Chapter Four
Zazesspur: Through the Eyes of a Boy
A slight figure darted
its way through the midday crowd which thronged the city streets.
It was a dark-haired boy of twelve or so years, in continual motion as
he picked his way through the throng, cutting a purse here, lifting some
jewelry there.
It had been nearly
five years since Athos had been stranded in this city. Forced to
rely on his wits alone he had honed his abilities in order to survive.
He ducked behind a
covered litter that was making its way slowly through the crowd.
The litter was bourne by four heavily-muscled kushite manservants, and
attended by four guardsman of the same nationality, who were armed with
pole arms that they used to push back the passing throngs..
He trailed along behind
it for a few moments then, more out of curiosity than anything else, he
decided to investigate further.
He darted out into
the crowd again, making a tight arc that brought him alongside the litter.
Diving into a roll which took him under the reach of one of the surprised
guardsman, he came to his feet and leaped through the bright silks which
swathed the litter.
He landed in the lap
of a profoundly fat man, who was wearing a huge golden amulet.
The man goggled in
surprise and dismay. Athos snatched the amulet with one hand, the
other cutting an arc across the obese man's neck, severing the chain to
which the amulet was attached with a small dirk.
The fat man gasped
in panic at the sight of the blade, then in relief as he realized he had
not been struck down. "Guards!" he shrieked.
The litter lurched
wildly as the servants dropped it. The guardsmen rushed forward.
Instantly Athos was
on his way again, leaping upward through the silks that made up the litter's
ceiling. He paused a moment there, poised atop the gilded wooden
supports, then leaped out over the guardsmen's heads and into a laid out
spin which took him squarely into the tight-pressed throng which was moving
steadily past on either side. He landed easily on his feet, dodged
a blow from an outraged woman with an ugly scar, and without looking back,
raced in the opposite direction.
* * *
Scant moments later,
he had joined a group of six other boys in a nearby alley.
"Whaddijya get, runt?"
asked Rathan, cuffing him on the head. Rathan, at eighteen years
of age, was the oldest present. He was also the self-proclaimed leader
of the group, which called itself the 'rat pack'. Although he was
a coward when it came to dealing with others his own age, Rathan bullied
the other boys, who were all much younger and smaller than he was.
"Not much," said Athos,
dodging the brunt of the blow.
Rathan grinned, his
acne-scarrred face crinkling grotesquely. "Then you ain't gonna have
nothing to eat." He grabbed Athos' shirt. "Hand it over, runt!"
Grudgingly, Athos
handed over a small pouch filled with gold and silver pieces.
Rathan glanced into
the bag. "Better than I thought. There's plenty here for me
to gamble, drink, and whore off." He laughed. "There's even
enough left over for me to be generous to you pansies." He reached
down into the bag and pulled up a single copper piece, which he flipped
into the dirt. "There you go, boys," he said with a sneer.
"Don't spend it all in one place, mind you."
He laughed as he strode
off in the other direction.
Athos scowled after
him. Someday, Rathan, he thought to himself. Someday.
"How much did you
really take today, Athos?" asked Valle, youngest of those present.
"More than ever before,"
said Athos with a smile. "If I scored this much every day, there
would be a price on my head for certain."
"Did you keep any
of it back?" asked Shand from the back. Shand and his brother Helmus
were virtually identical, lanky boys with dark hair and a dusky complexion,
both of whom were orphaned at a very young age.
Athos pretended to
be shocked. "You don't think I would let that lumbering fool Rathan
have my hard-stolen profits, do you?" He produced a smaller pouch
seemingly from nowhere and held it aloft. "There's enough here to
ensure we eat for the rest of the week."
The other boys gave
a cheer.
Athos kept the amulet
hidden. He was still working on a fund with which to leave the city
and get home, although he was beginning to lose hope. Surely if his
mother was alive, she would have come searching for him by now. Besides,
he didn't know how to contact a fence without alerting Rathan, and Rathan
would be very angry to learn that Athos had been keeping anything back
from him.
