Tainted Soul
Part Three - Return to the Keep
by Xepha

Reprinted with permission.
Added 07/18/2002.

Rune sat hunched over his ale in the darkest corner of the tavern. His gnarled hands cupped around the jug as if to prevent it fleeing. The corners of his mouth drooped in a perpetual snear. He watched the tavern girl move between the tables in what seemed a dance. She picked up empty jars and distributed full ones, handed out plates of bubbling broth, laughed at the bad jokes of the patrons and dodged grasping hands reaching for her. All this she did with a smile and a jest, until she reached Rune's table. She saw the small intense looking man and froze. For a second she felt a chill and took two steps back. Turning, she moved back toward the busier northern end of the tavern. It was some moments before she began her dance again but no more that evening did she visit the far tables. As the tavern filed with evening revellers and as people imbibed more, the tables around the man filled. His eyes followed the young tavern girl as she moved, his lear deepened and drool began to run down his lips. Anger flittered across his brow each time the wench passed through the door behind the bar, her hands holding trays stacked with soiled dishes and mugs. Later my precious we will play, you will not find me so cold then and you will not be able to shun me. He had played this scene a hundred times in a hundred taverns.

".... 'And so', the mage said to the prince, 'that's not a baby it's my supper.'" Rune picked up the scrap of conversation and his ears pricked. A baby and a mage he thought, perhaps this is the information I have been looking for. He pulled the rumpled piece of cloth from his pocket and looked once more at the picture of the young woman on it. Apparently his mistress sought this woman's offspring. He could see from the picture that the artist had captured the womans face in death clearly. His mistress had an eye for detail and could call on the finest of artists. Many had traded their soul for their art and entered her sphere of influence. He admired the rendering, it made him reflect on the deaths he had seen, how many was it now? Seventy? Seventy-five? More? He didn't know, all he knew was that the next would be the sweetest as it always had before. He heard laughter from the table once more and snapped back to the conversation. Thoughts of the wench could wait.

Standing, he sidled over to the table, and the conversation ceased. He directed his gaze toward a portly man, his mug frozen twixt table and lip. He could see the man straining to break away but the fool's will was too weak break the gaze. "You talk of a mage and a baby," he hissed.

One of the others at the table began to speak and Rune flicked him a baleful glance, forcing him to silence. "Tell me of the baby."

The man appeared to be physically struggling. "It... it's nothing, just a joke. I... I heard it in Eastham."

Rune relaxed his mental grip and the man slumped back into the chair, his eyes wild like a rabbit looking to flea. Rune held the portrait, stained and rumpled after its travels, in front of the man's face. "Was this woman there?"

The man shook his head sending sweat spraying. "Why would she be there? She is from Shoushi."

Rune grabbed the man's lapel and drew him up so their noses touched, looking menacingly around the table to make sure nobody would intervene. "Are you sure?" he questioned, spittle spraying into the man's face.

The man nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, she used to come here regularly, Shoushi is but a day's walk from here."

Rune reached across the table and held the cloth painting under the nose of one of the comrades. The man leaned back almost toppling his chair. "Yes Sh... Shoushi," he stammered, nodding, his eyes wide.

Rune smiled to himself. Ahh at last, after years of searching. My Lady has dozens of agents all across Dereth and the prize falls to me. I shall be able to name my reward. Letting the man fall from his grasp he strode out of the tavern. Within moments the patrons of the inn would have forgotten he had been there at all. All that would remain was a feeling of unease. It was his gift and it made him valuable to his mistress.

Reaching into his pocket he brought forth a small gem. Preparing his mind to activate the gem that would open a portal to where he could be taken to his mistress, he paused. A celebration is order, he thought. Turning to look through the tavern window at the wench he made his way around back and entered the small shed that contained a bowl of steaming water and a stack of dishes ready for washing. There he waited, running his fingers along the sharp blade of a paring knife. Oh yes, a celebration indeed.

It was several days later when Rune stood beneath a tree on the desert border, utilizing the sparse shade. Looking down onto Arshid's Den, the casino, he smiled. A large stockade on the border of the desert and the sea, the casino was a remote place. Burly guards stood at the wooden gates to the south and east of the compound as much to prevent the wild creatures of the region entering as to deter bothersome clientele. Bench tables were scattered randomly with various games of chance. Beer kegs upended with boards laid across formed rudimentary bars. In the shade to one side a cruelly tethered shreth was being forced to raise itself upon its back legs in a parody of dance, its once powerful form now wasted and gaunt from captivity. This place and these people he could understand.

He reflected on the last few days. After his dalliance with the barmaid, he had reported to his mistress. He had told her the old tale of the rumours of a mage and a babe. He raised a hand to his face, the wound still angry and purple from where she had struck him. "Do not waste my time with tavern jokes fool!" she had said as she focused her power for the killing blow. Shaking, Rune had thrust the piece of cloth with the portrait before him as he felt control of his bladder disappear with fear. "I know where she came from," he blurted, trying to forestall his doom.

