INQUISITOR KHALI – GATES OF MARI-KYE, ASSYRIAN SEA

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9TH CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING 845 PBM

"Welcome to the city of Mari-Kye," announced Khali, leading her group and their modest cart and horse through the city gates. All four of them were dressed as travelling pilgrims, with all markings of the Inquisition kept well out of sight. “Remember this city is controlled by the five tribes, and they enforce stringent rules on outsiders."

'Five tribes, from all over the Korellian plains. This city was intended to stop their constant fighting, and allow the tribes a place to meet, settle disputes peacefully, and to prosper from trading with the other races in the area.'

“Barbarians setting rules for us more civilised types, and expecting us to follow them is a bit rich, isn’t it?” asked Ramirez incredulously.

“Banning you from carrying your weapons around sounds pretty sensible to me,” replied Janus. “Sometimes I expect you to just walk up to people and ask ‘who is your favourite God?’ and to start smiting anyone who doesn’t say Faylen.” Everyone except Ramirez laughed at that one.

“It is not my fault I am just more devout than the rest of you. Faylen likely has a special spot reserved for me in heaven as my reward,” dreamed Ramirez.

Khali cautioned, “Brandish your weapons publicly, and you might meet your deity sooner than expected. Inside Mari-Kye, only the tribesfolk bear arms. Outsiders, especially armed ones, aren’t looked upon kindly. Keep your weapons hidden or within your rooms.”

“That is easier for some than others,” complained Ramirez, gesturing to the two handed sword that was lying in the back of their cart. All of their apparent weapons were wrapped up in a great big rope bound bundle - a condition of entry into the city imposed by the guards.

“Well, you insist on compensating for the size of one thing with the size of something else, and this is where life gets you,” teased Janus.

“I feel no need to compensate for anything. I was happy to hand over five of my knives if it keeps the peace,” rasped Traviston.

“Sure peace-man. How many blades does that still leave you?” asked Janus, doubtfully.

“More than enough should one of these savages, or anyone else, decide to start something,” Traviston replied calmly.

“Well, just do not get caught with them on you. I do not want to have to either negotiate your release, or break you out of prison. If you are dumb enough to get caught on a weapons violation, it is possible I won’t do either, and I will just leave you here,” cautioned Khali. “Remember our mission is simple:”

After making sure she had everyone’s attention, Khali began to count the points of on her hand.

* “Remain low key and do NOT draw attention to ourselves.”

'Should be self explanatory, but best to be clear.'

* “Look for barbarians with sigils and tattoos marking them as clan Varkonen. Blood covered axes, weapons, or savage looking animals are the most likely. We think Kravath may have been a Varkonen and our information suggests he came from here before heading to Steiner.”

'Savages from the north-east, the Varkonen are also the most blood-thirsty of the five tribes. They would probably be my last choice were I recruiting to set-up secretive cults of Dark God worshippers all over Driax, but maybe our foes don’t have a lot of options.'

* “Do not carry visible weapons unless you are completely in disguise as a Korellian barbarian.”

'As per previous instruction. This is a crime in the city, and you will likely spend a day or two in a cell for violating it. I pray to Faylen that I don’t end up picking up Ramirez from a cell dressed in the world’s worst barbarian costume.'

* “Do not do anything stupid. Ramirez, that goes double for you. No drinking, no womanising with barbarian women, and no fighting unless it is absolutely critical for the success of our mission.”

'Perhaps I should have a list for everyone else, and then a list for Ramirez.'

* “We are not interested in any other law-breaking unless it involves the direct influence of Dark Powers.”

'This one is for everyone. There are people everywhere who violate the laws of Faylen. But today is not the day for enforcing misdemeanours. Amongst the god-forsaken barbarians we could be here for years and not make a scratch in the level of moral indecency.'

* “Be careful. For the next two days the Black Moon is at its strongest, which means dark magick is at its strongest.”

'The joys of relying on magick, and hunting those that do. I get to be an expert on lunar cycles. Oh how I wish for a world that only had one or two moons. I get to track three. One for each of the alignments of magick. There are only 21 days of the year where the black moon – Krushai, is on high and the white moon – Lunari, is on low. But this is the time the followers of light are at our most vulnerable to the worshippers of the dark.'

