MOHPing around

"Mira," said the queen, "how good to see you again. What news do you bring?" Phaedra was as beautiful as always, with raven-colored hair and eyes as blue as an Azrokian sky. Her lithe figure was draped in soft fabric the color of a setting sun. Her brow was unadorned, but gold and jewels glittered above her bosom. A shiny black belt held her dress above her hips, which swayed seductively as she moved. Seymuhr could not tear his gaze from her, despite my elbow in his ribs.

I blushed at her use of my shorter, more familiar name. "You do me great honor, your grace." I felt color rise in my cheeks.

"Eh. I do everyone great favor, do I not, Tonk?" The question was directed at one of the Wesolaks. It grunted without taking its eyes from Seymuhr.

"I see you bring Merrick's companions, but not him. How did he die?"

I started, and glanced at both Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane, who stood silently with his head bowed, eyes half-closed and hands tucked into his sleeves. Phaedra knew of them, too? Why hadn't they told me they had met before? I had assumed that Merrick had picked them up at a local tavern and thrown a few coin their way to get their assistance. Were they members of the Ministry of Human Preservation, too?

"Don't be so surprised, Esmiralda," Phaedra said. "What other conclusion could I draw?" She gestured to her left, where there was a round table. One chair, with a tall back and several cushions, sat on one side, facing a semi-circle of smaller, but still comfortable-looking chairs. A platter of fruit was at its center. A lean man stood nearby, an ewer of wine in hand. Knives hung from either hip and a sword hilt protruded above his shoulder. His eyes were alert and calculating.

We sat and Seymuhr pulled the entire plate of fruit toward him. He scanned it casually and looked up at the heavily armed wine steward. "No candied spiders?"

"We haven't caught any today." The man's voice was surprisingly melodic.

"I expected better from the palace," Seymuhr said.

"Fresh spider isn't as easy to come by here is it is in the brothels and haystacks where you spend most of your time, Skullsquasher. I would ask you to mind your manners."

Seymuhr was about to reply when I interrupted. "Indeed, please." I flashed the queen's guard a quick smile, hoping that would be enough to calm him down. It was evident that the two knew each other, and my assessment of Seymuhr changed yet again. I had never heard him referred to as 'Skullsquasher' although the way he wielded his maces in combat made it easy enough to guess where that moniker had come from. Did these two men have another sort of history? I doubted it, because the guard did not appear, in any way, maimed. "Besides, you had spider for breakfast, all three meals yesterday and you snacked on a few luckless creatures on the way here. Haven't you had enough?"

He grabbed an apple, instead, and bit into it noisily.

"Your conclusion is true, I'm afraid," I turned back to the queen. "Noble Merrick has indeed met his end." I recounted the tale of how we had 'met,' uncovered the horrific situation with the giants and, more recently, fought and killed the mountain witch.

"Let me see it."

She didn't have to explain what she meant. I reached into my tunic and brought out the symbol of the Ministry of Human Preservation, the small bauble that still felt uncomfortable in my hand. Phaedra took the chain from me and held it up. The bauble spun in front of her eyes, which were suddenly shiny with tears. I felt color rising again; I felt out of place in such an intimate moment. Words fled me and I could only offer her a weak smile.

She placed it in my palm, the cool chain coiling like a snake, and then closed my fingers over it. "It sounds like you had little choice in the journey," Phaedra said with a look toward Seymuhr, "but I am glad you were there at the end. It is possible that, no matter what had happened previously, you would have been nearby when Merrick passed--we are not always privy to the whims of the gods, or in control of where they take us."

"It is indeed a coincidence," I said. I thought, briefly, about the incidents that led me to the tavern where Seymuhr had first abducted me. To be in the employ of the queen, a falcuhn, gathering and preserving knowledge, only to come into the company of others who served a far more secretive task...it was unusual.

"It was no coincidence," Phaedra said. "You were chosen: by the gods, by Merrick and now by me. I bid you welcome to the Ministry of Human Preservation, Esmiralda. Now let's get to work."

