Crimson Menagerie: The Legend Escapes

[Aristoi]

Several hours later

S’lann reflected on the journey and the people he’d seen. ‘Not met actually, just seen. The peasants of the area were surly and unfriendly. They greeted one another but they largely ignored strangers, giving them a wide berth on the road when possible or acting as if they really weren’t there.

He’d almost been run down by large carts twice.

And the drivers hadn’t even looked at him. That was both bothersome and worrisome, making him wonder how strangers/travelers would be treated in the city itself.

Now though, as he approached the gates of the western gate, the walls and gates itself gave him an impression of strength. The walls were several man-heights tall and appeared a few thick, with archers along the walls ready with crossbows and here and there, an archer with an actual bow.

Not good for a flier at all. He gulped a little at the thought, his imagination supplying the images of his winged form plummeting from the sky to thud into the unyielding earth like a clod of mud.

Splat.

He hunkered down, thinking that everyone was looking at him, trying to remain unnoticed. And it seemed his efforts were well-pain for he found himself entering the gate unchallenged, along with the press of carts and people heading in and out, farmers with wagons and people carrying goods upon their backs.

And he stepped into total turmoil and froze.

“Here sir,” one man called, nearly touching him, “see my fine rugs?”

“Fine lamps, fine lamps!” called another.

“Fresh fish, fish still swimming!”

“Geese, fat geese!”

“Fabric as soft as silk, cotton as fine as new skin!”

He darted into a dark alley, panting heavily, overcome with sounds, smells and the stares and chants of all those people trying to get his attention. It was overwhelming.

“What’s wrong with you?” a voice asked, slightly contemptuous.

In his panic S’lann hadn’t noticed that the alley might have someone in it. He started and looked over and then down, seeing a human-child probably younger than a decade.
”All those people- they were staring at me, trying to drag me around.”

“’Not from a city are you?” the kid asked, grimy, head shaved and dressed in layers of dirty ragged tunics to down to his/her knees and filthy bare feet.

“What makes you say that?” S’lann asked, proud he didn’t stutter or quaver.

Wordlessly the kid gestured out the mouth of the alley. “They’re *merchants*.” He replied, a little contemptuously. “They’re trying to get you to buy their wares. You didn’t know that so that means you’re not from anywhere where there’s markets like this. That means you’re not from a city.”

“You’re pretty bright,” S’lann replied, “I could use some help.”

“I can guide you and keep you outta trouble,” the kid replied, grinning gap-toothed, “for the right coin.”

“What do you want?”

“Five copper for the day and five percent of whatever purchases you make.” The kid grunted and grinned, “I can make sure nobody screws you in the market.”

S’lann, fearing the worst, looked at the kid with amazement. “You don’t look like you’re that tough.”

For his turn he cocked his head and decided his prospective client might be a simpleton. But, if he had the coin, he was going to work it out of him. “So, do we have a deal?”

S’lann gave it some thought, thinking about how much coin he had. “How about this: if you make sure I get the best prices and you keep me out of mischief, I’ll pay you a silver and ten percent of what I spend today? Deal?”

“I can live with that,” the kid told him. “’Name’s ‘Squirrel’.”

“Seran,” S’lann replied, having made up a name that sounded enough like his own he’d respond to it. People here tended to slur ‘r’ and ‘l’ sounds and Thayan Mulhorondi slurred hard sounds all over the place. “Where to?”

“Follow me,” Squirrel headed deeper into the alley and away from the screaming hawkers and beggars. He led a merry chase through alleys and across streets, using the ’dark ways’ of the city to avoid the eyes of the guards and merchants eager to push themselves on his client. He got the idea this ‘Seran’ was an escaped slave ~Prolly a lifer~ he thought to himself, watching the other move through the alleys like it was unfamiliar terrain. ~Bet he’s been in someone’s keep all his life and never been out once~ He shrugged to himself ~Sucks for him. He’s out now and got coin to burn and I intend to get a share of it~

It took them nearly two hours to get across the city, which frankly would have taken longer had they taken streets because of all the detours. They had had to cut through the government districts and the palace and the ‘under-roads’ had proven best, if smelly. ‘Seran’ hadn’t minded the smell at all, which seemed a bit odd for a household slave. Maybe he’d been a sewer-slave, someone down in the pits his whole life. But hear-tell those kinds die early from rot and disease and he seemed healthy enough, if a bit dim.

But his clothes were good and his weapons looked newish and of good quality and that spoke of either freedom won or things stolen. It was in his experience there weren’t too many generous options for slaves in this country so he was betting the latter.

They rounded a corner, passed through a door that hid the entrance to the alley and stepped into semi-gloom. The sky was visible above but only as a thin sliver as the roofs of the two buildings leaned together so that barely a few feet separated them, four stories above. The other end of the alley, cloaked in dimness, was also blocked off with a door that hid the contents of the alley and made it seem a private yard. Several of these enclaves dotted the city, if one knew where to look and had been given access to them, often having to pay a percentage for such access.

He gestured and announced proudly, “Glamour-alley. ‘Offers the best merchandise for the traveler who is both discerning and needs a quick purchase without many questions which,” he paused and winked at S’lann, “I think fits you. So, what do you need?”

S’lann took out the scrawled list they had made, a page from a journal and written with an ink-stick. “Pots, bowls, teapot, needles, fish hooks, grain-cubes, spices, dried fruit, cheese, soap, travel-bread.”

“’Chandlery then,” Squirrel replied thoughtfully. “Mailen’s shop offers everything you need and probably several things you didn’t even think of.”

“You know the shops,” S’lann gestured ahead to the hanging signs, most of them with symbols and pictures rather than written words. All had heavy doors, most open, though some had little gates like portcullis. Windows, also blocked by similar bars, allowed people to look but the openings were far too small to grab and run.

“Follow me then,” he replied and trotted off. The alley was far from crowded but the few shoppers went cloaked and hooded or masked and turbaned. It didn’t have the air of evil, more of people who just wanted to remain anonymous in their purchases, which in Thay, was likely the best course of action. Squirrel stepped to the door of another store and motioned for S’lann to follow.

Inside the spacious shop it was both cozy and clean, the walls adobe and shelved in wood with oil lamps fastened here and there. The room was brightly lit and there was no place to hide really, though a cloth-covered opening led to another area and was heavy and complete enough to prevent casual inspection. A woman stood within, straightening an arrangement of something with leather straps and metal fittings that S’lann wasn’t all that sure what it was for.