“Lucky my sword is just as sharp on all days then!” proclaimed Ramirez.

“Except your sword is in the cart, you big dumb ox,” replied Janus.

“Then I will lure the bad guys to the cart,” retorted Ramirez.

“Oh… that sounds like a great plan,” replied Janus, her response dripping in sarcasm. “We have agreed if the Inquisitor dies, I become the new leader of our group of Seekers, right? Faylen help us if it’s Ramirez.”

'Ok. Time to give the minions something to do. They are getting restless.'

“I have some contacts to reach out to. If you have any of your own, then I suggest you do the same. Traviston, please find us a place to stay and get the horse and cart stabled. It is about 3pm now. Meet back at the meeting post in the central market at 7pm,” ordered Khali. “And I intend to outlive you all, so the only thing you need concern yourself with is whether you should leave your meagre wealth to the church, or to me directly. The answer is of course to me directly, as that way it won’t get squandered on some Cardinal’s secret chamber of sin.”

****

'My investigations have lead us to the Shrine of Many-faces. A strange little shrine largely out of the way where one can come to worship ‘any’ God. How convenient that there is one of these in almost all cities. Makes it very difficult to truly stop the worship of Dark Gods as what goes on in these walls is usually protected from scrutiny. Even here, far from home, I am forbidden from any magickal prayers within these hallowed walls.'

'Lets tread with our lightest step, shall we? The church of Faylen doesn’t have quite the same pull here as in Faylenia.'

“Priest, may I have your assistance for a moment?” Khali called out to the non-descript, grey robed figure, who was tending to some candles under a pretty, but very generic, stain-glass scene of an illuminated man preaching down to some humbled masses beneath him.

“Of course my child. How may the Gods be of service to you today?” a calming male voice called back.

“How many Gods you claiming to talk for?” Khali asked. “Or perhaps they talk to you?”

'Best to know just how mad this priest is. In my experience most people who claim a God talks to them directly are mad, or attention seeking. If one were to claim multiple Gods talk to them, I can only imagine the degree of mental issues that might cause.'

“The Gods work in mysterious ways my child. You may within these humble walls, find you are getting the counsel of the God you seek, or perhaps the God from which you most need counsel,” replied the priest. “That assistance may come from something I say, something that occurs to you while you are here, or perhaps later as a result of inspiration just from being and praying within this shrine.”

'Oh…Good answer. Allows you to take credit no matter what happens after being here, and for the work of just about any God. Definitely not the response of a mad man. But perhaps one of a charlatan.'

“What happens when you get a request that might not suit all your patrons? My business will definitely please some of them. But some of the others, not so much,” Khali replied.

“All are welcome. We try not to take sides here. Perhaps tell us what troubles you, and we will see if we can help,” suggested the priest.

“I have come from Steiner, where we had a troubling encounter with someone trying to raise a cult to the Dark Gods within that very city. Our evidence suggests he originates from here.”

'Let’s be very vague with the “from here” and see what the priest assumes in his response.'

“What do you mean by here, my child?” asked the priest. “Do you mean the city, or do you mean this very shrine?”

'Ok… well played. Let’s try round two.'

“Definitely the city. Maybe the shrine,” Khali replied.

“Do you have any more information on the man than that? If you can tell me more, then perhaps I can confirm if he was here anytime recently,” asked the priest. “We have many people here each day, but I have a pretty good memory.”

“We believe he is of the Varkonen tribe, and goes by the name of Kravath.” Khali watched the priest closely, to see if there was any flash of recognition upon his face. But the priest was like the calmest lake. Nothing rippled the surface at all.

“May the church have the privilege of your name, my child?” asked the priest.

“Why do you need to know that?” Khali replied. If I give you my name, that allows you to more easily cast a number of spells that could affect me.

“So, you want me to recognise a man you were looking for by name, but you think it strange I ask for your name?” replied the priest.

'Smart ass priest. Ok. Let’s see how you like the truth.'

“My name is Khali. I am an Inquisitor with the Faylenian church. I seek Kravath because he has committed serious crimes and the punishment for anyone aiding and abetting him will be severe,” she replied, a slight fervor inflecting her voice and her eyes as she stared at the small priest in front of her.

