and grabbed Alaira by the shoulder.  “That’s it.  You’re done.  I’m going back to go get Modor.”

“No!  I can do it!”

“Do what?  Get yourself killed by a poisoned dart?” Belle said.  “I don’t doubt it.”

Alaira looked up from the sludge.  “Why don’t you try worrying about just yourself for change?  Let me worry about me.”  Unlike Alaira, Belle hadn’t had to actually get down into the muck yet.  She was still clean.

“Come on, Alaira,” Belle said, “Don’t be like that.  I was only trying to--”

“Save it.  Let’s just get this done.  It’s not even noon, and I already need a drink.”

“Wonderful.  Considering how much good last night’s drinking did you, I can’t wait to see what this next round’s gonna do.”  Belle shook her head.  “I told you that you were headed for a heartbreak last night.”

“Did I look lonely to you this morning?”

“Fine.  Have it your way.”  Belle looked towards where they’d left Modor and Xarian further back in the tunnel.  “But if you wanna self-destruct, do it on your own time.  And try not to take the rest of us with you, okay?”

“I told you I’m fine!” Alaira cried.  “Gods!  Weren’t you going to go get Modor or something?”

“Great.  I’ll be right back.” 

Alaira fooled with the lock a bit more while Belle was gone, but after a while, she knew it was pointless.  She wanted to close her eyes and put her head down, but in the nastiness of the sewer main, that was completely out of the question.  Instead she sat up and did her best to clean and put away her lock picks.

A few minutes later, Modor crawled up to where Alaira was sitting.  She looked at him and shook her head.  “I can’t get it.”

“Can’t?  Or don’t want to?”  Modor’s skepticism was obvious.

“Can’t Modor.”  Alaira pointed to the lock.  “Look at this damn thing.  It’s not some cheap City Sanitation Department lock.  This is an expensive piece of equipment.  And it was trapped.”  Alaira pointed up to indicate the people in the Tower above them.  “Those wizards set this here on purpose.  They’ve obviously considered that some idiot might try to break in this way.”

Alaira shook her head angrily.  “I told you this was a mistake.  It’s gods-damned disgusting, too.  Dammit!  I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You’re here for three crowns and the chance for more,” Modor said, “You’re here because—“

Alaira cut him off.  “Three crowns!  Modor, I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning for three crowns.  No, I’m here because you had to bang somebody else’s hussy and got caught doing it.  Idiot!  I’m here because a War Master wants to feed you your balls!  Now I’m elbow-deep in human shit, and—“

“That’s enough, Alaira.”  Modor put his hand on her shoulder.  Despite herself, she appreciated it.  “No one wanted to have to break in through the toilets, but you know damned well that there’s money to be made here.  But if you really can’t pick the lock…”

“Since we’re already here, do you mind if I take a look?” Xarian asked.  He shimmied past Modor to get a better look. 

It would have been a tight fit under the best of circumstances, but with all of their gear, it was more than tight.  It was impossible.  Though Xarian was nowhere near as large as Modor, he’d carried a huge backpack into the sewers in addition to his blunderbuss.  Meanwhile Modor was enormously tall and wide, a reality made worse by the fact that he’d come dressed in his black half-plate armor, and he’d brought both of his swords.  Fang was bad enough, but Claw, Modor’s massive six-and-a-half foot claymore, made moving in the tunnels nearly impossible for him, even when he was moving alone.  Plus Modor had also brought his tower shield.  Alaira shook her head and backed out of the way.  Xarian’s blunderbuss was bad enough, but she had absolutely no idea how Modor was going to get up a two-foot pipe carrying all that stuff. 

Once Xarian was in position and had had a moment to look things over, Modor asked, “Do you think you can blast it?”

“I doubt it,” Xarian replied.  He frowned.  “Even if I’d brought that much powder, I don’t think the tunnel’s ceiling would survive the concussion.  Plus, the noise would almost certainly alert the Tower.”

“Yeah,” Modor said, “That’s no good.  Even if we could fight our way past all the guards and wizards and whatnot, it still wouldn’t accomplish the mission.  We have to keep this quiet.  Anything that could potentially lead back to the Stone Priest is a non-starter.”

No one said anything for a few moments.  Eventually, Xarian pulled off his pack.  Without a word, he started rummaging around inside, eventually emerging with a thick rubber-stoppered bottle. 

“I haven’t had a chance to try this yet,” he said, “and I have no idea how well it’ll work on iron…”

Modor looked curious but said nothing.  Xarian unstoppered the bottle with obvious care and dripped a few drops of its liquid onto the lock’s heavy iron hasp.  He then replaced the stopper and returned the vial to his pack.