Author's note:

Thanks for reading! Admittedly, I don't always put a lot of thought into these entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my real fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't. 

At last, the queen

We stood outside the doorway and I suddenly had no idea what to say. Not too long ago, my life had been fairly simple. I went places, documented events, described places, updated maps, filed those histories and then received enough coin--barely--to go on to the next one. I was a falcuhn, a historian in Queen Phaedra's employ--loosely, at least. It was Phaedra's idea to preserve the past in a centralized system for future scholars. She was responsible, ultimately, for funding it. We had, in fact, met in the past, but it was long ago and I doubted she would have any recollection of it, or of me. I hardly considered myself that memorable.

That was how I thought my life would be: my Great Work. That was also before I first met Seymuhr, who abducted me and thrust me, unknowingly, into an ongoing war between good and evil. Or at least, between good and not-quite-as-good. Things were often murky in Korin. I wasn't sure if I could go back to the days of merely chronicling the events of the land.

After a short period of time, the great doors in front of us opened. I smoothed my tunic and attempted to wrangle my nest of hair into order as they swung inward on near-silent hinges. Broo-Fang Tane stood a little straighter, while Seymuhr picked at something wedged deep in his jaw, lifted his right foot and broke wind. I glared at him.

Two huge figures stood in the open doorway. Nearly as wide as they were tall, they towered over us, with squat legs supporting barrel-like chests and arms as thick as tree trunks and ropy with muscle. Their ears were flat against the side of their head and pointed at the lower lobe. Yellowed tusks protruded from their snouts. Westonaks. Each had a perfectly-sculpted coiffe, a horn-like protrusion above their brows--it was actually the wiry, bristling hair the creatures grew on the top of their heads, swirled and plastered into place with a sticky substance made in part from their own phlegm. They wore breastplates and skirts over their grayish scales and held a sturdy pole-axe in one hand. The other was covered by a half-opened gauntlet with jagged blades above the knuckles. 

They sized us up, their gaze lingering on Seymuhr. Squat and bald, he was shorter than I but his quiet swagger always attracted the notice of anyone--or, in this case, anything--that might have to fight him. He succeeded in digging out whatever he had been searching for among his teeth and held it up triumphantly. 

"You must be proud," I murmured. "Do me a favor, will you? Be quiet and try not to get us killed." 

I stepped up in front of the Westonaks, cleared my voice and said with as much confidence as I could muster: "I am Esmiralda, a falcuhn and servant of the most blessed queen, here for an audience with her. These are my companions, Broo Fang Tane, a monk of the Order of Optimists, and Seymuhr…." I could think of no other words for him. 

The Westonaks did not move aside. One of them stood in front of me and to my left, directly in front of Seymuhr. His brow furrowed, he leaned in slightly and sniffed the air. After a sideways glance to his colleague, he flexed his fists. I heard knuckles crackle like a spirited fire. 

"We have an appointment," I added, in a slightly smaller voice.

"Stand aside," a voice rang from the room beyond. It was deep for a woman's, yet possessed a touch of music. I could almost envision a smile curling dark, full lips. "They are here at my request. I am in no danger."

The Westonaks pivoted, opening a path for us to enter the room beyond. "Mind yourself, irf," one of them rumbled.

That startled me. Irf? I glanced at Seymuhr, who took no notice. Had the Westonak noticed something that I, despite traveling with Seymuhr for so long, had not? Was he of the old blood? I forced myself to move, even though my knees were stiff with sudden shock. It would explain his height--or lack of it--and, perhaps, his strength. Of course, it could be only an insult, hurled at a man of small stature. Males were fond of that sort of thing, no matter what species.

We walked into Queen Phaedra's private audience chamber. The doors swung closed behind us and I heard the Westonaks settle into position in front of them. Phaedra was on her feet, leaning over a table that had no chairs around it. Her hand was resting on one portion of it, her long fingers absently stroking it like a pet. A pensive look suddenly let her face and she looked up and a brilliant smile replaced it.

