JollyDoc
Explorer
INTO THE DYING CITY
The streets of Korvosa were dull and muted as the six members of the K.I.A. entered the city with their prisoner in tow. It was late afternoon, and the markets were closed. Ordinarily, the avenues would still be bustling with the nightlife of a city that never slept, yet they were strangely empty. In direct contrast, armed patrols were present in abundance, but not the familiar faces of the Korvosan Guard, nor even the more intimidating Hellknights of the Order of the Nail. No, the soldiers that stalked menacingly along the main thoroughfares and back alleys were uniformly female. It seemed that the Gray Maidens had enjoyed a recruiting boom over the past few weeks.
Still, as the companions passed the taverns and common houses, small clusters of people gathered in tight knots, whispered rumors on their lips. There seemed to be a common theme to the talk, however, and it involved some event that had just transpired within the past two days. At one point, Katarina waved her companions ahead of her as she paused to approach a group of Varisians. Several minutes later, she hurried to catch up to the others, her eyes wide, her voice breathless.
“Something’s happened,” she said in a low voice. “Something terrible…!”
What she’d heard from the Varisians was that two days prior, Queen Ileosa had announced a public address. Some of the more notable officials in attendance where the queen’s bodyguard Sabina Merrin, her new advisor, a bloat mage from the Acadamae named Togomor, who had taken up the duties of castle seneschal, Cressida Kroft, and the commandant of the Sable Company Marcus Endrin. Ileosa had announced triumphantly that the plague had been defeated, although unfortunately at the cost of Doctor Davaulus’s life. The good doctor’s body had been shipped back to Cheliax for burial in his family’s vault, and the order of the Queen’s Physicians had been disbanded. Yet, she said, Korvosa remained wounded. She went on to report that the Order of the Nail had shown its true colors and fled like cowards into Citadel Vraid. Worse, both the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company had suffered terrible losses over the past weeks. Neither group was fully capable of continuing as Korvosa’s protectors, she reasoned, and thus, to shore up that fault, the queen named her newly created order of Gray Maidens as the new protectors of Korvosa, appointing Sabina Merrin as the new General of Korvosa. She continued her speech, saying that she had decided to dissolve the Sable Company, and that the remaining marines would be folded into the Korvosan Guard. At that point, she had asked Commandant Endrin to step forth to surrender his badge of office. As Endrin did so, however, he had reached for his badge, but instead of handing it over, he threw it at the queen, striking her in the cheek with it. As all of the onlookers, including the queen, had stood shocked, Endrin had proclaimed, “Your shameful reign ends now! Korvosa will be free again!”
An instant later, his crossbow was in his hands, aimed at the queen. He pulled the trigger, and his aim was true. The bolt struck Ileosa directly in the temple. Yet she did not fall. With incredible speed, she had yanked the bolt from her skull, and with her free hand, seized Endrin by the throat, and lifted him off the ground. A moment later, she buried the bolt between his eyes with a single, powerful blow. As Endrin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground and Ileosa shook his blood from her hand, she had shouted out, “This shall be the fate of all enemies of Korvosa! Mark well his death! It is only the first!” Then, Togomor had stepped forward and teleported away with the queen. The resulting riot was quickly and brutally quelled by the Gray Maidens.
The companions were shocked to learn of the assassination attempt, and the events that led up to it. If the Gray Maidens were in control of Korvosa’s military, what did that bode for the Guard? They quickened their steps and made all haste to the Citadel.
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Only one guard stood at the Citadel entrance, which was strange in-and-of itself. His eyes grew wide with relief when he saw the group approaching.
“Thank the gods you’re here!” he said. “The Field Marshall was just about to send a rider to retrieve you from Shoalbury. Go on in. She’s waiting for you in the keep.”
No soldiers trained in the inner courtyard, and the halls within the keep were silent and empty, with refuse and trash scattered here and there, dust gathered in empty barracks, and an overall state of creeping neglect hung like a pall over the place. When the six companions entered the small meeting room where they found Cressida, they were surprised to see how haggard and tired the Field Marshall looked. She glanced up with hollow eyes and merely sighed when she saw her agents.
“You’re back,” she said wearily. “None too soon. Please, be seated.”
Once they had taken seats around the long table, Cressida shuffled several papers in front of her and began to speak again.
“Korvosa is dying. No, strike that. Korvosa is being murdered. Killed by our queen. The evidence you’ve uncovered that links her to the plague is damning enough, but this recent display at her address…she’s more in control now than ever. I dare not move against her…my Guard would be executed to the last man by her Gray Maidens by sundown. She must be stopped, and I know of no one else but yourselves to do this deed.
Whatever foul magic the queen has wrapped herself in is obviously of the highest order. Endrin’s aim was true…his shot should have dropped her. I had feared he was going to take matters into his own hands like this, but I had hoped he would find it within himself to find a better route. If only he would have waited.
You see, just this morning, new information came to me. I have received a missive from my friend Vencarlo Orisini, the first I’ve heard from him since Queen Ileosa cut off Old Korvosa and put it under quarantine. A message that give me hope. Vencarlo speaks of discovering something of vital importance regarding the queen…he mentions something about dark magic and a pact with a devil, but until recent events, I found his claims difficult to believe. Yet now…if Queen Ileosa has entered an infernal pact of some sort, we must read carefully indeed.
Vencarlo asked for you in the missive. You’ve made quite the impression on him, it appears. He remains in Old Korvosa now, but has asked that I send you to him, to his home, to hear what he has discovered. Ironically, you should be safe in Old Korvosa…the queen’s quarantine has cut off the island entirely, and word on the street is that she plans on leaving it to rot. She won’t think to look for you there if you maintain a low profile and avoid confrontations with the Gray Maidens.
Once you find him, you’ll need to escape Korvosa, I fear. This city is no longer safe for you, or for those associated with you. As Field Marshal, I suspect that as long as I comply with the queen, I shall be safe…and I will do what I can to ensure those friends and family you might leave behind are protected. By remaining in this city, I fear that you put them into more peril. Go to Old Korvosa, find Vencarlo and hear what he has to say. He has contacts in Harse…he’ll be able to help you lay low. I shall be in contact with you when I can, at which point our plan, I hope, shall be clear.”
“I’m sorry to hear things have gotten this dire,” Michael said. “Of course we shall do as you ask, but if the Gray Maidens are guarding all routes into the old city, how should we proceed?”
“There are always several skiffs moored along the north shore of the Jeggare,” she replied. “I would suggest, under cover of darkness, you take one of them and cross the river. After that, I’m afraid, you’re on your own.”
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Ultimately, however, the K.I.A. came up with their own unique strategy. Once again Michael uttered a prayer and imbued each of the companions with the ability to walk upon water. Then Kat wove a veil of invisibility around them all. Thus disguised, they simply walked across the Jeggare, avoiding the longboats of Gray Maidens that patrolled the river, and entered Old Korvosa through Old Dock, Ratbone’s old stomping grounds.
