I
Markho ran his hands down the sweat soaked spine of his lover while on the street three ghola strode past with deliberate motion. Hot day had become cool night and in Urikathe that meant the monsters had come out. During the scorching daylight squads of half dead men in bronze cuirass strode dazedly through the streets of the city. Even if one did not hear or see them coming the smell of a decaying soul would not be missed by even the most hapless fool. At night though the bound slaves of the Urikathe nobles roamed the streets, soundlessly and without the benefit of a warning stench. Ghola were loathsome creatures made all the more dangerous by their enslavement, which was most certainly not voluntary or consensual.
For some reason that Markho had never understood, they always traveled in threes. One member of the trio he was watching turned its green eyes towards him and Markho met the gaze steadily. He could feel the powerful draw of the beast, which they used to subdue their prey, but his own will was more than enough to stave off distraction. The beast looked through him to the girl who was happily slurping away on Markho’s body and the swordsman felt her pause briefly as the ghola probed her simple mind. The House of Parrots did not hire complex men or women nor did it hire any of an age too young for such work. Satisfied that Markho and his lover were not breaking any laws, the ghola swept its gaze to another and left them in peace.
Markho noticed the girl had stopped her work and had shifted around in the bed and her gaze fell on the open window. Many brothels boarded their windows, but this one took pride in the sounds and scenes of pleasure that emanated from its sensual trade. No husband cheating his wife or celibate cheating on the tenets of her cult came to House of Parrots because here there was no anonymity. More importantly to Markho the windows could be left wide open and this room gave him an unobstructed view of the streets.
“You’re distracting me,, keba.” Markho realized his hand had migrated from her spine to a place much lower. He shifted his hand slightly to the right and heard her gasp.
“Is that better?”
The girl mewed like a cat. “Keba, you paid good silvers for me to pleasure you.”
Markho kept his gaze on the street. He could see the three ghola turning left and going down an adjoining street.
“I paid good silvers to have you for two turns of a clock. Pleasuring you does give me pleasure.” Markho let his hands go back to work on the girl and watched the street more intently. His mind could handle both tasks without any loss of skill. While the hand expertly plied its trade his eyes peered into the street lit only by dying torches and the flickering lanterns of those businesses open after dark. People went easily about their business knowing any tension might alert the guard patrols or the ghola. Paranoia was a survival tool and one that the people of Urikathe practiced on a daily basis. Markho would put that to good use as soon as the one he chased showed his face.
Beneath him the woman gasped for a fourth time in twice as many heartbeats, Markho looked down to see her face contorted in pleasure and raised his eyes back to the street. Out there a smallish person wrapped in a cloak far too big for them paused at the street where the ghola had turned. The person looked around but the face was still not visible. Regardless there was enough distinctive tells for Markho’s needs and he began to shift himself onto his lover as the target rounded the corner and left his view. Markho placed a hand on the woman’s mouth and began his final motions before moaning and filling them both with the detritus of his pleasures. The girl squirmed and Markho removed his hand from her mouth. The swordsman made sure to breathe heavy as it would be expected after such exertions and he did not want to arouse her suspicions. Markho grabbed a cloth that was close at hand and dropped it on her breasts.
“Thank you keba, but you have me for more time.”
Smiling, Markho leaned over and whispered in her ear. Though he did not see it, her dark eyes widened briefly and then fell slightly closed.
“Yes, my friend will be here soon. You will tell her what I told you, yes?” Markho had lifted himself out of bed and cleaned himself with her gown forgetting about the cloth he had just given her. He pulled up his linens and and then his breeches before grabbing his swords, tunic, and cote. In the dim light he could see the dark skinned woman laying naked against the white linen sheets. Her face was smiling and her eyelids barely open and Markho briefly considered kissing her. Dismissing the idea completely he dropped five extra silvers in her boot as was the custom and exited through the window.
The dark skinned trolka player eyed the departing swordsman from his chair on the veranda. Buttoning up a cote of ringmail and straightening his swords and axe, the tanned swordsman barely glistened in the flickering torchlight of Urikathe’s night. The rings of his armour were old and battered and sweat barely touched his skin and poorly kept beard. Even his nearly shaven head was bland and dull. He looked to all to be a poor sell sword and in some ways, that was true. The trolka player would be joining the swordsman on his hunt soon enough, but of course there was a game to finish first.
“You have The Magician, Cerydus”.
Cerydus looked over at his opponent and smiled. What had begun as a game among five old friends was now down to just two players. The aging poet ran the fingers of his right hand together in a circle and widened his smile into a toothy grin.
“Girl, you know I never have The Magician. Its against my ethics.” A snort from the dwarf dressed in red velvet beside him caught Cerdyus’ attention.