"Mira," she said, and my spine tingled at the sound and warm familiarity in her tone. "How good to see you again. What news do you bring?"



Author's note:
Thanks for reading! Admittedly, I don't always put a lot of thought into these entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my real fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't. 

The queen's hallway

Thanks for reading! This blog shouldn't be taken too seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre; (b) work on dialogue and scene; (c) develop the world of Korin, where my  fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. I always like to know what works and what doesn't. 

It felt good to get out of the maze of doorways. The hallway, dim and narrow as is was, still felt like the edge of a sun-lit prairie. It was quiet, the only sound being the slight sizzle of flames from the large candles spaced evenly in depressions along the wall. We were at one end, and the hallway stretched so far to my right that I could not see its other end. 

"Are we still even in the castle?" I wondered aloud. The trip through the maze of doors had taken us in so many different directions--at least, I thought it did--and taken so long that I would not have been surprised to look out a window and find myself in the mountains outside Dervish on a midwinter's night. 

Shonfiddylchamevven chuckled as he placed his weighty key ring on his belt ad massaged his sore wrist. "Of course. This is the queen's private entrance. You cannot be too careful."

It was no wonder, then, why the queen was late to many appointments. "I guess not." 

Seymuhr stretched behind me. Broo Fang Tane was barely visible in the gloom. We started off. 

"How was it that you came to be in the queen's employ, Shon?" I asked.

He gave me an impatient, tight-lipped smile. "Shonfiddylchamevven, please. I am proud of my heritage, which includes my name. I would not think to ask you to shorten yours."

"Oh, you can call me Mira," I answered, quickly and hopefully. "I always thought Esmiralda a bit of a mouthful. And too pretentious, by half. It makes me sound like a princess."

"Or a witch," Seymuhr added. 

"I wouldn't think of it. There is a certain power in a name, as my father always told me. They should be embraced. Certainly, you should not allow others to reduce that power."

"Yours is a pow....er...ful...na....me, indeed, good Shon...fid...dyl...ch...am................even," Tane eventually got out. 

"Indeed," I agreed as soon as he was done. "What were we talking about again? Oh. The queen. Yes, how did you come to be employed by the queen?"

"It's a tale as long and as proud as my name," he said. He sucked in his ample belly--or tried to--and puffed out his chest--or tried to. "I came here with my brother."

I waited, but no other words were forthcoming. After a few minutes, he said: "Oh, that was it. I came here with my brother."

"That's not a long tale," Seymuhr pointed out. "Or a proud one."

Shonfiddylchamevven looked offended. "What do you mean? I'm very proud of my brother."

"I have no doubt," I said, to avoid what I suspected would be an escalating argument. "He was a good man. Perhaps I should have asked how he came to be employed by the queen. I am not certain that he ever directly told me."

"Just one of those things," he waved it off. "Some people make candles, some people fish, others earn their coin by grooming house pets. Merrick simply founded the Ministry of Human Preservation to save Korin. Or at least, mankind's role in it." 

"I see."

"I don't," Seymuhr  said. "Is there much profit in it?"

"Perhaps Queen Phedora will have additional insight for you," he said as we, at last, stopped outside an ornate door. "She's inside."

I can see for feet and feet

Thanks for reading! This blog shouldn't be taken too seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes and make fun of the genre (b) work on dialogue and scene (c) develop the world of Korin, where my (real) fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. 

Later, much later, I had lost track of how many doors we had gone through, which direction we were heading and, perhaps, even which day it was. 

"It's a wonder there are any trees left in Korin," I mumbled to Seymuhr. "There's an entire forest guarding this approach."

We stood beside one such door, just recently opened. Seymuhr leaned against the stone wall, feet and arms crossed. Broo Fang Tane was just outside, in the last antechamber, his hands tucked into his sleeves. His eyes were half-closed and I wondered if he was napping. Ahead, Shonfiddylchamevven bent in front of yet another locked door, fiddling with his key ring. He stretched, a hand exploring the small of his back and gave us a weary grin. 