“Ohh… how nice for you. It is good to have a purpose in life,” replied the priest, appearing unfazed by her fervor. “I am Madrath. I have tended this shrine for several years now. There is little that happens in this city that I do know about.” He bowed respectfully to Khali.

“I would ask what you want with Kravath, but I suspect I already know the answer,” concluded Madrath, as he appraised her carefully. “I know a little of your order. Certainly enough that I do not wish to be your adversary. But if I help you, then I need to know that won’t come back on me,” he cautioned.

'He does know something. Or he wants me to think he does. If he plays me, then we bathe this place in flame and his congregation can pray amongst the ashes and smoking embers.'

“What do you know?” she asked.

“You are not alone, I assume?” Madrath asked. “What you wish to know will take you places that are not safe for you to go alone. But if you were to have like-minded friends, then perhaps anything is possible.”

“I am not alone, but I will not tell you any more than that,” Khali dictated. “I am not sure who’s side you are on. Do you even have a favourite God? Or do you honestly pray to them all evenly?”

“I have a favourite. And then favoured. And some I quite dislike. But this shrine is open to all, so I try not to let personal preferences get in the way,” justified Madrath. “But I can help you. And help you I shall.” Madrath bowed graciously, before continuing, “Kravath is not the one you need seek. He is but a minion. One of many minions, sent to many places, with the same instruction. Plant seeds for future plans, and future worshippers.”

'Trying to start up multiple cults in lots of cities at once? That is going to draw a lot of attention to yourself. Which of the Dark Powers would be that brazen? '

“Which Dark God is behind this?” Khali asked.

“I dare not utter their name in this sanctuary,” Madrath responded. “Even within these walls, that name remains particularly unsavoury among our patrons.”

'OK… so you want me to guess. Tzy’Lord? This plan is too bold. Kazak’Ta? This plan is too clever. Cyrus? Saleercki?'

"Cyrus," Khali ventured. Madrath negated with a shake of his head.

"Saleercki," she proposed. Again, a shake.

"Drezzim?" Another shake.

“It isn't any of the seven Dark Gods your order identifies with,” he clarified, halting her conjectures.

What?

“Then who in the nine hells is it then?” she queried, her tone indicating her level of frustration was rising.

“A new God. Or perhaps more accurately an old God come again. I will tell you no more of the God,” asserted Madrath. “But if you still wish to know more then you need to go to the dock district tonight, and to a den of sin there called ‘Afterlife’. Tread lightly Inquisitor. That place is frequented by dangerous people and creatures. You would be advised to either go very quietly or not alone. I would suggest preparing as if you expected trouble.”

“I go everywhere as if I expect trouble,” explained Khali. “But I appreciate the warning and the information.”

“Seek out Hemas’tan, son of Urungi,” instructed Madrath. “He is a Varkonen. He has been bringing many exotic spell components and other illicit goods into the Afterlife in the past few months. And I believe that is where he is training and dispatching anarchists to all parts of Driax. He has a tattoo of a Dragon that covers much of his body, including his face.”

“You wish to know the cause of the cults. I wish the illicit drugs and other sins closed down. I give you this information and ask that you render Afterlife inoperable for a very long time,” requested Madrath.

“Sinners must be punished,” agreed Khali. “It will be done.”

As she left the shrine she left a healthy pile of gold coins in the collection plate.

KELL – ANTORI LANDS, INDIANA MOUNTAINS

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10TH CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING 845 PBM

Navigating through the moonlit night with caution, Kell endeavoured to remain within the cloak of shadows cast by rocks and trees peppering the lower regions of the High Peaks. By day the views from this area were considered spectacular, with grasslands and rolling hills stretching to the south, and the beauty of the Holenda Sea and its coastline to the west. And if you listened carefully, you could just make out the waves crashing into the cliffs. While this may have caused many a bard to break into song and verse, the beauty of the place was presently lost on Kell.

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His focus was singular: a barely discernible shadow weaving through the night ahead, blending so seamlessly with the backdrop that Kell, despite knowing its source, found it challenging to keep his father within sight.

'He is like a ghost in the night. I hope my brother is struggling as much to follow me.'

For the last three days the trio had been threading their way through the High Peaks towards Antori lands, taking extreme caution to avoid any hunting parties that may be in the area. That is, until a few hours ago when they observed a significant group advancing towards the highlands.

