Umber

The party refines it sense of purpose. Hanen finds himself in unexpected company.

Hanen was overcome by a wave of dizziness, and when he came to himself again he looked around in confusion. The last thing he remembered was Lars running out of Klavicus’ room and Lyssa looking at him with concern. It was with some astonishment, then, that he suddenly found himself apparently no longer at the Grey Kingfisher Inn at all. More disconcertingly, he had no idea who he thought this Lars and Lyssa were, or had ever been, and he was none too sure about the existence of the Grey Kingfisher. It was if there had been some seismic shift in his memory or, more ominously, in the world itself.

Instead he now faced a smallish, unfamiliar woman with brown hair and eyes, wearing a leather jerkin and a pair of soft black boots from which a knife protruded conspicuously. She was curled up in one of two matching mauve wing chairs. A small, round table with a decanter and two snifters stood between them. Aside from the two chairs, the table, and a small circle of light illuminating them and their contents there appeared to be nothing at all. Anywhere. Further investigation of the area revealed this to be the indisputable truth. The woman gestured casually toward the bottle as if this relative absence of reality were nothing unusual. “Have a drink?”

He was still staring at her suspiciously. “No – thank you.”

Now she waved her hand toward the other chair. “Well at least sit down. You’re making me nervous, all that pacing about like a caged displacer beast.” She raised her eyes toward the darkness overhead for a moment, then laughed. “That would be quite a trick, wouldn’t it, caging a displacer beast? I wonder how it could be done?” He looked at her in confusion. “I’m terrible at arcana,” she confessed. “Dreadful thing for a bard, isn’t it? But I’m all about natural talent. Someone could hurl a fireball at me and I’d have no idea what it was. They have, in fact. It’s a good thing I’m fast, or I suppose I’d be a tiny pile of cinders in the bottom of some dungeon somewhere.”

His gaze had yet to waver from her animated face. “You do talk a lot, don’t you?”

“Always have,” she grinned.

“As a bard, I would think you’d find listening a virtue,” he said a little stiffly. “I do.”

She tapped the cheekbone below her right eye. “I prefer watching. Always have. You can do that and talk at the same time. Well, except for when you’re sneaking about – my other talent, you know – but then there’s generally no one to talk to, so that’s all right. I’m not much for talking to myself.” She laughed again. “Especially since I doubt if I’d ever listen.” She snapped her fingers as if a thought had just occurred to her. “And if I like talking and you like listening, we’re just made for each other, aren’t we? Do sit down,” she added irritably without pause. “You’re driving me crazy.” He sat hesitantly. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“It’s just that you look like someone – ”

“Someone you know?” she interrupted. “That happens to me a lot. I’m told I have a decided ‘everyman’ – or is it ‘everywoman’? – look about me. For some reason people seem to think it’s a compliment – I think it’s dreadful. Who wants to look like everyone else someone has ever seen?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he objected. “You do look like someone in particular. It’s just that you shouldn’t be here, or I shouldn’t, or – oh, I don’t know.”

She stopped talking for a moment to stare at him. “Who in particular do I look like? And where in particular should we be?”

“You look like someone I’ve only seen in dreams – a woman by the name of Tenebrae. As for where we are – to all outward appearances, we don’t seem to be precisely anywhere.”

“You’re right about who I am.” She glanced at her surroundings with at best mild curiosity. “You may be right about the other, too. I don’t know.”

“But I don’t even know how I got here.” He suppressed a shiver as the unpleasant question of what force could so easily part him from Klavicus’ protection – he was at least certain he had last been with the balor – crossed his mind like a chill draft. “Do you?”

She threw her legs over the side of her chair nonchalantly. “No.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not really.” She patted her seat. “Comfortable chair, good brandy – you really ought to try some of the brandy.” Without waiting for his reply, she leaned forward, poured several fingers into the remaining glass, and pushed it across the table toward him. She ran a loving hand over the hilt of the short sword propped against the arm of the chair. “And however I got here, I still have my weapons, so that’s all right.”

