Nekdukarr: The Cornerstones Trilogy, #2

Pantheon

deity~domain~area of influence~symbol

––––––––

The Gods of Light

The Seven Heavens

~The plane of Paradise above all~

Eos All Father (The Maker)~Nimbus~maker of all~circle of gold

Demia (Keeper of the Slain)~Eroe~usher of souls~feather

Oris (The Overseer)~Librum~knowledge~crossed scrolls

Tem (The Balancer)~Ordrin~justice~silver scales

Eloss (The Defender)~Refuge~warriors~a silver shield

Koss Godslayer~Korr~champions, knights~sword-point up

––––––––

The Heavens are separated from all by Purgatory

––––––––

The Gods of Earth and Sky

Earth Mother (Lady of the Forest)~life, earth~tree or gem

Thotris~beauty, fertility, vanity~a hand mirror

Puc (The Trickster)~luck, trickery~any coin

Bofuli~wine, meriment~a goblet

Odea~the sea, storms~the scimitar moon

Dorin (The Delver)~greed, wealth, gold, gems~crossed picks

––––––––

The Hells are separated by Limbo and the River Oblivion

––––––––

The Gods of Darkness

The Nine Hells

Pergamon (The Punisher)~Agonia~pain, torture~thorned chain

Seth (The Defiler)~Malorea~decay, poison, serpents~Ouroboros

Xakra (The Tangler)~Discord~plotting, deceit, chaos~spider

Mortas (The Deathless One)~Necrol~death~interlocking crescents

Phekkar (The Flaming One)~Hades~fire~a burning sun

The Lower Hells

Grund~Lair~orcs, ogres and trolls~clenched fist

~The Void~

Draco~Pytt~dragons~reptilian eye

~The Abyss~

PRELUDE

––––––––

––––––––

Snow rippled with dancing moonlight and shadow, orchestra to the conductors of looming pines, their boughs lurching and vaulting in the wind.  The wintery symphony blew clear and strong through the stand of tall evergreens, a rare crystalline night breeze that chased the brooding storm clouds back over the mountains.  In a clearing, a sturdy farmhouse abutted a tall barn.  Warm light and laughter splashed through the smoky windows to ward off the shadows at the edge of the trees, softening the stark moonlight.

Then the moon's bright face dimmed, an errant cloud silencing the music of light and shadow, plunging the scene into muted tones of grey on black.  The tall pines now stood as foreboding giants, as if the veil of darkness had revealed their truer nature, the shadows at their bases deepened, heartened by the luminous orb's demise.  Then something in the deeper shadows began to move.  Stealthy bits of midnight slid between the trees and detached themselves from the recesses where shadows usually lurked to creep across the grey snow.  Deep footprints belied the illusion of ethereality.  Some skittered from the woods toward the barn, while others edged along the spears of yellow light to lurk near the door of the farmhouse.

Not a sound escaped the shadows, but they turned with mute obedience as their master appeared.  The towering figure strode into the open, disdaining the need for secrecy.  One thick arm bearing a great curve of jagged steel rose slowly into the air.  The shadows stood poised, ready.  The blade slashed the peace of the cold night air, and the grove exploded with violence.

The barn door dissolved into splinters at the first crashing blow.  Brays of alarm from the mules and a milk cow's truncated bawl of terror split the night's silence.  In the farmhouse, the laughter ceased.  Shapes danced in the warm yellow light, moving first to the window, then to the door.  The portal flew open, followed by the sharp tines of a pitchfork.  These impaled an attacking shadow and blocked the clumsy sword thrust of another, but the outcome of the battle had been decided before it had even begun; outrage and farm implements were no defense against whistling arrows and flashing blades.  Shadows flooded the farmhouse, muffling the screams of those still alive within.

The sacking was swift under the commands of the experienced leader.  Skittish mules strained under hastily piled loads.  Sacks of grain, kegs of ale and pieces of the coarsely butchered cow were divided and tied on, followed by blankets, bolts of cloth and casks of salted meat.  The most pitiful baggage was hauled bound and gagged from the house, small and struggling in the grip of the attackers.  Only half the size of the smallest of the invaders, the captive was tossed roughly over the back of a half-loaded mule.  Only when the two buildings lay as empty shells did the attackers finally form into disorganized ranks and depart.