Ka-Took had signalled for silence instantly, his serious manner leaving no doubt as to the threat they were all in. By Kell’s estimate there were over twenty figures.

'No hunting party I have ever been in numbered that. This is a war party.'

That was the worst omen for their little mission and for his tribe.

'Were it me in charge, I would already be racing back to tribal grounds to warn the village. It seems father is planning to wait until he knows beyond doubt what is going on here.'

Kell knew they had to be very close to the small settlement of Veranuk, the Kestrel village closest to the Antori border. All about him there was silence, as though nature herself was watching intently to see what would happen next.

'This area should be alive with the sounds of nocturnal animals on their nightly forage. Yet I can hear nor see no signs of life other than my father. What manner of Evil spirits are at work here? Can they sense things we cannot, and gone into hiding? Or has something worse befallen them? I take this warning and tread carefully. May the ancestors watch over us.'

Then suddenly Ka-Took was right in front of him, one hand motioning again for silence, as the other motioned sternly back in the other direction. Kell turned around unquestioningly but the puzzled look on his face was obvious even in the faint moonlight. He moved off with the same caution, throwing quick glances at his father, trying in vain to read something from his body language. As he receded cautiously, stealing glances at his father for some clue, the chilling screech of a death cry shattered the quiet.

“Move!” Ka-Took ordered sternly with an authority that relied not on volume. Around them the forest came to life as the noise of battle erupted from behind. To Kell the sounds revealed nothing other than combat, but to Ka-Took's experienced senses they gave away a lot more. To him, the death cries before the clang of steel meant that someone died before they could draw their weapon. The war party had just ambushed Veranuk, and without any of the usual ceremony or drums that Indian lore required.

As Kell and Ka-Took continued to move, Maguare appeared to the left and fell into stride, speed becoming more of a concern than concealment. With the battle nearby the chances of anyone hearing them was slim, so Ka-Took hastened their escape.

“War parties often have scouts to help round up survivors and prevent those fleeing from being able to spread word to nearby settlements,” stated Ka-Took urgently. “We must get out of here quickly.”

Kell scanned the area in front of him, simultaneously watching his footing in the half-light, while looking for movement further ahead of him. The light was good enough to navigate but nonetheless Kell found he could not sprint safely so his pace was reduced to something between a run and a jog.

“Look out, we are about to cross the Antori trail,” cautioned Maguare. The chances of a scout this far back was small but the warning was still appreciated. Kell tried to peer even deeper into the woods around him, determined that if there were any Antori in the area he would detect them long before they could cause he or his family harm.

'Where are you hiding? You will not take us by surprise. Hopefully you all went forwards in the attack.'

With his attention directed so far forwards Kell never saw the vine strung low across his path. Ka-Took saw it and started to call out but Kell was half a step too far forwards. Kell’s foot caught the vine and triggered the trap left behind in case anyone was following the Antori war party’s tracks.

With a quick rush of air and leaves Kell was whisked roughly from his feet. when the disorienting tumult subsided, Kell found himself ensnared in a sturdy net, suspended some fifteen feet above, gazing down at his brother and father.

His elevated position unveiled a group of Antori, being directed by a distinct figure: an almost ebony-skinned man adorned with striking white tribal tattoos, bone embellishments in his hair, and the macabre touch of human skulls gracing his shoulders. A visceral dread seized Kell.

'An Antori Witch-Doctor. Father's warnings about such beings echo in my mind. They are at the heart of the darkness which eats at the Antori.'

Beneath him his father was frantically looking for a way to cut the ropes that held the netting, but it was almost 20 feet in the air. Kell saw the three Antori warriors drawing nearer. Straining his eyes into the gloom, he discerned a blur of shadowy figures trailing them. In the scant light, he couldn't make out their details, but they seemed to move on all fours and were roughly the size of large bears.

“Run! You must warn the elders,” Kell screamed.

'They cannot save me. Even if they can defeat the three warriors, those other shapes do not look so easily dealt with. Ancestors, please don’t let my mistake doom my whole family. Please spare them.'

As the figures moved closer Kell could see the moonlight reflecting off what seemed to be long sharp horns and claws extending from the front of their heads and forepaws.