Forehead creased in perplexity, he gazed once more at the glass, the table, the seemingly endless darkness around them, then at the woman again. “Are you real?” he asked.

Her lower lip jutted out in what might have been a frown, but the rest of her appeared unwilling to contort itself into such an unnatural posture. “I don’t suppose I really know,” she replied. “But then, does anyone? And honestly, how much does it actually matter? I mean, I think I’m sitting here drinking brandy with – well, drinking brandy alone, in fact: it’s not poisoned or anything, you know, and it’s really quite excellent – and if I were to find out that I were mistaken, that I wasn’t really here, or it wasn’t really me…” She closed her eyes, pressed her fingertips to her temples, and rocked in a slow circle. Then she froze in place. Opening her eyes abruptly, she whispered with an excess of earnestness, “It makes me quite dizzy, metaphysics. Or is it epistemology? I never could keep them straight.”

Bowing as graciously to the absurd as possible, he lifted his glass and took a rather large gulp. It was very good, in fact, rivaling anything even Klavicus had ever served. “That’s better,” Tenebrae said. “Now maybe we can continue.”

Hanen was confused. “Continue what? What have we begun?”

“The story, silly man,” she said in a tone of exaggerated patience. She cocked her head sideways as if she were listening to something. “You used to find life’s vagaries and foibles more amusing. Especially when they weren’t happening to you.”

He smiled thinly. “I must be growing sentimental in my old age.”

The woman shuddered. “I hope that never happens to me. We made it out all right, you know. Of the slave lords’ castle, mansion, whatever it was.”

Focusing on the story kept his thoughts away from the interminable darkness surrounding them. You seemed rather caught in a – ”

“Fiendishly clever trap from which there was no escape?” she interrupted. “Yes, it did seem that way. And I’ll confess – although when you tell the story you can feel free to leave this out – that I was rather sullen about waking up in some dank cell without any of my equipment. Yzzof, Carignane and Jack, on the other hand, were repulsively upbeat about the whole predicament.”

“Perhaps they were trying to keep the party’s spirits up in the midst of an unpleasant situation,” he suggested.

“Hmmph,” she sniffed. “They kept going on about relying on one’s wits and natural abilities. But what’s a rogue without her tools, I ask you? What am I supposed to do – knife someone in the back with my fingernail?” She drew the dagger from her boot, balanced the point on the tip of her finger, then slipped it back against her ankle.

“And yet you did make it out of the cells somehow,” he pointed out.

“Only because they let us out. Some volcano was getting ready to erupt, and their beastly priests wanted sacrifices to appease it. You know how that goes – never give up anything that matters to you if you can help it.” She laughed. “No wonder they erupt anyway.” When he opened his mouth she added before he could speak, “That was a joke. I know that volcanic eruptions are natural phenomena, and that you could throw in your entire family and yourself after them and it wouldn’t alter the outcome one jot.”

“But you found your way out of the volcano?”

“There was a system of tunnels, and some native denizens who possessed items that could be used as serviceable weapons.” Grinning slightly, she said, “They weren’t all entirely willing to part with them, but – ”

“Yes,” he sighed, “I get the picture.”

“Eventually we found a passage that led outside. None too soon, either – there were repeated tremors, growing worse all the time, and I was sure we were going to be buried under a pile of rock.”

“No doubt that was the intent.”

“No doubt. The worst part was, whenever the shaking started and the rest of us were diving for cover, Jack would stand in the middle of the falling rocks delivering these little sermons on the wonders of the earth’s power.”

“That is his element, as it were, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Well, yes. But really…”

“And you, of course,” he observed dryly, “feel no pull toward Chaos.”

“Of course not.” She looked indignant. “Don’t roll your eyes like that,” she added irritably at his skeptical glance. “Speaking of chaos, that’s pretty much what we found outside.”

“Just how big was this volcano, compared to the island?” he asked.

