We arrived about two miles south of Korvosa and carefully hiked toward the city, Finarfin’s little legs pumping to keep up with his big buddy Szechuan, whose offer to carry him was answered with an angry singeing around the edges. Szechuan just grinned, rubbing the ashes from his hair.
There was no one on the road, no one alive anyway, but there was the occasional cruciform pole with its rotting victim to warn passersby not to fuck with the Queen. Concealed within a copse of jingleberry trees we decided to wait until nightfall before approaching the city walls. Instead, we carefully made our way over to bayside to wait out the afternoon. I fingered the ring of invisibility that had replaced my ring of sustenance. For the first time in over a month I was hungry!
At the water’s edge I decided to capture dinner, wading into the water. Szechuan bet I couldn’t catch the fish using only my hands and I soon had several big bay trout and his 10cp to boot. We debated briefly whether to risk a fire, then gathered wood from fallen jok trees, Driar saying it made almost no smoke. He then whipped up some fluffy hoecakes, adding honey that PJ found in a nearby hive. Finarfin rustled up the greens, making a surprisingly subtle dressing from herbs, wine, and oil he had squirreled away in our portable hole. Szechuan dug up some roots that roasted about six hours before we could eat them but were damned tasty when we did.
We played pinochle after that, using the harrow deck Zollara had given us. Driar turns out to be quite a card sharp—or at least very lucky—and I was out 3gp for the afternoon. When evening came PJ used wind walk to create a cloud and float us to our destination in the Gray Ward. I was surprised at how few lights shone in the city, once the crown jewel of Varisia. What the fuck?
The Temple of Pharasma was quiet, but then it always is. Torches burned by the great wooden doors, illuminating a nave of blue and white onyx. Finarfin sent his arcane eye ahead of us to check things out. Then PJ, taking the lead, banged on the large door until finally a slit opened to reveal a suspicious pair of beady eyes regarded him. PJ wheedled with the eyes until they finally let him in, with running commentary from Finarfin courtesy of his eye. After a comical lot of convincing someone important finally realized that we really were who we said we were and they opened the doors, escorting us into a sub-basement where pyramids of skulls were stacked like melons at the market. There were bins of ribs and tailbones, tibia lay bundled and stacked like so much cordwood. I find the notion of such anonymity in death somewhat comforting.
Thankfully, we were soon ushered through an iron door into a passageway bustling with activity. It looked like they were preparing for a long siege. I stole a few trinkets along the way for old time’s sake. Finally we reached a large room with tables and couches, where maps hung from the wall. There, with the old bishop, gathered our comrades.
Kroft, sat wan and weary, heading the resistance obviously doesn’t agree with her, whereas Vencarlo never looked better, the excitement rejuvenating the old war horse as he and Trinia canoodled in a corner of the room. Neolandis was, well, as stolid as ever, Grau drunk—that much hasn’t changed—and Bardar was unapproachable. Yeah, it was a big happy reunion.
I filled a plate of plain fare at a small buffet as Kroft filled us in on the situation. The Queen was crazier than ever, she told us, using any excuse to imprison and execute her citizens, who mostly stayed indoors, at least until they were dragged out by the Gray Maidens. There was one “peoples’ hero,” Trifaccia—three face. The suspicion was that he was a sockpuppet for someone else, but whether that someone was a free agent taking advantage of the situation or the Queen’s operative, no one could say. Of course, you must know all of this, but it was news to me.
We told them of our adventures in Scarwall, what we had found out about Kazavon and his probable domination of the Queen, the role the adherents of Zon-Kuthon and Rovagug were playing, and the solution to our problems, the blade Serithtiel, which Szechuan extended in all its legendary glory to the bedazzlement of those gathered.
“That and a small army,” the bishop concurred.
We then palavered over the role us Dudes would play in all this. Of course, Kroft wants us to do the heavy lifting while they finish their preparations. “No one else can confront Trifaccia,” she said. “He may seem a fop but, believe me, there is power there.”
“Fa!” Finarfin interjected dismissively. “If Mithrodar can’t handle us, how is this chump gonna do it?”
“Hush,” Bardar commanded royally. “We will underestimate no one.”
“Pfhaa!” Finarfin replied.
“What allies do we have?” PJ asked, ignoring him.
Neolandus fielded this one. “House Arkona, maybe.”
“What about the Acadamae?”
“They’re going to sit on their hands until it’s over.”
“Criminals and intellectuals,” Driar muttered.
