discomfort at the constructs presence, the red-robed man didn’t show it. Hesimply bowed once as he approached and regarded Durgoth with his usual even expression. The cleric smiled, but waited a few moments before speaking. For all the mystery that surrounded this man, he knew that it was tied closely with the Scarlet Brotherhood. Perhaps Jhagren felt that he could steal the codex and deliver it to the Order in Hesuel Ilshar, or perhaps he was simply a spy. Either way, Durgoth enjoyed testing the man’s patience.
“What do you say, Jhagren? It appears that our lord has trulyblessed us.”
Jhagren nodded impassively. “Indeed, we have been blessedDurgoth.”
“Now, my friend,” Durgoth said, in that slightly superiortone that he knew must make the monk yearn to send his hand striking at the soft cartilage of his throat, “it is time to prepare for our journey. Tharizdun hasgranted us a great boon this day, but we will still need support for our expedition.”
“Yes, blessed one,” Jhagren replied. “The tomb we seek liesmany weeks to the south, beyond the kingdom of Sunndi. I have already contacted some associates of mine. We shall meet them in the Nyrondese city of Rel Mord, and from there we will strike out for the Vast Swamp.”
“Good,” Durgoth said. “Will we have difficulty remaininginconspicuous in the city?” He motioned, indicating the golem behind him.
“No, blessed one. The companions who will accompany us on ourjourney know several, shall we say ‘less- traveled’, ways into Rel Mord. And,like any large city, there is no dearth of innkeepers who are willing to look the other way as long as they have enough gold coins to distract them.”
The cleric nodded, confident that the always-efficient monk had everything in order. “Excellent,” he replied. “Then I leave you to find whatable-bodied help you can to load our boats for travel. We leave in two days’time.”
He gestured once, knowing that the golem would follow him out as he left the room. Durgoth had done some research on his own. The tomb they sought was none other than Acererak’s, an ancient wizard who, it was said, hadsought to conquer even death. Legends surrounded Acererak’s tomb, rumors and oldtales of magic and treasure beyond the imagination. And danger. Those heroes who set out after Acererak’s legacy never returned.
Durgoth smiled.
There would be plenty of opportunities to make sure Jhagren met with an accident. And then the world would be his.
3
Rel Mord sat like a giant fist in the vast grasslands ofnorthern Nyrond. Beyond its fortified wall, the marble spires of the Royal Palace soared into the afternoon sky, but even its exquisite craftsmanship could not disguise the crenellated barbicans and manned towers visible even from outside the city. Other stone structures, less lofty perhaps but no less imposing, proudly thrust their own elaborate heights skyward, like the teeth of some great dragon. The swift-moving Duntide River lay at the city’s feet, ajeweled serpent whose sun-dappled scales burned bright beneath the noonday light. Everywhere the sound of life thrummed, strong and sure.
Despite the press of bodies milling about the stone-fortified gatehouse guarding one of the three entrances to the city, Gerwyth hummed a lively elven song. Kaerion looked over at his companion, wishing, not for the first time, that he could share in his friend’s high spirits. But a sense ofunease had stolen over him these past few days, and it had grown steadier as they approached the capital.
If Rel Mord was the martial and political heart of the country, Nyrond itself was an aging soldier. Roads that had once crisscrossed rolling plains and gentle hills, connecting and supporting cities, towns, and hamlets, lay damaged and in disrepair, their earthen lengths scarred with deep ruts and pocked with wheel-snapping ditches and holes. Or they stood uncared for, allowed to run wild with bracken and the thorned scrub vines that grew as wild as the almost endless grass fields. What’s more, the village folk werewithdrawn, sullen. Farm doors remained closed to strangers, and merchants refused to trade, no matter how heavy the purse before them.
Kaerion had noted all of this and voiced his unease to Gerwyth. The ranger had just shrugged and proclaimed the ways of humans too inscrutable to his elven sensibilities. The rest of the journey had taken place in silence, as Kaerion’s distress grew.
Now, the two stood amid a crowd of wagons and people, waiting for their turn to enter Rel Mord. The rank stench of unwashed bodies and animal dung burned in Kaerion’s nostrils, and he tried to ignore the rising shouts ofsquabbling traders and farmers as they all pressed forward, eager to enter the city. He wondered how his friend’s trained senses could handle such a miserableassault, and was just about to ask when a large weight slammed into his side, nearly toppling him over.
With a grunt, he disentangled himself from the net of arms and feet that surrounded him and came face to face with a red-faced bull of a man who stared back at him with an unpleasantly furrowed brow. The man’s eyeswere drawn together sharply and his mouth seemed frozen in a permanent frown.
“My apologies,” Kaerion began in his friendliest tone, “I didnot mean to stand in the place that you intended to fall into.” He gave theunpleasant man a hard look, at odds with his congenial tone.
Though broad of shoulder and thick of limb, the offending man still did not have Kaerion’s mass. At first it seemed as if he might actuallygrowl something back, but he took another look at the fighter’s well-tended mailand leather scabbard and hastily grumbled an unintelligible phrase before scampering off into the crowds.
Kaerion felt a slender hand rest upon his shoulder.
“Easy, Kaer,” Gerwyth said in a soothing tone. “No sensetraveling all the way to Rel Mord only to spend time in the city prison.”
Kaerion exhaled through his nose before replying, “Gods, youknow how much I hate large cities!”
In truth, it wasn’t the unending crowds and lack of privacythat was really bothering him. The wineskins had run out quickly, and he was afflicted with a throbbing head that never seemed to leave him. His nights, never the refuge they were for other people, were now filled with nightmares. If anything positive could be said for this city, it was that he could soon find himself in the taproom of some inn, cradling a blessed mug of ale. Maybe even two.
“I know you do,” replied the elf, “but if you can relax forjust a bit, we’ll soon be inside.” He indicated the line, which had movedconsiderably closer to the gatehouse.
They reached the gatehouse a few candlespans later, only to be challenged by a guardsman in plate armor. The soldier flicked a bored gaze over the two men. “State your name and business in the city of Rel Mord,” theguardsman intoned in a flat voice.
“Gerwythaeniaen Larkspur and Kaerion Whitehart, lately fromWoodwych,” the elf responded. He would have continued, but the bored guard hadalready moved on to the next person in line, waving the two travelers in with an impatient shake of his halberd.
“They must take their duties very seriously,” the elf saidwith a smile as they passed through the stone gateway.
Kaerion simply scowled at his friend. Disgust with the soldier’s obvious laziness warred with his own painful memories. There was atime when he would have called the gods’ own thunder down upon anyone servingunder him who shirked his duties so blatantly, before-
He shook his head to deny that memory. It was another life. No one served under him now. He was master of nothing. Let the city commander worry about the discipline of his own troops. Kaerion certainly wasn’t about tostart caring. And when, he thought as he loosened his cloak, did it get so blasted warm? There were still several weeks left until Readying and the early spring thaw.
“Where are we supposed to meet this contact of yours?” heasked Gerwyth, who had stopped to converse with a blue-cloaked elf maiden. “I’vea powerful need to wash the dust of the road from my throat.”
The two elves continued to speak for a moment more, the mellifluous tones of the Elvish tongue flowing between them like quicksilver, before the ranger nodded and touched hand to heart in the elven gesture of farewell. He turned to Kaerion slowly, with a familiar grin on his face.
“Has anyone ever told you, Kaer, that you are a prime exampleof your race?”