She turned and smiled pleasantly, it seemed, her bald head shaved clean all around except for along lock, braided and wound around her head like a cap. She wore a simple shift on top and several layers of skirts, all of them seeming to have seem better days, each a different color. “Mailen Many-Skirt, at your service sir,” she greeted him with a small smile and a slight bow.

“Ah Madame,” S’lann responded looking around, “I need to make some purchases of traveling supplies. My guide Squirrel here,” he gestured to the small human, “has brought me here for fair trade.”

“It was a good idea,” she replied frankly, “and I am welcome of the custom. Do you know what you need?”

“Well yes I have a list,” S’lann replied and offered her the folded parchment.

She took it and scanned it and biting her lips slightly said, “I believe I have all of this.” She looked up and took up a device of beads of various colors strung on a frame on several strings. With quick motions she moved beads from one side to the other and finally pronounced, “Fifteen Gold-lats, eight silver-des and three copper-alms for this all.”

S’lann figured in his head, remembering what they had discussed about the value of money and what he had. He reached into the small pouch tightly bound and pulled out on of the gems they had received from Yolen. He judged the worth of the amethyst at 20 gold and handed it to her. “I think this will cover the expenses of the items on the list, yes?”

She pulled out a loop and putting it to her eye, she examined the gem in the lamp light. In a moment she turned back with a smile and replied graciously, “Please allow me to pack your purchases for you.” She then set about pulling the items he had requested, adding several blocks of goat-butter and several packs of rice and grains for cooking, extra. She indicated the extras and said, “To even out the cost, to be fair.” All of these she gathered, plus several extra blocks of hard yellow and white cheeses dipped in wax and loaves of travel bread wrapped in oiled parchment.

S’lann in turn took the items and loaded them into his pack, hefting it after he loaded the significant amount of items, the bag bulging but definitely not too heavy to carry. “My thanks milady!” he told her and bowed with the pack.

She smiled coyly and covered her mouth, acting embarrassed. “If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to return.”

“I will remember,” S’lann replied and looked to Squirrel who promptly led the way back out.

At the end of the alley, after they had passed the doors, Squirrel stopped and held out his hand. “By my count you owe me two lats and four des, Seran.”

S’lann nodded, “Agreed.” He reached into his pouch and took out a few loose coins, giving Squirrel three golds. “Can you show me a decent place to sleep tonight?”

“Well that depends on whatcha want,” Squirrel explained dubiously. “Flea-infested, common room bedding, private room, suite, bath and meals included, laundry..” he shrugged. “You’ve got the coins, I know the good places.”

“Well then,” he temporized, “someplace neat, with decent food, a bath and a private room.” He thought about it a little longer, “’With a lock.”

“Ah!” Squirrel responded with a knowing grin,” The Pharoah’s Garden would be the place.”

“It sounds expensive,” S’lann replied dubiously.

“Once it was,” Squirrel replied with a wink, “but the last owner parted with his head for offending a Red Wizard and his nephew is an idiot. So the place cannot claim the coins it once did, though it does well enough. Ten percent again?”

S’lann nodded and grinned, starting to like him more than a little in spite of his greedy little self.

 

[Aristoi]

Another hour and some dickering saw him happily ensconced into a private room with a lock, a clean bed and a lock. The window was wide, on the third story and let in a fresh breeze from an enclosed garden below. He had had a bath and changed into clean clothes, though more appropriate to this city.

A meal and some wine had relaxed him a bit, though he found he had little head for the drink and was surrounded by drunken women who found him both attractive and entertaining. Which mean the heard a great deal of gossip, of which only some was true and some could be true; he had to weigh it against what he already knew.

The evening had ended late, his perceptions whirling a bit as he swayed up the stairs to his room, not all of his drunken swagger completely a ruse. He had heard that there were Thayans in the area and that there had been some sort of breakout of a prison to the north. The wizard’s minions were already out looking for those who had escaped.

He felt sure that everyone could hear the panicked fluttering of his heart.

Returning to his room he leaned against the now-locked door and considered options. Surely he could fly out but there were many archers and he felt sure that they would see him and shoot him down. He could try to sneak to and over the wall but again, the nature of the guards was daunting and he did not feel he was much accomplished at sneaking. He thought and thought and finally, nodding off while staring at the lamp, he decided to see if he could buy passage for himself on a barge. If he could get down the river he could easily escape and get back to the others to warn them.

Yes, that was the best idea.

He awoke shortly after dawn to a knocking on the door and moving to answer, he called out who it was?

“Squirrel sir,” came the familiar voice, “you asked me to come by this morning to see if there was anything else you needed.”

“Oh,” he mumbled and opened the door, letting the scruffy beggar in. He turned and shuffled back to the bed, head pounding and mouth tasting like he’d licked a dirty stable.

“You were drinking cheap wine last night weren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” S’lann leaned over into his hands, trying not to heave. What little light came through the grille was too bright by far. “It was black.”

“Yep,” Squirrel replied too loudly and too cheerfully, “that’d be Pharoah’s Blood. Nasty stuff.”

“I believe I agree,” he replied miserably. “What can I do to get over this?”

“There’s a mix that apothecary’s sell that’ll take away the pain and clear the head,” Squirrel replied dubiously. “It’s said to work powerful-quick but it costs a few coppers and it’s served in wine, itself.”

“Ugh,” he croaked and managed to get to the chamber pot before he lost it.

Some time later, feeling a little less-horrid, he was washed and dressed. “I need to speak with someone about quiet passage on a barge out of town,” he told Squirrel.

“I think Maiven is good with that too,” the munchkin replied thoughtfully. At S’lann’s skeptical look he added, “She diversifies. More money in several businesses.”

“I guess that makes sense,” he replied. “Lead on then.”

“Ten percent again?”

“Of course.”

An hour of walking later with a dry roll and water in him to quell his nausea, S’lann felt better if a little muzzy. He and Squirrel entered the alley and stepped into Maiven’s shop, greeting her with a wave.

S’lann heard someone stepping into the shop behind him and made to turn and look, a polite excuse on his lips when something heavy smashed into the back of his head. As he went down he thought he heard Squirrel shout something before darkness claimed him.

 

[Aristoi]

Meanwhile, back in the woods

Adama, Kilmor and Elim had spent a restful evening in the forest, Elim having spent a little time screening off their clearing from casual observation and banking the fire to provide warmth but little light or smoke to give them away. They ate fish caught in the river and greens gleaned from the forest and some of the nearby farmer’s fields, a bale of hay being nabbed for Kilmor and Adama should they want the extra grains.

