The room was warm, humid, and dim, with the braziers in the corners lidded so that they provided heat but no light. From the potted plants hanging above the braziers droplets of water constantly fell and vanished in puffs of steam when the struck the engraved and inlaid lids, increasing the room's heat and humidity. The room smelled cloying and sweet, a strange smell that left the slight taste of rotting meat in the back of the sweating man's mouth.

His fine clothing was soaked in sweat, the carefully arranged hairstyle limp and dripping from sweat, the heat of the room sinking into his jewelry and making it burn against his sweat slicked skin. His makeup was running, staining the collar of his fine silk shirts, and several of the small jewels that were pasted to his face had fallen into the lace around his neck.

The man stood in the entryway of the room, his ornate and expensive felt hat in his hands. He was unconsciously wringing it, twisting it tighter and tighter as he waited for the shadowed figure at the far end of the room to acknowledge his presence. Two scantily clad young woman, their plump bodies almost overflowing what little tight fitting silks they wore, were next to the man who was sprawled on the chair. One was feeding him peeled seedless grapes and the other tipping a finely cut goblet with gold chasing full of pale pink liquid for the man to drink from at some unseen signal.

Long moments passed, during which the woman on the right hand fed the man six of the glinting green orbs, and the only sounds were the delicate tones of a hidden harp played by skilled fingers. Finally the man waved, his fingers long and delicate, and the girls bowed low and sweeping before they backed away and out of shadow draped doorways.

"What brings a lofty scion of the House of Nevagul my presence?" The figure asked after another long moment of silence. The voice was full of dark mirth, the clipped accent of the trade caste of the city blurred by the affected accents of the nobility.

"The Court of Lords desires your services in a task that is vital to the city itself." The nobleman answered, trying to make his voice sound firm and steady but knowing that the ragged edge of nervousness had shown through.

"The Court of Lords remembers that the services of my brethren and I come at a high cost, many times a cost too high for the assembled nobles, merchants, and guild masters to be willing to pay." The man answered. "What is different this time, why should we believe that you are truly willing to pay for our services." He laughed in the shadows, "Your honorable gathering has taken exception to payment before, making it so that my brethren and I must demand that our price be paid before we undertake whatever task you need to ensure that the city survive." The last was delivered in a mocking tone.

The nobleman shifted uneasily at the insult to the Court of Lords, the reminder that the people that the man before him ruled over trusted the rulers of the city-state even less than the common man did. He had been warned that the guild leaders had long memories, would remember slights against it that were decades or even centuries old, but warnings in a comfortable drawing room and this humid, stuffy, and over-heated room were quite another.

"What can the Black Hand of Death do for the honorable nobility of our fair city?" The voice was mocking.

"Our city faces a great threat, one that can only be defeated by your highly skilled servants." Lord Nevagul said, "Your city, your nobility, your neighbors, need your skills and intellect."

The lean man sighed, a bored sound, and the nobleman could barely make out the man's eyes rolling theatrically. "Our price, just to hear the name of who you would send to Vondelius the Judge, is the weight of our victim in gold Novak trade bars."

The noble choked slightly, then nodded jerkily, his fear of what might befall his city pushing him on.

"Agreed." he said.

"Then speak the name of he you wish to die at the Black Hand of Death and I will decide if we shall serve the city." The man answered, picking a grape out of the dish and popping it into his mouth. He was obviously expecting the name of some nobleman or wealthy Lady, perhaps a judge, a powerful mage, or a high priest.

"Fraker the Axe." The noble stammered.

The delicate harp notes trailed off in a jangle as the man spit the grape out, sputtering and lunging to his feet. He was tall, lanky, black hair pulled back into a pony tail, with a wicked pair of daggers on his belt. His expression of boredom was gone, replaced by a curious combination of rage and terror, and his eyes, formerly crinkled by bored amusement, were wide with fear.

"ARE YOU STUPID?" He bellowed. The nobleman stared at the assassin with wide eyes as the lean man drew both daggers, advancing on the nobleman. "Just saying his name may have sentenced all my brethren and myself to death, you Droxx damned idiot!" The man's bored tone was gone, his voice rising in pitch and volume with every step. "He's Fraker the Axe, Favored Son of the Eternal Elba and the Herald of Carnage, not some pathetic demi-god, moldy Lich King or jumped up demon lord!"

The assassin kept moving forward, his wild eyes fixed on the now cringing nobleman. "Even if we were to survive facing the Herald of Carnage his Step-Mother would tear this city down around our ears in order to find us, drag our souls from our bodies by sorcery, and plunge us into torment that would be legendary even to Demon Lords most foul!"

The daggers came up with a flash, droplets of blood flying from the honed edges. The nobleman felt a cool feeling on his belly, heard the splat of something wet hitting the floor, and tried to cough past liquid in his throat.