"What did you others
take today?" he asked the rest of the boys.
"Not much," admitted
Shand. "As usual, Rathan took all of it."
"Well," said Athos
with a smile, "I took enough for all of us. Let's get to the Spinning
Wheel. I'm in the mood for a good meal."
Eagerly the other
boys joined him. Tonight they would sleep in warm beds with full
bellies.
* * *
Arkail Rhassan, junior
guildmaster of the thieves' guild, strode toward his rendezvous boldly.
A young man just coming into his middle years, he was in excellent physical
shape, and the sword that rested at his hip was well-familiar to his hands.
He was a darkly handsome man, with sable black hair and eyes, and a small
goatee cut in the southern style. His face would have been almost
pretty, save for the many scars which crisscrossed it, telling of battles
past.
He halted in the appointed
spot for the meeting, a small culdesac at the end of an abandoned alley.
He glanced around, trying unsuccessfully to make the figure of the man
he was to meet out in the darkness. "Where are you?" he whispered
at a last.
"Here, Arkail," called
a soft voice from behind him.
Arkail jumped, then
turned to face the man who had spoken. "You know what I want you
to do?"
The other man nodded.
"What's your price?"
asked Arkail.
The man looked amused.
"You've not the abilities to accomplish this task yourself?" he asked.
"I'm surprised."
"Of course I do,"
snapped Arkail. "But the guildmaster's death must look like an accident,
and I must be present. I want no chance of it being discovered that
I was involved in his demise."
"There will be no
chance of that," said the man in the shadows. "As for the time and
the place, I will choose. Be assured you will be present."
Arkail nodded.
"And the price?"
"Two million platinum
pieces, of Waterdeep or Calimport mint."
Arkail gasped.
"I cannot pay that! I haven't the resources! Perhaps one million,
but never two!"
The other man shrugged.
"Then the job won't get done. I am no merchant - I do not haggle.
Besides which, I wasn't finished naming my price."
Arkail started to
protest, then stopped himself. If that was the price he must pay,
then that was the price he must pay. "Continue," he said resignedly.
The shadowy man nodded.
"I want a favor from the guild - an intangible that I may call on at any
time in the future during your lifetime."
Arkail considered.
"What sort of intangible?"
"You'll find out when
I ask for it."
Arkail thought for
a few moments, then sighed. "Very well. I will meet your price."
"Good," said the other
man. "You will be contacted as to when and how I will collect it."
Arkail waited a moment.
"I guess that's it then," he turned to leave, then looked back. "Know
this, Viper. I am not afraid of you. If you fail me in this,
I will hunt you down." After a hard look, he turned and made his
way to the mouth of the alley.
The Viper remained
silent until long after Arkail was gone. "That, my friend," he said
at length, "was a threat. I do not take threats lightly. How
long shall I allow you to live?"
* * *
"Do the dagger trick,
Athos!" slurred Vermos. He, like most of the other boys, had been
drinking heavily after consuming a large repast. Vermos always was
the show-off, constantly getting himself into trouble by trying to do more
than he was able. He was the oldest of the boys, and nearly the largest,
standing only a few inches less in height than Drake. Athos, as always,
had refrained from drinking. Valle had done the same.
"Yes, come on Athos!"
put in Shand. "Do the dagger trick!"
Athos sighed.
"All right. But it really is nothing. I can't even think of
a good way to use it in a swindle."
The other boys leaned
forward, watching intently.
Athos unsheathed a
small, sharp dagger with his right hand, placing his left hand down on
the table and splaying the fingers apart. This action caught the
barkeep's attention.
"Hey, you street rats!"
he grumbled, shaking his fist. "The sign at the door says you're
supposed to leave all weapons at the front until you leave!"