"I know it's here somewhere," he said. 

Seymuhr straightened up. "I need a privy. Is there one behind one of these other doors?"

Shonfiddylchamevven blew a long breath through his lips, making them rattle like a soaked banner. "Of course." He closed his left eye and scratched his head. "Let me think. I know it's around here somewhere..."

I held up a hand to stop him from retracing our steps. "Good Shonfiddylch...Shonfid....Good Shon, are we close? Perhaps it would be faster to go forward than back the way we came." I glared at Seymuhr, who shrugged.

"I was merely trying to be polite," he said, then turned toward the corner and fumbled at his belt.

"So. Now you try."

Tane spoke up. "You should have con...trol...of your body at all times," he said in his usual, halting sing-song. "The Or...der of the Op....timists teach such things. I c.............ould pass a.....long the lesson."

"If you were able to teach Seymurh such control, that would be a cause for optimism," I said. "Celebration, too."

"It would be a sin," Seymuhr responded, "to deprive so many noses of my special fragrance." 

"Ah, that's the one!" Shonfiddylchamevven turned the key and we heard the now-familiar sound of the lock opening. He pushed open the door revealing, to my horror, yet another door. 

"Oh, for the love of Pordeth!" 

"At ease, good friends! At ease," Shonfiddylchamevven chuckled nervously. "This one's not locked. I'll give you a few moments to, er, compose yourselves. Then we shall be just a few short steps from the queen's antechamber."

I stepped away from Seymuhr and straightened my tunic as best I could. My hair, as usual, was beyond repair, but I ran my fingers through it, anyway, in hopes of untangling some of the mess. I stuck a finger in my mouth and scrubbed my teeth. I realized in that moment that a momentous change was about to come upon me. After so many travels and, most recently, so many thrice-cursed doors, I was about to step into my true purpose. 

Assuming, of course, that Shonfiddylchamevven spoke true and there wasn't another delay on the other side. 

"Right," I said, nodding to him. "Let's go."

 

 

Doors and doors

Thanks for reading! This blog shouldn't be taken too seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes (b) work on dialogue and scene (c) develop the world of Korin, where my fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. 

Shonfiddylchamevven led us behind the bar to where a stack of old kegs was piled against a wall. He ducked behind them, and I saw a door that had been hidden. It was a stout thing, thick, ancient-looking wood reinforced with iron bands. Merrick's brother fished in his pocket and produced an enormous ring of keys. We waited while he searched through them, holding a few up to the weak light and immediately discarding others. 

"I know it's here," he said, somewhat apologetically. 

"I'm impressed that you were able to handle that taunting without killing seven or eight people," I told Broo Fang Tane while we stood by. "Perhaps you are one step closer toward having full control of your anger."

He gave me a meek, half-hearted smile, but said nothing. 

"Ah! This must be it!" Shonfiddylchamevven held up a key that looked no different than any others, then inserted it into the lock and twisted. I heard a click and the door parted from its jamb. He grinned and pushed it open, revealing a ten-foot cube with another stout door on the other side. He walked up and began fiddling with the keys again. "I know it's here somewhere," he mumbled.

"We might be here a while," Seymuhr said. "Perhaps we should have brought a chair with us."

"Safety first!" Shonfiddylchamevven called cheerfully. "This passageway leads almost directly into the queen's audience chamber. We cannot simply allow petitioners to walk in on her."

"Of course." 

After a few more minutes, he exhaled loudly, put a different key into the doorlock. "Fortunately, she doesn't get many visitors this way."

He pushed the door open, revealing another cube and another door.

"Bones of Barnok," I whispered, then added, louder: "What do you do when the matter is urgent?"

"There are only a few more," he replied, then returned his attention to his key ring. "I could have sworn I left them in order." 