And midday came and went before Elim returned to the clearing. “He has not returned and there is a patrol nearby,” he said by way of greeting as he appeared at the edge of their shielded glen.

“It seems as if he was discovered,” Kilmor said to nobody in particular.

“Plans?” Adama asked.

“Move on at nightfall,” Kilmor asked, “towards the swamps?”

“Nobody gets left behind,” Adama said flatly, ears laid back.

“Then we need to get into the city,” Elim told him. “*I* can pass for a really ugly elf but the two of you aren’t ever going to make it as humans.”

“We could…” Kilmor mentioned and cocked his huge head, looking at Adama, “well… you’re not going to like it.”

“What?”

“Well, if we could capture a human, preferably from a patrol…”

“You could ride his soul,” Elim finished for him, seeing where that was going. “Nice.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Adama looked ill and stared at Kilmor for several long moments before sighing and nodding, “It is, unfortunately, a good idea. If he could “capture” us, at the expense of his patrol, he could likely get us into the city without much fuss.”

“That means we have to capture him, and or, his patrol.” Elim sighed hard. “Taking one or more of them alive will be a little difficult; one of them is a Druid.”

Adama perked up, “How d’you know?”

“How do you know a person is a warrior?” Elim countered and Adama slowly nodded. “It’s all the little things. He doesn’t wear furs, carry fetishes and a big club with a sign on it that says “druid” with an arrow pointing at him but I can tell.”

“Then we don’t need to make any special efforts to save anybody except the leader,” Adama said softly.

“’A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go, hey-ho the merry-o..” Elim started to sing under his breath.

“Shut up Elim,” Adama said quietly.

“Fine, don’t let me have any fun.”

Kilmor just grinned and said nothing, glad Adama wasn’t glaring at him at the moment. He hadn’t told the others the weakness of the ‘soul-ride’ and while he thought Elim *might* know, he hadn’t volunteered the information. He really didn’t relish Adama knowing how much easier he would be to kill, how vulnerable he’d be, inside the other body. Not that he thought Adama would off him for no reason but he also didn’t want him thinking it would be easier.

 

[Aristoi]

It took them almost no time to set up their ambush or to get in position, for at the edge of the forest a little way to the east; there were some boulders and larger trees. Elim took the high road, perched amongst the boulders so that the patrollers would have to come up to get him with swords.

Adama took the middle of the road, further down to lure the riders down on him, while Kilmor hid behind a tree further up from Elim and Adama so he would be behind them when they charged, readying his magic.

Elim stood and watched the patrol and turned to Adama, pumping his fist that they were close enough. Adama raised his sword and swung it, indicating he was ready and of Kilmor, there was only a dappled shadow thanks to his magic.

Drawing Anthaelas and pulling the arrow to his ear, he looked down the shaft and made tiny adjustments of pitch and direction, feeling the wind and the tilt of the Land beneath his feet.

*This will be easily done if we do this for them* the bow whispered in his mind.

~Understood but there is a certain need in them to strike back~ Elim responded ~And frankly, I sympathize~

He loosed two arrows in quick succession, both finding their mark in the torso of one of the riders and under the mighty enchantment of the bow, passed through him and into the fields beyond. He reeled in his saddle but did not fall, at least, until the next two shafts found him and took him to the ground with them.

By then the patrol had spotted him and turned to attack, charging up the farmer’s track across the field to try to catch him and bring him down. He put two more shafts in one and then ducked down behind the rocks, seeming to be headed in the direction Adama lay in wait.

Up the trail and into the wood they rode, horses breathing hard even as the riders pulled them up short, catching sight of Adama standing in the middle of the trail, a bit further down. “Stand down and surrender,” Adama called to them, shield and sword at the ready.

They burst out laughing, thinking the goat-boy and maybe an archer we it. Unseen and unheard, Kilmor threw his spell, his horns becoming visible just over the tops of the tree he had been hiding against.

“El-halath neth-alam delet’!” Elim called from his hiding place to the druid in the patrol, using the secret tongue of their kind <”Wrong Path, Choose another!”>

“Donyo!” the human called from the horse he sat astride in the rear <”Surrender!”>

Elim put two arrows through him, high in the chest and down he went, injured but not dead.

His horse, it appeared, was smarter and trotted off leaving him in the dirt.

The other Druid, however, apparently managed to hold onto the reins of power despite the arrows in his chest for with a gesture and a shouted command, the plants grew thorns and animated on the side of the road Kilmor hid in.

Which of course infuriated the now-giant Yak-folk.

With a roar, he jumped through the five or so yards that separated him from the road and over the thrashing underbrush that was now dangerous and between two of the riders. One he struck down from his horse while the other tried to attack him and missed.

That same rider then tried to ride around Kilmor, only to be yanked off of his horse and crushed under the Yak-folk’s arm, his head enclosed in one massive fist as Kilmor twisted.

The leader charged Adama, screaming a war cry, even as Adama set himself and prepared for the predictable and unimaginative tactic. As the horse charged, Adama gesticulated with his shield and shrilled his own warcry, causing the horse to shudder to a stop and start. Then, as the Captain fought to control his horse, Adama leapt up and head-butted the startled animal right between the eyes.

And down it went, rider and all.

The Captain managed to roll from his mount, sword in hand as his horse struggled to gain its footing, disoriented and dazed from the attack. Adama lead in with his next attack, swinging with skill even as the Captain blocked and deflected in an attempt to preserve himself. It was clear Adama was the better warrior but the Captain managed to defend each time.

He countered and scored a light hit; Adama riposted and cut the Captain’s wrist, stomping on his foot in the process. With a grunt the Captain hopped back, his movement impaired a bit.

Behind them, as they dueled, they heard muffled screaming silenced suddenly by a sharp crack and the signing of a bowstring and the cry and thud of another man, hitting the ground.

Fire flew through their view as the Druid cast it at Elim, who ducked and crashed into the underbrush behind the boulders, rolling to extinguish himself.

Kilmor reached out as another rider slashed at him, scoring on his three times before the Yak-folk grabbed him off his horse, slamming him on the ground and falling on him, pasting him like so much soft meat.

Laughing as blood dripped through his lips, the Druid rose up and began casting a spell on Kilmor who was too far away and unable to get to him in time. Elim was on the far side of the boulders and Adama was busy with the Captain and the Druid spoke words that spelled grievous harm for the Yak-man.

