Umber

Klavicus finds Hanen a more sophisticated audience for his tale.

Several weeks had passed, and after bringing the escapade on the Plane of Blue to what Kirin and Erik found an abrupt and rather unsatisfactory conclusion, Hanen refused to tell them any more of the story, returning to the “prettier” tales that Anna preferred. Wheedling didn’t help. Silent resignation didn’t appear to yield better results, being angry at Hanen was out of the question, and any hopes for a timely resumption were dashed one gently raining night when their usual story time was interrupted by the arrival of two visitors at the inn. The smallness of the one was underscored by the exceptional height of the other, who even hunched over looked to Erik’s eye to be well over seven feet tall. Although the larger individual kept his face concealed within the shadows of his cloak, the other tossed back her hood to reveal an auburn-haired elf with strangely translucent skin. Hanen stopped speaking mid-sentence, and appeared to be concentrating on something, although he didn’t look directly at the new guests.

“It’s her,” Anna whispered to Kirin.

“I have eyes,” Kirin replied irritably. “I can see that it’s Lyssa.”

“What is your problem with her, anyway?” Erik muttered. “She’s supposed to be a very good friend of Hanen’s.”

“I don’t know – she just looks like someone who’s hiding something,” Anna said. “She never smiles, she ignores absolutely everyone except Hanen and that scholar or wizard or whatever he is, and,” she added triumphantly, as if this piece of information sealed the woman’s fate, “she never takes a room at the inn. She stays with the wizard.”

“Oh, grow up,” Erik growled.

Kirin sighed and whispered back, “Still, we won’t see Hanen for days now.”

The bard nodded slightly toward the visitors, then turned back to the children and resumed his tale as if he’d never paused, and the travelers disappeared up the stairs. The elven woman led her companion past the second floor and up to the third, knocking on the only visible door.

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice called.

“Lyssa,” she replied, “I met a friend on the road – he’s here with me.”

“Just a minute,” he said. “I need to throw something on.”

“Actually, you don’t,” she muttered to herself, but waited patiently nonetheless. She swept past the man who eventually opened the door, her companion following in silence. The latter stopped just inside, and although he didn’t uncover his face he was obviously looking around at the eighteen-foot ceilings and oversized furniture. Apparently just at the sight of it, he straightened up and stood taller. Lyssa pulled off her cloak and hung it on a rack, stretching in concert her arms and a pair of white wings anchored near her shoulders and sweeping almost to the ground. “Oh, that’s a relief,” she said. She looked at the hooded figure. “Rest assured, we won’t be disturbed here.” Moving to a nearby window, she stared down at this relatively peaceful corner of Greyhawk. “All of the glass on this floor bears enchantments protecting the privacy of its occupants.” Then she turned toward the scholar. “And you needn’t do that for Lars’ benefit.”

Klavicus looked surprised but took her at her word, and with a smoothness born of centuries’ practice flowed from a rather imposing human to a twelve-foot-tall balor whose velvet paisley smoking jacket did little to soften his terrifying appearance. “I agree,” he said, “it is a relief.”

For the first time the hooded figure made a sound, something between a laugh and a feline snarl. “It’s not very often,” he said, removing his own cloak, “that I’m the most inconspicuous individual in a room.” He looked from the celestial to the demon and back again. “Do you know how strange the two of you together – ” he shook his head, “yes, you probably do.”

Klavicus watched him pace the room, and directed a thought toward Lyssa. Is this the –

“Shapeshifter?” the tall individual finished the thought aloud for him. He paused to regard the balor thoughtfully. “I’ll thank you at least for not thinking of me as the were.”

“Hmm,” Klavicus  rumbled. “I didn’t realize you could – ”

“Pluck your thoughts from your mind?” Lars interrupted. “I can’t. But you wear them all over your body like a second skin.” When the balor looked over at Lyssa with a crooked smile, he added, “Yes, yes, you hate being interrupted. But as far as I’m concerned, you finished your sentence a long time ago, so I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t put your eyes out by now,” the balor remarked with no apparent rancor. “Or do you have some other means of picking up your signals?”