I leaned against the wall, which was made from smooth, cut stone, and thought about what I would say to Pheadra if and when we finally got our audience. I was still slightly upset at learning of Merrick's Ministry of Human Preservation from Merrick, and not directly from the queen. I had had plenty of dealings with her and thought our relationship was more cordial than it would be with an average subject. Surely someone responsible for chronicling the history of Korin, as I was, was worthy of such a confidence? I wondered if I had been an unwitting participant in the MOHPs agenda in the past. 

"Here it is!" Shonfiddylchamevven sounded triumphant. I held my breath but released it after he opened the door to find another cube that differed from the previous two in that it contained two stout doors. "Let's see," he said. "Which one is it again? The left or the right? I always forget..."

I glanced at Tane, who looked lost in thought. I tried to adopt his attitude. Patience, it appeared, would be an important trait today. 

Bring out the MoHPs

Thanks for reading! This blog shouldn't be taken too seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes (b) work on dialogue, and scene (c) build up the world of Korin, where my fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. 

That said, here's where we are:
Reunited with their companion, Broo Fang Tane, the freelance historian Esmiralda and Seymuhr, the odd brawler known as Skullsquasher, resume their journey to the palace in Veral Ski, where they would report to Queen Phedora on the death o their companion, Merrick, a leader in the mysterious Ministry of Human Preservation....

A tavern. I hesitated, unsure if I should risk the knock or the trip inside. Taverns presented a habitual problem for Broo Fang Tane. The man was on a journey to find peace, but there were still many, many steps ahead of him. 

He sensed my concern. "It will be...well," he said. 

"Well? When was the last time you were in a tavern and it went 'well.' Not since I've known you."

"There is always a...first...time," he said, and pushed through the door.

"Spoken like a true optimist," I muttered and followed him.

The room inside had already gone silent. All eyes were on Tane as he moved across the floor, heading toward an empty table near the far corner. He kept his head down. 

"We're not looking for any trouble," I said. There weren't too many people in the tavern, which I counted as a good thing. I glanced around, still wondering why we had been shown to this place, rather than the audience with the queen I had been expecting. There was nothing regal--or even much that was clean--about it. 

"What are you looking for, then?" A woman behind the counter called it out. She was short, thin, with gray hair pulled into a single tail that hung over her left ear. She wore a stained, vaguely colored shirt over patched stockings. 

"Uhhh..." I was not sure how to answer. 'The queen' seemed like a ridiculous thing to say. Clearly, for some reason, we had been misdirected. I did not think it sensible to brandish the symbol for the Ministry of Human Preservation, either. If there was some code word to utter, I did not know it. 

"How fresh is your spider?" Seymuhr asked, shouldering me aside.

"The spider is always fresh," she answered with, I thought, a touch of pride. 

"Good! Hurry it up, then. A man could starve waiting for a good bowl of spiderfat soup." 

The woman lingered, gazing pointedly at Tane. "Not a word out of you. I know your type and we've got more pressing things on our minds than, than..."her voice rose and she continued in a mocking tone: 'good tidings'."

Tane nodded, a glum gesture, tucked his hands into his sleeves and sat on the bench with his back facing the room. Seymuhr followed him. 

"Worry not," I told her. "We are just here for some food, apparently." Some of the other patrons returned their attention to their bowls, but a few others looked our way, whispered amongst themselves, and snickered. I motioned for Seymurh to lean in. "I don't think I thought this through."

He shrugged. "Perhaps not. But I like this place."

"I think we should leave. This can't be where we're supposed to meet the queen."

"Oooooh, meeting up with the queen, are ya?" The tavern wench said, much too loudly, as she plopped down three bowls of grayish liquid in front of us. "Well, why didn't ye say so? I'll just go and fetch her majesty right away!" She leaned in, cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered in a tone that was half conspiratorial, half understanding. "She's just finishing up some dishes."

"Queen?" I announced with a nervous chuckle. "Why would you say that? Meet the queen. Us? Why would three humble travelers expect to meet with the queen? Why...why we wouldn't presume to speak to so much as a land baron...What I said was 'I hope the meat is clean'."