"I will hand deliver your eyes to the Thorn Lord in penance, and send your head with molten silver poured in your empty eyes, ears, and mouth to your precious gathering of liars, thieves, cowards, pimps, catamites and whores." The lean man spat, wiping his daggers off on the silk of the man's outfit before returning the blades to their sheathes in one clean downward motion. "I shall take a great gate to the city she resides in luxury and comfort, present myself to her humbly, and shall crawl across shattered glass before her to prove my devotion, cursing your name with every drop of blood I shed."

The lean man paused, staring at the falling body of the noble he had just disemboweled and slit the throat of, watching as the dying man fell to the floor in a graceful pirouette. The lean man was silent as the young noble made choking sounds and writhed from his injuries and the venom traveling through his flesh.

"Kill He Who Cannot be Bound?" He asked the dying man, his voice thick with sarcasm, "I'd have a better chance of dancing the dance of the garden faeries with the Sterile Queen and living to brag about the feel of her skin."

The assassin turned away from the dying man, clapping his hands to summon his acolytes.

He had much penance to perform if he hoped to save himself and his guild.

* * * * *

The manor was fairly small by the standards of the nobility of Deliarre-Traxx, fairly rustic even by the standards of merchants, and old even by the standards of the elves. Its wall seemed modest, barely fifteen feet high with ornate bronze spikes a hand's height high on the top. Emerald lawns, broken by expertly manicured topiary creatures, surrounded the manor, broken up by small patches of roses and other flowers, with a large garden in the back. The wall was made of rough rocks held in place by old volcanic ash mortar. The wall was only broken by four wrought bronze gates, two smaller at the south side and next to the large one on the back, and an ornate one in the front.

For centuries the only people to even come close to entering the manor were those allowed on the grounds to drop off supplies or city inspectors who examined the grounds and building to ensure that they still met with the city's building codes. Those who dropped off supplies spoke of silent kobold servants, generous tips, and a feeling of timelessness. City inspectors spoke of elegant decorations, rare and exotic art, and, of course, the silent kobold servants.

Those who were privileged enough and cared enough to examine ancient maps of the city found that the modestly designed manor had existed before even the walls of the ancient city. One of the original buildings of what had once been a small fishing village that had grown into the naval powerhouse, the manor's taxes were paid in a timely manner from an account managed by the city-state's exchequer. It had been empty for so long that nobody even paid it any heed any longer, nobody spared it a single glance any longer.

Now Fraker stood before the front gate, reaching out slowly to wrap his hand around one of the heavy cross bars. He stared at the lawn beyond, remembering playing there, running across the fields in exuberant games of tag and other made-up past-times with his siblings, and when he was older he had stood at attention, watching impassively behind the mask of his armor as his Step-Mother wined and dined guests from all over the Six Worlds.

He'd stood there, staring at the grounds and lost in his memories, long enough to attract attention from more than a few of the passerby when an insistent cheeping brought him back to his senses, out of memories decades or centuries old.

"I know, we won't finish the errand standing here." Fraker rumbled, smiling down at the tiny infant in his belt pouch before running one thick finger from the little knob at the top of its head, down its neck, to its shoulderblades. The little peeper purred happily, pushing against the hero's finger. "Well, let's go in."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The moment he made up his mind to enter the manor grounds the gate crackled with electricity, there was a thunderous detonation, and a bright blue-white flash that made the eyes of the bystanders water with the harsh actnic glare. Fraker flew back, lifted off the ground as his muscles convulsed and magical force slammed into him. He flew across the street, missing any bystanders, and slammed into the thick stone wall of the manor across the street.

Unmagiced rock wall couldn't stand up to the mass of the huge warrior clad in over four hundred pounds of magic and alchemy hardened steel. Stone shattered, mortar crumbled, and Fraker ended up on his back in a rose-bed. Dragonflies, bees, and flies, previously nibbling on nectar, petals, and mulch scattered with buzzing indignation, while garden faeries shrieked and laughed as they whirled around the hero.

Fraker groaned, his fingers instinctively seeking out the haft of his axe and his other hand tightening on the handle of his shield. The tiny fey landed on his shield, laughing and dancing in a circle as Fraker blinked and stared up at the clear blue sky broken only by a few fluffy white clouds and the silhouette of a dragon gliding on the thermals from the bay.

Irritated grumbling rose from his belt pouch and one of the tiny fey women, clad only in a loincloth made up of two rose petals and a strand of spidersilk, ran to the edge of the shield and looked at the tiny peeper. Its head and an inch of its long neck was out of the pouch and it was grumbling and hissing like a boiling teakettle. The fey laughed and rose into the air on delicate iridescent wings, lighting on Fraker's broad and crooked nose.