The catlike elf – or elflike cat, depending on one’s perspective – stared at him for a moment then laughed his strange, snarling laugh. “I see why Lyssa said I wouldn’t despise you.”

“What I said,” she interjected, “is that he might actually like – ”

Klavicus  waved her into silence. “I understand. Thank you for coming, by the way.”

“How could I not?” she said. “If Hanen is somehow unhappy – well, it’s the least I can do for him.”

It’s this story, and these children – Klavicus and Lyssa rarely spoke out loud when they were alone, and he slipped into the habit without thinking, then looked over at Lars, who was just throwing himself onto the black dragon hide sofa, head resting on one arm and feet hanging over the other.

“Don’t let me inhibit you,” the elf said. “I’ll pick up the gist of it.” His lips curled upward briefly. “Even with my eyes closed.” Klavicus took him at his word and was going to continue his telepathic address to Lyssa, but when she began vocalizing her thoughts he joined her.

“Why do you think this story he is telling disturbs him so?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “It could be the story, or the children, or the interaction between the two. That’s why I’d like to eliminate one of the variables. Your reaction to the tale won’t be so – ”

“Childish?” Lars interrupted. When Klavicus shot him a warning glance the shapeshifter again smiled his feral smile. “I do hope I’m not annoying you.”

“Thank the Abyss for that chip on your shoulder,” the balor snapped. “It greatly enhances your fallibility. Actually, I was thinking that your presence is a useful addition. I believe Lyssa may find some of the subject matter objectionable.”

“Why?” she asked.

“The protagonists – I wouldn’t entirely call them heroes – are a band of bards. Your eldest sibling would find them congenial company, I think.”

Lyssa groaned and took a chair. “You’d better prepare me for this before Hanen gets here.”

Klavicus had finishing summarizing the story thus far and they had moved on to more general conversation when Hanen knocked. “And have the celestials sent you another keeper yet?” Klavicus was asking Lyssa over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Preceding the balor into the room, Hanen saw the slight creasing near her eyes that passed for a smile. “Sometimes I think they sent you,” she replied.

The demon chuckled. “What makes that truly amusing,” he said, “is that you’re not joking. Speaking of which, how goes the exile?”

Before she could reply, Hanen burst out, “Why do you insist on calling it an exile? I would think of it as an honor.”

“Sounds like penance for your sins to me,” Lars remarked, with neither particular malice nor friendliness.

Lyssa’s face was expressionless as she looked at each in turn. “Put whatever name to it you like. It is a duty. That is all.” She turned to Hanen. “Klavicus was telling us an entertaining little story about a bardic group of your acquaintance.”

Ordinarily Hanen would have needled Lyssa about calling a collection of individuals so clearly dogged by chaos ”entertaining,” or questioned Klavicus over why she was here at all, but today he only had eyes for the figure sprawled on the sofa. He watched him silently until the shapeshifter finally propped himself on his elbows. “You show remarkable restraint,” Lars remarked.

Hanen shrugged. “I learned it the hard way.”

“So I’ve heard. At least you’re not alone in hard lessons, the last few years.” He dropped his head back on the sofa arm and stared up at the ceiling. “Have you lost the capacity to be amusing along with your impetuosity, or may we hear more of these bards? Your friend here finished off with a pair of finished off priestesses.”

A trifle daunted by his audience, Hanen nevertheless gamely took up his long-interrupted tale as Klavicus quietly put out an assortment of beverages: a Krakenheim stout for Hanen, Lunian mead for Lyssa (Hanen always shrugged when the celestial asked him, “Where does he get this?”). He studied Lars for a while, then gave up and set the entire tray in front of him. The shapeshifter glanced at the selection, exotic by anyone’s standards, but took nothing.