His mistress had withheld the bolt of fire, it danced and skittered on her open palm. "Then why are you here fool? Go find me my child and bring me those that would keep her from me."

My Child. Rune was sure he had not misheard his mistress. He dismissed the thought; to try and fathom the Lady of the Keep's motivations was a sure way to the grave.

Once in Shoushi it had been easy for Rune to find the old midwife and after several years the pain of his questioning had easily cut through the spell that addled her memory. This was the right woman and the baby had survived, not that he doubted his mistress but often on his quest he despaired of getting even this close. He toyed with the woman some more trying to find out who may have taken the child. "A man," she had whimpered.

Rune leaned in close, his breath on her face. "And this man is?" he questioned as he toyed.

The woman did not know, a hooded figure, a man. "A name," Rune ordered, twisting his knife to inflict maximum pain with minimum effort. He played the woman like an instrument, careful not to push her beyond comprehension, at least not yet.

Through her tortured cry a name surfaced. "Nor Xian," she cried, "It must have been Nor Xian, he was a comrade in arms when she fought under General Badawi." She panted, her breathing laboured. "He is the only person who came to visit, he was accompanied by the General a few times." Rune ran the sharp blade around the old woman's skin idly, tracing red lines where his knife passed whilst mulling the information over.

Rune was taken aback by what he had heard, the girl was a survivor of the foolish attempt to dethrone his mistress. This made his task all the more interesting. The name tugged at his memory. Nor Xian, he mused, then his mind pinpointed the tale Ahh, the hero of Dereth, slayed a nest of Olthoi single handedly, surely he must be nearly seventy summers old. He would find this ancient figure from legend and take him back to his mistress; she would enjoy meeting the man who had kept the child from her.

Under the hot desert sun he ran his tongue over dry lips as he relived his time with the midwife of Shoushi. He knew when she had no more information to share, yet he continued to toy with her like a cat with a mouse, long into the night. It helped him think. The fact that he left Ilyara the midwife alive after his ministrations was more a sign of his cruelty than an act of redeeming compassion.

A figure was working its way toward him from the casino. It was the urchin. "The two men at the bar," the child halted before Rune pointing.

Rune reached into his coat and pulled out a trade note and handed it to the boy. The scruffs eyes lit up, he had never seen so much wealth. Rune's eyes lingered overlong on the boy and he began to shuffle his feet nervously. I may come by here once this task is complete, he thought to himself, already running through the ministrations in his mind.

He sat under the sparse shade, his back against the coarse trunk of the palm, and waited. He knew the men were below, he had determined that already, he just had to wait for assistance to arrive. He was not prepared to take two armed men, that was not his way. He would leave the capture to less gifted men. Time passed slowly while he bathed in the memory of his dark experiences until finally in the distance he saw a cloud of dust rising through the shimmering heat and slowly the wind carried the sound of hoofbeats. Ahh, they come, everything is working out perfectly. He allowed himself a smile of self satisfaction.

The two men leaned against the bar, oblivious to the heat. Their easy stance and athletic bodies attested their status as warriors far more readily than their shadow armour, shields and weapons could. The warriors sat in a haven amongst the crowded bar. A crafted Atlan Staff leaned to one side of the two men while a claw of similar construction sat atop the bar to the side of other, both within reach and clearly marking the territory they claimed for themselves. A casual observer may not have noticed the extra weight they placed on their elbows and none would hold their gaze long enough to see the drink's reddened rims. The younger of the two men was had the dark skin of the desert people. He turned to his companion and indicated the stack of gambling chips scattered on the bar. "Nor Xian, you have spent enough money here to raise a clan."

Nor Xian steadied himself on the bar. "So what? What glory is there in a clan, ordering others to do things you will not do for yourself? It is..." He raised a clenched fist to his chest and thumped once releasing a belch, "...foolish, as you know."

Badawi clenched his fist so tightly around the metal tankard that it creaked an objection and threatened to buckle. "There is glory in leading men on a just cause."

Nor Xian snorted, "Only if you win," and waved his hand and pointed at his empty drink.

Badawi took a long drink from his tankard, ale running down the sides of his mouth and onto his armour. "The cause was just."

Nor Xian nodded. "Aye the cause was just but we were not prepared." Xian reached out and put his hand on his companion's shoulder as he saw the warrior cross his arms on the bar top and rest his head on them.

"Do not blame yourself, General." The dark skinned head turned to shoot the olive skinned warrior a baleful look.

"Do not call me that."

Xian snorted again. "By denying the title all you do is belittle those that died under your command."

The anger left Badawi and sadness cloaked the handsome lines of his face. "Aye, forty-three men and women dead."

Nor Xian's face was lined with grief. He tightened the grip on his friends shoulder and squeezed in comfort. "Forty four. Sephi died five summers ago, the child died with her."