It was utter shock and horror, for the party and the Druid when a shadow fell over him and something as big as the Yak-man slammed into the Druid with a high pitched cry. Skree’a drove her claw-wings into the Druid’s body and the claws of her feet into his legs, her mouth clamping on his head as she bit and worries him like a stag she had just hunted.

“You’re alone now,” Adama told the Captain as they circled warily, “surrender and you will live.”

“Huh! Oldest trick in the book, demon!” the Captain taunted back.

And an arrow slammed into his calf and another into his hand, tearing the sword from his finger. “I’m the demon,” Elim grated from his position to the right flank as Adama took the opportunity and laid the side of his sword against the man’s skull, laying him out like lumber. “Idiot.”

“This was my duel,” Adama growled at Elim.

“It was taking too long,” Elim replied and turned his back to go calm his blood-soaked bat hissing in the bright sunlight and day-rage.

Adama stood there, watching Elim walk away, breathing hard as he decided what to do. Stabbing someone in the back wasn’t honorable and Elim was a friend, of sorts. He also respected honor when it was practical, which Adama had to admit, was admirable in its own way. Still, his pride felt injured because the Archer had interfered.

Elim got Skree’a calmed while Kilmor saw to his wounds with a potion or three. Adama bound the Captain and stripped him of his gear, wondering at some of the things he found.

At Elim’s direction, Skree’a lumbered up into the air to return to her enshrouded clump of bushes to finish her day-sleep and to lick the Druid-juices from her fur. Elim had stripped the Druid’s body of what was not ruined or crushed and pierced, murmuring a little as he did so.

Of course, Kilmor had left little useable on his victim though a few potions and some jewelry had survived. He looked and smelled a mess too.

Taking one of the waterskins of the enemy, Elim summoned a small elemental and used it to wash Kilmor clean of the blood and entrails. The elemental enjoyed the job for it fed on the blood of life and drew power from it, even as it dissipated leaving a dry and clean Yak-man behind.

They gathered the booty in a small pile and took inventory. Of the potions, Elim easily identified the Healing draughts and there was a Wand of Curing as well. He took the wand, being the only one present who could invoke its magic and the potions went to the other two.

A buckler had graced the Captain’s arm, enameled in purple it was made to look like a large Dragon’s scale and the backing appeared to be some sort of bright silver. The dragon-rampant stamp of Cormyr marked it as being made there, likely the heirloom of some House or another. In the meantime, until it could be returned, Adama claimed it as his own and put it in his pack. A few other sundry items and some money had been found and between them they divided it four ways; a share set aside for S’lann in the belief he would be found.

“Take a walk Adama,” Kilmor told the Ibixian warrior as he eyed the Captain. “You told me you didn’t want this done around you.”

“I- “ Adama started to object and seeing the unyielding look on Elim’s face, he sighed instead. “Alright. I’ll go watch for more patrols and see about that one you dropped out on the road, Elim.”

“Good idea,” Elim replied, bow held ready in case things didn’t go well.

 

[Aristoi]

The deed was done and Elim had watched it all, the spooky way Kilmor had stared at the human laid out unconscious before him as he knelt and chanted under his breath. After many minutes and repetitions of the chant, Kilmor’s body had become indistinct around the edges and blurred, turning into a brown mist that seemed to be sucked into the closed eyelids, ears and nose of the man.

A moment later the eyes had opened and blinked, breathing became ragged for a minute before settling and the nostrils flared. Sitting up, still tied, the head turned jerkily to Elim and with the man’s voice said, “Come on Elim, cut me loose.”

“That’s bizarre,” Elim told Kilmor as he noticed the Yak-man’s inflections and body language in the human’s body. “So, if this body is killed, you’re dead too?”

“Unfortunately,” came the soft reply. “This is very dangerous for me. This body is far less durable than my own and it feels… wrong.”

“Maybe that’s your conscience?” Elim prompted.

“’Could be,” he agreed softly. “That I have one at all is the reason I can never go back to my own people.” He sighed and leaned forward, resting hands on knees and popping a healing potion. Visibly, his wound began to knit, the powerful healing magic renewing the body they had so recently hacked, pierced and bludgeoned into unconsciousness. “That’s better, but it still doesn’t feel right. It’s not just that its too small… it doesn’t feel the same s it did when I rode giants.”

“And you’re not in a giant now why…?” Elim asked.

“’Long story,” came the enigmatic reply, “and not worth telling.” He looked miserable at the thought so Elim let it be. Funny how he could more easily read human faces but then, Yak-folk didn’t have really expressive facial signals.

“So can you access…? Elim let it lay there.

“Yeessss,” he replied as he narrowed his eyes speculatively. “’Not a nice man in any shape or form. His thoughts revolved around the stash of coins he has back in his chest and his retirement. He’s a Captain and I think if we come in with you two as captives, it’ll work better. He’s got a thing with the evening shift and he’s come in like that before.” He paused and cocked his head considering, it looked like. “’Last time though he killed his companions and took the slave-fees on the captives for himself.”

“I’m gonna shoot him when you’re done,” Elim replied with narrowed eyes and an even colder look than usual.

“Just make sure I’m out please,” Kilmor replied with a grin. “I wouldn’t mind pasting him myself.”

“I- i- is it do-o-one?” Adama stuttered as he approached slowly, emboldened by the fact the human was untied, Kilmor wasn’t visible and Elim hadn’t slaughtered the “nasty human” yet.

Kilmor slowly got to his feet and grabbed Elim when he about fell over and tentatively raised a hand in greeting. “I’m in here but it’s a bad fit. This human is a sick one, a murderer and an assassin and I feel like I’m wearing the stuff down the oubliette at the Spire.”

“Hsst!” Adama cautioned angrily. “You never know…”

Kilmor just nodded acceptance of that and said, “According to his memories and thoughts, he’s not only taken slave-captives in by himself before but he’s also snuck people into the city for a few before, under the guise of them being slave-captives.” He shrugged and said, “If you could handle being a slave again?”

Elim shrugged and looked at Adama. They both had the same feeling he would object and have a real issue with that idea.

They were pleasantly surprised.

“A-a-alright,” he sighed nervously. “I don’t like it but I’ll do it. Will we need coin?”

“No..” Kilmore replied thoughtfully, “He gives a kick-back to the gate guards that let him through.”

“Well that’s better then.”

 

[Aristoi]

“Ho Desore!” came the call from the gate guard-in-charge atop the wall. “’Got slaves for the block?”

Kilmor quickly rifled his memory and raised his hand, grinning. “Telkan! Yep, bringing in some fresh meat!”