“Yes, well,” the bard began, “after Carignane and Krunk lured two of the priestesses of Equus to their deaths, the party held a brief consultation regarding what awaited them upstairs and how to deal with it.”

“Carnage before dinner or after,” the balor remarked, resuming his seat and sipping his brandy. ”It’s an issue I’ve had to wrestle with many times myself.” Lars snorted, and when Lyssa looked at him sharply Klavicus flashed her a disarming smile. “Not recently, of course.”

“They opted for before,” Hanen said hastily. ”They charged up the stairs and at the remaining priestesses. It was a heated conflict, but by the end of it all that still stood were themselves, two imprisoned and extremely irritable ghuul, and a very large and unnaturally compelling statue of Equus.” 

”How compelling?” Lyssa asked.

“The kind of compelling that caused the weak of will to hurl themselves down the stairs to be consumed by the blue flame below.”

”How do these sorts of deities sustain their worship?” she said irritably.

“It’s a delicate balance,” Klavicus remarked in a serene tone whose meaning she couldn’t entirely fathom but was virtually certain she wouldn’t approve of.

“As the last priestess drew her last breath,” the bard went on, “Tenebrae fell into a kind of trance. She found herself in a field, facing an individual standing in the center of a ring of megaliths and twirling a wine glass in his hand. He was tall, winged, with bronze skin and silver eyes.”

“That sounds like a solar!” Lyssa exclaimed indignantly. “Are you saying that they tried to corrupt a solar?”

“They didn’t know it was a solar at the time,” Klavicus pointed out.

“And they were trying to free it, not corrupt it,” Lars added. Lyssa muttered an imprecation under her breath.

“He didn’t seem angry with her,” Hanen said. “He asked her if, having gone this far, she had the courage to truly free him.”

“By doing what?” the celestial asked suspiciously.

“He didn’t say. They tried everything they could think of, including touching the upstairs beacon.”

“Essentially, a concentrated chunk of Blue?” Klavicus asked. Hanen assented. “That must have had an interesting effect.”

“You’re familiar with axiomatic creatures?” the bard said. When everyone nodded he said, “Carignane, Quesnel and Tenebrae were turned into rather the opposite.”

“Did it at least aid the captive guardian?” Lyssa asked.

“No. Basil finally hit upon the solution to that problem.” Hanen took a gulp of his ale as everyone watched him expectantly. “As it were.”

“Well?” Klavicus finally snapped.

“He – uh – struck at him with his staff,” he replied in an uncharacteristic mumble, avoiding Lyssa’s gaze. “The guardian died immediately. Everyone was dumbfounded at the action, and its result.”

“A solar? Killed in a single blow? Impossible,” the celestial protested.

“Perhaps it wasn’t really a solar after all,” Lars suggested.

“Or perhaps it had some inscrutable lesson to teach,” the balor said casually. “One never knows what celestials will sacrifice themselves for.” Seeing Lyssa flinch, Lars fixed an angry gaze on the demon, a low snarl erupting from his throat. Klavicus raised a clawed hand in something between surrender and a threat. “Perhaps that was unnecessary.” To Lars he added, It certainly isn’t worth bloodying the furniture for. But don’t test my patience.

We’re here for Hanen. Stop it, both of you, Lyssa conveyed. “What happened to the body?” she asked aloud.

“I suspect they would very much like to have found out. But there was a blinding flash, and next thing they knew they were standing in the middle of a field. On the Prime Material, not terribly far from Irongate. There was no sign of Hasperdal, the two ghuul, or any of the crewmen or slaves they’d rescued from the ruined ship. With some trepidation, they made their way back to Irongate to tell Cobb Darg that not only had they failed to retrieve the slave ship, they’d lost his own as well. He took the news surprisingly well. In fact, he sent them immediately on another mission.”

“Not a seafaring one, I’ll wager,” Klavicus said.