"We can't none of
us read, sir!" Valle piped up merrily - a fact which was not far from the
truth. Only Athos could read well, and only Valle wanted to learn
how to read badly enough to learn. Athos was teaching him slowly
and steadily. The other boys were illiterate except for a few common
words and phrases, and also rough approximations of their own names.
"Besides, sir," said
Athos, "this is only a knife for cutting meat, not a weapon."
The barkeep scowled.
"All right then, but mind you don't chip my table with it."
Athos smiled.
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."
His right hand began
moving, slowly at first, as he would jab down with the dagger's point,
tapping its tip on the table between the fingers of his left hand at different
points. The rythm picked up, and became a whirring sound of raps
as the dance with dagger quickened.
"Impossible," said
the barkeep as the speed became too quick for his eyes to follow.
As suddenly as it
had started, the dance stopped. Athos twirled the dagger through
his fingers and bowed as the boys cheered him.
"And now with my other
hand," he said, flipping the dagger from his right hand to his left.
"This time I'll get it right."
"Wait a minute, Athos,"
said Valle with some alarm. "Last time you nearly severed your finger.
There's no need for showing off."
"That was last time,"
said Athos with a grin. "I've got a good feeling this time."
He plunked the pouch of gold onto the table. "I'd bet all I have
left on it."
"What would we sleep
on tonight of you did that?" laughed Drake. "Surely not a bed."
Drake was the tallest of the boys, and in his own way the most identifiable.
He had light blonde hair and green eyes, a rarity this far south.
He was big enough that he could have been a bully, but had always instead
been a gentle giant.
The barkeep stroked
his chin, his eyes narrowing at the boys' talk. "What would you bet
against?" he asked.
"Oh, he's jesting,
sir," said Valle.
"No I'm not," interjected
Athos. "I'd bet it against, say, the price of the meal we just had
and the price of a good night's sleep."
The barkeep eyed the
large sack greedily as the other boys began pleading for Athos to back
off from the foolish gamble. "How much is in that?" he asked.
"Forty gold," said
Athos, ignoring the pleas of his comrades.
More than the price
of a week of such meals and lodging! thought the barkeep greedily.
"All right, then. I accept your wager."
"Excellent!" cried
Athos, picking up the dagger again.
"No!" cried Shand.
"Don't risk it!"
"Shut up, boy!" snarled
the barkeep. "He's already accepted. It's too late for him
to back out now!"
"Too late for you,
too," said Athos with a smile.
The others grew quiet.
"Don't hurt yourself,
Athos," said Valle seriously. "You know your hands are valuable to
all of us."
Athos paused, concentrating.
He exhaled once, heavily, and splayed the fingers of his right hand out.
There was a thin line on the ring finger, a mark indicating the place where
he had been scarred by his earlier attempt.
He took another breath,
exhaled slowly, and began.
The dagger began its
dance slowly, then picked up speed. Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat,
pit, pat, pit, pat, pit, pat, pit pat, pit pat went the dagger's tip.
Sweat stood out on
Athos' forehead, concentration etched into his brow.
The barkeep held his
breath, watching as the dance of the dagger picked up speed. Pit
pat, pit pat, pit pat, pit pat, pitpat,pitpat, pitpatpitpatpitpatpitpapitippitipitipitipitipit.
Still it continued,
faster and faster, until it was going as fast as it had before.
"Faster!" wailed the
barkeep, as he realized he was losing the wager. "You were going
far faster than that with the other hand!"
Athos knew that he
hadn't, but he picked up the pace even more. The rapping became
a humming. The motion of the hand and the dagger was a blur too fast
for the eye to follow.
Athos smiled.
The barkeep threw
up his hands in defeat. "All right! I concede!" he said in
disgust, walking off.
The boys cheered.
The barkeep whirled,
and gave them all an unkind look. "I have the feeling that I've just
fallen prey to a swindle. Why is that?"
Because you have,
thought Athos, lauging silently to himself. The scar was a
self-inflicted scratch. He had never had trouble with the dagger
dance before, left or right-handed.