“Is there a difference?” Vencarlo shrugged.
“We think we can get enough support on the street without them,” Kroft said.
“I donno,” PJ replied. “We’ve got an in with the Arkonas and we might be able to coordinate a diversion with them. At least let us try.”
“All right,” Neolandus sighed.
Then the discussion turned to who among us would take the reigns of government after we’d deposed the Queen. I expected to snooze through the discussion but it quickly became rancorous when Finarfin jumped on his chair and loudly pronounced his claim to the throne! The silence that answered him was so deep I could hear the rats gnawing the bones in the walls. As if these establishment types would ever consider handing their nation over to a stoned former slurry-boy with an evil temper who wastes his considerable charm seducing lonely party girls. How exactly would a guy, who still plans to kill a snotty receptionist four months after she bruised his feelings, deal with political opposition, and would it look any different from the corpses now lining Ileosa’s streets? Being in hot water with Finarfin already, I kept my mouth shut just in case he succeeds, but really, his delusion is perfectly hermetic.
He even came on to Trinia again, not noticing her edging away from him as he smacked his lips while regarding her liquidly; or that she has something going on with Orisini, who fingered his weapon speculatively while watching them converse. Wake up, little dude!
After our meeting broke up I followed Orisini and Trinia to their small room down a long cold corridor where we shared a bottle of wine. I sat in their only chair while they curled up on their bed together. The walls were covered with maps of the castle that Trinia had made, as well as likenesses of people we’d eventually need to capture or kill.
“This is Trifaccia,” she said while handing me the likeness she had modeled from clay. “Although he doesn’t always wear this stupid mask, I’ve never been able to get a good enough description to draw his face.”
“He’s a third-grade fighter and a worse comedian, yet he always seems to come out on top,” Vencarlo added.
“Sounds like the fights are rigged.”
I apologized to him for selling his Keen rapier but he shrugged dismissively. “I’m always losing those things,” he admitted. “That’s why I carry so many knives.”
In the morning Driar ghosted out into the city, visible only to children, spreading the word—the Dudes are back in town! Tell your friends. Tell your enemies. Tell the Queen.
It was dead quiet as we strolled through the city as if as if we owned the place. The silence was eerie, like the tombs of Pharasma we’d just left behind. Even the hounds were quiet, or perhaps they’ve all been eaten.
We were standing around Eodred’s Walk waiting for Driar to show up when, right on cue, we were confronted by a small gang of thugs, one of them wearing the mask of Trifaccia.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Trifaccia said while looking from Szechuan to Finarfin. “I wasn’t expecting a freak show.”
“We’re the Dudes, little brother,” PJ stepped forward. “And we just want to know what side you’re on.”
“What side have you got?”
“We fight for the people of Korvosa.”
A brittle chuckle emerged from behind the mask. “Ah, yes, the people. Do you mean the ones standing with you today?” He indicated the empty square.
“The powerless, yes,” PJ intoned vigorously.
“Powerless like Kroft, Neolandis, and Orisini?”
PJ colored violently.
“I am the one truly for the people,” Trifaccia rasped insolently, “and against anyone who would exploit them!”
Szechuan, who was having trouble following the talk, strode forward with a roar, wielding his axe, intent on removing Trifaccia’s mask along with his head, suddenly stopped in mid-swing, consternation etched on his simple face.
“And you, halfling. Why don’t you impress us all and piss your pants!” And, to his great embarrassment, my small companion did just that. It was possibly the saddest thing I’d ever seen, but I finally understood—Trifaccia was imbuing his commands with some sort of sorcery!
Angry now, Finarfin cast feeblemind on the fucker, who reeled backward in obvious consternation. He then cast a simple cantrip on himself, drying his breeches.
“Very good, little man.” A burly red-haired fellow stepped from the gang while the others wisely ran for cover.
“Who are you calling a man?” Finarfin growled in reply.
Ignoring him, the “real” Trifaccia called out a challenge to any of us who were willing to meet him mano-a-mano and Driar immediately stepped forward. “Me.”
They stood glaring at one another like two carnie wrestlers, standing about ten yards apart. “Demon spawn, I know you,” Driar growled.
Seeing my opportunity I used my new ring to fade from sight, moving quickly to flank him from behind. Driar kept him occupied in the meantime, boinking him so hard that he dropped the illusion of a man, revealing a big fat ugly efreeti pointing its naked ass-end at Driar’s head. Before he could fart flames at the cleric, Szechuan sliced a squealing hunk off the fire-genie, sparks flying everywhere. Not seeing me he stepped into my waiting bane rapier, which thrust deep into its heart. Hot blood spurt from his chest like from a slaughterhouse drain.
