[2006/08] Shattering the Dark

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/?page_id=477

It was the darkest time of night in Ayan Baqur, with dawn still over an hour away. A woman in scholar's robes sat at a table in the Smoking Axe tavern, reading through a thick pile of papers by candlelight. She seemed to be the only person in the building. Old Berkholt, the barkeep, had gone for the night, and even Ulgrim was asleep, softly snoring by the side of the building.

A man appeared at the entryway to the tavern. His black leather armor blended against the darkness outside, and it took a moment for the seated scholar to make him out through the light of the candles inside. He stepped into the tavern, eyes darting alertly around the room, and sneered when his eyes met the scholar's.

There was an audible click from the second story of the tavern, and another figure in dark leather armor moved into sight. In the dim recesses of the second level, she'd blended perfectly against the shadowed bulk of a couch. Now she moved enough into the light that both the seated scholar and the newcomer could see, perfectly well, the crossbow in her hand, pointed at the man in the doorway.

"No further, assassin," she hissed from her vantage point. "You are not the Whispering Blade we expected."

The man in the doorway had his hand on his dagger and it looked like he was ready to fight. A second figure appeared behind him – another woman dressed in robes. She put her hand on the fighter's shoulder and turned to address the woman at the table.

"I am the one you expected, Lamorda. My associate is merely taking the same precautions with my security that your own Rossu Morta dog seems to have done," she said.

Lamorda smiled from her seat at the table. "Let us both accept that we are sensible and cautious people, Soju, and be done with this posturing. I'll order my friend to stand down if you will do likewise."

"So be it," Soju said, patting her armed associate again on the shoulder. He relaxed his stance and released his dagger. Lamorda made a hand gesture to the assassin in the second level, who pointed her crossbow back up at the ceiling.

"Of course, there are limits to accommodation," Soju said, as she motioned her companion to an alcove on the second level opposite the Rossu Morta assassin's perch. He took station by an end table, with a crossbow of his own at the ready.

Lamorda rolled her eyes. "If you must." Soju came forward, producing her own pile of papers. She sat at the table across from Lamorda, shuffling her papers and attempting to sort them into some kind of order. After a few wordless moments, she smirked at her counterpart across the table.

"It seemed only wise to bring my own security, since you Rossu Morta butchers seem to take the call of the shadows far too seriously. Tell me, how fares your former Grand Master? Still devouring souls as he trots in the heels of the demon? That is, if he is indeed your former Grand Master."

Lamorda bristled at Soju's needling. "Dardante is attainted and no longer one of us."

Soju lifted her hands in a placating gesture. "Yes, of course, we have all heard about how the Rossu Morta declared him anathema, once they discovered just what a bad man they had issuing directives to their spies, assassins, and torturers... About how your mad king finally got wise to the shadowy viper in his house and cast him out, just a few months too late to --"

"No more about Dardante or the King," the Rossu Morta assassin interrupted. She leveled her crossbow at Soju, which prompted the Whispering Blade assassin to point his own crossbow at Lamorda.

Lamorda sighed heavily. "Stand down, both of you," she barked.

The Whispering Blade assassin laughed in response and kept his crossbow poised. "I don't take orders from Dardante's twisted dogs. You may claim he is not one of you, but it seems to me that this truce you're peddling is just a prelude to further treachery."

"Enough!" This time it was Soju yelling a command. She looked over her shoulder at her own companion. "Put up your weapon," she said wearily. "And no more comments from you unless there is a legitimate threat." She turned to Lamorda. "I apologize unreservedly for my remarks about your former Grand Master."

Slowly, and with many suspicious glances at Lamorda and her companion, the Whispering Blade assassin pointed his crossbow back at the ceiling. After a heartbeat's hesitation and a dirty look from Lamorda, his Rossu Morta counterpart did the same.

"Wonderful," Lamorda said brightly. "Now no one has any crossbows pointed at them. Did you bring your papers on the geomantic studies your people have done? I need to examine them to see if they will work with our own research..."

"I did not bring those papers," Soju said. "I am prepared to answer specific questions, but I cannot share it all with you."

"That is foolish, Soju," said Lamorda. "Withholding that information is a sign of bad faith."

"It is a sign of no faith, Lamorda," Soju responded. "We'll work with you, but we cannot trust you. Tell me, did you bring the full treatise on the principles of ritualized sympathetic magic?"

"Well, no, but only parts of that treatise are at all useful to –"

"I rest my case," Soju snapped, clearly annoyed.

"How predictable," said a voice from the tavern's entryway. In a flash, two crossbows were leveled at the intruder. A man stood silhouetted just outside the threshold of the tavern. His scale armor looked black in the darkness. There was a flurry of movement, and a pair of blades flashed from his hands. The crossbows wielded by the assassins on the second floor went flying from their hands, daggers embedded in their stocks.

"You children play nice together and share all your toys. Or none of you gets out of here alive." Oswald stepped into the light, another brace of daggers clutched in his hand. "Do not think to test me on this. I've been uncharacteristically restrained recently, and I am so very eager to work out my frustrations on someone."

Soju and Lamorda looked at each other as their companions cursed softly. Finally, the two scholars nodded to each other, and then to Oswald.

Oswald smiled. "Well done. I knew you two had it in you to work together, at least when threatened with a painful and messy demise. And after you two have put your heads together, you'll come back here to work with one of my own people. And you'll dress more prudently. Armored. No robes. There's no telling what strange and terrible things lurk in the dark around here."