"I have no idea,"
he said aloud. "The wager was an honorable one. If anything,
you should feel happy for me, that I have not injured myself."
* * *
"Once upon a time the
moon was captured by a demon, who spirited it off to one of the lower planes.
Perhaps you, good sir, can recover it before it is lost forever."
The man looked down
at Athos haughtily. "It takes more than fast hands to fool me.
The moon card is here!" he said as he triumphantly flipped the middle card
over. His jaw dropped at the card he had chosen.
"Sorry, sir," said
Athos. "That is Lady Ice."
"I've been swindled,"
howled the man. "Give me back my silver! You put the card in
your pocket, you little thief!"
Athos was unoffended.
"Not so, sir. the moon card is here." So saying, he flipped
over the left hand card, revealing the Moon card. "Perhaps you would
care to test your skill again?"
"And lose more silver?"
sniffed the man, only slightly mollified. "Take your game elsewhere,
scoundrel!"
Athos smiled as he
turned to Valle. "See? That's how you do it. You lose
sometimes, but if you've got it down you can usually come off with the
money. And the best part is that you can never get into trouble for
cheating, because you aren't."
Valle shook his head,
uncertain. "Your hands are quick, Athos. I don't know if I
can get it right."
"We've got all day
and a thousand fools to practice with," said Athos, gesturing broadly to
indicate all within the marketplace. "You will learn."
* * *
Thousands of miles
to the east, in a cavern far below the decadent capital of the ancient
empire of Mulhorand, an obscene ceremony was being performed by the cult
of Set in honor of the foul god they served.
Hundreds of black-clothed
and turbaned men and women knelt before a pool of stagnant water from which
sprang a flame which shot upwards hundreds of feet.
The flame changed
colors rapidly, going from orange to blue to purple in a matter of moments
and reflecting off the cavern walls eerily, creating fantastic shapes and
shadows.
The entire cavern
was filled with the murmurings of the cult members, who were reciting ritual
prayers.
The high priest took
his place at the altar. He surveyed the cavern for sever minutes,
then raised his arms.
The chanting of the
cult members faded and died.
The high priest spoke,
his voice betraying a slight lisp. "Our lord has found a mortal worthy
of becoming his avatar. We must find this person and sacrifice him."
He held out a grotesque
object. "He whom we hold most highly has bestowed this object of
divine power upon us, so that we may locate the person whose body will
house our lord's spirit. The time has come to search him out!"
* * *
The inner city of Zazesspur
was comprised for the most part of ruined buildings. In some areas,
rubble was still strewn in the streets. Although the inner city was
teeming with life during the days, at nights the streets were usually clear
as nearby residents locked themselves into their houses. Some parts
of the city were rumored to be haunted by the undead. Others were
dangerous because of the street gangs who made their homes there.
One single tower -
made of what had once been white marble, but which was now blackened and
gray - still stood tall, its upper parts silhouetted by the full moon.
It was this place that the locals feared and avoided most carefully, for
it was known to be the home of a mad wizard, Grimwalde by name. Horrible
sounds issued from its windowless walls in the dead of the night as unspeakable
atrocities were committed within.
Some claimed that
the mage was dead, and that the tower was haunted by his ghost. Others
said that he was some sort of demon, and that he howled in the night because
he was caught in this plane of existence and not the plane upon which his
kin resided. Still others claimed that the very forces of the lower
planes were housed in the tower, ready to break out and devour the populace
of the city.
Only Grimwalde himself
knew the truth of what went on within those walls, and he was neither demon
nor ghost - though it could be argued that he was mad.
It was insanity which
fascinated the wizard most. He was making studies on the insane for
his master, a wizard of much repute in far off Calimport. The screaming
and wailing which penetrated the tower's walls was that of the subjects
of his tests and experiments.
Some of his studies
included curing madness. Other studies included creating it.
These last were the
wizard's personal favorites.