“No, indeed,” the bard concurred. “He’d had reports of slavers on the road to Onnwal, and heard rumors of a complex nearby, a clearinghouse for captives. He asked them to perform reconnaissance and report back to him on their movements. If they could infiltrate the rumored complex and retrieve papers, maps and the like, so much the better. They made their way to the reputed site of the slave hold, and found a small outpost, secured by orcish guards. Carignane and Tenebrae made a dusk reconnaissance, and had just found a well-hidden entrance at the rear of an apparently abandoned temple when some commotion near the front gate caught their attention. Two laden wagons and an escort were preparing to leave.”

“Slaves,” Klavicus said.

Hanen nodded. “Carignane and Tenebrae crept back to their friends. After a brief discussion, they decided to follow and waylay the caravan, and release the captives.”

“Weren’t their orders to engage in reconnaissance?” the celestial said.

“Orders?” the shapeshifter smirked.

“How many guards were there?” Klavicus asked.

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” the demon snorted. “Against – how many? Six? This may be a very short evening. They deserved to be slaughtered for their impudence.”

”Tenebrae did counsel restraint,” the bard interjected.

”Why do I think it wasn’t for the sake of the captives?” Lyssa sighed.

“In truth, she was interested in getting paid,” Hanen admitted. “Paperwork before philanthropy, as far as she was concerned. Carignane, having a somewhat kindlier disposition and a not inconsequential faith in his own competence, fired the others to more energetic action. They adopted a strategy of whittling their numbers down to a manageable size. Tenebrae snuck into the camp under cover of invisibility and killed four of the lieutenants in their sleep, and Krunk – ” 

“But I thought you said she was opposed to the plan,” Lyssa interjected.

Lars opened one eye to look at the celestial. “Comradeship is comradeship,” he said, shutting it again before she could read his expression. She looked toward the bard, who nodded in confirmation.

“But if my mathematical skills haven’t grown too rusty, that still left fourteen,” the balor pointed out.

“Krunk swept through the camp dazing a number of others, and Quesnel, Yzzof and Carignane hacked away at any left standing. It was a pitched battle, but they emerged victorious, released the captives and sent them on their way, with the wagons, to Irongate. Even in the rogue’s terms it was a successful operation, as they returned to the slave compound, slipping into the temple after dark, armed with more information about its layout than they would have had if they hadn’t chased after the wagons.”

“And did they achieve their goal now?” the celestial asked.

“Yes and no,” Hanen replied. “For a while they proceeded quite stealthily – ”

“Exactly how,” Lars interrupted, “does one proceed stealthily with a dwarf in a chain shirt?”

“Presumably by scouting ahead with quieter folk, who signal the rest when it’s safe to proceed,” Lyssa suggested.

“That was the general strategy,” the bard agreed. “Of course, Yzzof was not known for his patience, and occasionally insisted on keeping pace with the rogue, claiming that her somewhat fragile constitution was going to land her in trouble.” Klavicus made a small choking noise. “Yes, I know, his clanking along next to her might be said to court trouble. But in fact he did save her at least once. They were set upon by a veritable horde of undead creatures, one of whom paralyzed Tenebrae the moment she set foot in the room in which they lurked. Yzzof managed to drag her out of the path of harm before leaping into the fray with his axe. Basil called upon the power of Olidammara – ”

“Such as it was in those days,” Lars broke in again. Lyssa frowned at him, and though he met her gaze with apparent disinterest he held his tongue for a while.

Hanen shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, as I was saying, Basil managed to turn a fair number of the undead away. A good thing, as at any given time during the battle about half the party was inert.”

“Like that game your children play,” Klavicus suggested.

“Statues,” Lyssa interjected.

“Rather,” Hanen agreed. “Although they found it not particularly entertaining. Eventually they prevailed, however. The ruined temple was full of such traps and pitfalls, but they threaded their way carefully through, eventually ending up in a stabling area. They dispatched the orc guards they encountered, and were astonished to find an escaped slave hiding in the hay. He’d been trapped there for several days, he said, trying to figure a way out.”

