017

“Take the knife,” Kelmar said. There was fear in his voice now, a sound Frank hadn’t heard from him before, despite all their troubles in the slums. If anything, Kelmar had seemed to relish a bit of danger. He walked with a swaggering stride, his hand never far from his blade and a challenging tilt to his chin. He was like a wolf prowling the steppe, equal to the dangers of his environment, built for it even.

But all his bluster had vanished at the sight of that blade.

“Take it?” Frank said. “For what?”

“We need to show the princess. It’s proof of the Red Coin’s involvement.”

Frank hesitated, eyes narrowing on the ornate dagger stabbed into the desk. It wasn’t the blood that made him squeamish, the Allflesh had inured him to such fears. And he had no problem handling weapons. A good blade felt as natural in his hand now as a wrench to a plumber.

No, it was this blade that made him wary, its shape and finish suggesting a danger that he couldn’t articulate. It tripped some primal fear circuit in his hind brain, the way a colorful snake suggests poison.

“Quickly,” Kelmar said.

As Frank’s fingers brushed the handle, he could feel faint etchings carved into the ivory, subtle scrollwork too faint for the eye to see. Its touch was unpleasant. He wiped the blade on Iliquith’s tunic and then tucked it into his warbelt, just as a shout rang out from the courtyard.

“What was that?” he asked.

Kelmar was already moving toward the door, his fur lined cloak billowing behind him like mist. Frank followed, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of his saber. They stepped outside to find six city guardsmen fanned out over the courtyard, their bronze lamellar armor, gleaming in the red light of the sun. They were armed with brass-capped cudgels, each tipped with a fearsome spike.

A guard captain stood before them, his armor adorned with intricate brass inlays that flickered like embers. His face, partially obscured by a grotesque serpent helm, was stern, like a marble statue of a long-dead king. But it was the dwarf beside him that caught Frank’s eye.

The dwarf was a stark contrast to the rest. He wasn’t a Brass Man, judging by his coloring. His skin was a deep, tanned red, and he had golden brown hair sheared short. While the guardsmen were adorned in extravagant armor, the dwarf wore a plain white tunic, faded with age, and bore also a slave collar of bronze, its pendant tag offering a reward for his return, should he escape.

He was slouched and servile, his face a mask of practiced meekness. But Frank had seen enough bad actors – hell, he’d worked with enough bad actors – to know when someone was faking. And clearly the dwarf was Acting with a capital A, lips quivering, fake tears wetting his cheeks, but with sharp, calculating eyes.

“What is this?” Kelmar shouted. “What’s going on here?”

“I should ask you the same,” the guard captain said. “Who are you? And what are you doing in this house?”

“My name and my business are my own. But know that I am here at the request of Master Iliquith, the owner of this estate.”

“Let us call him out here then, to confirm you’re not trespassing.”

The guards shuffled behind their captain, circling toward the side closest to Frank. He thought about that skirmish he’d had at the gates of the city, when the princess had saved him from a harsh beating. His mistake then had been to assume his overwhelming strength and rage would carry him through the fight, as it had with the raiders, an error that nearly cost him his life.

Even without the sheer numbers of the Copper Men, or their animal ferocity, the city guards had proved themselves capable fighters. What they lacked in strength, they made up for in tactics, fighting as a unit, feinting, distracting, waiting for openings before landing debilitating strikes. And they were better armed too, their bronze cuirasses harder to crack than a lobster shell, and their heavy cudgels capable of disabling limbs with a single blow. The way Frank figured, if this came to violence, it would not be an easy exit.

“Master Iliquith is dead,” Kelmar said. “We found him with his throat slit just as we entered.”

“You found him dead?” the guard captain said.

“We did.” Kelmar flashed a warning look at Frank.

“That is a strange coincidence.”

“How so?”

“We were summoned here by a servant of this house. He reported a violent disturbance between his master and a pair of armed intruders. And no sooner do we arrive then you two emerge from inside, claiming to have found the master dead.”

“We didn’t kill anyone,” Frank said. “We had no reason to.”

“And just what the fuck are you?” the guard captain sneered. “Some kind of mutant? How can I take you at your word?”

Frank nodded to the dwarf. “Ask him to describe the attackers. He knows it wasn’t us.”

The dwarf looked to Frank, then to Kelmar. Without hesitation, he pointed a gnarled finger at the two of them.

“They did it,” he sobbed. “These two. They were the killers.”

“Lay down your arms," the captain said, pointing his cudgel. The guardsmen advanced in lockstep, their movements synchronized like well-drilled soldiers.

“We’re being set up,” Kelmar whispered.

“What if we flee into the manor?” Frank said.

“I fear there are horrors inside worse than what we face out here. But whatever happens, don’t let them take you.”

And with that, the fight exploded.

The first guard lunged, his cudgel swinging low to take out Frank’s knee. With unconscious speed, Frank drew his bronze saber and slashed sideways, deflecting the blow with a shower of sparks. The guardsman leaned into the deflected blow, spinning around for a follow-up swing with enough momentum to take Frank’s head off.