Below him he could see his father torn by the toughest decision he could ever have to make. While he had no real way to rescue his son, and he knew the Antori would soon be upon them, he could not bring himself to leave his son to his fate. Kell knew Ka-Took would trade his life for those of his sons in an instant, but in this scenario, even his death would do little to alter Kell’s predicament. Maguare tried to lead his father away, realising there was nothing they could do. But still Ka-Took resisted.

“They are coming,” Maguare screamed.

“Go! You cannot save me!” yelled Kell

Although he only had one real option, Ka-Took waited until the first of the Antori had come into view before accepting it. Only when their arrows started flying past him did he finally turn and start running. Kell heard his father’s screams of anguish as he ran, the sounds audible long after the old warrior had disappeared into the night.

'Ancestors, grant them both speed and protection to make it safely back to the elders. One village has already fallen to Antori treachery. Help us ensure that no more do.'

Suddenly, Kell was hurtling downwards, crashing to the ground in a dishevelled heap. The impact stole his breath, and the net ensnared his limbs, pinning him. He tried to lift himself as the Antori closed in. They encircled him, their voices rising in a coarse, almost beastly language. Behind them, the first of the grotesque bear-like creatures emerged.

Looking like a large grizzly bear, the figure reared back on its hind legs and roared. But where its normal bear head should have been it had a larger more monstrous head, with a long snout of razor sharp teeth, two large horns, and a pair of red, red eyes. The creature let out a chilling roar, a cacophony that resonated throughout the surroundings.

The warriors now stood atop the net, jeering and brandishing their axes, all the while continuing to hoop and scream in their harsh guttural tongue. Ka-Took had taught his sons both the Antori tongue and the common tongue of city-folk when they were young, so Kell understood enough of what was being said to know that he did not want them to carry out any of their threats. Kell closed his eyes.

'Ancestors, grant me a quick death.'

He felt a blow to the right side of the head, and a white flash exploded upon his vision. The pain was intense. But short-lived.

The last thing Kell heard as his consciousness seeped away was the sound of the waves crashing on the distant cliffs.

AZZANON –10TH CARLISHAE, VELLUTO, DRASAK

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“Halt. Show me your documents,” instructed the Drasak guard-captain.

‘Careful. Being caught as a Drasnian spy on Drasak soil is almost certainly going to lead to a lot of torture and death. Run when you shouldn’t, and you die. Don’t run when you should, and you die,’ thought Azzanon to himself.

Azzanon turned around as calmly as he could, and slowly extracted the identity papers out of the pocket of his ridiculously expensive black suit jacket. The guard-captain’s dark grey uniform, black cape, and elegantly decorated rapier were intimidating, as was the whistle around his neck which could summon more of his number at a moment’s notice.

“Is there a problem?” he asked in what he hoped was a perfect northern Drasak accent.

The guard-captain said nothing and took the invitation, unrolling it to look at the writing and the wax-seal upon it.

‘The papers are genuine,’ thought Azzanon. ‘It is me who is not.’

“Jean Luc Piquet,” asked the guard-captain, reading the name from the invitation, “where are you from?”

‘I hail from a scenic land where vibrant clothing is cherished and our cuisine is world-renowned. Not to mention, we don’t allow clandestine assassin guilds to puppeteer our empire.’

‘But alas, you mean where is poor Jean Luc Piquet from.’

“Guldan. You mean have not heard of us?” Azzanon tried to get the accent right while injecting an appropriate amount of outrage. “My family deserves better. Low-born are you? Who is your commanding officer?”

‘Delicate balance here. The guard is actually doing an excellent job. But if I play the ‘outraged at the disrespect’ card right I might end all this and he retreats with his tail between his legs.’

“My apologies my Lord. I am just trying to keep the undesirables out of the noble quarter. They can be trickier than you think,” the guard-captain responded, returning his papers.

“I will let it slide,” replied Azzanon. “This time!” He turned and strode towards the meeting with his informant, crossing one of Velluto's signature canal bridges as a gondola floated by underneath, a happy couple enjoying their romantic night.

‘Run young man. Before the love withers and your heart is torn from your chest!’

Azzanon almost slapped himself to regain focus.

‘Focus now. A contact arranges a meeting at short notice in a a high-risk location and you better keep your wits about you. This better be worth it. This kind of stupid shit is what gets agents killed.