Klavicus looked skeptical. “It’s true that orcs aren’t the most intelligent creatures in the multiverse, but surely they would have noticed a common slave over a span of several days.”

“Carignane thought the same thing. Something about the man smelled wrong to him, and he challenged his story. Instantly, the creature underwent a drastic change in his appearance, revealing himself to be a fey. He fought his way toward the exit, then stood in the doorway proclaiming that he had no desire to fight them and would, in fact, be willing to aid them in their mission if they would do the same for him. If not a foe entirely beyond them, he would certainly prove a drain on their limited resources, so they decided to hear him out.”

“He was not, presumably,” the balor said drily, “on a slave liberation reconnaissance mission.”

“Indeed no,” Hanen concurred, “although he was there on a different mission of liberation. His fey queen fancied something called the Eyepatch of Gruumsh.”

“Not on the order of the Wand of Orcus,” Klavicus interjected, “but a mischievous item in its own right. Not something I ever kept track of, though – the affairs of an orcish deity are of no particular interest to me.” Lars’ eyes snapped opened, smoldering, at the mention of orcs, but he remained silent as the bard continued.

“Just then it was adorning the eye of a priestess somewhere within that very complex. Morgan, as the fey called himself, had prowled about the grounds a bit, gotten as far as the stables and realized that he was handily outnumbered. He thought there was an entrance to the holding area somewhere in a nearby crypt, and offered to accompany them there.”

“Unless his queen wanted the eyepatch in order to destroy it, this Morgan doesn’t sound like an especially safe traveling companion,” Lyssa remarked.

“He was certainly not of an entirely virtuous disposition,” the bard agreed. “But he was strong, and swift, and nearly silent on his feet, and they could without a doubt use the assistance just then, so they took him along. In due course, they reached the first set of slave pens, rows of cages sunk into the floor.”

Lyssa recognized the glint in the bard’s eye from years of his stories. “They still didn’t follow their orders. They tried to free the slaves, didn’t they?”

Hanen laughed. “I’m getting too predictable in my old age. Basil and Carignane thought it the humane thing to do, since by the time they returned to Irongate and Cobb Darg had time to send out a force these captives would probably be well on their way to a life of bondage, beyond hope of rescue. They slaughtered the guards and opened the cages.”

“It is a noteworthy achievement, but still…” Lyssa mused.

“Their decision-making processes are not as limited as yours,” Klavicus reminded her.

The celestial looked annoyed. “I wouldn’t say – ”

Lars grunted. “I would say that this is probably an argument you two have had at least a hundred times by now. So,” he said, turning to Hanen, “what did they do with the freed captives?”

“That was a bit of a problem,” the bard admitted. “Ahead lay more danger and behind – also more danger. The adventurers had passed through a strange garden containing a grove of restive trees, further awakened to utter wrath by Quesnel and Yzzof’s fiery arrows. Even the party had a narrow escape: their rogue managed to pry open a stubborn lock only moments before the weirdly animate forest descended upon them en masse. So they left the captives where they were with what weapons they could spare, promising to return for them when the way was clear. A wise decision, as in the next room they fought a pitched battle with considerably more formidable guards. Two nobles apparently contemplating a purchase tried to flee the scene, but Tenebrae sprinted after them, thinking they would make as fine a present for the Lord High Mayor of Irongate as a pair of well-fattened geese. And here, finally, they found the paperwork they sought.”

“So they could, in theory, have left their none-too-friendly friend Morgan hunting for the Eyepatch of Gruumsh on his own,” Lars suggested.

Lyssa looked at him indignantly. “That wouldn’t have been very honorable.”

“Practical, though,” Klavicus offered.