It became immediately apparent, however, as the group set foot ashore, that things in Old Korvosa were not well…not well at all. The streets were filled with filth and garbage, and vermin thronged the alleys, feeding off the detritus as well as the occasional body that lay sprawled amidst the decay. Many buildings were boarded up and dark, and others were completely burned out. At one point a flock of incongruously happy children sang a rhyme as they gathered around something in the middle of the street.
“Headless, headless,” they chanted, “that’s what you’ll be, brand new dolls in the Emp’rer’s ceme’try! Choppy, choppy, chop, the tall knife calls, waitin’ for the day for Korvosa to fall.”
When they saw the company approaching, they scattered into the darkness, leaving behind the object they’d been dancing around…a crude guillotine fashioned from sticks and pegs.
From the center of Old Dock, it seemed as if a massive fire burned, and periodically, the roar of a large crowd echoed from that vicinity. Quietly, Ratbone led his friends through back alleys, heading towards the source of the cacophony. As they drew nearer to the neighborhood’s center, however, they began seeing more and more people…specifically large groups of armed men who roamed in packs, beating any stragglers they came across and dragging them away. Ratbone growled low in his throat when he saw the spectacle, but Michael laid a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Peace,” the priest said. “There will be time for this later. We have to find Vencarlo. Come.”
Reluctantly, the druid turned away.
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When they finally reached Fort Korvosa, the highest part of Old Korvosa, and the neighborhood where Vencarlo’s academy was located, the change was obvious. Though still mostly deserted, the streets were cleaner and free of vermin, and most of the buildings were intact. Perhaps this was because House Arkona, one of Korvosa’s oldest noble families, was located in the district. When the island had been quarantined, the Arkonas were cut off as well. In any event, Fort Korvosa seemed to be a relatively safe place in the turmoil of the old city…at least until they came within sight of the fencing academy. Where Vencarlo’s school had once stood, the once-proud structure itself was no more, burned to the ground completely. His home, however still stood. Cautiously, weapons drawn, the companions approached.
“Master Orisini?” Herc called as he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. The interior of the house was warm, but quiet. From the living room at the end of the entry hall, the light of a fire in the hearth could be seen dancing merrily.
“Something’s not right,” Kat said quietly. “Wait.”
She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration.
“There are others here besides us,” she said at length. “I can sense their thoughts…three minds…not too bright…they are cautious…waiting for something…”
She opened her eyes again.
“None of them are Vencarlo,” she said. “We need to be very careful.”
They began searching, room-by-room, finding no one, and no evidence of a struggle. Eventually, they began making their way upstairs to where Vencarlo had an open training room. As Herc and Valeris reached the landing, the others still on the floor below, they found another lit fireplace along with several practice dummies. Just at that moment, the pair caught a flash of movement from the rafters above. Something that looked like a flask arced towards the fireplace. When it struck, it exploded, and flames spilled out of the hearth and onto the surrounding floorboards, setting them instantly alight. An instant later, a figure dropped from the rafters. It was humanoid, clad in red leather armor, but its features were hidden behind a full head mask that resembled a giant insect…a mantis to be exact. In the living room below, two identical figures stepped from the shadows beneath the stairs and began moving with predatory grace towards O’Reginald and Katrina. There was no mistaking what they were…agents of the Red Mantis…death incarnate.
Herc lowered his shield and charged across the practice room. He struck the assassin and would have driven him straight through the wall, but the mantis rolled with the blow and ended up behind the mercenary and face-to-face with Valeris. Silently, the killer raised the pair of saw-toothed blades he carried and drove them towards the duskblade’s face. Valeris caught both of them on his own blade and buckler, and turned one of the swords back on the assassin, driving the mantis’s own steel into his thigh.
Below, Kat turned back down the stairwell, but found her way blocked by Michael. She could just see around the corner, however, as the other two assassins closed on O’Reginald. Though her powers were, by their nature, subtle, she could occasionally summon up a surprise or two. Holding her hand palm out, she loosed a lance of pure sound which caught the nearest mantis full in the chest, hurling him back and away from the mage. The second killer, however, quickly rushed O’Reginald, jagged blades flashing in a wickedly hypnotic display. The sorcerer recoiled, but not fast enough. Like a cobra the mantis struck, the sabers cutting deeply and repeatedly, and O’Reginald fell before them, collapsing to the floor in a widening pool of his own blood. The assassin didn’t stop, but instead somersaulted past Michael, and came up behind the priest before burying one of the blades in his back.
As the flames rapidly spread across the practice floor, Herc whirled back towards the mantis assassin against which he and Valeris continued to struggle. Growling, the big warrior took two quick strides across the room, and swung his blade in a wide arc, completely severing the spine of the hired killer. Still not making a sound, the assassin fell limply to the floor, and the fire quickly engulfed his body.
Kat lost sight of the second mantis as the man ducked behind Michael, but she could see that the first had already recovered from her assault and was closing to flank the priest. She began to cast again, and that time, the mantis slumped to the floor, fast asleep. A moment later, however, the remaining assassin flashed past Kat again, and roughly kicked his partner back awake. He turned back towards Michael, but this time the priest was ready. A sudden sonic explosion blew the two murderers away from each other, leaving them stunned on the floor. The wounded cleric then sank weakly to one knee, clutching his amulet as he channeled divine energy into himself and O’Reginald, narrowly saving the sorcerer from bleeding to death. Suddenly, a roar filled the room as three-hundred pounds of fur and fangs exploded from the stairs behind Kat. Ratbone hurled himself into the assassins. He bore one of them to the floor, and clamped his jaws around the man’s torso. A sickening crunching could be clearly heard, and blood flowed from beneath the killers’s mantis-head mask. He twitched once, and went limp. The druid turned towards the other mantis, only to find that Herc had followed him down the stairs and nearly decapitated the man with the edge of his shield.
At that moment, timbers began cracking from the floor above, and cinders began showering down on the heroes.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Michael shouted as he helped the wounded O’Reginald to his feet and began heading towards the front door.
“Valeris is still up there!” Herc cried. “The rest of you go! I’ll go after him and be right behind you!”
Reluctantly, the others followed the priest and sorcerer back outside. Herc ducked behind his shield and charged back upstairs.
Valeris was trapped. The flames had him completely surrounded on three sides, with a closed door to his back. He quickly opened it and found himself in a small bedroom. There was no way out, not even a window. Only a narrow closet provided any hope of respite. Valeris ducked inside and closed the door behind him. Rapidly, the small space began filling with smoke and grew increasingly warmer. The duskblade looked desperately around him, but could find no salvation. In desperation, he clutched his sword and began hammering at the back wall of the closet. The plaster began to crack, and abruptly gave way, sending Valeris tumbling into the stairwell right on top of Herc.
“Time to go!” Herc coughed and he heaved the duskblade over his shoulder. As they began descending the burning stairs, however, Valeris caught a glimpse of glinting metal, something that had tumbled out of the wall when he’d burst through. He reached down and snatched it, clutching it to his chest as Herc barreled through the collapsing house towards safety outside.