‘So why do I answer her call? And would I have come if she weren’t a ‘she’? Or if she weren’t beautiful?’

****

Azzanon stepped onto the small wooden gondola, a small flat-bottomed boat almost entirely unique to the city of Velluto. He was helped onto the boat by a rugged looking individual, who helped keep the boat steady as he crossed onto it. Even allowing for his rather exceptional balance and dexterity, Azzanon found stepping onto the rolling deck was disconcerting. Once on-board he was motioned to the front, where a heavily cloaked and hooded figure sat.

That same pilot and/or manservant then moved to the very back of the boat, from where he could drive the drive the boat using a large single oar, which was both oar and rudder on this strange craft. He also likely could not hear anything of a conversation between the two passengers provided they did not wish him too.

‘The gondola is a pretty special place to have a clandestine meeting. If you trust the driver, it is basically impossible for anyone to listen in on your conversation. Even magickal means is very difficult as you are on the move constantly.’

He took a seat at the front, and waited for Lady Clarantine to reveal herself.

‘There is a chill wind in the air tonight, but I think the Lady may have gone a little far in terms of how much clothing she needed to keep warm.’

A few moments after he was seated, the Gondola pushed off from the small landing jetty and started down the canal. The figure at the front of the gondola began to unwrap herself. Azzanon tried in the near darkness to make out enough to confirm it was indeed his contact. With each passing second he was getting more suspicious.

Awfully cold for a swim. But at least a fast exit is an option.

As if sensing his discomfort, the figure in front reached up and pulled the shutters back from a lamp which hung on the front of the boat. This immediately cast a lot more light. Lady Clarantine then finished taking off the wraps around her face and shoulders, revealing her beautiful face, green eyes, and her long dark brown hair.

Azzanon felt the relief wash through him.

“My Lady, I was beginning to think it wasn’t you and this was some kind of trap,” he admitted.

“Your instincts are good. I am not the Lady Clarantine. But this is no trap and you are in no harm here,” came the calm reply, holding up its hands in a calming gesture. Azzanon felt panic knot inside his stomach. He considered jumping over the side. But the voice sounded exactly like the Lady Clarantine. He lent forwards to get a closer look. This person looked exactly like Lady Clarantine too.

“The disguise is magick,” said the voice. “But we have information even the Lady Clarantine could never get for you.”

“What do you want?” Azzanon asked, feeling very unsure of himself. His hand strayed close to the rapier he had on his left hip for reassurance.

“You will not need your weapons, Azzanon Raviz, of the Drasnian Intelligence Agency. We know who you are, and that is why we have sought this meeting.”

This gets worse. My cover is blown. Everything I have ever been taught says to jump now and run for my life. Yet my instincts tell me to stay. Is that because if they wanted to kill me, they probably would have already? Or do I just not care if I live?

Azzanon sat back in his chair, making it clear he would hear what she had to say. Assuming it even is a woman.

“Your order works very hard to thwart the actions of both the Drasak rulership, and the Assassin Clans, yes?” asked ‘the Lady’.

“Your attempts to differentiate between the two are cute. But it means you are an either an idiot who genuinely thinks they are different, OR you want me to think they are, which means you are almost certainly an Assassin,” countered Azzanon.

“Who I am is not important. What you need to understand is that now, for the first time in a very long time, there is a Drasak King who very much wants to rule his own empire. So your order may do well to stop hindering him, and perhaps to assist him in his battle with the Clans,” the Lady explained.

“We had heard rumours of this, but nothing concrete. Did you come just to tell me this?” Azzanon asked dubiously.

“No. I came to ask you to stop an act by one of the Clans that would move against the King, and his family directly. They wish to subdue his efforts at wresting control of the kingdom, and they think killing one of his children will do the trick,” she offered.

Azzanon was usually prepared for just about anything an informant might say, but he felt shock at the brazen nature of this information, and how easily it seemed to be being shared.

Even in Drasak, assassinating a member of the Royal Family is not an everyday occurrence. But why come to us, or me?

“Why do you need our help? Tell the King and have him stop it,” he suggested.

“We cannot. We are forbidden by ancient codes of conduct. But technically, we can tell you, as you will not tell the King nor any of the Clans what you know,” explained the Lady. “At least that is our assumption. Is that likely to be a correct assumption?”