She blanched at this and the room went deadly silent. "Well now. I serve the finest spider flanks this side of the wall, missie, and I'll cut anyone who says otherwise. Now I can fetch the queen, like I said, but if you're going to go around insulting my food, then we are going to have a quarrel."

I held up my hands. "I meant no disrespect to you or this, um, fine place, madam, I just..."

"So now you call me a madam? Is that it? I defend my business and you suggest I peddle in flesh?" Her voice was rising and more of her customers were looking at us. Some shifted in their seats, as if they were ready to leap at us. 

"No. No. Of course not. Not that there's anything wrong with that, if you do..."

She suddenly lifted her head and cackled, then walked away.

"Pay her no mind," a man had appeared behind me. "She doesn't own the place. Nor does she work here. She just wandered in one day, said her name was Jasper and she had spent most of her life as a goat."

"Explains the laugh," Seymuhr said. 

"But nothing else," I added. "What are you talking about? A goat? She does not work here? Where did she get those bowls of soup?"

"I don't know," the man answered. He was tall, with a belly that hung over his belt and black hair that resembled an overturned plate of noodles. "A better question, for you, at least--and I would think carefully before I answered it--is this: What have you done with my brother? Where is Merrick?"

Through the gate

Thanks for reading! 
This blog shouldn't be taken to seriously. I don't always put a lot of thought into the entries; they are merely a way for me to: (a) test out a few jokes (b) work on dialogue, and scene (c) build up the world of Korin, where my fantasy stories take place and (d) appear busy while I eat lunch, so I can avoid human interaction. Feel free to let me leave a comment or critique. 

That said, here's where we are:
Reunited with their companion, Broo Fang Tane, the freelance historian Esmiralda and Seymuhr, the odd brawler known as Skullsquasher, resume their journey to the palace in Veral Ski, where they would report to Queen Phedora on the death o their companion, Merrick, a leader in the mysterious Ministry of Human Preservation....

The bauble worked, although it took some convincing to get Seymuhr and Broo Fang Tane to come with me. Seymuhr earned the most suspicious looks from the guards at the Noble Gate. They walked around him, slowly, sizing him up and down as if he were a cow they wished to purchase for meat or milk. Both guards were taller than Seymuhr--as was I and, in fact, most adults--but the well-used maces hanging from his hips drew a few questions. In the end, they tied them in place with some stout twine.

Tane, the poor man, was the subject of open scorn and a stern warning. "If you speak one word of cheer, I'll make mittens out of your tongue," the taller of the two guards snarled at him.

"I only have...one," the monk replied. "My...tongue woul...d not make a com...plete pair."

"That's the spirit," the guard answered. 

"Maybe a pirate could use a tongue-mitten," Seymuhr suggested. "Most of them only have one hand, anyway."

"Perhaps," the glum monk agreed.

We fell in step behind two more guards, who had answered a summoning bell as soon as I displayed the symbol of the Ministry of Human Preservation. I was left to wonder about the power of it; even I, a freelance historian well-versed in the ways of Korin and many of its cultures, was not familiar with the secretive group, yet the mere showing of it at the gate was enough to gain us passage. Was it only known to a select few who manned this post? Was it widely acknowledged in Veral Ski? Or had the queen been expecting to hear from Merrick who, until recently, had been an agent of the MOHP?

There was also this puzzle, which I had just entered my mind. Queen Phedora was, technically, my employer. It was her charge to preserve the history of the land that created the mission of the falcuhns to begin with. Falcuhns were people, gifted with observational skills and who could read and write, who were tasked with going out into the world of Korin and documenting what they saw. Why had Phedora not discussed this MOHP with me? Did she not think I was worthy?

I would find out soon. The Shieldsmen took an abrupt turn ahead of us, guiding us off of the main street that led to the primary castle gate. We found ourselves in shadow, following a tight alleyway between two buildings, past piles of stinking garbage. They stopped in front of a door set back into the wall so far that it might not have attracted notice had we not been guided to it.

"What is this? Aren't we to be guided to the queen?"

He gave a stiff nod, then backed down the alley way. 