Silence and stillness crept back to the clearing in their wake, the scene ironically unchanged.  A few splashes of crimson on the snow and the crumpled form in the doorway of the house were the only signs of the violence that had visited.  Then flames began licking hungrily within the house, greedily devouring the dry wood and destroying even that lying semblance of serenity.  The pyre lasted for hours, while the moon remained hidden behind its insulating cloud, as if ashamed of what it had seen.

CHAPTER 1

––––––––

––––––––

DoHeney swayed atop the pile of coiled rope, beaming out at the newly born morning.  Crimson-brushed clouds signaled the beginning of their last day at sea.  He had enjoyed his first sea voyage, despite the old tales that dwarves, like oil, do not mix with water.  The lazy roll of the ship, and the respite from riding, hiking, sneaking and fighting, had eased the fears of these last weeks.  He had strolled the decks and joined in the sailors' bawdy ballads, and even taught them a few of his own.

Crewmen hauled on lines as the ship topped a swell, and DoHeney nodded in admiration at the engineering used to control the massive vessel.  These sailors manipulated the sea and wind almost as well as dwarves fashioned stone and steel.

Beautiful, is it not? Shay's voice sounded suddenly over DoHeney’s shoulder.

Aye.  That it is, lad, the dwarf agreed, squinting up at the rigging as he put away his dagger; three days at sea had not relaxed him that much.  But there's a thing er two that could use a touch o' dwarven ingenuity, if ye understand me thinkin'.

Shay smiled down at him and said, Perhaps your people have missed their calling all these countless ages.  A sailing vessel of dwarven design would be a wonder to behold.

Yer right there, boyo, DoHeney said.  But I'll wager yer own kind have built many a sea goin' craft ta make the likes o' this ol' tub look like a sow in the mud.

No, to my knowledge, there are no half-elfin, Tem-worshiping, magic-dabbling shipbuilders, Shay said as he smiled and clapped DoHeney on the shoulder as the dwarf cringed at the attempted humor.  But, alas, my mother's kin no longer concern themselves with the sea.

As they gazed at the sunrise, the dwarf considered his companion.  DoHeney understood neither elves nor humans, and this half-elf confused him doubly.  Shay could heal wounds like a priest, conjure fire spells like a wizard, wield a war hammer like a warrior, and melt the heart of any barmaid in the Northern Realms.  And although his skills had an air of effortlessness, that air concealed a hidden anxiety.

The wrinkles of worry that lined the priest's face when he thought himself unobserved were back.  Yes, there was turmoil behind those unfathomable violet eyes, but it was not from what had happened to them in or after Zellohar; he was nervous about what lay directly ahead.  For, no matter how much Shay raved about the fair city of Fengotherond, the half-elf's distress increased with each closing league.

And I'm gonna find out why!  DoHeney resolved as he turned toward the priest.  Shay, I been meanin' ta—

Stop hanging all over me!

The loud complaint cut through the stiff breeze all the way from the aft of the ship, drawing smiles from Shay and DoHeney.  Avari had finally awakened from her medicated slumber, and from the sound of it, was not pleased at being treated like an invalid.

Sailors a full hand shorter than the woman gave her a wide berth, though whether from her size, the greatsword slung over her shoulder or the murderous glint in her eyes, DoHeney couldn't tell.  She wove a path to the foredeck, gripping the railing grimly and pulling her cloak close to ward off the gusts that threatened to invade her threadbare garments.

You're not well enough for this, Avari, Lynthalsea protested, trailing close behind.  Sailors stared at the contrasting women despite Avari's glares, comparing the tall, muscular human to the slim elfin beauty.

"I am fine, Lynthalsea, Avari insisted, turning to tower over the other woman.  I'm not going to be sick, I'm just hungry!"

And how fares our mighty warrioress o' the green complexion? DoHeney asked in his usual undwarf-like manner.  Quizzing Shay would just have to wait.