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The six companions stood in silence as the academy burned. They had been left with even more questions than they’d started with. The fencing master was missing, as was the information that he’d found. Worse, the Red Mantis was involved, and wherever they went, death followed. Finally, Valeris knelt down and placed the metal box, which was what he’d recovered from the wreckage, on the ground. It was tightly locked, but a few quick blows with the pommel of his sword solved that problem. When he opened the lid and saw what was inside, he and the others were stunned into silence. Folded inside the case was a black, hooded cloak, several black masks, a dozen masterfully crafted daggers, each with a stylized ‘B’ engraved in their pommels, a suit of black leather armor, a pair of black leather boots and gloves, the latter with two fingers in the right hand containing fake, wooden fingers, and an exquisite mithral rapier.
“I knew it,” Kat said at length. “Orisini’s Black Jack.”
Before any of the others could comment, a weak, frightened voice spoke from an alley behind them.
“Can it be? Is it really you?”
They turned, hands going to weapons. A young man staggered into the light of the burning flames. His face was haggard, drawn and unshaven. Though his clothes were worn and frayed, it was still obvious that they were of a very expensive cut not typical of Old Korvosa. Though his features were more strained and careworn than the last time they’d seen him, all of the companions, save Michael, recognized Amin Jalento, the young nobleman they’d rescued from a murderous mob the night Eodred died.
“I’d almost given up hope after…after what happened to Master Orisini…”
“What happened?” Kat asked. “Where is Vencarlo?”
“I was taking lessons from him when the quarantine was enacted,” Amin began. “Since I was unable to return to the mainland, the Master was gracious enough to allow me to stay at the academy as his guest. Unfortunately, my stay ended not long after, when the Red Mantis invaded. Master Orisini confronted them and took one of them down, but there were too many. He was forced to flee. I can only assume the assassins burned down the academy as a warning. I’m not certain where Master Orisini has gone, but I have an idea who might know. In the days after the quarantine, I noticed that the Master seemed restless and distracted. He regularly left the house at odd hours in the night, sometimes not returning until the morning. After one such early morning return, I noted that his clothes were bloody. He said he’d had to fight off a thief, but I’m sure there was more to it than that. In the days before the Red Mantis attacked, the Master had a very strange visitor come by on several occasions…a man with paint-stained hands, wild hair, and a jittery habit of looking about. Master Orisini introduced him to me as a friend, but I recognized him. His name was Salvator Scream, a somewhat notorious local artist.”
“I’ve heard of his work,” Kat nodded.
“They always met behind closed doors,” Amin continued, “three times in all, and on their last meeting, I heard the Master’s voice raised in anger. Since the attack, I’ve been meaning to track down Salvator to ask him if he knows what happened to Master Orisini, but I’ve not worked up the nerve to brave Old Dock, where Salvator lives.”
“What’s going on down at Old Dock?” Ratbone asked. “We got a glimpse of pressgangs when we passed through.”
“They work for the Emperor,” Amin nodded.
“The Emperor of what?” Valeris asked.
“The Emperor of Old Korvosa,” Amin said in hushed tones. “At least that’s what he calls himself. He rules Old Dock from his palace on Silk Street, several tenements he’s taken over. He rarely leaves there, and mobs of his fanatics scour the streets seeking more conscripts to his cause. Those who resist are instead captured for…other purposes. Some say one of the ways that he maintains power is that he controls two magical devices which can supply never-ending supplies of both water and food!”
“Thank you for the information, Amin,” Kat said, gently placing a hand on Ratbone’s chest as a deep growl started there. “Now, I suggest you go to ground, and when you can, get off the island. We’ll find Salvatore Scream, and we’ll find Vencarlo, and if this Emperor gets in our way, he’ll wish he’d never taken up the crown.”
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Katarina knew that Salvatore Scream was a notorious artist whose gruesome and often scandalous art was held in relatively high esteem by several of Korvosa’s nobles. The lower classes were familiar with his work as well, since many of them served as grisly backdrops for the Old Dock playhouse known as Exemplary Excrables, a venue known for its violent entertainments. His home on Wave Street was a leaning, decrepit building located on the Narrows, not far from one of the many now-ruined bridges that once connected Old Korvosa to the mainland. There were two entrances, and the companions split up, with Michael, Kat, O’Reginald and Valeris taking the front, while Ratbone and Herc went to the back.
The door Herc and Ratbone opened gave onto what appeared to be studio. Both of the room’s windows were tightly shuttered, yet the air seemed strangely fresh and scented, no doubt from the six large candles that burned within. Each candle had been affixed by a glob of melted wax to the crown of a gleaming, polished skull, and each of those impromptu and grisly candleholders had been placed atop an otherwise clear desk on one wall, arrayed in a gentle arc. A chair sat before the desk, and a careful stack of papers and scrolls sat inside the arc of skulls. Against a side wall stood a nearly empty cabinet, its shelves barren save for a few paintbrushes and a cracked pottery urn. A woman stood in the room, leaning on the desk and peering intently at the skulls. She was elven, with flowing, ebony hair and green eyes. She was dressed in form-fitting chainmail adorned with wickedly curved hooks. A spiked chain hung coiled at her waist. She looked up when the door opened and positively beamed at the druid and mercenary.
“Well met!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Laori Vaus. Are you looking for Salvator too?”
Ratbone’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” he asked. “Do you know where he is?”
“Perhaps,” she shrugged. “And I might be willing to tell you, if we can come to an arrangement.”
At that moment, Michael and the others entered the room from the far side. The priest’s eyes grew wide, but not at the sight of the elf woman, but rather at the pendant which hung around her neck. It was the symbol of Zon-Kuthon, the god of suffering and torment.
“We don’t make deals with such as you!” he said sharply.
“What are you talking about?” Ratbone asked. “Do you know this woman?”
“No,” the cleric replied, “but I know what she represents.” He explained the meaning of the holy symbol.
“Oh come now!” Laori laughed. “We have no quarrel. I am simply seeking the artist because his work contains many themes important to my faith. I simply thought that since you seem to be looking for him as well, we could pool our resources.”
“I don’t think so,” Ratbone said, his voice cold. “We neither want nor need your company.”
Laori shrugged. “In fact, since it is I who knows who took Salvator, and where he was taken, then it is also I who has the final say on whether or not I need your company.” She sighed. “Perhaps you might be more inclined to be reasonable if I showed you an item I found while searching this house. Something I think you might find very…intriguing.”
The companions glanced at one another. Ratbone’s face was resolute, and doubt showed heavily upon Michael’s. Valeris and O’Reginald rolled their eyes at the piety of their two allies, especially when such inconvenient morals interfered with the entire reason they were in Old Korvosa. Herc’s expression was carefully neutral. It was Katarina who finally broke the silence.
“I don’t presume to speak for my friends,” she said, “but we are on a mission of much urgency, and it is vital that we find Salvator Scream. If you can expedite that, then we would be…appreciative, but know this, we will be watching you closely, and if you step even so much as one foot out of line, we shall end this alliance…decisively.”
Laori’s smile never left her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Agreed,” she said, and reached into a pouch that hung at her waist. From it she pulled what appeared to be a small scrap of cloth. She passed it to Michael. The material was blood-stained, though the Korvosan coat-of-arms was clearly visible. It had come from the uniform of a high-ranking government official.