The celestial rolled her eyes as Hanen continued. “The thought crossed a few of their minds, but Carignane and Yzzof felt sufficiently on a roll, as it were, that they agitated to clear out the rest of the complex and free all of the slaves. They stumbled on rather more of a fight than they bargained for, however, when Yzzof surged through a door and found himself immediately hosed down by a massive fire cannon wielded by a trio of orcs. Singed but not down, the dwarf roared and charged, meaning to claim that firepower for himself.”

“Good for him,” Lars murmured, a strange, pained look on his face.

“The others followed, some taking on other threats in the room, Carignane joining Yzzof in the dwarf’s efforts to gain control of the device. Meanwhile Tenebrae was creeping more cautiously, unnoticed, along the edge of the room. She passed a pair of double doors and was dismayed to hear the impatient shuffling of feet and chanting inside. Given the roar of battle in the room they occupied, she knew to a certainty that whoever stood on the other side of that door would be joining them uncomfortably soon. Throwing caution to the winds, she ran to help Carignane and Yzzof subdue the cannoneers, shouting, ‘Reinforcements, and a cleric!’ With no small effort, for the cannon was quite heavy, the three of them managed to turn the barrel toward the door, planning an appropriate welcome for the newcomers when they emerged.”

“And did they pull it off?” Lyssa asked.

Hanen nodded. “At a price, though. The priestess sported the Eyepatch, which unsurprisingly gave her unnatural powers. Morgan and Tenebrae managed to bring her down, but she rose again before their very eyes. Reaching out to touch Tenebrae, she chortled, ‘Welcome to my world.’ Morgan, distracted, was felled by a nearby foe. Quesnel and the others managed to subdue the remainder and rip the patch from the cleric’s eye before she could return to life again, but the damage was done. The fey was dead, and Tenebrae fell victim to a malevolent disease that sapped her strength and vitality. Fortunately, the priestess and her minions were the last of the criminals. The party gathered up the captives, loaded them in wagons and sent them on their way, then rode with all haste back to Irongate to report to Cobb Darg.”

“What did they do with the eyepatch?” Lyssa asked.

Before answering, the bard paused and rubbed his eyes. Lars sprang up abruptly from the sofa. “I’m exhausted,” the shapeshifter announced, although his movements betrayed not the slightest sign of fatigue. “Can we pick this up tomorrow night?” Without waiting for an answer, he prowled along a hallway until he found a bedroom, slipped inside and slammed the door behind him.

I’m surprised he didn’t take mine, Klavicus remarked to Lyssa.

Hanen looked at the celestial. “That was for my benefit, wasn’t it?”

“You do look tired. But he wouldn’t embarrass you by saying so.”

Not a failing you share, the balor chided.

The bard stared at the room into which Lars had disappeared “Is he alive, or – ?” he asked softly, letting the question hang in the air unfinished.

“I have no idea,” Lyssa replied sternly. “I didn’t ask, and I advise you not to either. And don’t go prying around by any other means – believe me, he’ll know.”

“But is he mortal, or immortal?” he persisted.

“I don’t know. And I’m not going to ask that, either.”

“If your curiosity must be satisfied,” the balor interrupted, “I’d be inclined to say the latter. But it’s only a guess, you understand.”

“Based on what evidence?” Lyssa asked.

“Centuries of observation. There is a certain air of bemused discomfort peculiar to young immortals.” He smiled genially at her. “You have it too, little celestial.”

Sensing yet another argument brewing, but knowing after long experience that it would never reach beyond words, the fatigued bard bid them both goodnight and departed.

Well? Klavicus asked as soon as Hanen was gone.

Lyssa frowned slightly. It’s subtle, but I think you’re right. Something disturbs him.

The absence of the children seems to have settled him somewhat, but not entirely.

Then perhaps it is the story. I will stay until it is ended. Lars may wish to as well. If we won’t be abusing your hospitality.

It was I who extended it. An almost puckish smile crossed the balor’s face. Besides, it will enhance the conviction of Hanen’s regular customers that you’re my paramour.

That is not funny. She retreated down the hallway to the second set of guest quarters, the balor’s mischievous laughter filling her mind.