Frank stepped back just before the cudgel made contact, passing so close to his face its spiked tip nicked his chin. He kicked, his sandaled foot landing on the man’s chest with as audible crack. Something gave inside the guard, his armor or his ribcage, and he collapsed with a pained wheeze.

Wake of Terror

Psychoplasm Cost: Passive

9 Will saves attempted.

2 fails. 7 passes.

Psionic Reserve: 85/100

Take it! It’s yours.

Frank shook his head to clear his thoughts as another guard circled behind him, approaching with more caution. The guard swung his mace high, but Frank had already anticipated the move. He ducked under it and charged the man, lifting his shoulder to connect with the guard’s chin and knocking him out with a single shot.

He spared a sideways glance to see that Kelmar and the guard captain were locked in a duel, Kelmar dodging cudgel strikes nimbly, his bronze sword waiting like a bee’s sting for the perfect strike. Further back, the dwarf and another guard were fleeing the courtyard in terror.

Pain exploded in Frank’s spine as a cudgel landed in the middle of his back with a sickening crack. His jaw snapped shut, the wind knocked out of him, and he fell facedown, his saber clattering across cobblestones.

He rolled just in time to see the guard step over him, cudgel raised for a killing blow, his eyes wide with murderous rage.

The eyes!

The horned skull in Frank’s belt flashed with black flame, and a dull ache pulsed behind his belly button.

Vision of Horror

Form: Vigilante

Ability Type: Action

Psychoplasm Cost: 5

Craft a horrific illusion modeled on the deepest fears of your foes. Choose one target enemy within 50 feet whose eyes (or eye) you can see. Create an illusion of the target’s greatest fear at a point within range. The illusion must be a construct no larger than a 20-foot cube. It can incorporate sights and sounds, but no other sensory effects. The target is Terrified as long as this illusion is present. This effect lasts for a number of minutes equal to 2 x your Will.

The construct is intangible and physical interaction with it reveals it to be an illusion, ending its effects early.

Psionic Reserve: 80/100

The monster stepped over Frank, and the guardsman froze. It had the slick, mottled skin of a fish and the limbs of a man. Its elongated head was set with crustacean mandibles and unblinking, black eyes that gleamed with hunger. Its webbed hands ended in clawed fingers, and fin-like spines stretched along it back.

“An Illtide’s claws … grabbed sailor bold,” the creature recited in a sing-song rhythm, its voice wet and garbled, like a drowned man’s. “Dragged him down … to depths untold. The waves did crash … the sea did roar. Now he’s gone … forevermore!”

The guardsman screamed and Frank, from his position on the ground, kicked him in the groin. He crumpled in a heap and then crawled away cowering as the monster gave chase.

Frank hopped back to his feet, taking a few shuddering breaths, his chest aching from the effort. There were only two guards left standing now – the captain had fled, it seemed – and they were hesitating, having lost the advantage of numbers.

Frank’s heart pounded in his chest. Every time he shifted his weight, he felt a painful click in his back. Bending down to pick up the nearest weapon, a dropped cudgel, sent spears of fire up and down his ribs. He pointed to the nearest guard.

“Do they pay you enough for this?” he gasped.

“I’d do it for free,” the guard said, the hatred in his eyes proof he wasn’t lying.

Taking a fresh grip on the cudgel, Frank loosed a war cry and charged.

Later, he stood panting over the bodies, slick with sweat and blood. His gaze swept the courtyard, taking in the discarded weapons and cracked helms and broken limbs. Men littered the cobblestones, some twitching, some still. The dwarf had vanished. So, too, had the guard captain.

“Kelmar?” Frank called, his voice a low rasp. It had been a rough fight, and he hadn’t come out unscathed. He tasted blood with every breath. His left arm refused to lift past his waist. Something in his back was broken. But he was still alive … for now.

No answer.

Gritting his teeth, he resigned himself to making the trek back up the city hills alone. And he’d need to do it fast. If this was a setup, as Kelmar claimed, there might be more people looking for him, guardsmen or Red Coin cutthroats or something worse.

As he made his way to the manor’s gate, a figure emerged from behind a broken pillar, Kelmar stepping into view. He was dusting his hands as though he had just finished a leisurely bit of work.

“Where the hell were you?” Frank demanded, his voice strained.

“Me? I was drawing them away from you.”

“I fought all of them.”

“You’d be dead if that guard captain had been leading his men, instead of distracted by me.”

A tense silence filled the courtyard. Kelmar flashed a grin, but there was something hollow behind it.

“Where is the captain?” Frank asked.

“The bastard threw dirt into my eyes. By the time I could see again, he was fleeing over the walls, the spineless coward.”

“And that dwarf?”

“What do you care for him?”

“You said someone was trying to fuck us.”

“Not him. A slave couldn’t plan something like this.”

“Maybe he wasn’t doing the deep dicking. But he got his little tip wet. And I want to know who put him up to it.”