“Pass away, pass away!” Desore called to the archers lining the wall, several of them had arrows aimed at the trio. They relaxed and turned their attentions elsewhere, watching the peasants and other folk passing in and out of the western gates.

With a last wave Kilmor kicked his horse into a trot and dragged the other two with him, towing Adama and Elim behind. Once in the gate and down the busy street, he turned off into a secluded alley his host remembered having used for skullduggery in the past.

Adama shivered, “I don’t want to do that again. Ever.”

“Me either, actually.” Elim added, surprised. He didn’t think it would really bother him, especially since he knew it was ‘pretend’. But apparently, he still chafed rather badly the chains of slavery, whether real or not.

Kilmor simply untied their hands and unpacked their gear and kept watch while they changed. Elim and Adama both put on cloaks with deep hoods and wrapped their lower faces in scarves, which was common in the near-arid conditions of Thay. Once remounted, they headed back out in the street and off to the slave markets even as the twilight settled, having decided that if captured that would be where S’lann would be.

 

[Aristoi]

S’lann awoke, head aching and brain fuzzy, smelling things he’d prefer not to. His mouth tasted of vomit and his head felt stuffed full of cotton and he ached madly. Fortunately he had held his shape while he’d been knocked out, thanking his demonic heritage for that little blessing.

He was chained, that much he was sure of, and in the darkness of the hold of a barge of some kind shackled to a long line of other slaves. They were a dejected lot, starved, filthy and hopeless and he was in here with them. He looked up and there was a grate above, to small to wriggle through, a short star led up out of the hold at the far end but was sealed from above with another grating.

And it was full dark. He must’ve been out what, one, two days?

“Psst,” came a voice from above. Looking up he saw the grinning face of Squirrel looking through the grating, suspicion and anger stabbed through him. “Seran- you want out?”

“Don’t tease me kid!” he whispered back fiercely. “’Happy with yourself?”

“Whaddya mean?” Squirrel asked, momentarily confused. His face shifted as it dawned on him what S’lann was talking about. “You think *I* set you up? What kinda guy d’you think I am? We had a deal and I stick by my deals. It’s bad for business when your clients end up as slaves!” He looked away and paused, tense. He turned back warily, continuing quieter, “And Maiven has proven herself bad for my business. That’s not gonna go over well with the rest of us.” He gestured impatiently, “So, d’you want out of there or not?”

“Of course I do,” S’lann replied irritably, though pleased that Squirrel hadn’t sold him out. “Can you handle the grates?

“Sure but how’re you gonna get out of the….” And he paused, watching as S’lann’s body shifted and got smaller, briefly becoming the size of a Halfling so he could slip his bonds. “You’re a shapeshifter? Why dint you do that already?”

S’lann sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, returning to his normal shape. “I can’t fit through that grate though.”

“I can take care of that,” Squirrel muttered, looking a little irritated and disappeared.

Seconds ticked by and he heard nothing and then suddenly, there was a thud on the deck above, over near the hatch and the stairs. A few moments later, sounds that suggested something metal was being moved against the grating could be heard and then the grate was slowly pulled to the side. Squirrel poked his head down into the hold, upside down and checked it out before swinging down to his feet. He could just stand in the space without being bent over. Silently he crept forward to S’lann’s position.

“Okay, ready?” he asked.

“What about them?” S’lann asked, motioning to the other slaves caught in the hold with him.

“’Not my customer,” came the callous reply, “not my problem.”

“Huh,” S’lann breathed, not liking the answer but not in a position to do much about it.

 

[Aristoi]

Adama snapped the compass shut and turned back to Kilmor and Elim. “There,” he pointed to a barge floating at the dock, just beyond the warehouse they were facing. They’d already been able to detect that S’lann’s key was in the warehouse, so that meant most of his gear was there too.

“Two archers on the roof, four at the door and four at the loading dock on the water-side,” Elim said, squinting through the darkness as his bow whispered in his mind. “I recommend subterfuge.”

“Agreed,” Adama responded and Kilmor merely nodded. “I may have a plan… do we still have those red cloaks?”

An hour later

The four guards stood at the front doors of the warehouse, the smaller entry door that opened in the larger cargo/wagon doors, making sure their boss’s stuff stayed where it was. They didn’t have many challengers- whatever people were out either moved by without looking, came through with body guards or moved through unseen by anyone else.

So they were doubly surprised when a small party of three rode up from the darkness, their horses carrying gear as if they were in the field, two with crimson cloaks marking them as agents of the Red Wizards and one wearing the badge and tabard of the Guard. Warily they abandoned their dice game and readied their weapons, though they kept them down for drawing steel on a red Wizard was tantamount to a fate more horrible than death.

“Who among you is in charge?” the Captain of the Guard asked.

“Who wants to know Captain?” one of the men called back.

“Guard-Captain Desore,” he replied, still mounted on his horse.

“Then that’d be me,” the man who had spoken first stepped forward, hand on shortsword, still sheathed, “Klessan. Whatcha need?”

“These two worthies have come to our city from Thaymount to seek an item that was stolen from their master, which is now apparently in that warehouse yon,” Desore/Kilmor replied. “Some kind of Demon’s Key, or some such.”

The four men laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “Here? A Demon’s Key? You jest!”

“No, surely,” Desore/Kilmor replied flatly. “I’m convinced and I wouldn’t challenge a Red Wizard myself.”

“And you shall not,” came the husky scratchy whispering as a pale and gaunt face revealed itself from under one of the red cowls. “We come at the behest of our Master, Zsass Tam, to retrieve the key. You will step aside now or else face our hunger.”

The other men started and cowered a bit but one didn’t get to be bodyguard and merchant/slaver guards without seeing a few horrible things in one’s life. “Hah!” Klessan burst out, not laughing, more as if to surprise everyone.

On the horse the undead thing began to whisper, its voice echoing and repeating as the chant seemed to take on a life of its own. With a graceful gesture it held out its hand, palm up and fingers hooked into claws as a small ball of fire appeared and hovered. “Who feels brave?”

The other figure with a cowl, who as of yet had not looked up, did so now. With a face that seemed made from open flesh, two strange yellow eyes looked out as two horns curled back and over the head. A long face surely, with a strangely deformed nose and a small mouth, the creature bade them now. “Look into the face of the Hells and know that I will send you there lest you stop this farce and let us pass. It is only my concern for the gold my master would have to pay yours for the destruction of you that has kept you alive! My patience is used up! Step aside. Now.”

