Sartak City is composed of 10 triangular districts, each separated by either thick protective walls or the Sarta River which passes through the lower part of the city. One such heavy, gated wall separated Syler from the Temple district and the knowledge he sought. Three orcish guards stood before the northern gate, recently closed for the night. They straightened to attention when Syler stepped into view from a small yet densely treed garden area.
“B-Blue Eye?” the middle one stammered.
“Open the gate.”
A heavy swallow, “Curfew is at sundown. We can’t open the gate for civilians.”
Syler looked down at his armor then back at the guard, “Open the gate.”
The guards looked at each other, sighed, and shifted the thick oak beam from across the gate, opening a crack just large enough for Syler to fit through.
The temples to the twelve deities reside close to the center of the Temple district. The Sexy Badger saloon was the sole saloon in this district and sat at the northern point of the triangle. It was a beautiful five story building, taller than most and certainly taller than the nearby houses, able to be seen a great distance off. It was a gaudy red with golden trim and tassel curtains, belying the dangers within.
Syler stepped into a nearby alley, willing his armor to shift. The wrappings around his face melted away and the armor itself changed into a dark brown, more akin to regular leathers. He left the cowl and pulled it low over his face to conceal his magical eye. He stepped back out and took up a small limp, shifting his body to appear as though an old injury impeded his movement.
The Badger was gaudier on the inside than out. Plush carpets coated most of the floor, with squashy pillows on squashier couches. Patrons sat drinking expensive wines and discussing the night’s activities with beautiful workers wearing practically nothing. Information was the game. Drink and sex were the pieces.
Zadrera, the gorgon matron of the Badger, slipped from her position near the front door before Syler, smiling sweetly. Her purple scaled snake hair shifted demurely, flickering tongues tasting the air around the newcomer. Her silk slip left nothing to the imagination.
“Welcome to the Sexy Badger,” she said with a voice as silky as her slip, “where your wishes come true. What is your desire?”
“The strongest drink and stronger bed,” Syler said with a slight slur, hoping the old code still worked.
Zadrera’s smile never shifted, “Right this way, sir.”
She led him to the bar that spanned across the right side of the main room, to the third stool from the opening to the drink area. He limped and sat, pulling a green draka from his pocket. The green draka was worth 100 of the white draka, a valuable coin indeed. There was a section of the bar in front of his stool that had an indentation. He slid the coin into the indentation, watching as it melted away, a shimmer of magic encompassing the area around the stool and the other side of the bar, where stood Zadrera.
“Zadrera Manborn,” Syler said, knowing his words would not be heard by anyone else in the tavern. The magic of that area of the bar not only blocked sound from escaping, but created an illusion of Zadrera and himself engrossed in asinine conversation.
“Seems I do not have the pleasure,” she said.
Syler pulled back his cowl. Her expression flickered, surprise in her eyes for only a moment.
“Blue Eye, I expected you sooner, given the circumstances.”
“Cara was killed using Penumbral magic. Who did it, and who paid for it?”
“Information like that has a major cost. Revealing a client. You know that.”
“I don’t care about the cost. Whatever it is, I will pay it.”
“One hundred blue draka, or completion of an S-rank target.”
Syler glared at her. She knew he didn’t have one hundred blue draka. Blue draka were worth 1,000 green draka, or 100,000 white draka, reserved for the largest merchant deals or payouts for high-difficulty targets. Through gritted teeth he said, “Who?”
Zadrera smiled sweetly and slid a rolled up piece of parchment to him, “Malakia Zil’Matarid, Mau thief, tan fur with darker fringe, especially around her ears. Suspected of stealing significant valuables from various members of the Guild and killing several high ranked nobles. None who have attempted it have returned.”
Syler unfurled the scroll as she spoke. An image of a humanoid cat wearing blue leathers was centered at the top. Below the image was ‘Grand Larceny against the Guild, Murder of several Penumbra Agents and Guild members. Pay is 100 Blue Draka with Proof of Death. Last seen at the Scattered Blood Bar in the Stacks.’
“She looks like a noble,” Syler said. “Noble Mau aren’t usually thieves.”
Zadrera shrugged, “Apparently raised by the Mau pariah to be a thief. Her parents are unknown at present.”
“My room, please.”
“Of course,” she handed him a key with the number 63 dangling from a small chain. “Company?”
“No.” He tucked the scroll into his pocket and tapped the bar twice, feeling the magical aura dissipate.
“Syler,” she said as he turned away toward the elevator. He didn’t turn but did pause a step. “Welcome back.”
----------------------------------------
The elevator was down the hallway opposite the front door. He stuck the key into the small hole beneath the buttons that showed the five floors of the building. A sixth button appeared next to the keyhole with a bold number six upon it. He pushed the button and waited. The elevator went down instead of up, and he stepped out into another hallway. Number 63. A room far less gaudy, with only a bed, a side table, a small kitchenette stocked with simple food, and a bathroom near the bed.