I told her she was too weak to be walking about on deck, Lynthalsea scolded, but she refused to listen.

DoHeney laughed, then glanced over at Shay and sighed in exasperation.  Not again! he thought as he watched Shay's countenance melt into pasty adoration.  Whenever Lynthalsea was near, the priest acted like a smitten schoolboy.    Fortunately, DoHeney preferred his women a little shorter and plumper, perhaps with some neatly-trimmed muttonchops...

I just need some food, Avari said, her voice soft but still strong.  If I could have some...  She looked around at the tinted sky.  Is this sunrise or sunset?

'Tis a beauty o' a sunrise, lass.

Then, if I can have some breakfast, I'll be fine.  She turned to Shay.  How long was I out this time?

Only a day and a half, Shay answered with a smile.  "It would have been less, if you'd taken the medicine before becoming ill.  We should be in the city in time for lunch."

I hope so.  My stomach feels like it's been empty for a week.  A loud growl from Avari's midriff declared its own opinion on her enforced starvation.

Come with me, Shay offered.  Let us see if we can find something to pacify the beast that dwells in your middle.

DoHeney's smile faded as he watched the pair stroll off.  If he was ignorant of the root of Shay's apprehension, knowing the source of Avari's depression offered no solace.  Avari's self-imposed and unforgiving guilt ate at her confidence daily.

The lass seems all right now, he mused, but she's still half asleep and probably hasn't remembered to feel sorrowful yet.

The girl had been through so much lately that none could fault her for her temper.  She had taken the guilt of her father's and Jundag's deaths, and the responsibility for the safety of the rest of her friends, onto her own shoulders.

She's bound to snap out o' it sometime... he thought, turning back to the rail to see Lynthalsea's troubled gaze tracking Shay and Avari across the mid-deck to the sterncastle.

Avari is not as well as she pretends, she said.

Now what makes ye think that, lass?

I can still smell the sickness on her.

Really? DoHeney asked, his insatiable curiosity piqued.  I know yer sight is better'n most, and them pointy ears probably do somethin' fer yer hearin', but I didn't know elves could smell way down to a person's wellbein'.

Elves can't, she said with a smile.  Wolves can.

DoHeney gaped, his awe masked by his disheveled beard.  Ye mean you've the senses o' a beastie all o' the time?

Not all the time, she answered.  Only when I concentrate and change form a bit.

As DoHeney narrowed his eyes in skepticism, Lynthalsea sighed and explained.

When I first contracted my... condition, I had no control over my changes, but during my years in the forest, I gained mastery of my affliction.  That's how I am able to use the senses of a wolf.  I merely concentrate, like this.

Lynthalsea's hand, presently draped over the rail, began to change.  Hair sprouted and thickened as her fingers retracted into short padded toes and her pink nails narrowed into claws.  The hairy paw on the end of a bare, slim wrist looked incongruous.

Oh, that's disgustin'! DoHeney thought, coughing to hide his revulsion.  Quite a trick ye have there, lass, he managed, his smile strained.  But don't ye concern yerself with ship's sickness.  That's the least of Avari's worries.

The least of all of our worries, she agreed as they both turned back toward the rail.

The morning sky had brightened to a brilliant blue accented with sweeping clouds, the sun smiling down as if mocking their concerns.  On the distant shore, a reflection gleamed like a diamond caught in a blaze of firelight.  And so was their first glimpse of Fengotherond, the domed city of wonders.

Pain...

With consciousness came pain.  Not the sharp, isolated pain of a wound, but a dull, all-encompassing ache.  As he swam toward wakefulness, the pain became more distinct: arms cramped as they hung above his head, wrists worn raw by rough iron, head pounding, muscles aching with disuse.

Finally awake, he opened his eyes, only to slam them tightly shut in shock.  Total darkness; he could see nothing.

He was blind.