“No,” Michael whispered. “It cannot be.”
He peered more closely at the cloth, and realized there could be no doubt. The material was from the uniform of a very singular source…the seneschal of Castle Korvosa!”
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As Laori led the companions through the dark, narrow streets of Old Dock, Ratbone walked close beside Michael.
“But I thought the seneschal was killed in the initial riots,” the druid said. “That’s what the queen reported.”
“And you’re taking her word for things now?” the priest laughed. “You know as well as I that the seneschal shares equal power with the monarch. With him out of the way, there would be no one to stand in Ileosa’s way.”
“Do you think this is the information Orisini possessed?” Ratbone asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Michael replied.
It soon became obvious that Laori was leading them to the very center of Old Dock, to the source of the commotion they’d seen earlier upon their arrival…the group of tenements Amin had said was the ‘castle’ of the Emperor of Old Korvosa. No sooner had Laori stepped from the shadows of an alley, than a mob of armed men quickly approached.
“ ‘Ere now!” their leader shouted. “What’s all this then? New conscripts volunteerin’ themselves? You’ve just made our work easier! Now, you’ll ‘and over your weapons, and then we’ll be off!”
A low growl began in Ratbone’s throat, and the hands of his friends quickly found their weapons. It was Katarina, however, who stepped to the fore.
“We have no intention of surrendering to you rabble,” she said imperiously. “Do you not recognize us? We are the K.I.A., the Heroes of Korvosa!”
She reached into her blouse and drew forth the amulet that had been presented to each of them, identifying them as saviors of the city. The eyes of the mob leader widened.
“ Blimey!” he exclaimed. “Look ‘ere lads! We’re in the presence of true legends! These are the blokes what stopped the Blood Veil! Why didn’t yer say so?”
“We’re here to see the Emperor,” Kat explained. “We wish to speak with him about an alliance against the Queen.”
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The palace of the Emperor of Old Korvosa was located on Silk Street, and consisted of a collection of tenements and abandoned stores that looked to have barely escaped destruction from a fairly recent fire that had consumed much of the city block around it. As the members of the K.I.A. and their thuggish escort arrived at the ground floor of the first building, the leader called out to the guards above.
“ Oy! Tell ‘is Nibs ‘e’s got company! Real-life heroes! Comin’ up!”
He then nodded towards the front door of the tenement.
The interior of the building seemed largely abandoned, with the exception of several armed guards posted at several landings as the stairs wound up towards the upper floors. From there, a rope bridge connected the first building to the next, and so on until the last bridge ended at a large, open-air building. It was shielded from rain and sun by a brightly colored canvas that extended up over the area like a dome, held in place by a wooden framework. The inside of the canvas had been decorated in scenes of gruesome debauchery, battlefields, executions, torture chambers, and man-eating monsters, all vying for space. The balcony itself contained two major features. The first was a high-backed throne that looked like a poor man’s version of the Crimson Throne itself, a thing of blood-red cushions and silks and spikes. Directly across of the throne stood an intimidating device…a tall guillotine of carved wood and bone, its base depicting grasping demonic feet and the housing that held its glittering blade a leering, demonic face. Seated on the throne was a hideous man, a thin Chelaxian apparently cursed by acne at a young age, a condition seemingly exacerbated by a recent bout of Blood Veil. The ratty and threadbare costume he wore gave him the look of more of a vagrant king than actual royalty. On a small table next to him, sat a beautiful silver decanter, and a single golden spoon. Six armed guards stood around the throne, while leaning against the guillotine was a child-sized figure dressed in an executioner’s hood with one of the eye holes sewn shut.
“Who are you and why are you disturbing me?” the Emperor demanded. Once Kat was close enough, she realized that she recognized the man. He was Pilts Swastel, former proprietor of Exemplary Excrables.
“We are the Korvosan Intelligence Agency,” she called out. “We were responsible for finding the source of Blood Veil, and aiding in its subsequent eradication. We have come seeking a man named Salvator Scream.”
“Salvator is my guest,” Pilts announced imperiously, “and he won’t be going anywhere any time soon. Now, if there’s nothing else…,”
“We demand you release the artist now!” Ratbone cried out, rage filling him at the sight of what had become of his gifts to Old Korvosa. “You will also relinquish the decanter and the spoon to those they were rightfully intended for, you miserable little despot!”
Pilts looked bored. He waved one hand absently at his guards. “Kill them,” he said.
Herc expected nothing less. Before any of the guards could move, he charged across the balcony towards Pilts and slammed into the Emperor with his shield. Pilts cried out and rolled desperately out of his throne.
“Jabbyr!” he screamed. “Help me!”
The diminutive headsman retrieved a large axe as tall as himself from behind the guillotine and ran screaming towards Herc. He swung the weapon high and brought the head down on the mercenary’s foot. Herc grunted in agony. Simultaneously, a thunderous cry sounded as over two-dozen more guards began closing on the balcony from all sides. Still on the rope bridge, O’Reginald began casting, and hurled a ball of flame into the midst of the nearest group, incinerating half-a-dozen of them in one fell swoop. Immediately in the wake of that conflagration, Laori shouted out a prayer, her voice jubilant. A great column of white fire exploded from the sky, utterly obliterating another quartet of guards.
“Too quick! Too quick!” she cried. “I only meant to burn off all their flesh the first time!”
Valeris looked at her with one raised eyebrow.
“I think I’m in love,” he chuckled.
Herc quickly found himself surrounded by guards, with Jabbyr in front of him. He smashed his shield into the little maniac’s face, but the executioner merely licked the blood from his chin and charged in again. At the same time, the guards attacked as well, jabbing their swords at the big mercenary from all sides. In desperation, Herc surged forward, completely bowling over the insane headsman with his shield and leaving him unmoving on the ground. Meanwhile, on the rope bridge, Ratbone was growing increasingly frustrated. Though singly the guards were no match for his ferocity, en masse they hindered him from going after Pilts. He howled, a cry which turned into a piercing shriek as he transformed into a large bird. His claws raked at the guards as he lifted above their heads and sped off after the fleeing Emperor.
“Get us some breathing room!” Kat shouted to O’Reginald as the guards rushed to fill the gap Ratbone had left. The sorcerer cursed and quickly sculpted another fireball to surgically target the mass of oncoming thugs. Ten more were incinerated in the blast.
“At your service, my lady,” O’Reginald mock-bowed.
Laori, Valeris and Michael rushed to the fore, hacking down the stragglers in their path. Kat, meanwhile, found that she had a clear view of Pilts, and she hurled a bolt of sonic fury after him, striking him in the back. The Emperor stumbled, and in that instant, Ratbone was upon him, shifting back into his canine form as he landed. His jaws closed with swift finality on the base of Pilt’s neck with a sickening crack.
After that, it was only a matter of cleaning up the remnants. The last of the guards lost heart at the sight of their Emperor laid low, and they put up little resistance, quickly succumbing before the fury of the six companions and Laori.