He entered the bathroom and knelt near the toilet, reaching behind it and pushing a section of the wall. A soft click from the kitchenette. A secret panel with a pouch set within. Stacks of green and blue draka. Not enough to buy the info, but enough to get attention. He pushed another button inside the secret panel and the bottom of the end table popped open. Another pouch, this one a magical hip-pouch. He focused on it with his eye, checking the contents. Satisfied, he pressed the bag to his hip, a strip of shadow magic securing it.
Before he began, he knew he needed rest. After bandaging his neck wound, he was asleep as his head hit the pillow.
----------------------------------------
“Why must we learn this, sir?” Syler asked. He was seated at a table alongside several other boys and girls he had seen on the streets before he was pulled into the Agency for training.
“It is important you understand the nature and history of the world, to both understand yourself and your targets.” A tall jackspring man with the face and ears of a jackrabbit said. “Now, why do we use draka?”
The most studious student, a halfling girl he knew as Winny, answered, “Around the time of the Guild’s forming 2500 years ago, dragon corpses littered the land from some ancient unknown cataclysmic event or battle. We had been trading before that with stones, beads, even precious metals like gold and silver. But our most abundant resource at the time was dragon scales. Pallerva the Goddess of Wisdom and Commerce taught us how to mark the scales with Teknaus to avoid fake coins and improve relations between the races, working together to forge draka, sir.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Excellent, Winny. And, not you this time, how did they decide on the scaling of draka.”
A shy deoful boy with small horns sticking out from his long hair raised his hand.
“Yes, Destin?”
“Availability, sir?”
“Correct. Many dragons had died during a great battle. The black dragons, who had served Maliphus, the god of Undeath, were the most numerous, followed by the red dragons of Samusan the god of battle, the white dragons of Chaldia the goddess of death, the green dragons of Telperia the goddess of Nature, and the blue dragons of Atlantia the goddess of the sea. Other dragons have been found as well, but these were the most numerous, and thus best served our purpose. How is their value determined? Syler?”
Syler’s face slipped from his hand and almost hit the desk before he shot upright, “Huh?”
The teacher struck Syler in the face, knocking him from his chair. In a calm voice he said, “What is my name, boy?”
“Ears, sir,” Syler wiped blood from the side of his mouth, trying to hold back tears.
Ears smirked, “And why do you think they call me that?”
“Your ears, sir?”
“That’s right. My hearing is better than you may think. I heard your breathing shift to the rhythm of sleep. You will address me as sir after any statements you make to me, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, how is the value of draka determined other than availability?”
“The amount of Teknaus infused into each coin, sir.”
Ears smiled and moved back to the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. “Very good. Yes, the time and effort required to create the coins is directly proportional to the value of the coin and the magic therein. This is why you should always attempt to remove any money from your target’s personage before engaging them in combat. Some runecasters can utilize draka to perform powerful and dangerous runes.”
Ears walked in front of Syler’s desk, kneeling and moving his face in close.”But you won’t have to worry about that will you, husband?” Fiery red hair began to grow out from Ears’s head as the ears shrank. His wife’s face.
Syler sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. He checked the time. Six hours had passed. More than he usually got these days.
After doing his morning calisthenics, Syler got to work. It would take a few days to get everything in place. He limped his fake limp back to the bar in the main room. In the wee hours of the morning, the foyer was much quieter. He sat at the bar. Zadrera moved to where he sat, wearing a different colored slip than the one last night.
“Morning.”
“Morning. May I have a glass of water, please?”
She poured him a glass. “Sleep well?”
Syler only grunted, taking several gulps. He set the mug to his right to keep the area in front of him clear. He signed, I need an alias, and some rumors spread.
She signed in kind, Do you have a name? What rumors?
Zandar Shipwright, a merchant baron from the western coast city of Eleacar, is utilizing the Whitley Mansion to showcase the fabulous art and magical wonders he has collected over the years and hold an auction for his retirement.
And who will be providing these magic items and art pieces?
I’ll handle that.
100 white draka.
Syler reached into his hip-pouch and stacked up the draka, finished his water, and limped out of the Sexy Badger.
He meandered several blocks down before stepping into an alley and shifting his armor again, this time a dark red with golden trim. Fanciful. He focused on his eye and it changed to resemble his other, normal eye. He strode out of the alley and headed southwest, taking the open gate into the central Guildhall district. He wasn’t there long, immediately taking the adjacent lower gate into the Noble Ward.
The Noble Ward was filled with sprawling familial estates, fountained gardens accentuating enormous mansions. Syler walked west, the Western Sartak Docks on his right and passing a handful of buildings along the left. The second building he passed was Lillard Lodge, which had tasteful wrought iron guardrails showcasing the symbol of the Guild, the letter G encompassed by a square, the slogan written in the Elven tongue around it. ‘No debt left unpaid.’