***

The air inside Virelios’ workshop was thick with the coppery smell of blood and the sharper bite of crushed herbs. Frank lay stretched on the stone divan, ribs bandaged, head pounding, as the physician muttered to himself and worked with a bone needle and a spool of catgut thread.

“You’re lucky,” he said, stitching up a gash along Frank’s side with the quick, precise motions of a man sewing a sail against a storm. “Another inch, and you’d have needed more than stitches.”

“Feels like I need more already,” Frank muttered.

Virelios wiped the blood from his hands with a rag soaked in vinegar, then moved to a shelf lined with clay jars and strange fungi.

“Your humours are holding,” he said, selecting a vial of faintly glowing blue liquid and setting it to warm in a brass brazier. “Sanguine and Choler remain strong. Phlegmat somewhat depleted, but still stable.”

“And the last one?” Frank said, voice tight with pain. “You said there are four, right?”

“Melanchol.” Virelios’ lips pursed. “It deepens. As expected.”

“Glad to hear I’m still me. More or less.”

“For now.” The physician dipped the tip of his finger in the vial and then tasted it. “I will not lie to you. I am more concerned with the damage to the world outside this room than to your body.”

Frank sat up slowly, wincing. “What do you mean?”

“The princess.” Virelios turned, his silver-streaked hair catching the light. “I have never seen her as I saw her tonight, after receiving report from Kelmar.”

“She’s mad?”

“She is frightened.”

“Sazhra? She seemed pretty collected the last time we spoke.”

“Collected, yes. But fear wears many masks. She lost any advantage she might have had today, first with the Red Coin, now with the city guards. There was blood spilled in open daylight, in her name. It will not go unanswered.” He handed Frank the warm vial. “Drink.”

Frank sniffed it suspiciously. “You first.”

“Drug a man once and he loses all faith in you.” Virelios rolled his eyes and then took a sip. He handed the vial back to Frank. “Happy?”

Frank sipped the warm liquid. It tasted like old leather and ashes, but the ache in his back lessened almost immediately.

“So what happens now?” he said. “Sazhra will need backup.”

“Precisely. But therein lies the danger. Whom can she call upon? The other houses will smell weakness. The Rat Cult will watch and wait, as they always do. If she reaches out and chooses poorly…” Virelios trailed off, his gaze distant.

“She might bring the whole city down on her head.”

“Or yours.” Virelios leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You must think carefully. If the princess’s position collapses, she can blame the trouble of these last few days on you, an outsider. What recourse will you have then? She will have you executed, pay compensation to her enemies and chalk this all up to a bad business play.”

“So what do I do?” he asked.

“For now, nothing.” Virelios straightened, slipping a sharpened scalpel into a bone sheath at his belt. “Watch. Listen. Learn who can be trusted, and who cannot. When the time comes, there are ways to make things happen in Uqmai. Even for a wanted man.”

“Talk is cheap where I came from.”

“This isn’t talk. This is truth. And there are few things more valuable than that, especially in Uqmai. This city is a marketplace of souls, if you have something worth trading. Gold, strength, secrets, these are valuable commodities. You can buy anything with them. Even a way out.”

“Good to know.”

The physician rested a hand lightly on Frank’s shoulder. It was the first human touch he’d felt all day that wasn’t trying to break him.

“I tell you this not as a healer, but as a friend,” Virelios said. His voice was low and steady. “You have no allies here. None you can count on. Except me.”

Frank met his gaze. The old man’s red-rimmed eyes were fierce, unwavering.

“And what’s the price of this friendship?”

“A small favor,” Virelios said. He moved to the desk, selecting a vial of dark amber fluid and corking it carefully. “Tonight, a slave girl will come to your chambers. Ostensibly, she will be there to summon you to my workshop, claiming that I have need to inspect your humours again, as part of your recovery.”

“Will you?”

“No.” Virelios’ mouth quirked in a dry smile. “She is a shroud, to hide you from the princess’s eyes, for a short while. She will lead you beyond the manor walls.”

Frank’s fingers tightened around the edge of the divan. “And then?”

“There is a man you must meet. An old friend, and an enemy too, depending on the day. His name is Tullo. He keeps a wine shop by the Moonlight Bazaar. Do not let the bottles fool you, he deals in rarer vintages than drink.”

“Sounds charming.”

“He has access to records. Records the princess would prefer stay hidden. Ship registries, passenger ledgers, trade manifests ... even the old census books of the noble houses.”

“What do you need with that kind of thing?”

“I believe he holds proof of what the princess is really looking to find in the Black Spire.” Virelios’ eyes darkened. “Or did you believe her story about a family ring?”

“I had my doubts.”

“If we can learn what she’s after, what’s truly hidden in that tower, we can use that knowledge to our advantage.”

“By betraying the princess?”

“By making sure when her bill comes due, we’re not the ones stuck paying it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the crackle of the brazier and the slow drip of sap from the walls. Outside, beyond the shuttered windows, Uqmai stirred like a wounded beast, a city on the edge of something dark and bloody, with Frank caught square in its jaws.