“I ain’t takin no orders-“ was as far as he got before the gaunt figure tossed the ball of fire into his face, where it stuck and spread on his face and neck, making him shriek with fright and pain. Simultaneous a large sword, seen hanging at the demon’s side, flashed in the darkness once, twice and the burning corpse fell at the feet of the other guards.

Smart men would have fled. Smart men would have given way. Smart men wouldn’t be doing this kind of work or have allowed this situation to get this far gone.

A bow appeared in the hands of the Undead even as the other men started to move, one of the archers on the roof falling as the arrows passed through him. The other one started fired a crossbow bolt at the Demon, which bounced off of the mail he wore underneath the cloak, before dropping down to reload.

The Captain rolled off of his horse and stepped into the melee, performing a punch/kick combination that left one of the men reeling.

The other three surged towards the Demon’s horse and attacked with their shortswords though unable to score any hits on the rider. He, on the other hand, laid one out as he handled his horse expertly.

The Undead drew his bow again and took a bead, controlling his horse with his legs and put two arrows into the second archer, this time in the only part visible over the edge of the roof; his head.

The Captain and the Demon continued to lay about them with fists and sword, getting hit here and there until their foes dropped, which took but a few more seconds.

Adama stripped off his red cloak and pulled the melon-halves off of the sides of his head, rubbing some of the pigments on his face onto a rag. Elim was already at the door, bow cocked and waiting, his large sensitive ears perked forward. He motioned with his hands in a way Adama and Kilmor didn’t recognize, then he whispered with a big sigh, “There’s more coming.”

And then the door burst open.

 

[Aristoi]

A few minutes later the three bloodied ex-slaves sat on the flagstones and sipped their healing draughts, trying to recover from the injuries that had taken. Gnolls and humans weren’t an easy battle unless they were green, though none of these had been green at all.

“That was a bit different…” Elim started to say and then heard something moving inside the warehouse.

“Oh fu-fu-fu- “Adama started to curse as the doors exploded outward and a lumbering Golem exploded out. It eyes burned with cold green fire, filigree chased its breastplate and its limbs and head and a roar erupted from its mouth. Idly it swatted the Captain aside and charged Adama, even as arrows hitting it dead center of its chest skittered off without effect.

“It’s got a ring on it Ada-“ Elim called just before the golem swung a terrific blow, knocking the archer senseless several feet away.

“Ring?” Adama asked and took a second took look even as the Golem turned to finish him off as well. Seeing a gold band of sorts, like a much larger version fo what had been in their noses welded to the Golem’s chest. He stepped back and waited. ~One chance~ he thought.

The colossus took a hack at the smaller Ibixian who managed, only by the grace of luck, to avoid being cloven twain. It swung again and this time it stumbled over the corpse of one of the previous guards, pasting him like a boiled root.

Which was exactly the chance Adama needed and he stabbed, hoping the blade he wielded would be enough. He drove the point with all of his considerable might, the point slammed into the left chest of the construct and with a screaming screech it skittered across the thing’s chest and caught the edge of the ring, snapping it off of its bindings. He closed his eyes, seeing the sword coming down even as this happened, knowing he was about to die.

It took a moment to realize he wasn’t dead, though he had felt the wind of the blade’s swing caress his head and face, it was as if he had passed through the weapon. He opened one eye and saw the edge of the sword, mere inches from his face, held in place motionless by the Golem. He opened both eyes and edged away slightly only to be frozen in place as the Golem spoke.

“Hold,” it ordered and brought the sword around in a fluid flourish, sliding it into the sheath across its back. “I would speak with you if you are able.”

“Y-y-you-ou-ou speak?” Adama asked, hesitant from amazement.

“Of course I do,” the giant said with what seemed to be aggrieved humor. “I take it that doesn’t happen much around here?”

“Well,” Adama replied cautiously, “not when o-o-one is dealing with a… you a-a-are a construct a-a-aren’t you?”

“No,” came the surprising response. “That is, not what you think of when *you* say that”. It/he reached up and laid his hand flat against his chest. Adama idly noted the hand had two fingers and a thumb and had hinges for knuckles. “I am a Warforged and I am not from your world.”

“What do you mean ‘not from our world’?” Elim asked irritably, raising himself up to a sitting position and spitting out grit.

“Would you care for some assistance,” the ‘Warforged’ asked courteously, stepping over and offering a hand.

“No,” Elim replied in the same tone, levering himself up using his bow. “The question?”

“I am from a world called Eberron. I was summoned by one of those crimson-cloaked wizards to fight in his games and I was eventually sold into slavery to this merchant because I ceased to cooperate.” He/it shrugged, “My kind are slaves no longer and the fire of freedom is very hot within us. I injured you, yes?”

“You and them,” Elim gestured with his chin at the dead bodies around them.

Holding his hands out to Elim, palms facing his head, the ‘Warforged’ murmured some words and a silvery light shone from them, bathing Elim’s head in its radiance. It lasted but a moment before flickering away and the cuts and bruises he had endured had vanished utterly, his skin unmarred. The big metal creature staggered slightly and placed a hand to his/its head, as if to clear it. “’Wasn’t sure I could still do that.”

“You’re a paladin aren’t you?” Elim asked, scrutinizing the creature, still not having thanked him.

“I am.”

“That you can still Heal means that you aren’t cut off from your gods here,” Elim pointed out. “That means its likely you can get home. It also means its likely you’re still here for a reason.”

“That reasoning is sound,” the ‘Warforged’ cocked his head as if considering the words before nodding agreement, “yes, I agree.”

“I am Elim,” he said and offered his hand to be shaken, rather fearlessly Adama noted.

“I am Gareth Silvergilt of the Mist Wastes,” came the reply and the grip was soft and careful.

“I am Kilmor,” said the Yak-possessing-the-man.

“I am A-a-adama,” he stepped forward and shook hands. “You turned my sword,” he asked suddenly, remembering. “How is that possible? It is Adamantine.”

“As am I,” came the reply with what sounded like a smile.

Adama and Elim’s mouths dropped open and stayed that way for a two full breaths apiece. “Y-y-you’re serious?” Elim asked, sounding like Adama for a moment.

“Yes,” and his eyebrows, for he did have them, quirked at them. “I take it the metal is very rare here?”

“Very much so indeed,” came Adama’s reply.

“Then at last,” Gareth’s voice rang out in mock-exultation, “I have greater worth in the eyes of my fleshly peers than I ever thought I would.”

“It is as I surmised then,” Elim responded with a grim smile, “you are something of an outcast in your world. You entire people are?”