"You landed on him." She chided, shaking a pointed index finger. "He says you hurt his leg again." She listened to the tea-kettle noise for another moment before laughing again. "And the monkey is sad." She thought for a moment, cocking her tiny head. "What's a monkey?"

"It's like a furry peeper." Fraker grumbled, his eyes still crossed. "What hit me? A catapult? War troll? My father?"

The little fey laughed and took to the air again, the others following, until they started dancing in a circle above him, singing in their native tongue.

He flies through the air

His limbs all awry

And lands in the roses

To start his new day

With that the fey scattered, laughing, as Fraker sat up with a groan, letting go of the axe-handle to rub his bare head with his free hand. The peeper was making choking sounds that the peeper version of laughter as well as peeping to the fey, holding his hands out longingly like a baby that wants picked up.

"No, we don't have time for them to take you flying." Fraker grunted, getting to his feet with the squeal of metal on metal. He tapped one of the graven runes on the armor covering his left forearm and the armor crunched into position, the slightly bent shoulder plate popping into correct position. He picked his axe up out of the crushed roses and rolled his head to crack his neck, ignoring the garden faeries still singing. More peeping followed as he began tromping across the lawn, his cleated boots tearing up the manicured lawn.

"I know. It would be nice to fly." Fraker agreed as he stomped through the hole he had made in the wall when he crashed through. Behind him guards were running across the lawn, holding onto their pikes as they headed toward the breach in the wall and the massive figure stepping over the three rows of expertly quarried stone that had not been knocked free of the mortar. Fraker noticed them, but ignored them as he kept speaking. "Then we could just fly over the wall."

Pedestrians moved out of the way as Fraker walked across the sidewalk, a horse reared as the driver recognized the massive warrior and frantically hauled back on the reins, and several concubines, carried on lavish palanquins, eyed him speculatively. He moved up the fence, examining it with a critical eye, before looking down at the tiny apricot sized head peeking out of the pouch.

"I don't have a runestone to get me through this. I guess I'll have to kick it down." Fraker said. The peeper chittered and Fraker laughed. "Don't be silly. It caught me because I wasn't prepared. If I can handle the combined arcane power of the XVI War Mage Legion and those moldy old mummies of the Servants of Unclean Fate couldn't even scratch my armor, an old anti-burglary spell on the gate of a manor my Step-Mother hasn't visited in two centuries isn't going to bother me."

There was some doubtful peeping, and Fraker snorted before leaning back and driving his cleated boot into the center of the bronze gate.

And found himself in the middle of another patch of roses, opening his eyes to see two rings of fairies in the air, the inside one circling the opposite way of the larger one. They were laughing in their native language, singing doggerel, and mocking Fraker as he groaned and sat up, looking down at his agitated little charge.

"All right, stop rubbing it in, you were right." He grumbled. The peeper made several very sharp sounding noises and Fraker slapped his guantleted hands over his crotch. The garden faeries howled in glee and capered in the air above him. "You will not bite me there. If you do I'll... I'll... I'll never wind your monkey again." The big heroes voice actually sounded injured. There was a hissing a noise, followed by a raspberry.

Groaning, Fraker stood up and pressed the rune again, the armor squealing and groaning as it set itself into place. When he looked up from his forearm he saw over two dozen soldiers, guards of House Kalonuis, surrounding him with pikes.

From the lavish mansion behind him a single man ran down the hill, waving his sword and shouting something unintelligible to the men gathered up around Fraker.

"Halt, ogre!" one yelled, jabbing at Fraker with the pike. The sharpened point skittered away from the metal an inch from the physical armor with a shower of multicolored sparks.

"Ugh. I'm not an ogre." Fraker grumbled, sagging slightly in his armor.

"Halt... whatever you are." Another man said.

"Get out of my way." Fraker warned. "I've been given a task, and you would be advised to avoid hindering me in the completion of that task." There was mocking peeping and Fraker grinned, showing the interlocked teeth took the place of the front eight teeth on the top and bottom of his smile. "He says that you should get out of my way before things get ugly."

"You have invaded the sanctity of House Kalonius, one of the Great Houses of Deliarre-Traxx, and the penalty for that is summary execution." Another young man said, poking at the hero with his pike. Once again the pike jerked to the side in a shower of multicolored sparks. Several of the garden faeries swooped over to snatch up a spark and fly off with it, chased by others. The peeper leaned out of the pouch, grabbing one, and began tossing it hand to hand with the coughing sounds of joyful laughter.

"I'll say it once more for any of you who have gone deaf." Fraker growled, his hand dropping to the haft of his axe. "Get out of my way."

"Look, sell-sword, we don't care what army you served with during the Lich King War, House Kalonius sanctity is absolute." Another sneered, jabbing forward with the pike again.