I looked back to the door. I could hear, barely, the sounds of muted music from the other side, and conversation. I was about to raise my hand to knock on the door when I realized what it was.

"Bones of Barnok," I said, glancing down at Broo Fang Tane, who in no way mixed well with others. "It's a tavern."

Up the hill

Reunited with their companion, Broo Fang Tane, the freelance historian Esmiralda and Seymuhr, the odd brawler known as Skullsquasher, resume their journey to the palace in Veral Ski, where they would report to Queen Phedora on the death o their companion, Merrick, a leader in the mysterious Ministry of Human Preservation....

We left the bodies in the street. Behind us, the swaying tavern patrons who had witnessed the brief scuffle began to wager on which one would rise first: the girl who had stubbed her toe and tumbled on the hard cobbled streets of Veral Ski, or the man who had confronted Seymuhr over his reaction. Had I any spare coin, I would have placed it on the girl. She was at least trying to collect herself. Seymuhr's assailant lay still.

"I hardly think that was necessary."

Seymuhr shrugged. His voice was raspy but he didn't sound concerned. "He made the challenge. I accepted. Perhaps he'll think twice before he threatens someone smaller than him again."

"If he can still think," I murmured.

"I, for one, hope he can...change," Broo Fang Tane put in. "I have...hopes...that I will someday be a...ble to walk in...to a tavern or down the...street without maiming someone."

"I share that hope," I replied. Broo Fang Tane had a gift for attracting violence. It could have been his cheerful expression, slight frame, monk's robes or his happy demeanor--or a combination of all those things. Rarely in my life had I seen anyone who sparked mischief in other people or attracted such a level of brazen assholery. "Now would be a good time to keep a tight reign on your temper. We are entering a portion of the city where we can't just leave bodies in the streets and mass slaughter is, in general, frowned upon."

"It is always a good....time," said the crestfallen monk. "I only...wish it were that...easy."

"You're easy!" Seymuhr laughed. Tane gave him a quizzical look and I told him I would explain Seymuhr's latest idiocy. 

The structures indeed showed a little more care than those in the center of the city. They stood straighter, taller and were separated by alleyways that were even occasionally clean. IN many cases, sturdy-looking men lounged about their entrances, keeping an eye on the foot traffic in the street as well as eyeing potential customers up and down. This close to the Noble Gate, merchants were just as concerned about maintaining an environment that would appeal to their more skittish clients as they were anything else. Hiring older Shieldsmen to maintain peace and intimidate the occasional ne'er do well who climbed this far into Veral Ski was a common practice.

We drew more than a few glances. Seymuhr, short but powerful and armed with his two maces, caused the men to touch their own blades as we walked by. Broo Fang Tane, the poor man, was the recipient of a few hurled insults. I adjusted my own posture, striding purposefully forward, head held high, but was ignored.

"Just ignore them," I murmured. "They'll do no harm if we keep moving and act like we belong here."

"I thought you did belong here," Seymuhr said. "Visiting the queen was your idea, was it not?"

"It was. Truth be told, I am not sure she will receive us, or how she will bear the sad news that we must convey." I paused, for we were nearing the next gate, and tried to straighten my garments and control my hair. I reached for Merrick's bauble and was comforted to find it, tucked away in the place I had hidden it to protect it from pickpockets.

"And how do you ex...pect...to gain au....di...ence with the queen?" Tane wanted to know.

"I'm working on it," I answered. We stepped forward into the shadow of the Noble Gate.

In the city

In the Great city of Veral Ski, Esmiralda and Seymuhr are looking for their companion, Broo Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk with a short temper and a talent for violence.


Those who have never been to one of Korin's large cities probably envision it as a grand place, filled with wondrous sights, gleaming with gold and riches. Before my modest childhood in the woods of Maltiboor, before the raiders came and killed my mother and father and drove me into a life of travel, I had always thought they were places of pomp and pageantry, where the hardships of scraping a life from the land were far away, where magic was possible and peace and safety chased away every shadow.