Badawi lifted his head and dropped it onto the solid oak planks with a resounding thump, sitting up he cast his arm across the bar and sent tankards and bottles scattering and smashing on the bar and the hard packed floor. Nor Xian caught sight of a large bald man, looking more like one of the half human Lugian giants of the southern mountains than a man, moving purposefully in their direction. On his chest was Ashid's crest, marking him as a casino enforcer, and in his hand was a huge club. Nor Xian's gaze caught the man and he froze. In a split second the enforcer stopped and indicated to the girl behind the bar to clear the mess. The man had been doing his job a long time. Unless you knew when to crack heads and when to leave well enough alone you did not live long in his profession.

The General sighed. "Xian why do we seek out each others company? We do not even like each other."

The young Sho warrior laughed. "You like me well enough though you would never admit it. As to why we seek out each other's company, there are two reasons. Firstly we were there." He left the name of the battle unspoken, "and secondly my friend, we both have our own demons of the past to exorcise, besides...."

Badawi's grief was broken as the hair at the nape of his neck rose. By the set of his friend's shoulders, Nor Xian could see that the General had sensed something. Years of travelling and fighting together had led him to trust the man's instincts. At that moment the crowd moved away from the two men, parting as a group forced them roughly aside. Badawi reached for his staff. As he took up the weapon the crystal cupped at its end flashed into life as fire danced along the wooden shaft. Similarly, Nor Xian retrieved his claw, the crystal set therein smouldered black and ominous, small gouts of smoke pluming from the weapon. Badawi glanced across at the black stone his friends weapon sported, a harsh reminder as the only artefact his ill fated attack on the keep had returned.

A dozen men arrayed themselves in a semi circle hemming the two young warriors against the bar. Xian took the men in at a glance. At first appearance they seemed to be a rag tag group with a fat toothless man at its centre. Nor Xian could see through appearances. The weapons were well kept, the stances ready yet weary and the encirclement conducted swiftly yet smoothly. Badawi glanced across at him with an appreciative nod and he knew his friend read the men the same way, an organised, experienced and disciplined group.

Badawi did not try to fathom why the men were here or whether it was Xian or himself they were after. He looked over to his olive skinned friend and smiled, "You know what?"

"What?" Xian replied the thrill of battle lighting up his face.

"I bloody hate fighting drunk."

Nor Xian let out a loud laugh, and with that the two men raised their shields. The hum of magic filled the air as cold lightning danced up their arms from their enchantments therein. Xian turned toward the man at the middle of the pack. "Prepare to die you fat bastard!" he yelled as he darted forward.

Time slowed and the dance began. The two young men were a total contrast in the battle. Badawi stood tall and firm, legs planted. The battle flowed around him like a river around a rock as his staff made huge sweeping circles scything fire through the enemy. Nor Xian darted to and fro around the General with speed and grace like a bird of prey, selecting a target and dispatching it before moving to the next. Badawi's eyes flitted hither and yon as he took in the whole battle, noting each movement and calculating strategy, tactic and attack in the beat of a heart, while Xian seemed to move almost in a dream state, his eyes distant. The olive skinned warrior flowed around the fight like a fog.

A thrust threatened to take Xian in his undefended back but Badawi shifted grip slightly on his weapon and thrust the staff forward. The assailant writhed as magical fire raced through his veins and he fell to the floor writhing. Xian, unnoticing, parried a blow with his shield and punched with the claw into the fat man's stomach. As the three pronged weapon entered the assailant, the wound smouldered and festered as the leader of the thugs let out a wordless cry. Xian pulled his weapon clear and danced around the falling corpse to find his next attacker.

Xian dispatched another man, then came up to find himself facing his companion. "Touch your toes!" Badawi yelled not waiting to see if his friend had heard. Xian ducked as the staff passed over his head, the heat scorching his hair. The weapon cleaved a smoking rent across the chest of a well-muscled assailant. He screamed as he collapsed, his weapon falling discarded.

As Xian uncoiled from his crouch he saw a club traversing an arc towards his friends head. Confused he took the scene in instantly. More than half of their attackers lay dead or injured. His gaze settled on three enforcers that had come up from behind and had vaulted the bar to join the attack. Beyond them the lead enforcer stood cradling a pouch, by its weight he guessed it contained gold. Next to him with a smug grimace stood a small weasel of a man. Nor Xian felt his skin crawl as he took in the crow-like features. Then he felt a pressure on his shoulder as a weapon took him and the world spun.

He lay on the hard packed dirt looking up. He could feel the pain from a myriad of small wounds. Then he heard the sibilant voice. "Which of you is Nor Xian?" it said angrily.

Lifting his head, he spat at the nightmare figure's boots. Rune came over and gripping his hair he lifted Xian's head. The motion sent pain spasming though Xian's body. The face drew nearer and hissed at him. "Why does a pup like you take the name of a hero?"

Xian felt blood flow from his mouth as he spoke. "I did not take the name of a hero," he forced the words out with a groan. "I was given the name of my father."

Rune looked pleased as the truth dawned. "Ahh I will have fun with you, son of Xian." He saw a claw-like fist descend and as he lapsed into unconsciousness he heard the words. "Truss them and bring them, we must get them to the keep."