This time Fraker released his axe, grabbing the pike and puling it toward him. With a squawk the young man came with it, and Fraker swept him off the haft of the pike with a swipe of his shield. He raised up the pike, the head held in his armor clad hand, and tightened his hand into a clenched fist. Sparks shot out as the magic reinforcing the metal shattered, and metal howled as the giant's grip deformed it. When he opened his hand and dropped the pike on top of the unconscious guard the pike head was a misshapen lump that glowed a sullen red from where the pressure had heated the metal.

"Get. Out. Of my. Way." Fraker growled, seeming to swell as his hand dropped to his side and to the haft of his axe.

The man waving the sword ran up, skidding to a stop and smacking one of the men across the back of the head, almost knocking him down. "Are you all stupid?" The man screamed. His comb-over was in disarray, his baldric was hastily thrown over one shoulder, and his face was beet red. He pointed at Fraker with his free hand while waving his sword at the gathered men.

"Do you know who this is, you imbeciles?" The man snarled. The men looked at one another, then Fraker, and then at the man in front of them.

"MiLord Arcavius, this man is a common intruder." One said. "Nothing more than a disrespectful..."

"He's Fraker the bleeding Axe, you idiots." The man spat, smashing the one who spoke across the mouth with closed fist, sending him spinning to the ground. He turned to Fraker, quickly kneeling down on the grass in his hose, grounding the tip of his sword into the earth and leaning his forehead against the cross-piece. As he did so two of the men fell to the grass in a dead faint and one ran away, discarding his pike to wave his hands over his head as he screamed and fled. "MiLord Fraker, a thousand pardons, Immortal One, please excuse the House..."

"I'm not an Immortal." Fraker interrupted as the little peeper tossed the spark in its mouth and then sneezed.

"Of course, MiLord, I meant no offense." The man said, still looking down. "May the Great House of Kalonius serve you in other way?"

"No. I'm good." Fraker said. He took a couple steps, then turned around. "Say, you don't have any Juneel Black Brandy?"

The man looked up, his face paling. "No, MiLord, a thousand apologies."

"Blood peach brandy?" Fraker asked. There was peeps. "And some honey treats?"

The man nodded jerkily, turning to one of the guards. "Bring his lordship a bottle of..."

"Cask." Fraker interrupted, turning back to the wall.

"A cask of blood peach brandy and some honey-treats." The man continued as Fraker stepped over the wall and walked back across the street, his cleated boots striking sparks from the cobbles. He swerved from the gate and stopped next to the wall, looking at it. Fraker's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he looked down at his companion.

"You know, I used to climb over this wall all the time to explore the city." He said, his brutish face splitting in a smile. "I'd climb over it, explore the city, then climb back over before my Step-Mother even knew I was gone."

The peeper made a scoffing peep.

"It doesn't matter." Fraker said, looking up at the bird that swooped over him and landed on the stone wall. "Let's go finish this errand." He slung his shield across his back, hung his gauntlets off his belt, then spit in his palms before rubbing them together.

Fraker squatted down slightly then threw himself into the air, his hands seeking the top of the wall.

Instead of easily grabbing the top of the wall, he slammed into stone, the top edge of the wall staying just out of reach. With a loud clatter he fell to the street and landed on his back, staring at the sky. After a second he got up, looking at the wall.

"All right. But I know for a fact I can jump up and grab the wall with a running start." Fraker groused, walking out into the middle of the street. There was a chorus of peeps from his waist and he glanced down. "Trust me, I did this all the time when we vacationed here."

With that he took off running, his tree trunk thick legs driving him forward in a shower of sparks from his cleated boots. A few paces from the wall he launched himself into the air in a leap that would have carried him over a barn.

Instead of clearing the wall and sailing over the wall, the wall seemed to raise with an eye watering flex and Fraker slammed into the wall, his head almost five feet below the top of the wall. With a crash he hit the wall, there was a bright flash and thunderous detonation that threw him up and away from the wall, flipping end over end as he first rose and then fell, and finally there was another crash as he landed on his back on the sidewalk again.

He laid there for a long moment, his eyes staring at the sky above. There was woozy peeping from his belt pouch and he blinked. "You're right, that one cloud does look like a bunny." He muttered, his eyes still crossed as he stared at the sky.

People on the street burst into laughter as there was still more peeping.

"No, I think I'll lay here and figure out a new plan." Fraker mumbled. "These cobbles are pretty comfortable."

A shadow covered him, and the dapper looking servant who cast it bowed, flourishing a silver dish with a scattering of brown gooey squares and a pewter mug displayed with one hand and motioning at a laborer holding a cask.

"Refreshments for you and your companion, MiLord?" The servant asked, his voice oil smooth.

"That would be very nice." Fraker said, still trying to uncross his eyes.