“You disagree?”
The dwarf laughed. “My friend you are The Magician.” Cerydus only shrugged and sipped from the porcelain goblet he kept close at hand. The sultry woman across from him had been known to slip a distracting powder or two into the cups of other players if she were losing. Cerydus had once fallen for such a trick and once was enough.
“Still, I believe it is the lady’s move.” He toasted the owner of the House of Parrots and set the goblet down after a deep swallow. The amber liquid tasted of blackberry and iron filings but cost three silvers a cup. Cerydus did not want to waste a drop.
Across from him the woman twirled her alabaster hair around an olive skinned finger and licked her tongue across lips stained of blood. Cerydus watched as she whispered to an invisible jinn and then her beautiful mouth formed a frown. Apparently the jinn did not have the answer she wanted. She laid down a Three of Wands across the Two of Swords he had placed on his last play. It blocked his scoring but left her vulnerable if it were her last of that suit.
“Merydyn, thou art a harpy.” Cerydyn never let the smile leave his own lips but did his best to feign frustration. He hummed a child’s tune while everyone looked on and grudgingly dropped five silvers on the pile that sat in the center of the table.
“Five? Alright. Ten.” Merydyn added to the pile.
Cerydus looked into her eyes and finished his the last of the blackspar whiskey in his goblet. He dropped five more silvers and then ten more, dramatically sliding these to the pile.
Merydyn was not amused and he could see her mutter a powerless curse under her breath.
“You never bluff.”
“Or I always do.” Cerydus countered.
A heartbeat passed and then another and those seated around the table barely breathed in anticipation. Only the sounds of those walking the street or enjoying other businesses could be heard.
“I still say you had The Magician.” Merdyn laid down her cards in submission and Cerdyn was pleased to see only a Four of Coins and Strength, which would not have been of use to her had she forced his play. Cerydus shuffled his cards into the deck without showing them to anyone. He paid each of the other players ten silvers and gave another ten to the deck before standing up and pocketing his winnings inside of his brown robes.
“How could I have? You took it from the deck when you read our fortunes earlier.” Winking at his friends he moved away without another word leaving them to debate among themselves as he went looking for the swordsman.
A turn of the clock later both men stood in a shadowed doorway. Cerydus was allowing his imp to comb down the unruly salt and pepper morass that was Cerdyus’ hair. The imp had just finished with his beard.
“Well yes, as you say she took the card out before we played.” Cerydus chuckled quietly as his eyes watched the street. The temple district afforded them plenty of places for a discrete conversation as many of the temples had been abandoned by worshipers. Only the gods themselves could listen if they cared or indeed if they existed at all.
“It took you five years to figure that out? Playing with your own deck is a different experience than playing with Merydyn’s.” Markho was also watching the street, but opposite the direction of his friend. “A bitter play, but you won so maybe you are good enough it doesn't matter.”
“She did not have a play, my friend. The deck perhaps did not favor her.”
“Well that means a new deck tomorrow.” As Markho spoke he nodded to Cerydus’ right and both men turned to look into the street. A chalk skinned man in tight bound black leathers stood there almost as if unaware of his surroundings. The friends moved from the shadows and into the center of the street, looking around to make sure no prying eyes were on them.
“Agxis.” Markho fell in beside the man as did Cerydus and the three began to walk south towards the Temple of Igish.
“Saja received your message. The girl was perhaps a little too simple and an extraction was needed. Saja left her sleeping peacefully.”
“Well a ghola had touched her mind heartbeats before I did. She may have been overwhelmed.”
“Yes.” The simple reply was delivered without emotion and after a moment to small to consider the fate of the prostitute, Agxis again spoke. “The big cloak you mentioned to her came here and went inside the temple.”
“Well, we knew it had to be one of the temples. Although why anyone would hide anything under the nose of Igis is a true mystery.” Cerydus dismissed his imp as they closed on their destination.
Markho frowned. “Maybe that is the very reason they came here.” He pulled his slim sword from its sheath and hefted an axe with his other hand.
Agxis stepped forward. “There are no temple defenses and Igis is long gone.”
Cerydus put his hand on Agxis’ shoulder. “Yes my friend but what worries me is what has moved in since.” The tall man pulled a set of bronze daggers from his belt and began rubbing his fingers on their hilts.
The three stopped and Agxis checked the metal buckles of his leather cote. Each was a shiny silver lock immaculately cared for. The man carried no weapons and once done checking the binding threads on his eyes he stood silently between his companions.
No sound or word was uttered as they moved through the darkened arch leading into the temple. Trash was piled everywhere and moved only by the hot wind. The black and white marble was dull and chipped with several statues missing from their pedestals To all appearances the temple and its god were forgotten here in Urikathe. .