He smiled toothily, sheathed his daggers, and came to the table.

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/?page_id=480

Ranarre stood outside the door to the King's private study, breathing deeply to steady his nerves. He closed his eyes, took one last breath, and knocked on the door. There was a pause of a few heartbeats, and then he heard the King's voice come through the door: "Enter."

He opened the door and stepped through. The only illumination in the room was a guttering candle on the King's desk. King Varicci II, monarch of the domain of New Viamont, sat at the desk, his face lit luridly by the flickering light of the candle. The overall effect to Ranarre's eyes was that his King sat suspended in a tenuous bubble of light in the darkness of the room.

"Come forward, where I can see your face. Your name is Ranarre, yes?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Ranarre stepped into the light and looked at his King. Varicci's eyes were bloodshot, his hair was unkempt, his face unshaven, and he smelled like hadn't bathed in a few days. Ranarre then risked a glance at the papers on the desk. He saw a complicated diagram with precisely rendered drawings of a Ruschk, a Mukkir, and a shadowy humanoid form that he'd come to recognize as the "Shadows" that so intrigued his former master, the disgraced Count Dardante. The sides of the pages were covered with scrolling sigils in an arcane language that Ranarre had spent the last several months studying.

Varicci noted this and smiled ever so faintly. "Yes," he said, answering Ranarre's unasked question, "this is the result of the cooperation for which you argued so convincingly. I believe we have solved the mystery of Grael. Your ideas were the seed of our solution."

"That is good news, Your Majesty," Ranarre murmured.

"You should be rewarded for your vision and perseverance. Even when Dardante threatened you, a mere field researcher, for questioning his intentions, you did not back down."

"I am grateful that you think well of my efforts, Your Majesty. It was only my duty."

"Yes... duty. Let us now speak of the future of your organization."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

Varicci grimaced. "I made a mistake with Dardante." He looked searchingly into Ranarre's eyes. Ranarre tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Finally, Varicci continued. "I was so desperate to find a weapon that I could use to crush the Bloodless Queen, I failed to see that Dardante had gone out of my control. I then compounded my mistake by putting him in charge of the Rossu Morta. It accelerated his own fall into madness, and his agenda corrupted the organization. Do you agree with my assessment?"

Ranarre took another deep, steadying breath, then looked directly into his King's cold eyes and nodded. "I do, Your Majesty. Dardante began working for his own ends and was given too much latitude to do so."

Varicci nodded. It was a quick movement, the barest twitch of his head, but Ranarre caught it. "The mistakes I made have caused me to reconsider my actions. There are forces at work in this world, I finally have realized, that are... dangerous to treat with." He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. Ranarre was mildly shocked. He had never seen the King this tired or uncertain of himself. He finally felt compelled to prompt the King with a question.

"What will you do, Your Majesty?" Varicci stared off into space, and Ranarre began to think the King was just ignoring him. Finally, he looked back at Ranarre and spoke.

"I will not disband the Rossu Morta. They can still be a potent tool, because we are not done with the Bloodless Queen. I still need their services. But they are worse than useless if I cannot trust them."

"I will help you in any way I can, Your Majesty. But I must warn you, it will not be easy to root out the corrupt elements."

"I know, Ranarre. It seems to me that many of my advisors in recent days have been foolish or corrupt. You are one of the few who has been willing to speak the truth to me. Several high-ranking officers of the Rossu Morta stood in this room, in the very spot where you stand now, and assured me that every bloody-handed assassin and soul-devouring mage in the organization was loyal. Each of those liars has been tossed to the Eaters."

Ranarre swallowed nervously and lowered his eyes. Varicci measured his silence and went on. "I have a mind to put you in charge of the Rossu Morta, Ranarre. You had the courage to confront Dardante and the honesty to speak unpleasant truths to me. You have proven yourself to have a keen analytical mind. Your work in the field has shown you to be adaptable and versatile. You are the one I would trust to reshape the Rossu Morta into a focused, effective, and loyal organization."

Ranarre sank to his knees. "I am not worthy of this honor, Your Majesty. I am just a researcher, not a soul-binder or a fighter."

Varicci chuckled. "And you are so thoroughly unambitious, I would not worry about you usurping the Rossu Morta's loyalties from underneath me. Would you deny my request?"

"I would not, Your Majesty. I am yours to command."

"Good, then. Rise, Count Ranarre, new Grand Master of the Ordina Rossu Morta. May your tenure be longer and less turbulent than your predecessor's."

Knees shaking, Ranarre stood. "I suggest you find some trustworthy lieutenants and bodyguards. Your task will be dangerous. I will give you what aid I can – but I think it is critical that you master the organization without relying on me. You must prove yourself to those you would lead. Move cautiously, but surely. You must find a proper balance between prudence and boldness. And if there is anyone who gives you reason to doubt their loyalties... You must kill them, quickly and mercilessly."

"As you say, Your Grace." Ranarre nodded, though sweat was already beading on his forehead, and his thoughts were taking an increasingly panicked tone.

"Now... I'd like to take advantage of your expertise on another matter," Varicci said. He opened a desk drawer, withdrew a small figure, and set it on the desk. It was like a children's doll, but black, batwinged, and crafted in the shape of the demon, Grael.

"Our agents obtained this from a newcomer in Sanamar who proclaimed himself to be an emissary of Ulgrim, that old drunk in Ayan Baqur. What in the name of Karlun's glowing bones is it for?"

[Ziv]

[turbine]

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