“Now what?” Modor asked.

“Now we wait.”

The next quarter-hour wasn’t pleasant.  Modor didn’t like waiting, but he didn’t have any choice.  He kept glaring at Alaira as if to remind her that it was only because of her failure that they were forced to wait in the first place.  Alaira could tell that Xarian didn’t like waiting, either, but at least he didn’t glare.  He did, however, look manifestly uncomfortable resting on his hands and knees in three-inch-deep sewer slime.  The only group member who didn’t seem overtly hostile was Belle.  But Belle had been acting like a self-righteous bitch since the prior evening, so her presence was hardly reassuring.  Eventually, Alaira turned away from her friends, deciding instead to stare at the wall.  It smelled awful, but at least it wasn’t angry with her. 

Stupid Modor, she thought.

A few more minutes passed.  At last Xarian said, “Okay.  Try it now.”

“Finally!” Modor exclaimed.  He reached for Fang.

“Gods!  Don’t use your sword!” Xarian cried.  He fussed in his pack and emerged with a two-pound hammer and a small crowbar.  These he handed to Modor.  “Here.  Always use the right tools for the job.” 

Modor growled.  Looking more than a little skeptical, he placed the crowbar into the lock’s hasp and held the hammer up to strike.  “Like this?”

Xarian shook his head.  “Just get on with it.”

Modor turned back without replying.  He struck the crowbar.

“God of Fire!” Xarian cursed, “Not like that.  Put some ass into it.”

Modor glared, but Xarian returned his gaze without flinching.  After a moment, Modor turned back to the lock.  He raised the hammer and then dropped it thunderously onto the crowbar.  The hasp shattered.

“Finally!” Xarian said, making fun of Modor’s earlier exasperation.  He pushed past and opened the gate, and then he held it open with a flourish.  “After you.”

* * *

Modor led the way up into the shitter.  It was a more than tight squeeze through the foulest space imaginable, but it was the best—and according to War Master Orisis, the only—way to get into the Tower undetected.  Modor tried not to think about what else was in the little tunnel with him.  And he tried not to breath. 

The stench was the worst of it.  Thankfully, there were few actual objects blocking his ascent, but that didn’t change the fact that Modor was crawling through others’ fecal matter.  The connecting pipe was just over a dozen feet long, gently sloping from the main sewer line up to a larger space with three holes cut in the ceiling.  Those three holes were the actual toilets, Modor realized. 

The collective space under the toilets was made of stone and had rungs set into the walls.  Modor used these rungs to pull himself up out of the pipe, avoiding the worst of the toilet pit’s foulness.  He didn’t hesitate but instead instantly stuck his head up through one of the toilet’s seats.

* * *

Khalid hadn’t had a good morning.  He’d had a fight with Safir, his second wife, who was a beautiful woman but who was also a constant pain in his ass.  Then he’d overslept and been late for work, causing his captain to yell at him.  And then the wizard Zafa had gotten angry about something that Khalid still didn’t understand.  Still, as Khalid headed for the basement toilets, his mood improved.  He grabbed the handle for the toilet’s door thinking, At last I can have some peace and privacy.  Every man is a king when he sits upon the universal throne.

Khalid entered the toilet and closed the door behind him.  Then he turned.  He froze.  His mouth fell open. 

A monster was climbing out of the toilet!

The monster reached for him.  It grabbed his shirt and began to pull him closer.  Khalid watched helplessly.  He tried to scream, but his voice failed him.  The monster snarled.

At last Khalid screamed.

* * *

“Gods dammit, shut up!” Modor yelled.  He slammed the man’s head into the stone and then pulled himself up and all the way out of the toilet itself.  The man dropped to his knees and then fell over onto his side, out cold.

“Think you could make some more noise next time?” Alaira asked.  She climbed out of the next toilet over.  “I’m not sure they heard you up on the roof.”

Alaira looked like Hell.  She’d managed to keep her face mostly clean, but her hair and her clothes were streaked through with a muck that Modor didn’t want to contemplate. 

“You need a bath,” he said.  “There’s supposed to be a bathhouse down here somewhere.  If we can keep it quite—“

A voice outside the door interrupted Modor’s thought.  “Is everything all right in there?” it asked.  The door opened, and a man stuck his head in.  Like the man Modor had assaulted, he had a beard and was wearing robes.  “What the Hell?”

Alaira’s dagger answered, slamming into the wall next to the man’s head.  The man disappeared instantly.  The door slammed behind him. 

“Move dammit!” Alaira said as she shoved past Modor.  “If he gets away, the whole place’ll know we’re here!  Then this’ll all be for nothing!”