But curiosity and a deeply ingrained belligerence won out over his fear.  He opened his eyes again and stared hard into the darkness, daring the gods to have taken his sight.  After some time he could make out slivers of light outlining a door.  From the manacles he deduced that he was in a cell, but he had no idea how he had come to be here.  He leaned his head against the stone, letting the cool dampness sooth his pounding head.

Physically he was uninjured, though he had never felt so drained.  Curiously, his mind also felt drained, as if caught in a fog.  He tried to remember what had happened, how he had gotten here, but glimpsed only vague images.

Another night with too much ale and not enough meat, he thought without a great deal of worry.  His stomach protested as painfully as his head.  Whatever the drink had made him do, it was bad enough to land him in prison for the night.  Time to do something besides sit on this slimy floor.

He grabbed the chains, hoisted himself to his feet, and instantly regretted it.  The expected relief of his aching muscles was superseded by a stunning blow as his head hit the ceiling.

What in the name of Hades?  He groaned in anguish as he lowered himself back into a half-squat.

His questing fingers met solid stone no more than five feet above the floor.  This was not like any prison he had been in before.  It was almost like it had not been made for normal-sized humans.  A brutish visage flashed into his memory, curved tusks from a piggish snout, only to fade before he could comprehend it.  Where the hell am I? he thought, panic rising in his throat.

With an energy born of desperation, he heaved on the thick cast-iron links that bound him.  Nothing.  Again!  Turning around to place his feet against the wall, he strained with his broad back, his shoulders parting the threadbare seams of his tunic.  The skin on his hands split, wetting the chains, and a muscle in his back wrenched painfully.  Nothing.  Gulping breath, his heart racing, he fought to gather his wits, clenching his teeth against the rising panic.  Then he began to think.

Time passed slowly, like the melting of snow in spring, time in which he listened and thought, but never found an answer.  He hummed an ancient tune for wont of something better to do, wondering at his recollection of the melody when more substantial memories were denied him.

The door burst open with a glare of light, startling him awake.  A thousand questions swirled through his mind, but he could only stare at the hunched figure until the door slammed.  He had forgotten that he had a voice.  All he gained from the encounter was a greasy haunch of half-rotten meat.  He threw the foul fodder away—he was not that hungry yet—then immediately lunged after it, wrenching his arms and causing his wounded wrists to weep bloody tears.  The meat might be rotten, but he could sharpen the thick bone to make a crude weapon.

He cursed his own stupidity.  He did not yet know where he was or how he had gotten here, but if he was going to get out, he would have to start using his head.

Iveron Darkmist's alabaster eyes squinted from behind the demon helm, the glare of winter dawn torturing his dark-attuned vision.  Frigid mountain winds tore through the folds of his cloak, chilling him to the bone.  Despite these discomforts, the Nekdukarr smiled; his plans were coming together.  The raiding missions were a great success.  Many of the farms between Zellohar Keep and the city of Beriknor had already been stripped.  The humans in this area had been at peace too long; they did not take the first signs of invasion seriously.

Which, of course, is to my advantage, Iveron thought.

He watched as the long file of troops trudged into the courtyard of the keep.  All were heavily laden, some with small struggling bundles.  Iveron smiled again; although live prisoners required extra effort, to the Nekdukarr they were the ultimate treasure, fodder for his foul supplications to Mortas.  But the more important spoils were the astonishing quantities of food and clothing for his ever-expanding army.  New troops poured into Zellohar, swelling his forces daily.  The surrounding mountains harbored orc, goblin, ogre and even troll dens.  All it took to lure them into service were promises of slaughter, booty and regular meals.

Iveron estimated his food stores to be sufficient for several weeks, more than enough time to complete preparations for the ceremony that would launch his campaign.  Four of his most adept squires worked day and night on the tedious engraving that was required, chiseling runes into the floor of the specially designed chamber.  He would inspect their work before committing himself to the ceremony, of course; an error could release horrors beyond even Iveron's control.  Once the preparations were done, all he needed were the gems.

The cornerstones, he thought, recalling the dwarvish term for the four enchanted stones.