Behind the next several buildings loomed a dwarven community several buildings across. The Frostbeard Smithy and Taphouse sat in its center. Though he couldn’t get much out of alcohol himself, being immune to poisons from arguably the worst part of Agency training, he had tried the Frostbeard Ale once several years back and it held up to its reputation. After a moment of thought he turned north and found himself in the Frostbeard Smithy and Taphouse. The rhythmic sounds of hammer against anvil could be heard far before he entered the building, and it was significantly louder now. A large bell hung next to the bar with a small hammer tied to a rope dangling from it. Armor, weapons, mugs, nails, really anything that could be crafted in a smithing workshop lined the walls with little paper tags. Some were shiny silver, some gold, and others looking to be an amalgamation of different metallic and chromatic colors. Dragon scales not used for the coin process usually passed to smiths who could reshape them into beautiful and magically strong objects. Behind the bar were several casks marked with the mug of ale sporting a pointed icy beard.
The bell rang out loudly.
“One sec!” a thick dwarvish brogue cried out. The hammering stopped and a dwarf stepped from behind the casks. Unlike Baryl, this dwarf had a lighter, almost blond beard, skin that was darker like damp compacted soil, and emerald gemstones for eyes. “What can I do ya for?”
Standing straighter than he normally did, slightly raising his nose, Syler said, “I do say, my good dwarf, that the reputation of the Frostbeard name has been spoken as far as Eleacar and I had wished to acquire some for a party several weeks hence. But I am not so sure now!”
“Oh, but ya ain’t tried it straight from the tap, bein’ so far as Eleacar!” the dwarf grabbed a mug off the shelf, wiped it quickly and filled the mug about halfway.
“This is the second time you have addressed me and not given your name! You are quite rude, sir.”
The mug slid a little on the bar before stopping in front of Syler. “Oh! My apologies. Me name is Ulfgar Frostbeard! Me dad runs the shop usually, but he is out getting some supplies for the next batch.”
Syler nodded, gingerly picking up the mug and sniffing its contents, “Indeed, and I am Zandar Shipwright. I’ve come to set up an auction so that I may retire comfortably. An auction that needs food and drink. I suppose you can provide the latter.” He took a drink. It was smoother than he remembered, tasting of masterfully fermented barley. “Bold and fruity! Yes, I must have some of this! Five barrels, in one week's time.”
Ulfgar seemed shocked but excited to make the deal. “Five barrels, eh? I reckon we can provide that for 200 white draka, 40 per barrel.”
Syler slid 2 green draka across the bar, and held up a third, “Do me a favor and spread the word of my upcoming auction and this is yours.” Vigorous agreement. Syler downed the rest of the mug, gave his thanks and strode back to the southern road. After passing several more too large houses, the road branched off toward the north, leading him eventually to his desired destination.
The Whitley mansion looked to be made of an obsidian stone, with massive pillars holding up the overhanging crimson terra cotta roof. A low brick wall encircled the front porch minus about 15 feet at its very center, opening to the short set of steps leading up. At a table on the front porch enjoying a rather large platter of various luncheon meats, cheeses, and breads, sat a thin man in a navy blue robe under which was an expensive suit, and a pretty woman about his age in a flowing floral dress. He had reddish orange hair, pale skin, and freckles that covered much of his person. She had olive skin, dark hair, and a bright smile as they spoke of the day's events and not much else. She spotted him first.
“Hello, sir,” her accent was different, and he couldn’t place its origin.
Syler bowed politely, “Hello, ma’am. I am Zandar Shipwright.” She glanced at the man when she heard the surname. “If I am not imposing, I wondered if I might join you for lunch?”
The man spoke this time, “I am Gene Whitley, and this is my wife Pilar. You may indeed join us for lunch, as we have far more than we need.”
“Many thanks.” He stepped up to the porch and sat down across from them. He picked up a plate and grabbed just enough to seem polite.
“Did I hear you correctly when you said your last name is Shipwright?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any relation to Bartle?”
Syler almost laughed, “My third cousin has really gotten big for his breeches, hasn’t he?”
“Well, he is one of the heroes from the War of the Shard,” Pilar said.
“So he is. I was wandering around this beautiful district you all have here when I noticed your immaculate home.”
“My lovely wife runs a tight ship here,” Gene winked at Syler. Pilar smiled but rolled her eyes.
“So she does! I will get right to the brass tacks, so to speak. I have brought numerous art pieces and items of particular magical interest with me from Eleacar and would like to hold an auction here.”
“An auction?” Gene and Pilar again exchanged glances. “Why here?”
“I spoke with cousin Bartle and he said that Whitley Manor was the finest place to hold such things, plus, we can make it a ball as well. Really bring in the crowd.”
Pilar’s eyes sparkled, “A ball and an auction?! It will be the talk of the town.”
“I am set to head back in a few weeks time, so it would also need to happen soon. A tenday from today, in fact.”
Gene nodded, “Yes, yes! I will begin arrangements.”
“You are most kind to allow me to use your beautiful abode. Here,” Syler placed a single blue draka on the table, “this should more than cover everything.”