I barely had time to wipe the blood from my boots when a loud rustling overhead and a sudden darkness announced the arrival of the great black dragon Zarmangarof, which descended perilously, as if to its own destruction, bullied down by its rider, Sabina Merrin. I know she was your pal for awhile, Sneffles, and you claim that out of uniform she is a very sweet person, but, believe me, on the field she’s scary. That dragon didn’t want to be anywhere near us yet she forced it down using just the strength of her thighs. My god, no wonder it is said that her lovers wear full armor if they expect to survive the encounter. She forced the dragon into a death trap when she probably could have just walked over from the next block and joined us. We didn’t waste our opportunity and soon the magnificent beast lay dying on the ground as Merrin surrendered herself, giving us a sob story about, well, you probably know better than I.
She gave us a song and dance about losing faith in the Queen, and I suppose there must be something to it, although I don’t believe she cares if the Queen hangs every citizen in the city. No, this is personal. She does not trust the change Kazavon has made to her lover, but doesn’t think she has the strength to overcome his influence, either—and that, dear love, is what scares me.
After waiting for us to loot the dead efreeti (I found his real name, Yzahnum, sewn into his underware), Merrin led us over to Gray Maiden HQ where she started slaughtering her unsuspecting soldiers like dumb beasts. I looked upon the young women lying on the floor, surprise still etched on their faces, praying that I’d find none familiar to me. It’s one thing to battle someone to the death who has chosen that path for themselves, but another entirely to murder those helplessly enthralled by a godlike being. Sweet Desna protect me.
From the cellar prison she freed the women who would help her subdue the rest of Ileosa’s Gray Maidens and secure the city. Our work done, we prepared to leave but suddenly she returned, hastily pressing the maps of Castle Korvosa we’d need into PJ’s hands, then sent him away with a slap on the ass.
From there we passed near the old neighborhood where I’d shared an apartment with Redcullin that seems like a lifetime ago.
“I wonder whatever happened to him?” P.J. wondered aloud.
“Hell, he’s probably piss drunk in some pub as we speak, crotch rotten from two-copper whores,” Finarfin spat. “Good riddance, I say. I mean, that guy could’ve been somebody. A hero. A fuckin’ Dude, dammit. You know what I’m saying? Instead, what does he do? He chooses to slink away like a coward.”
“Harsh,” I laughed. “What is it with you? He’s just a kid.”
“Maybe his clan called him home,” Szechuan added helpfully.
We followed the avenue below the Heights until reaching the wrecked waterfront separating the city from Old Korvosa. PJ cast wind walk again, and we wafted serenely over the imposing battlements protecting the Arkonas. They must have recognized us because we were soon presented to the same bored majordomo who served us last time, only now, instead of the overconfident, fat, Glorio Arkona, we waited for his willowy sister, Vimanda, who’d helped us kill him.
“State your business, gentlemen, I’m very busy,” she said upon arrival.
“All right,” PJ replied agreeably as the rest of us sat back down. “Essentially,” his head rolled the way it does when he’s winding up for a speech, “We represent a coalition of forces that want to take this Queen out. She’s a threat to everyone.”
“We have evidence that she’s been . . . infiltrated,” Driar began.
“Possessed,” Vimanda interjected, “by the dread Fangs of Kazavon, yes, I know.”
“But how? . . . ahem, of course, m’lady.” Even Driar recognized that not much was going to escape the attention of the queen of the underworld.
“We just want to know if you will support us,” PJ finished for him.
She looked at PJ and Driar for a long moment, then to the rest of us. “I owe you a favor,” she finally replied, “and Ileosa will only tolerate us as long as she has to, so yes, yes, you can count on our support. I’ll send a couple of my representatives with you to work out the details.”
“I’ll be damned,” Driar marveled. “Maybe something can be gained from straight talk after all!”
We woke Szechuan and were soon on our way to the Acadamae where we hoped to talk the scholars into our camp but they wouldn’t even meet with us, making sure that the Queen’s spies saw no disloyalty on their part and that we saw no serious obstruction for ours.
Back in the catacombs under the temple I lay in my narrow cot thinking about you. How can I protect you? (Knowing in my heart you need none.) When will we be together again?
I rose to join Driar at evening prayer and a moment’s peace.
Your love,
Cordobles
No comments:
Post a Comment