The streets of Korvosa were dull and muted as the six members of the K.I.A. entered the city with their prisoner in tow. It was late afternoon, and the markets were closed. Ordinarily, the avenues would still be bustling with the nightlife of a city that never slept, yet they were strangely empty. In direct contrast, armed patrols were present in abundance, but not the familiar faces of the Korvosan Guard, nor even the more intimidating Hellknights of the Order of the Nail. No, the soldiers that stalked menacingly along the main thoroughfares and back alleys were uniformly female. It seemed that the Gray Maidens had enjoyed a recruiting boom over the past few weeks.
Still, as the companions passed the taverns and common houses, small clusters of people gathered in tight knots, whispered rumors on their lips. There seemed to be a common theme to the talk, however, and it involved some event that had just transpired within the past two days. At one point, Katarina waved her companions ahead of her as she paused to approach a group of Varisians. Several minutes later, she hurried to catch up to the others, her eyes wide, her voice breathless.
“Something’s happened,” she said in a low voice. “Something terrible…!”
What she’d heard from the Varisians was that two days prior, Queen Ileosa had announced a public address. Some of the more notable officials in attendance where the queen’s bodyguard Sabina Merrin, her new advisor, a bloat mage from the Acadamae named Togomor, who had taken up the duties of castle seneschal, Cressida Kroft, and the commandant of the Sable Company Marcus Endrin. Ileosa had announced triumphantly that the plague had been defeated, although unfortunately at the cost of Doctor Davaulus’s life. The good doctor’s body had been shipped back to Cheliax for burial in his family’s vault, and the order of the Queen’s Physicians had been disbanded. Yet, she said, Korvosa remained wounded. She went on to report that the Order of the Nail had shown its true colors and fled like cowards into Citadel Vraid. Worse, both the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company had suffered terrible losses over the past weeks. Neither group was fully capable of continuing as Korvosa’s protectors, she reasoned, and thus, to shore up that fault, the queen named her newly created order of Gray Maidens as the new protectors of Korvosa, appointing Sabina Merrin as the new General of Korvosa. She continued her speech, saying that she had decided to dissolve the Sable Company, and that the remaining marines would be folded into the Korvosan Guard. At that point, she had asked Commandant Endrin to step forth to surrender his badge of office. As Endrin did so, however, he had reached for his badge, but instead of handing it over, he threw it at the queen, striking her in the cheek with it. As all of the onlookers, including the queen, had stood shocked, Endrin had proclaimed, “Your shameful reign ends now! Korvosa will be free again!”
An instant later, his crossbow was in his hands, aimed at the queen. He pulled the trigger, and his aim was true. The bolt struck Ileosa directly in the temple. Yet she did not fall. With incredible speed, she had yanked the bolt from her skull, and with her free hand, seized Endrin by the throat, and lifted him off the ground. A moment later, she buried the bolt between his eyes with a single, powerful blow. As Endrin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground and Ileosa shook his blood from her hand, she had shouted out, “This shall be the fate of all enemies of Korvosa! Mark well his death! It is only the first!” Then, Togomor had stepped forward and teleported away with the queen. The resulting riot was quickly and brutally quelled by the Gray Maidens.
The companions were shocked to learn of the assassination attempt, and the events that led up to it. If the Gray Maidens were in control of Korvosa’s military, what did that bode for the Guard? They quickened their steps and made all haste to the Citadel.
__________________________________________________________
Only one guard stood at the Citadel entrance, which was strange in-and-of itself. His eyes grew wide with relief when he saw the group approaching.
“Thank the gods you’re here!” he said. “The Field Marshall was just about to send a rider to retrieve you from Shoalbury. Go on in. She’s waiting for you in the keep.”
No soldiers trained in the inner courtyard, and the halls within the keep were silent and empty, with refuse and trash scattered here and there, dust gathered in empty barracks, and an overall state of creeping neglect hung like a pall over the place. When the six companions entered the small meeting room where they found Cressida, they were surprised to see how haggard and tired the Field Marshall looked. She glanced up with hollow eyes and merely sighed when she saw her agents.
“You’re back,” she said wearily. “None too soon. Please, be seated.”
Once they had taken seats around the long table, Cressida shuffled several papers in front of her and began to speak again.
“Korvosa is dying. No, strike that. Korvosa is being murdered. Killed by our queen. The evidence you’ve uncovered that links her to the plague is damning enough, but this recent display at her address…she’s more in control now than ever. I dare not move against her…my Guard would be executed to the last man by her Gray Maidens by sundown. She must be stopped, and I know of no one else but yourselves to do this deed.
Whatever foul magic the queen has wrapped herself in is obviously of the highest order. Endrin’s aim was true…his shot should have dropped her. I had feared he was going to take matters into his own hands like this, but I had hoped he would find it within himself to find a better route. If only he would have waited.
You see, just this morning, new information came to me. I have received a missive from my friend Vencarlo Orisini, the first I’ve heard from him since Queen Ileosa cut off Old Korvosa and put it under quarantine. A message that give me hope. Vencarlo speaks of discovering something of vital importance regarding the queen…he mentions something about dark magic and a pact with a devil, but until recent events, I found his claims difficult to believe. Yet now…if Queen Ileosa has entered an infernal pact of some sort, we must read carefully indeed.
Vencarlo asked for you in the missive. You’ve made quite the impression on him, it appears. He remains in Old Korvosa now, but has asked that I send you to him, to his home, to hear what he has discovered. Ironically, you should be safe in Old Korvosa…the queen’s quarantine has cut off the island entirely, and word on the street is that she plans on leaving it to rot. She won’t think to look for you there if you maintain a low profile and avoid confrontations with the Gray Maidens.
Once you find him, you’ll need to escape Korvosa, I fear. This city is no longer safe for you, or for those associated with you. As Field Marshal, I suspect that as long as I comply with the queen, I shall be safe…and I will do what I can to ensure those friends and family you might leave behind are protected. By remaining in this city, I fear that you put them into more peril. Go to Old Korvosa, find Vencarlo and hear what he has to say. He has contacts in Harse…he’ll be able to help you lay low. I shall be in contact with you when I can, at which point our plan, I hope, shall be clear.”
“I’m sorry to hear things have gotten this dire,” Michael said. “Of course we shall do as you ask, but if the Gray Maidens are guarding all routes into the old city, how should we proceed?”
“There are always several skiffs moored along the north shore of the Jeggare,” she replied. “I would suggest, under cover of darkness, you take one of them and cross the river. After that, I’m afraid, you’re on your own.”
__________________________________________________
Ultimately, however, the K.I.A. came up with their own unique strategy. Once again Michael uttered a prayer and imbued each of the companions with the ability to walk upon water. Then Kat wove a veil of invisibility around them all. Thus disguised, they simply walked across the Jeggare, avoiding the longboats of Gray Maidens that patrolled the river, and entered Old Korvosa through Old Dock, Ratbone’s old stomping grounds.
It became immediately apparent, however, as the group set foot ashore, that things in Old Korvosa were not well…not well at all. The streets were filled with filth and garbage, and vermin thronged the alleys, feeding off the detritus as well as the occasional body that lay sprawled amidst the decay. Many buildings were boarded up and dark, and others were completely burned out. At one point a flock of incongruously happy children sang a rhyme as they gathered around something in the middle of the street.