“Yes,” Gareth replied sadly. “It is true that we were created by fleshly beings though not as normal servants. Instead, we were created as warriors to fight in a great war that had lasted nearly a hundred years. In desperation, undead and summoned creatures were used, demons and other foul magicks were employed and one kingdom, Cyre, made us.” He paused and seemed to need a moment to gather himself. Elim, touched despite himself, reached out and placed his taloned hand on the Warforged’s forearm.

“So,” he seemed to sob, “in the end the Kingdom of Cyre was blasted into a Waste. A barrier was formed that kept in what was there and kept out, mostly, what was there. Natural creatures and Warforged could pass but demons and the like were stopped. The only good that came of it was that the war ended and my people were freed from fighting, though now we had to find a new way to live even though we do not, in the way that you do.”

“That’s really… “ Elim shrugged sympathetically and looked down. He didn’t have word to express the loss he felt and the horror that an entire country could be turned into a blasted waste and would be required to get people’s attention, to stop a war.

“I know,” Gareth replied softly. “So, you were here for a reason, yes? What can I help you with, since you freed me from my slavery?”

“We’re ex-slaves ourselves and were kept in a kind of zoo by a Red Wizard. Recently we and many of our fellow captives escaped and fled though we three and one more chose to flee together and to see if we could make it to my home first.” He gestured to Elim, “We are disparate people, who normally might have killed one another if we did not have commonality.” He gestured to the warehouse, “One of our number, an ex-slave, is missing and we believe he is here having been captured into slavery again.”

“In slavery,” Gareth replied thoughtfully, “he would be kept elsewhere. You are sure that this is the merchant that took your friend?”

“We have a kind of divination magic that showed us,” Elim replied, leaning on the bow.

“Then your friend was taken recently and has yet to be sold.” He gestured to the docks and the barge they could see floating on the closest sprit. “He would be there, if all else is correct.”

In the distance they could see figures, though it was difficult to see who or what they were. Only that there were several.

“Perhaps you should check again?” Gareth suggested.

Adama nodded and took out the compass and spoke a name, “S’lann.”

The compass needle swung towards the barge and then slightly off from it and as they watched it moved downstream ever so slowly. The rings displayed “living”, “healthy” and “fleeing”.

“Dammit,” Adama cursed and showed Gareth the display who, surprisingly, also read Draconic. It was his damned item and he couldn’t even read it but it seemed everyone else *could*.

Yolen was SO going to get a black eye when he saw him again.

“It appears he’s headed out of town, likely outside the walls.” Elim chuckled, “He probably thinks to find us in the woods and meet with us there, forgetting we said we would come for him otherwise.”

“Perhaps he merely seeks to intercept you and prevent the same thing happening to you that did to him?” Gareth asked, playing advocate.

Adama and Elim gave him a look that squelched that suggestion immediately. “Our friend is very smart but he is not overly… wise. He is far too honest for his own good and because of our mutual background he tends to forget how special he can be.”

“How is that? Gareth asked, scratching the side of his head and making sounds that made the other two cringe.

SKREAK, SKREAAAAK

“If you’ll stop that-“ Elim implored him and when he complied he explained, “S’lann is a formshifter and he often forgets he can do other things when he’s in those shapes.”

“Ah! A Changeling!” Gareth replied.

“Um, no.” Elim replied faintly. “Those things are… well, they’re not… S’lann isn’t a Changeling.”

“Well then what is he?”

“Fey’ri,” came the soft answer and both braced for some kind of religious diatribe.

Instead Gareth stroked his chins lowly to prevent the sounds and offered, “I will judge him by his acts then. I could ask for nothing else for myself.”

Adama and Elim exchanged looks and Adama asked puzzled, “How is it that you are a Paladin and do not fly to slay a Demon?”

“Eberron is a very magickal place, my friend. Demons are to be treated with caution though they can oft prove useful or even friendly.” He gestured to himself, “When you saw me you assumed I was one thing when inside, I am very different. I would be a hypocrite were I to make the same assumptions about others.”

“That is very wise of you,” Elim responded with a faint smile, “and enlightened.”

“I thought it was just common-sense,” he replied with a chuckle.

“It is not so-o-o common,” Adama told him agreeably, “trust me.”

“I do,” he replied and then turned to the barge and the river. “What is your plan?”

“We must collect our friend and we must find his possessions,” Elim replied. “We may get in and out of the gates through subterfuge by ourselves but not with you along.”

“’Would you be willing to wait here for us to return for you?” Kilmor asked, suddenly speaking after watching it all and saying nothing.

“If you promised to return,” Gareth replied softly, “I will.”

“I do so,” Kilmor replied, “lest we perish in the attempt.”

“Then let’s be off,” Elim said and pointed to the mellow halves Adama had cast off earlier. “You’ll need those again.”

Adama screwed up his face at the thought and sighed, “I so used to like me-e-e-lon.”

 

[Aristoi]

Unseen in the darkness a Lizardman crawled from the water carrying what appeared to be a pack on its shoulders, though it detached as soon as they were clear of the water.

“Ugh,” Squirrel shook himself and the layers of fabric he wore, “glad I am now that this is a warm night.”

The Lizardman shifted and shrank, becoming the elf-boy shape S’lann normally wore. “As am I,” S’lann replied with a grim smile, naked on the ground where he lay, very tired.

“Then is it not a good thing that you have friends,” came a raspy voice from the darkness. Squirrel immediately jumped up in wary alert and drew knives.

“’Peace,” S’lann gestured to him, standing slowly and smiling. “I know this spectre- it is Elim.”

“It is,” he replied, melting into view out of the darkness, his eyes softly radiant like the moon above. He touched S’lann on the shoulder in greeting and then looked down at Squirrel. “You seem to make the oddest friends, S’lann.”

“Yes I do,” S’lann replied, poking Elim in the chest to prove the point.

“So you do,” Elim replied, more glad than he would admit that S’lann was alright. He chose instead to joke but he still smiled that smile that made others shudder in horror. He really had an impressive set of choppers. “And you are?” he looked down at the immature human.

“Squirrel,” came the wary reply. “What are you?”

“I am a Githzerai,” Elim replied, grinning at the wary way the child acted and yet, displaying a child’s curiosity. “I bet you don’t know where on Toril I’m from?”

“Is that a kind of Elf?” Squirrel asked.

“Nope.”

“Cormyr then?” he asked.

“Nope.”

Dragon Coast.”

“Nope.”