Moving through the archway into the temple proper, the cheaper stone of the interior was badly cracked. Before many more years it would begin to fall. A faint smell of animal and human sex touched their nostrils and with it the smoke of burning candles. Markho pointed out to the others the limited moonlight and motioned for each to take a different route into the main room of the temple. It was an octagonal room whose pillars once held great banners. Now even the wood that framed the banners was long gone leaving each pillar bereft. In the center of the octagon a person in a voluminous cloak was whispering in ancient Fyrisch, confirming what Markho had suspected.
Straightening himself the swordsman took a step into the octagon and then suddenly stopped. He sensed the presence of two others, that were not actors in this particular play. The weight of the air was wrong and the feel of the stone. He looked quickly left and right but saw nothing. Danger was here, more than he had expected and they had walked right into the middle of it.
“Cerydus, Agxis. We have two new players.” Markho walked into the octagon and dropped a light stone. Its red light reflected off of his face and lit up the area. His companions moved to stand near him and all eyes turned to the unexpected guests. On the floor the person in the large cloak stammered.
“Wait! What? No!” He tried to stand but Markho kicked him down to the ground with his boot, pointing his sword at the man’s throat. Agxis pulled down the hood and all of them saw the olive skinned merchant they had been expecting.
“Caravan Master Hrill.” Cerydus put a boot gently on the man’s hand. “Dabbling in necromancy?
“You’re no gholas!” Hrill tried to squirm away but Cerydus’ hold was too tight. The caravan master's thick hair fell across his face and Cerydus found his attempts to clear it away one handed comical.
“No they are not.” It was a woman’s voice and Markho turned his eyes towards it. Whoever she was, she was tall, much taller than her companion and far more confident. She revealed her eyes to him.
“”But you are.” His axe took a more defensive position in his hand and he met her gaze with bemused defiance.
“No, I am no ghola. I am ghol, Wicked one.”
“Wait, Wicked one?” Hrill turned to the woman and then back to Cerydus. The sound of sudden urination was followed by its distinctive odor.
“Silence.” Agxis stuffed the hood of the cloak into Hrill’s mouth and the caravan master went silent.
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Cerydus asked, shifting his weight but never releasing his foot’s hold on Hrill’s hand.
Before the ghol could answer her shadowed companion grabbed her arm.
“No more talking, kill them!”
“We could not.” She pulled her own hood back to reveal an ashen face covered in tattoos and drawn close to the bones. Markho suspected she may have once been beautiful.
“Then we must flee!” The man did his best to sound confident but everyone could hear the fear in his voice. Markho noted that there was chaos here, a storm of unexpected moments that could easily get out of hand.
“What is your business here?” Markho motioned for Agxis to stand back a little. Ghol and Torlean slave sorcerers did not mix well.
In response the cloaked man moved forward and revealed more of himself. He too was skin and bones and beneath the cloak he wore no shirt or tunic. His pallid flesh stunk of disease that left no doubt as to his true nature.
“We have business here and that is all you need know.”
Cerydus removed a pipe from his cloak and placed it into his mouth. “A ghol and a goblin, all in the same dead temple.”
Markho saw his friend shift his eyes to each of his companions signaling he was ready, whatever might come.
“Their business is not ours.” Markho lowered his axe to be less threatening. “We will go about ours and you about yours.”
“Perhaps you could be convinced to make my business, your business?” The ghol touched the arm of her goblin companion and the tension eased. Markho noted how the ghol had emphasized the word ‘my’.
“I do not see how.” Agxis was calm but his companions knew how uncomfortable his proximity to the dead thing made him.
“I cannot discuss it here.” With a subtle ease she dropped a gold bar at Markho's feet. “I will be at the Oasis of Shri for three days and nights of the next moon. Consider it.” She pulled her cloak closed and began to back away.
“We cannot trust them.” The ghol shifted her gaze to her goblin friend.
“Of course we can. It is all business to them.” With a nod she moved back into shadows. The goblin lingered for a moment but in a few breaths he too made for the shadows. No one spoke for several moments.
“Random.” Agxis moved over to Hrill and bent down. He opened a mahogany box and nodded. “All the souls are here.”
“Let’ be off then.” Cerydus sheathed his own weapons and turned to Markho. “Should we even speak of it?”
Markho didn’t answer. He bent down and picked up the gold bar. No strange odors and no dust. The bar was as clean as if it had just been forged.
“Not now. Not here. Let’s be done with our business.”
Hrill squirmed and began to yell through his gag. Markho had almost forgotten he was there.
“Oh shut up.” The swordsman hefted the axe slightly above his shoulder and brought the sharp end down on Hrill’s head just above the nose, burying it deep in caravan master's brains.