“Headless, headless,” they chanted, “that’s what you’ll be, brand new dolls in the Emp’rer’s ceme’try! Choppy, choppy, chop, the tall knife calls, waitin’ for the day for Korvosa to fall.”
When they saw the company approaching, they scattered into the darkness, leaving behind the object they’d been dancing around…a crude guillotine fashioned from sticks and pegs.
From the center of Old Dock, it seemed as if a massive fire burned, and periodically, the roar of a large crowd echoed from that vicinity. Quietly, Ratbone led his friends through back alleys, heading towards the source of the cacophony. As they drew nearer to the neighborhood’s center, however, they began seeing more and more people…specifically large groups of armed men who roamed in packs, beating any stragglers they came across and dragging them away. Ratbone growled low in his throat when he saw the spectacle, but Michael laid a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Peace,” the priest said. “There will be time for this later. We have to find Vencarlo. Come.”
Reluctantly, the druid turned away.
_____________________________________________________
When they finally reached Fort Korvosa, the highest part of Old Korvosa, and the neighborhood where Vencarlo’s academy was located, the change was obvious. Though still mostly deserted, the streets were cleaner and free of vermin, and most of the buildings were intact. Perhaps this was because House Arkona, one of Korvosa’s oldest noble families, was located in the district. When the island had been quarantined, the Arkonas were cut off as well. In any event, Fort Korvosa seemed to be a relatively safe place in the turmoil of the old city…at least until they came within sight of the fencing academy. Where Vencarlo’s school had once stood, the once-proud structure itself was no more, burned to the ground completely. His home, however still stood. Cautiously, weapons drawn, the companions approached.
“Master Orisini?” Herc called as he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. The interior of the house was warm, but quiet. From the living room at the end of the entry hall, the light of a fire in the hearth could be seen dancing merrily.
“Something’s not right,” Kat said quietly. “Wait.”
She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration.
“There are others here besides us,” she said at length. “I can sense their thoughts…three minds…not too bright…they are cautious…waiting for something…”
She opened her eyes again.
“None of them are Vencarlo,” she said. “We need to be very careful.”
They began searching, room-by-room, finding no one, and no evidence of a struggle. Eventually, they began making their way upstairs to where Vencarlo had an open training room. As Herc and Valeris reached the landing, the others still on the floor below, they found another lit fireplace along with several practice dummies. Just at that moment, the pair caught a flash of movement from the rafters above. Something that looked like a flask arced towards the fireplace. When it struck, it exploded, and flames spilled out of the hearth and onto the surrounding floorboards, setting them instantly alight. An instant later, a figure dropped from the rafters. It was humanoid, clad in red leather armor, but its features were hidden behind a full head mask that resembled a giant insect…a mantis to be exact. In the living room below, two identical figures stepped from the shadows beneath the stairs and began moving with predatory grace towards O’Reginald and Katrina. There was no mistaking what they were…agents of the Red Mantis…death incarnate.
Herc lowered his shield and charged across the practice room. He struck the assassin and would have driven him straight through the wall, but the mantis rolled with the blow and ended up behind the mercenary and face-to-face with Valeris. Silently, the killer raised the pair of saw-toothed blades he carried and drove them towards the duskblade’s face. Valeris caught both of them on his own blade and buckler, and turned one of the swords back on the assassin, driving the mantis’s own steel into his thigh.
Below, Kat turned back down the stairwell, but found her way blocked by Michael. She could just see around the corner, however, as the other two assassins closed on O’Reginald. Though her powers were, by their nature, subtle, she could occasionally summon up a surprise or two. Holding her hand palm out, she loosed a lance of pure sound which caught the nearest mantis full in the chest, hurling him back and away from the mage. The second killer, however, quickly rushed O’Reginald, jagged blades flashing in a wickedly hypnotic display. The sorcerer recoiled, but not fast enough. Like a cobra the mantis struck, the sabers cutting deeply and repeatedly, and O’Reginald fell before them, collapsing to the floor in a widening pool of his own blood. The assassin didn’t stop, but instead somersaulted past Michael, and came up behind the priest before burying one of the blades in his back.
As the flames rapidly spread across the practice floor, Herc whirled back towards the mantis assassin against which he and Valeris continued to struggle. Growling, the big warrior took two quick strides across the room, and swung his blade in a wide arc, completely severing the spine of the hired killer. Still not making a sound, the assassin fell limply to the floor, and the fire quickly engulfed his body.
Kat lost sight of the second mantis as the man ducked behind Michael, but she could see that the first had already recovered from her assault and was closing to flank the priest. She began to cast again, and that time, the mantis slumped to the floor, fast asleep. A moment later, however, the remaining assassin flashed past Kat again, and roughly kicked his partner back awake. He turned back towards Michael, but this time the priest was ready. A sudden sonic explosion blew the two murderers away from each other, leaving them stunned on the floor. The wounded cleric then sank weakly to one knee, clutching his amulet as he channeled divine energy into himself and O’Reginald, narrowly saving the sorcerer from bleeding to death. Suddenly, a roar filled the room as three-hundred pounds of fur and fangs exploded from the stairs behind Kat. Ratbone hurled himself into the assassins. He bore one of them to the floor, and clamped his jaws around the man’s torso. A sickening crunching could be clearly heard, and blood flowed from beneath the killers’s mantis-head mask. He twitched once, and went limp. The druid turned towards the other mantis, only to find that Herc had followed him down the stairs and nearly decapitated the man with the edge of his shield.
At that moment, timbers began cracking from the floor above, and cinders began showering down on the heroes.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Michael shouted as he helped the wounded O’Reginald to his feet and began heading towards the front door.
“Valeris is still up there!” Herc cried. “The rest of you go! I’ll go after him and be right behind you!”
Reluctantly, the others followed the priest and sorcerer back outside. Herc ducked behind his shield and charged back upstairs.
Valeris was trapped. The flames had him completely surrounded on three sides, with a closed door to his back. He quickly opened it and found himself in a small bedroom. There was no way out, not even a window. Only a narrow closet provided any hope of respite. Valeris ducked inside and closed the door behind him. Rapidly, the small space began filling with smoke and grew increasingly warmer. The duskblade looked desperately around him, but could find no salvation. In desperation, he clutched his sword and began hammering at the back wall of the closet. The plaster began to crack, and abruptly gave way, sending Valeris tumbling into the stairwell right on top of Herc.
“Time to go!” Herc coughed and he heaved the duskblade over his shoulder. As they began descending the burning stairs, however, Valeris caught a glimpse of glinting metal, something that had tumbled out of the wall when he’d burst through. He reached down and snatched it, clutching it to his chest as Herc barreled through the collapsing house towards safety outside.