And the litany went on and on as Elim got a cloak and gave it to S’lann to cover himself with. It was funny how they had become modest, now that they had a choice to have modesty.

S’lann chuckled as he took the cloak, seeing Elim roll his eyes at what had turned into a game was becoming a trial.

“’Give up?” S’lann asked Squirrel with a grin that suggested he should.

“Why?” the boy asked, looking suspicious. “It’s a trick right?”

“Actually,” Elim replied squatting down to Squirrel’s level, “it was a riddle. My people aren’t from anyplace on Toril. We live on other planes.”

“You’re crappin’ me!” Squirrel scoffed, looking like he suspected they weren’t but really not wanting to think he was talking to a demon or something. S’lann shook his head and Elim just grinned again. “Damn! So I guess Seran here is a Demon too?”

“Half,” Elim replied with a smile and a chuckle, “but I’m not a Demon. My people used to be human-like but our world was destroyed by war.” He shrugged, “So we travel the worlds and planes.”

“So THAT’s why you can change forms and stuff!” Squirrel almost jumped up and down excitedly. “’Wish I could do that. I’d be top-thief!”

“I wish I could give it to you,” S’lann replied gloomily.

“Why?” Squirrel demanded indignantly. “Is makes you special and you can do really amazing thing with it! You became a Lizardman to carry me down the river with you, which was sure scary, lemme tell you. You can probably become like those elves that can fly and stuff, right?” He sighed wistfully, “If I could fly, I don’t think I’d ever stop.”

S’lann shook his head wonderingly, understanding what the kid was saying. He’d never really appreciated what he had until that very moment, in the face of someone else’s naked longing to have it themselves.

To be special.

He looked at Elim and Adama and realized, despite Adama’s curse and Elim’s hate for humans, they were special too. They might not see it but truly, they were special and unique in their own right.

And he realized they had just come after him, to save his life.

“Um, thank you,” he said and awkwardly clasped both forearms with Adama and clapped Elim on the shoulder before hugging him, “You came after me.”

“Yep,” Adama said with a nod and a resolute stance.

“We wanted your stuff,” Elim responded at the same time, grinning anyway.

S’lann made as it hit him and then paused, looking around and missing both the shadow and the smell of their third. “what happened to Kilmor?”

The other two looked kind of embarrassed and a voice came out of the nearby reeds. “’Promise not to laugh,” he demanded. The voice was different but the inflection and the trace of Kilmor was there.

“Um alright?” S’lann agreed confusedly and ogled as a human stepped out of the bushes. “’You didn’t! Tell me you’re not soul-riding a human!”

“It was the best idea at the time,” Kilmor responded from the body of the man, “though I will be happy to shed this skin. He is weak and petty and cruel and I feel as if I am wearing the oubliette on me every moment I am in here.”

“‘Not to mention his new form is a lot less strong and durable than the original,” Elim chuckled.

“He’s a shapeshifter TOO!?” Squirrel demanded, pointing at the body Kilmor was wearing.

“No Squirrel,” S’lann explained, “he’s a ‘Soul-rider’. He takes over another’s body, like a possession except that his body is inside that person’s body and it makes him as vulnerable as the person he’s controlling.”

“So he could die in this body if it died?” Squirrel asked, “He’s not really changing shape but taking someone’s body?” He shuddered. “That’s just wrong.”

“I don’t do it much,” Kilmor replied softly. “This was the best way to get us into the city.”

“Huh! You guys don’t know anything do you?” He gestured to the whole wide world, “Only marks use the gates. We got sewers, ya know. They empty outside the city. You go in one and you come out inside the city- happens all the time.” He crossed his arms and shook his head, “You guys were all slaves, right?”

Elim’s head snapped around, “How did you know that?”

Squirrel jerked a thumb at S’lann who looked utterly bewildered. “He sticks out like a black spider on a white wall,” he snorted. “New stuff without any wear on it but he travels in on foot. He doesn’t know what merchants are or how they advertise and he’s all scared of ‘em. He talks to slumming noble bit- er, women rather than the hookers when he’s fishin’ for information and he talks like it came outta a book.” He gestured to each of them in turn, “The goat-man is the only one that doesn’t act like he’s been down a hole his whole life.”

”Huh!” Adama choked as he chewed a grain cube, eating again.

“You try bein’ all tough so people don’t know how scared you are,” he pointed at Elim. “You’re okay and all but you’re scared of people and you want to keep them away.”

He pointed at S’lann, “And you got all this book-learnin’ but no real experience.”

He pointed at Kilmor, “Dunno about you yet but you and goat-man seem to have more world-ways about you but you’re both too polite and polished to get around out here.”

S’lann looked sick, Adama and Kilmor were transfixed and Elim was frowning so hard his eyes had almost disappeared under his brows.

*He’s got you and you know it* the bow told him *and it sucks because it not only came from a human but a child too!*

~If you weren’t already dead….~ Elim growled silently back

*You love me and you know it so shut it* came the tart-teasing reply. Elim blushed a pewter shade and stopped frowning, sighing gustily and giving it up.

“Alright then. What do you want?”

“Whaddya mean”” Squirrel asked cautiously.

“To keep you quiet about us,” Elim clarified. “You gotta want something to keep you quiet.”

“Uh,” Squirrel paused, looking completely blindsided.

“You didn’t even think of that did you kid?” Adama chortled, pleased to see some of that karma paid back instantly.

“I wanna come,” he piped up, looking shocked at the very idea and yet, bold as brass about it.

Adama drew his sword and stepped forward, catching Squirrel by the shoulder and holding the blade down where he could touch it. “Swear on this blade you mean no betrayal and that you will not do so. It is a holy blade and should you lie or betray us, you will be cursed until the end of your days.”

“I make a deal,” Squirrel replied with all the pre-adolescent indignity he could muster after putting his hand on the blade, “I keep it.” There was a momentary glow from the sword that faded a moment later, which was good that Squirrel was so raptly looking at it and missed the look of utter amazement on Adama, Elim and S’lann’s face.

None of them had guessed it would do that, whatever it was.

“Okay then,” Adama said as he turned to the horses, “let’s get going.” He pulled Squirrel up on the saddle before him, “Can you show us how to get into the city without being seen?”

“You’ll have to leave the horses,” he replied. “I know someone outside the sewers that’ll tend ‘em or buy ‘em, if you want.”

“I think we can sell them actually,” Elim replied thoughtfully.

“What d’you have in mind Elim,” Adama asked with that suspicious growl. “Not more fruit and paint, I hope?”

“Trust me, my dear goat, trust me.”