She held her glass at eye level and swirled the liquor within. “A most excellent question,” she said. “And since you asked it, you can probably guess the answer. By the time the whole event was finished, it didn’t look like there was going to be much left of the island. The main flow ran straight through town, which was a decidedly mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was entirely possible that not all of those despicable slave lords made it out of town. On the other, if whoever did make it out didn’t have the foresight or the greed to take our stuff with him, it might be a little difficult to recover. Even igneous Carignane probably can’t bathe in magma.”

“Still,” he chided, “they were only possessions. You had the important thing – your lives.”

“I think Jack might have taken issue with that.” She narrowed her eyes. “That was his ancestral weapon they stole. It’s irreplaceable. Yzzof and Carignane were just generally determined that no one relieve us of our equipment without paying their pound of flesh.” She sighed. “I wasn’t terribly optimistic at our chances of achieving that goal with weapons that amounted to sharpened sticks and bones, and no armor. Fortunately, we ran into a group of thugs who didn’t need theirs anymore.”

He winced. “After you were finished with them, you mean.”

Tenebrae leaned forward. “What is your problem, exactly? We had an erupting volcano at our backs. There was one ship left in the harbor, and it wasn’t going to be there much longer. We had every intention of being on it. This place wasn’t Celestia – hell, it wasn’t even Irongate. They had a larger-than-life-sized statue of Feetla in their town square. It wasn’t a place or a time where we felt too choosy about who we cut down to get to the water.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he said reluctantly. “But you don’t seem very – ”

“Contrite? Regretful?” she interrupted. “Strapping on armor and brandishing a blade is like gambling. You rolls the dice, you takes your chances. And once Carignane realized that Varrus was on that one remaining ship, he would have chewed through the Nine Hells to get to him. A few brigands with weapons and armor we could put to better use wasn’t going to stop him.”

“Why was the ship still there?” he asked.

“Varrus had quite the haul of art. Evidently he wasn’t going to let a major volcanic eruption part him from his collection. They were still loading it when we reached the docks. A couple of beefy guards kept the desperate riff-raff milling around from getting too close to the gangplank. Varrus and his cronies were standing on the foredeck, waiting for the sign to push off. We needed some kind of distraction, or we were afraid they’d pulverize us at range.” She took a sip of brandy. “So here’s a question for you. You know the story so far. You know the players. What do you think of Basil?”

Hanen considered the matter for a moment. “Likes his gambling, likes his food and drink. Seems a mild-mannered sort.”

She grinned wickedly. “Then would you be surprised to learn that he was in favor of inciting the commoners to rush the guards?”

He looked a little shocked. “That sounds like it would be suicidal for them.”

“Doesn’t it, though? But as Basil pragmatically pointed out, the volcano was going to get them anyway. At least they’d be dying for a good cause.”

“Saving you?” Hanen said acerbically.

“Jack and Carignane were none too thrilled with the idea. Truth be told, neither was I. It would make a terrible story at a tavern after all, wouldn’t it? ‘Driving the peasants before us, we hid behind barrels until the guards were blinded by the spurting blood of the commoners.’ Not very heroic at all. Our profits would plummet. Except maybe in Dorakaa.”

“So what did you use?” he asked.

“For what?”

“For a distraction.”

“Oh – nothing. We ran into a couple of good archers who were standing around trying to figure a way onto the ship. They were amenable to our suggestion – killing everyone hostile on board – so while they peppered the guards, we charged. Well,” she said reflectively, “everybody else charged. I kind of slunk around, hiding behind boxes. But it’s what I do, after all. Carignane, to his great personal satisfaction, finished off Varrus.” She laughed. “Skinned him like a mink when he was done. Cobb Darg wasn’t particularly amused by that.”

Hanen wrinkled his nose. “I can’t imagine why.”

She frowned. “There you go again with the judgment thing. Have someone trap you in a room full of gas, then throw you in a volcano to be consumed by lava, and see how you feel about them next time you see them. And at least we offered the commoners a way off the island. We took the sick and the badly injured on board, and we helped put together some makeshift rafts and bound them to the ship.”

“Sounds dangerous,” he said. “You could have tossed the art overboard to make room for more people.”

She shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not much for art. But I’m fond of money. Cobb Darg doesn’t pay us, in the traditional sense of the word. But he doesn’t exactly send anyone to take inventories of the places we raid for him either, and he’s liberal about identifying any unusual items we pick up. It’s a good arrangement. Still, I for one wasn’t in favor of sending a literal boatload of cash to the bottom of the sea.”

“Wasn’t the art stolen?”

“As a matter of fact, it wasn’t. Varrus really was a collector. He had valid receipts for all of the stuff. And yes,” she sniffed at the expression on his face, “we did check. Some of us may be more or less scoundrels, but we aren’t common thieves.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Cobb Darg bought it all. He has an extensive art collection of his own.”

“And seemingly bottomless coffers,” Hanen murmured.

“He’s generous to us,” she said offhandedly. “Beyond that, I don’t much care where he gets his funds from. He also had some company, waiting for us, as it happened. That made him even more happy to see us than usual – he seemed keen to have them conclude their business with us and go away.”

“Who were they?”

“A pair of fey. They were looking for their horn.”

“The one from your erstwhile companion Morgan’s body?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied through a sip of her brandy. “They weren’t especially polite about asking for it back, either.”

“I don’t believe fey are polite about much.”

“It took some debate, but we returned it to them.”

“Who on Oerth wanted to keep it?” From what Hanen knew of fey, they weren’t beings one wanted to cross if one wanted to enjoy a long, healthy life.

“No one wanted to keep it. The question was whether we wanted something in return for it. Yzzof and Krunk wanted compensation. Carignane argued that since we had looted it from a dead fey that one could argue we helped get killed, it was a little uncivilized to demand money. Basil and I, frankly, just wanted to be rid of it. The irony was, once we offered it to them, no payment required, they told us we were just the kind of people they’d be happy to let keep it. Although,” she sighed, “We might as well have given it back anyway. It isn’t a freebie – they do you a favor, you do them a favor. We’re not sure we want to find out what a fey’s idea of a favor is, so no one much wants to use it. Basil was quite adamant about that. Of course,” she mused, “I suppose that hardly matters now.”

“Why?” Hanen asked.

She grinned pertly. “All things in their time. And it isn’t that time yet. Hah – I suppose that would make a good epitaph for – someone.”

“You are cryptic.”

“That’s a good trick, isn’t it?” she asked sweetly. “Cryptic and I talk too much. Takes talent, that, don’t you think? Anyway, I suppose you want to know where we went after we left Cobb Darg’s. The story is the point, after all.”

He gazed into the impenetrable darkness around them. There certainly seems to be no other point. “So, where did you go?”

“Carignane insisted on returning to the northern fortress and taking it back from the slavers. Our mercenaries were still cooling their heels in Irongate, spending our money in the local bars and brothels in our absence, no doubt. I admit, I thought I was going to be bored. Trudging through the same rooms again and, I mean, if they found the nobles stuffed in the armoires the first time they might think twice before letting nobles sleep there again, and in any case it would be rather tedious to stuff new nobles into old armoires. I’d have to think of something different to do, and that’s always easier in a new environment than an old one. I didn’t share Carignane’s conviction that we might find any of our once-freed slaves captive rather than dead. And he is a dear, but when he gets on his moral high horse he could make Limbo sound dull.”

Hanen shook his head, wondering if he’d behaved like this at her age. “And did you find the venture as tedious as you anticipated?”

If she noticed his sarcasm, she showed no sign. “Actually, it wasn’t. For one thing, Krunk can make us fly now, so we could skip the whole wall-scaling bit.” She held out a flexed bicep. There wasn’t, Hanen thought, all that much to it. “See this? Strongest of the scouting types, that’s me. Yzzof and Jack can climb like nobody’s business but, well, they’d sound like carts rattling through an adamantine mine doing it, and at that point you might as well just walk up to a guard and ask him to slice your head off. That’s why we prefer the ‘castle entertainment’ approach, getting them to open the gate and let us in of their own free will, but there’s only so many times you can pull that trick before people get wise to it.” She patted her sword hilt. “Especially with this at your side. And as I think I’ve mentioned, I don’t like traveling without it.”