____________________________________________________________
The six companions stood in silence as the academy burned. They had been left with even more questions than they’d started with. The fencing master was missing, as was the information that he’d found. Worse, the Red Mantis was involved, and wherever they went, death followed. Finally, Valeris knelt down and placed the metal box, which was what he’d recovered from the wreckage, on the ground. It was tightly locked, but a few quick blows with the pommel of his sword solved that problem. When he opened the lid and saw what was inside, he and the others were stunned into silence. Folded inside the case was a black, hooded cloak, several black masks, a dozen masterfully crafted daggers, each with a stylized ‘B’ engraved in their pommels, a suit of black leather armor, a pair of black leather boots and gloves, the latter with two fingers in the right hand containing fake, wooden fingers, and an exquisite mithral rapier.
“I knew it,” Kat said at length. “Orisini’s Black Jack.”
Before any of the others could comment, a weak, frightened voice spoke from an alley behind them.
“Can it be? Is it really you?”
They turned, hands going to weapons. A young man staggered into the light of the burning flames. His face was haggard, drawn and unshaven. Though his clothes were worn and frayed, it was still obvious that they were of a very expensive cut not typical of Old Korvosa. Though his features were more strained and careworn than the last time they’d seen him, all of the companions, save Michael, recognized Amin Jalento, the young nobleman they’d rescued from a murderous mob the night Eodred died.
“I’d almost given up hope after…after what happened to Master Orisini…”
“What happened?” Kat asked. “Where is Vencarlo?”
“I was taking lessons from him when the quarantine was enacted,” Amin began. “Since I was unable to return to the mainland, the Master was gracious enough to allow me to stay at the academy as his guest. Unfortunately, my stay ended not long after, when the Red Mantis invaded. Master Orisini confronted them and took one of them down, but there were too many. He was forced to flee. I can only assume the assassins burned down the academy as a warning. I’m not certain where Master Orisini has gone, but I have an idea who might know. In the days after the quarantine, I noticed that the Master seemed restless and distracted. He regularly left the house at odd hours in the night, sometimes not returning until the morning. After one such early morning return, I noted that his clothes were bloody. He said he’d had to fight off a thief, but I’m sure there was more to it than that. In the days before the Red Mantis attacked, the Master had a very strange visitor come by on several occasions…a man with paint-stained hands, wild hair, and a jittery habit of looking about. Master Orisini introduced him to me as a friend, but I recognized him. His name was Salvator Scream, a somewhat notorious local artist.”
“I’ve heard of his work,” Kat nodded.
“They always met behind closed doors,” Amin continued, “three times in all, and on their last meeting, I heard the Master’s voice raised in anger. Since the attack, I’ve been meaning to track down Salvator to ask him if he knows what happened to Master Orisini, but I’ve not worked up the nerve to brave Old Dock, where Salvator lives.”
“What’s going on down at Old Dock?” Ratbone asked. “We got a glimpse of pressgangs when we passed through.”
“They work for the Emperor,” Amin nodded.
“The Emperor of what?” Valeris asked.
“The Emperor of Old Korvosa,” Amin said in hushed tones. “At least that’s what he calls himself. He rules Old Dock from his palace on Silk Street, several tenements he’s taken over. He rarely leaves there, and mobs of his fanatics scour the streets seeking more conscripts to his cause. Those who resist are instead captured for…other purposes. Some say one of the ways that he maintains power is that he controls two magical devices which can supply never-ending supplies of both water and food!”
“Thank you for the information, Amin,” Kat said, gently placing a hand on Ratbone’s chest as a deep growl started there. “Now, I suggest you go to ground, and when you can, get off the island. We’ll find Salvatore Scream, and we’ll find Vencarlo, and if this Emperor gets in our way, he’ll wish he’d never taken up the crown.”
___________________________________________________
Katarina knew that Salvatore Scream was a notorious artist whose gruesome and often scandalous art was held in relatively high esteem by several of Korvosa’s nobles. The lower classes were familiar with his work as well, since many of them served as grisly backdrops for the Old Dock playhouse known as Exemplary Excrables, a venue known for its violent entertainments. His home on Wave Street was a leaning, decrepit building located on the Narrows, not far from one of the many now-ruined bridges that once connected Old Korvosa to the mainland. There were two entrances, and the companions split up, with Michael, Kat, O’Reginald and Valeris taking the front, while Ratbone and Herc went to the back.
The door Herc and Ratbone opened gave onto what appeared to be studio. Both of the room’s windows were tightly shuttered, yet the air seemed strangely fresh and scented, no doubt from the six large candles that burned within. Each candle had been affixed by a glob of melted wax to the crown of a gleaming, polished skull, and each of those impromptu and grisly candleholders had been placed atop an otherwise clear desk on one wall, arrayed in a gentle arc. A chair sat before the desk, and a careful stack of papers and scrolls sat inside the arc of skulls. Against a side wall stood a nearly empty cabinet, its shelves barren save for a few paintbrushes and a cracked pottery urn. A woman stood in the room, leaning on the desk and peering intently at the skulls. She was elven, with flowing, ebony hair and green eyes. She was dressed in form-fitting chainmail adorned with wickedly curved hooks. A spiked chain hung coiled at her waist. She looked up when the door opened and positively beamed at the druid and mercenary.
“Well met!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Laori Vaus. Are you looking for Salvator too?”
Ratbone’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” he asked. “Do you know where he is?”
“Perhaps,” she shrugged. “And I might be willing to tell you, if we can come to an arrangement.”
At that moment, Michael and the others entered the room from the far side. The priest’s eyes grew wide, but not at the sight of the elf woman, but rather at the pendant which hung around her neck. It was the symbol of Zon-Kuthon, the god of suffering and torment.
“We don’t make deals with such as you!” he said sharply.
“What are you talking about?” Ratbone asked. “Do you know this woman?”
“No,” the cleric replied, “but I know what she represents.” He explained the meaning of the holy symbol.
“Oh come now!” Laori laughed. “We have no quarrel. I am simply seeking the artist because his work contains many themes important to my faith. I simply thought that since you seem to be looking for him as well, we could pool our resources.”
“I don’t think so,” Ratbone said, his voice cold. “We neither want nor need your company.”
Laori shrugged. “In fact, since it is I who knows who took Salvator, and where he was taken, then it is also I who has the final say on whether or not I need your company.” She sighed. “Perhaps you might be more inclined to be reasonable if I showed you an item I found while searching this house. Something I think you might find very…intriguing.”
The companions glanced at one another. Ratbone’s face was resolute, and doubt showed heavily upon Michael’s. Valeris and O’Reginald rolled their eyes at the piety of their two allies, especially when such inconvenient morals interfered with the entire reason they were in Old Korvosa. Herc’s expression was carefully neutral. It was Katarina who finally broke the silence.
“I don’t presume to speak for my friends,” she said, “but we are on a mission of much urgency, and it is vital that we find Salvator Scream. If you can expedite that, then we would be…appreciative, but know this, we will be watching you closely, and if you step even so much as one foot out of line, we shall end this alliance…decisively.”
Laori’s smile never left her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Agreed,” she said, and reached into a pouch that hung at her waist. From it she pulled what appeared to be a small scrap of cloth. She passed it to Michael. The material was blood-stained, though the Korvosan coat-of-arms was clearly visible. It had come from the uniform of a high-ranking government official.