A deep growl reverberated in his throat as his gauntletted fists clenched.  He would have laughed aloud at the irony if it was a laughing matter.  The incredible power of the very gems the dwarves had used to imprison him in Zellohar, had been his.  But now, due to the incompetence of his troops, only two of the four original gems remained within his reach.  What began as an irritating kink in his plans had mushroomed into a threat to his whole campaign.

Crimson fire flared in the eyes of the gruesome demon helm as his boots clacked back and forth along the battlements.  Below, his tired troops hushed their chatter and resumed their labors with new vigor.  They had seen him like this before, and someone usually ended up quite nastily dead as a result.

I must have all four gems! he raged impotently.  But how to assure that the job is done right?

His options were few.  He could abandon his stronghold and recover the lost gems himself.  Although tempting—he would be able to wreak his personal revenge upon the thieves—Iveron knew it was impossible.  Nekdukarr were shunned throughout the Northern Realms; he would be attacked on sight.  And if his sisters visited in his absence, they would discover his plans, realize that he had deceived them, and bring his scheme before the Council of the Ten Clans as their own.  He depended on the success of this war to shut his sisters up for good.  Once he had the power of the cornerstones and the might of Clan Darkmist at his command, he would demand a seat on the council.

Could he send the dragon, Phlegothax?  No.  The thieves were last reported en route to the city of Fengotherond, and even a dragon could not breach that city's defenses.  Besides, the beast was still surly after being wounded by the rockfall in the lower caverns.  Fortunately, the troops that fell into the gorge with the collapse of the bridge had quelled the beast's insatiable hunger, but he was not ready to test its temper yet.

Iveron's pitiless gaze swept his cowering, inept subordinates; if the dolts had captured the thieves, he would not be in this mess.  He had an urge to let the rage flow from the demon helm resting upon his brow, but even as the power began to rise, the rational corner of his mind suppressed it.  Reducing one's troops to lifeless puddles of goo was not good for morale.

His rage once again locked away in a corner of his twisted mind, the dark paladin directed his thoughts along more lucid paths.  He despised having to depend on anyone, but there was no choice; he would rely on the assassins he had sent after the thieves.  The Shadowknives were competent, born to kill and baptized in blood.  And they knew the consequences of failure.  But a disturbing question still hung in the back of Iveron's mind: what if he could not recover all the gems?

Impossible! he said, immediately rejecting the thought.  He would regain possession of the cornerstones, and with them, ultimate power.

CHAPTER 2

––––––––

––––––––

Lynthalsea and DoHeney watched in amazement as Shay played an intricate game of negotiation with the Fengotherond tax assessor—give a little here, take a little there, let this small item slip past the inventory, and this gold coin is for you.  Avari tapped her foot, too hungry to be amused.  Right now all she wanted was a hot lunch and a hotter bath, but lunchtime was long passed before the official let the four companions go.  When the tax assessor had finally finished, Shay hurried his friends out the door.

Just a reminder!  The tax assessor's call stopped them in their tracks.  You have a fortnight to gain employment, otherwise you will be required to depart our fair city.

Depart this, ye— DoHeney grumbled.

Thank you, sir, Shay trilled with a smile as he stuffed the dusty hem of his cloak into DoHeney's mouth.  Rest assured we will have finished with our business before then.

Gaaahhhh!  DoHeney spat out the cloth and glared at Shay.  "What did ye do that fer?  The fella was jist beggin' fer a good drubbin'.  He thought we was thieves.  Common thieves! he grumbled, brushing off his grimy tunic.  Why, anyone with any kind o' taste would know that this loot is all first class."

At least he didn't ask to inspect Gaulengil, Avari said, caressing the sheath of the enchanted greatsword.  I'd have had a hard time keeping it off of him.  I think it's picked up my hunger pangs.

"I had no idea it would be worth so much!" Lynthalsea exclaimed, looking nervously around at the crowds.

Aye, kin ye believe it? DoHeney beamed, suddenly forgetting his aggravation.  "We're rich!  And I don't jist mean rich, but RICH!"

Hush! Shay admonished.  Fengotherond is the safest city in the northlands, but I do not think we should let the full extent of our wealth become public knowledge.