Azzanon considered the question for a moment. It was highly unlikely the Agency would share any information with either of those two groups.

“I suspect that assumption is correct,” he replied.

“And here comes the difficult part. We need you to stop the assassination. In doing so, you should help Drasak move at least somewhat out of the control of the Guilds.”

“And why would I do that?” Azzanon asked.

In reality, I can think of any number of reasons I would do it. Many of them centre around doing the right thing, preventing a child from being assassinated, and generally stopping the Guilds from doing what they want. But may as well hear why my mysterious benefactor thinks I should.

“Because the only way you get to actually ‘win’ your war with the Guilds is if the King here destroys them, or at least renders them politically impotent. And, because your Agency always claims the high moral ground and says you are the side in this conflict. Now is your chance to prove it. Save an innocent child, and help the Drasak people into 336=a better future. If you are the champions of good you claim to be, then you should be willing to help these people, even if they have in many ways been your sworn enemy.”

“Both are reasonable answers. For the record, I find the second one more compelling,” replied Azzanon. “And I choose to see that we have issues with the management of your realm, and not the people themselves. After all, there really isn’t much difference in the peoples of Drasnia and Drasak. Founded by warring twins from the same peoples. Our differences are all choices of culture rather than hereditary.”

“We hoped you would see it that way,” said the Lady.

“Of course. With better leadership, your people could flourish culturally, and perhaps one day be almost as cool as us,” jibed Azzanon.

“We are not interested in your definition of cool. But we do very much appreciate your assistance. There is a lot more you need to know, but the most important thing is to know where you need to be. The King has sent his daughter to a faraway place he thought she would be safe; Klydor,” continued the Lady.

Azzanon’s face revealed his astonishment.

“As we have said, this King is trying to be very different to his most recent forebears. He knows the Klydorians will try very hard to protect her, and that the Assassin Guilds are weak there,” explained the Lady. “However, this will not be enough to protect her. You must go and find her and keep her safe. Once the King knows someone has attempted to assassinate her and failed, then he will be able to start hunting here to find those responsible and hopefully destroy them.”

“OK. And let’s say I pack up my stuff and head to Klydor. Do you have a way for me to find…” Azzanon hesitated as he struggled briefly to remember details on the Princess. She was not in line for the throne, so was not currently of that much interest to the Agency. But deviations in ascension were common in Drasak, so Azzanon had put a bit of time into the current Royal tree. “…Gaebriel.”

“Do you know anything of Princess Gaebriel?” the Lady asked.

“I believe she has striking red hair, and they say she is beautiful, but with members of the Royal Family they tend to say that even if it isn’t true. I believe she is coming of age soon. So if nothing else, her age and her hair would give me something to start with,” replied Azzanon.

“Beautiful would not be inaccurate in describing her. She is lean, perhaps even petite, even for a Drasak. She has very long red hair, and quite pale blue eyes, after her mother.”

“Do you know who she is being sent to stay with?” asked Azzanon. That would make finding her so much easier.

“We do not.”

1. That makes it harder. Answer no to the next one and even I might have trouble finding her.

“Do you know which city she will be sent to?” Azzanon asked hopefully.

“We do. She is in transit to Lotan now by fastest carriage. But she will travel by boat from Lotan into Klydor, making her landing point almost certainly Port Chandrex. We have limited resources watching for her there, and will hopefully provide more information for you when you arrive.”

“How much head-start does she have?” asked Azzanon.

In theory, the longer this is, the more likely she is dead by the time I arrive. But the answer doesn’t matter. As if I am going to pass up the chance to rescue a damsel in distress. The fact she is Drasak royalty only makes this more compelling.

Azzanon felt an excitement stir within him he had not felt for a while.

“Only a few days. But you will not catch her unless you have magickal means available to you that we do not know about. You should figure out how to get to Chandrex as quickly as possible, and just focus on getting there as soon after her as possible,” instructed the Lady.

“Ok. I accept. But we need to discuss some protocols on how I will exchange information with your network. I don’t really trust you yet, so there will need to be some precautions for my own safety, but also that of your agents too. It will be too easy for others to pretend to be agents of yours or mine and to get everyone killed.”

The Lady made a gesture of acquiescence. “Tell us how you would like this to work.”