“No,” Michael whispered. “It cannot be.”
He peered more closely at the cloth, and realized there could be no doubt. The material was from the uniform of a very singular source…the seneschal of Castle Korvosa!”
_______________________________________________________
As Laori led the companions through the dark, narrow streets of Old Dock, Ratbone walked close beside Michael.
“But I thought the seneschal was killed in the initial riots,” the druid said. “That’s what the queen reported.”
“And you’re taking her word for things now?” the priest laughed. “You know as well as I that the seneschal shares equal power with the monarch. With him out of the way, there would be no one to stand in Ileosa’s way.”
“Do you think this is the information Orisini possessed?” Ratbone asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Michael replied.
It soon became obvious that Laori was leading them to the very center of Old Dock, to the source of the commotion they’d seen earlier upon their arrival…the group of tenements Amin had said was the ‘castle’ of the Emperor of Old Korvosa. No sooner had Laori stepped from the shadows of an alley, than a mob of armed men quickly approached.
“ ‘Ere now!” their leader shouted. “What’s all this then? New conscripts volunteerin’ themselves? You’ve just made our work easier! Now, you’ll ‘and over your weapons, and then we’ll be off!”
A low growl began in Ratbone’s throat, and the hands of his friends quickly found their weapons. It was Katarina, however, who stepped to the fore.
“We have no intention of surrendering to you rabble,” she said imperiously. “Do you not recognize us? We are the K.I.A., the Heroes of Korvosa!”
She reached into her blouse and drew forth the amulet that had been presented to each of them, identifying them as saviors of the city. The eyes of the mob leader widened.
“ Blimey!” he exclaimed. “Look ‘ere lads! We’re in the presence of true legends! These are the blokes what stopped the Blood Veil! Why didn’t yer say so?”
“We’re here to see the Emperor,” Kat explained. “We wish to speak with him about an alliance against the Queen.”
______________________________________________________
The palace of the Emperor of Old Korvosa was located on Silk Street, and consisted of a collection of tenements and abandoned stores that looked to have barely escaped destruction from a fairly recent fire that had consumed much of the city block around it. As the members of the K.I.A. and their thuggish escort arrived at the ground floor of the first building, the leader called out to the guards above.
“ Oy! Tell ‘is Nibs ‘e’s got company! Real-life heroes! Comin’ up!”
He then nodded towards the front door of the tenement.
The interior of the building seemed largely abandoned, with the exception of several armed guards posted at several landings as the stairs wound up towards the upper floors. From there, a rope bridge connected the first building to the next, and so on until the last bridge ended at a large, open-air building. It was shielded from rain and sun by a brightly colored canvas that extended up over the area like a dome, held in place by a wooden framework. The inside of the canvas had been decorated in scenes of gruesome debauchery, battlefields, executions, torture chambers, and man-eating monsters, all vying for space. The balcony itself contained two major features. The first was a high-backed throne that looked like a poor man’s version of the Crimson Throne itself, a thing of blood-red cushions and silks and spikes. Directly across of the throne stood an intimidating device…a tall guillotine of carved wood and bone, its base depicting grasping demonic feet and the housing that held its glittering blade a leering, demonic face. Seated on the throne was a hideous man, a thin Chelaxian apparently cursed by acne at a young age, a condition seemingly exacerbated by a recent bout of Blood Veil. The ratty and threadbare costume he wore gave him the look of more of a vagrant king than actual royalty. On a small table next to him, sat a beautiful silver decanter, and a single golden spoon. Six armed guards stood around the throne, while leaning against the guillotine was a child-sized figure dressed in an executioner’s hood with one of the eye holes sewn shut.
“Who are you and why are you disturbing me?” the Emperor demanded. Once Kat was close enough, she realized that she recognized the man. He was Pilts Swastel, former proprietor of Exemplary Excrables.
“We are the Korvosan Intelligence Agency,” she called out. “We were responsible for finding the source of Blood Veil, and aiding in its subsequent eradication. We have come seeking a man named Salvator Scream.”
“Salvator is my guest,” Pilts announced imperiously, “and he won’t be going anywhere any time soon. Now, if there’s nothing else…,”
“We demand you release the artist now!” Ratbone cried out, rage filling him at the sight of what had become of his gifts to Old Korvosa. “You will also relinquish the decanter and the spoon to those they were rightfully intended for, you miserable little despot!”
Pilts looked bored. He waved one hand absently at his guards. “Kill them,” he said.
Herc expected nothing less. Before any of the guards could move, he charged across the balcony towards Pilts and slammed into the Emperor with his shield. Pilts cried out and rolled desperately out of his throne.
“Jabbyr!” he screamed. “Help me!”
The diminutive headsman retrieved a large axe as tall as himself from behind the guillotine and ran screaming towards Herc. He swung the weapon high and brought the head down on the mercenary’s foot. Herc grunted in agony. Simultaneously, a thunderous cry sounded as over two-dozen more guards began closing on the balcony from all sides. Still on the rope bridge, O’Reginald began casting, and hurled a ball of flame into the midst of the nearest group, incinerating half-a-dozen of them in one fell swoop. Immediately in the wake of that conflagration, Laori shouted out a prayer, her voice jubilant. A great column of white fire exploded from the sky, utterly obliterating another quartet of guards.
“Too quick! Too quick!” she cried. “I only meant to burn off all their flesh the first time!”
Valeris looked at her with one raised eyebrow.
“I think I’m in love,” he chuckled.
Herc quickly found himself surrounded by guards, with Jabbyr in front of him. He smashed his shield into the little maniac’s face, but the executioner merely licked the blood from his chin and charged in again. At the same time, the guards attacked as well, jabbing their swords at the big mercenary from all sides. In desperation, Herc surged forward, completely bowling over the insane headsman with his shield and leaving him unmoving on the ground. Meanwhile, on the rope bridge, Ratbone was growing increasingly frustrated. Though singly the guards were no match for his ferocity, en masse they hindered him from going after Pilts. He howled, a cry which turned into a piercing shriek as he transformed into a large bird. His claws raked at the guards as he lifted above their heads and sped off after the fleeing Emperor.
“Get us some breathing room!” Kat shouted to O’Reginald as the guards rushed to fill the gap Ratbone had left. The sorcerer cursed and quickly sculpted another fireball to surgically target the mass of oncoming thugs. Ten more were incinerated in the blast.
“At your service, my lady,” O’Reginald mock-bowed.
Laori, Valeris and Michael rushed to the fore, hacking down the stragglers in their path. Kat, meanwhile, found that she had a clear view of Pilts, and she hurled a bolt of sonic fury after him, striking him in the back. The Emperor stumbled, and in that instant, Ratbone was upon him, shifting back into his canine form as he landed. His jaws closed with swift finality on the base of Pilt’s neck with a sickening crack.
After that, it was only a matter of cleaning up the remnants. The last of the guards lost heart at the sight of their Emperor laid low, and they put up little resistance, quickly succumbing before the fury of the six companions and Laori.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Hail to the cheerful evil.