Do you suppose, Avari contemplated, that there's enough for me to restart my horse farm?

Lynthalsea stared incredulously at her, while DoHeney burst out laughing.  But Shay understood Avari's ignorance about money; she had never really dealt much with it before.

Avari, he explained as they walked, your share is enough to buy ten horse farms outright, and stock each with a hundred of the finest thoroughbreds.

Uh...  Avari's jaw dropped and she stared for a moment.  In that case, she said breaking into a grin, lunch is on me!

And I, Shay said, know just the place.

––––––––

Avari's eyes loop-the-looped after a lively fish that swam in circles around a large glass tank.  She was so hungry, she could eat one without bothering to scale, cook or even kill the thing.  Her stomach elicited a predatory growl and she leaned closer.

Avari!  Shay pulled her away and down the street.  We are almost there, and believe me, you will deem it worth the wait.  Now look over here.  He pointed to an ornate building across the street.  That was the home of the first mayor of Fengotherond back in...

Although trying desperately to focus on something other than her hunger, Avari was bored by Shay's narrative.  A city was a city as far as she was concerned, and she had not been impressed with the few she had seen so far.  Besides, they had been on this impromptu guided tour for almost an hour.

To her, the most interesting thing about Fengotherond was the dome.  The entire city was covered by a single piece of enchanted and unbreakable crystal, held in place by pillars of magical force that would allegedly last forever.  Air circulated beneath it freely, but snow and rain were caught and diverted into an elaborate system of aqueducts.

DoHeney was astounded to learn that the entire construction had been accomplished by mages, not craftsmen.  Sunlight refracted through the dome in a kaleidoscope of colored light, dazzling his sensitive eyes every time he looked up.

Lynthalsea was the only one of the group listening to Shay's narration.  Fengotherond appealed to her elvish eye for beauty:  white buildings, their facades adorned with silver and gold, glowed in the rainbow light of the dome.  Clean streets were paved with smooth cobbles, and even the horses were equipped to avoid inappropriate litter.

Avari snorted in disgust at the sight of a matched team clattering past, each bearing a strapped-on bag to catch manure before it could touch the street.  She leaned over the white fence of a stable, and snorted again at the scent of lye rather than the warm, comforting smell of horse and dung.

City folks! she thought, shaking her head.  They care more about keeping their pretty streets clean than about the poor animals' hooves or their dignity.

Avari's irritation multiplied as they turned down a street lined with restaurants.  Menus enticed passersby with promises of everything from elvish cuisine to exotic seafood, and the air was thick with the aromas of a thousand different dishes.  Her stomach and mind made their decisions simultaneously.

Enough! she said as she stepped in front of Shay, interrupting his latest statistic.  It's cruel to drag me by all these restaurants when you know I haven't eaten decently for days!  I'm starved!  Let's eat anywhere!

But Avari, Shay said with a flourish, we are here!

Avari looked up.  'The House of Grandeur' was emblazoned in foot-high gold letters upon the marble facade.  Polished stairs led to a pillared entrance tended by a footman in red velvet livery.  Ordinarily she would have balked at such as place, but her stomach would brook no more delay.  She dashed up the steps two at a time.

The gaping doorman went unnoticed as she strode through the portal, but she stopped cold as she was confronted by the maître d'.  The impeccably dressed elf glared at her as if she had just tracked something onto his rug.  His disdain deepened as the others arrived, his lip curling into a sneer.

May I... help you in some way? he asked, looking them up and down.

Yes, my good elf, Shay said, stepping forward.  We would like your finest meal served in a private chamber, please.

The elf snorted, raising an eyebrow.

Yes, I am... sure you would, he said, oozing condescension.  "I am sorry, but all of our tables are occupied at the moment.  I suggest you try another establishment."

A flick of his skeletal hand dismissed them as he turned and retreated behind a podium of polished hardwood to contemplate a leather-bound appointment book.  Shay stepped back as if he had been slapped, unaccustomed to being treated like a common beggar.  Beyond a silk-draped archway behind the podium, the opulent dining room stood more empty than full.