“Yes, I think you have.”

“Anyway, Krunk, Carignane and I entered the complex by flying over the back wall. The top floor was pretty well sealed, but we managed to find a way in.”

“No sleeping noblemen?” he asked dryly.

“Nope. All of the rooms were completely empty. We hung around until just after dawn, then snuck to the main entrance where, by prearrangment, Yzzof waited on the other side with our small mercenary army at his back. The slavers laughed when he demanded that they open the gates and surrender. They were laughing a lot less when the front gates swung open apparently of their own accord.” She frowned. “That was a close thing, though.”

“Why?”

“Those gates were heavy!” She pointed at her bicep again. “Like I said, strongest of the scouting types. All three of us together barely managed it. Might have been a little embarrassing, all of Yzzof’s bombast and bluster and then they throw boiling oil at him or something and burn him to a little dwarven crisp.”

In spite of himself, he laughed. “Nothing much bothers you, does it?”

“Life’s too short to be all serious about it,” she said breezily. “We keep trying to convince Jack of that.”

“Not enjoying much success?”

“He’s a samurai,” she grumbled. “I don’t think they know how to do anything but stand around and look imposing. Not that I’m complaining,” she added hastily. “He does it really well.” She stared down into her glass. “I was kind of sorry that I was right – they had killed all the slaves we freed when they retook the keep. Not much of a new life for them.” She spat on the ground. Somewhat disconcertingly, the residue evaporated almost immediately. “Damned Scarlet Brotherhood. Damned Suel. We all have a right to whatever we think passes for a life on this planet.” Her expression grew black and fretful. “Except maybe them.”

Hanen found he preferred her cocksure lightheartedness, and in an effort to distract her raised his brandy. “I’ll drink to that.” She gave him a hard stare, then broke into a wide smile and clinked her glass against his. “Did you have a plan for hanging onto the keep this time?” he asked.

She nodded unhappily. “Our intent was to have the mercenaries staff it. But Prestor Johns and Umberto – their captain and his lieutenant – got all huffy. Suddenly they weren’t just mercenaries, they were adventurers. He’d only agree to stay out the term of their initial contract. Guarding a keep wasn’t their keg of beer-batter fried fish.” The bard tried to wrap his head around her metaphor, and quickly gave up. “At least our two archer friends from the slave lords’ island weren’t so uppity. They were perfectly happy keeping an eye on the seaward approach and the trapdoor to the Underdark. As long as they got titles.”

“Titles?” Hanen raised an eyebrow.

The rogue laughed delightedly. “Not ours to bestow, you say? Either they didn’t know that, or didn’t care. They were perfectly happy being declared barons.” She looked thoughtful. “Although I’m not sure how that’s going to work out now. Oh well,” she shrugged, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

“But if the mercenaries were gone…” he trailed off.

“Oh, that was all right. Kellen Grey showed up with more than enough men to make those Suel bastards think twice about restaking their claim. Real military, too.”

“Kellen Grey?”

“One of Cobb Darg’s colonels. He announced that he was taking over command of the fortress in the name of Irongate. Didn’t start off on entirely the right foot,” she mused. “We thought he meant he was displacing us. We go to all the bother of routing the Scarlet Brotherhood – twice – and then the starched collars waltz in and announce it’s theirs.”

“If it is of strategic importance, one might understand why Cobb Darg – ”

She pulled her pockets inside out. “Do you see an indenture in here? We never signed any papers ceding our spoils to him – strategery or no strategery. But it turned out that the colonel had no plans for, as it were, turning us out. We were more than welcome to keep the keep as a base of operations.” She grinned. “He even let us name it, in fact. Dawngate.”

“Dawngate? Scarlet Sunset?” he said. “It may not be entirely wise to mock the Scarlet Brotherhood.”

“We mock them, we spit on them, we jump up and down on their faces and turn them into an unrecognizable bloody pulp every time we get the chance,” she snarled. “No slaver can rest easy in his bed while we still draw breath.”