Now, I just noticed the smell. The stench of unwashed bodies was nearly a physical thing that we had to walk through. I couldn't tell if this crowd was particularly ripe or if it was just one really smelly bastard ruining it for the rest of us and, by Keska's Curls, I didn't want to find out. I merely pulled my shirt up over my nose, ducked my head and weaved my way through the throng, hoping Seymuhr was following.

The crowd was pressed together near the gate but as we worked our way further from it the number of people gradually decreased as groups went off in different directions, headed to the market, a tavern, a shop or on some other errand. I poked my nose out and let out a breath.

We were on a straight, stone thoroughfare crowded on either side with buildings of various sizes. Pennants hung from some of the upper windows: the bright blue that Queen Pheadra favored serving as a backdrop to either a merchant's symbol or the falling star of the queen's standard, itself. Women, their bosoms hanging out of their loose shirts, leaned out some windows, calling down to any man who looked prosperous enough to enjoy their company.

The company was plentiful, there were people of all ages, races and sizes moving to and fro, some concentrating on their tasks, others sauntering about, gaping openly and a few hurrying as if on some important errand. One man, with a gleaming bald spot and a ring of hair that hung down to his cheeks, blew a kiss up at a red-headed wench and, craning his head to see her response, stubbed his toe on the uneven roadway and started to hop, holding his foot and cursing loudly.

"Better luck next time!" A pointing man shouted and laughed.*

He half turned to confront the man, still hopping on one leg. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He could formulate no witty response, though, and so endured the laughter of the crowd and his would-be lover above.

A small group had gathered outside a tavern, too, with a sign above its entrance that merely read 'Randy's' in the common tongue. Two large men, chests heaving, swayed on unsteady legs near the door. Both men had bleeding knuckles and ruined faces. One of them, a brown-haired man wearing nothing more than a pair of short breeches, blew a ragged breath out of his shattered lips and sprayed the other with droplets of pink spittle. He took a great lungful of air, raised his fist and slammed it into the other man's chin. More blood flew and the crowd shouted and gasped. The man's eyes glazed over and he slowly toppled backward as his knees gave way.

"I won," the first man, clearly exhausted, could not summon more energy than that. He looked around through eyes nearly swollen shut. "Did you see, lads? Victory is mine! The soup was good. Lads?"

I shook my head. In many places, disagreements were settled with fists, no matter how trivial the matter was. Someone would voice one opinion or defend an argument, and another would support the opposing side. When the disagreements became heated (or sometimes even before then) they would take turns punching each other in the face until only one, the victor, stood. I never understood the practice, for it led to mass delusions. For example, the sky above the Cliffs of Azrok were as blue as any other, but the people there are convinced they are green, merely because the 'green' champion hit harder and struck first. It was idiocy.

"Let's eat here," Seymuhr said, chuckling. "I heard the soup was good."

"That's not funny," I snapped. "We've just watched someone beaten to the ground over the quality of a meal! We'll never become a truly civilized society if we can't learn to disagree without knocking the life fluid out of each other."

"Yes we will," he said.

"No, I can't see it. We..."

"Yes. We. Will," he lowered his voice and took on a menacing tone. His hands were curling into a fists.

"Perhaps you're right," I glanced about nervously.

He laughed and was suddenly cheerful once more. "See? We just did it."

You just proved my point, I didn't say. People would never win an argument as long as the powerful had fists. "Yes, yes. You're quite wise. Come along. We should find our friend before he gets into any trouble--and you know how likely that is."

"No. I don't," his voice took on the same menacing tone.

I walked into the crowd, in search of Broo Fang Tane.


*A phrase of Frizzian origin. The streets in the city of Frizza were so unevenly cobbled that it was virtually impossible to walk among them unscathed. Even a moderate gait required complete concentration. Those unfamiliar with the city--or even locals who weren't concentrating on the road in front of them--were likely to bust a toe or twist an ankle. Frizzians, seeing this happen, often poked fun at the stumbling tourists by calling out: 'Better luck next time' or 'Keep practicing.'