Shay's face flushed scarlet.  Granted, they were disheveled and worn from their journey, but that was no excuse for such rude treatment.  He hardened his resolve and stepped confidently up to the podium.

I assure you, we are more than able to accommodate your prices.  Shay rested his hand lightly on the appointment book, three thick gold coins tucked between his fingers.  We have been traveling for some time and are very hungry.  He withdrew his now-empty hand.

The maître d' slapped the book shut, the money inside.  He stared at Shay defiantly.  "I said we were busy.  You will leave immediately, or I will be forced to have you removed!"  With a quick snap of his fingers two burly men in black cloaks and wide crimson sashes materialized from an alcove.  They towered behind the thin elf, thick arms crossed over barrel chests.

Shay stared in disbelief.  He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, the tips of his ears flushing red.  He rolled up the sleeves of his cloak, but was interrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder.

Let me handle this pompous twerp, Avari whispered in his ear as she nudged him aside.

Listen, scrawny!  She glared down her nose at the elf as she dropped two jingling saddlebags onto the podium.  She then placed Gaulengil, still in its sheath, across the bags.  There's enough in these two bags to buy this sorry excuse for an ale house five times over, she said, her voice hard and loud.  "And if I decide to do just that, my first act as the new owner will be to kick your skinny arse right out those doors!"

The elf puffed up, waving his defenders forward, then stopped as Avari slipped Gaulengil several inches out of its sheath.  He gulped hard when she leaned close.

Now, she whispered, her tone more dangerous than a scream, we are hungry and road weary, but if you insist upon making a scene, I'm sure we can accommodate you.  I just hope it doesn't hurt business when I hack your pudgy friends into mincemeat and drag your headless corpse through the dining room.

The elf gaped for a moment, eyed the mad glint in Avari's eyes and the sword's razor edge that she was absently caressing with a thumbnail.  His lips formed into a tight smile, and he cleared his throat, finding it dry and tight.

I... Ahem... may have been mistaken, he said as he extracted the appointment book from beneath the heavy bags and leafed through the pages.  Ah yes.  There is an opening here.  An usher will take you directly to your table.

So long as it's in your best private dining room, I think we have a deal.  Avari granted him her sweetest smile as she slapped the sword back into its sheath and hefted her saddlebags.

Olaf, the maître d' waved one of the men forward, please take our guests to the Emerald Room.  Full accompaniments.

Sometimes, Avari explained casually to an astounded Shay as they were led up a sweeping staircase, charm and good looks are no substitute for a sincere threat to life and limb.

CHAPTER 3

––––––––

––––––––

Well, the morning is off to an excellent start! Shay thought as he jumped into his waiting carriage.

Shay had stolen off before breakfast, leaving his companions still abed at the Kindly Ki-rin, goose-down comforters tucked snugly under their chins.  His first appointment had gone well, and he hoped its consequences would bear fruit, but as he considered his next objective his stomach fluttered.

We are here, sir.

Shay looked up.  The carriage had stopped.  Beyond the patiently waiting driver loomed the towering spires of the temple of Tem the Balancer.  Shay’s heart skipped a beat.  He straightened his back and flicked imperceptible wrinkles from his worn tunic.  Stop stalling! his conscience urged and Shay abruptly stood, forgetting the confines of his quarters.

Gods damn this shrunken—

The curse escaped his mouth before he could stop it.  With a wry grin he stepped from the carriage, massaging the rising lump on his head.  The driver's carefully blank look was reassuring; perhaps no one had heard.

Shay paid the driver, jerked his tunic straight, turned on his heel and—  The stares of four acolytes posted at the temple gate stabbed him, dashing any hope that his indiscretion had gone unnoticed.  He painted on a smile and climbed the steps, fully aware of their scrutiny of his attire, gait and demeanor.

The acolytes moved to intercept him.  The gate watch was generally assigned to those in their early years of training.  They took their duty seriously, even though it was more formality than any real defense.

Hail, traveler.  The eldest acolyte stepped forward, hand raised.  "This is the private temple and rectory entrance reserved for the priesthood.  Public services are