Days of High Adventure (Part 4)

Chapter 7. The Sorcerer.

Now, thus far in this account of the journey to the east, nothing but the desire to reach Mawran Jeerkah was known about the strange warrior lady and her companions. Of where she had come from was beyond Tengu’s understanding of the geography and fiefdoms of the nor-west. Before she had become lost in the Sea of Dust (to be found by the Shambarrese fugitive), Leora had spoken of passing through the valleys of RiverMist, which was on the other side of the Charsan Steeps, and the borders of the known world.
         Walking through her dreams on the first night of reaching the jewelled city of the desert, Leora remembered the scenes and emotions of the year it had taken her to find this place, so far from her homeland.
         She remembered the first time she had met a mortal man; on an unnamed road he had approached her, riding a speckled horse with a crescent moon on its brow. The reflection of steel in the sun, the lustful madness of the grinning man, chasing her through the sparse trees of pine and white winter snow.
         He had been different to the darker men of these eastern lands.
         Image streams of a lost city in the starving lands of the Sea of Dust began to flow.
         The masked one is there, and he has dragged her from a jar of hissing vipers in the ruins. He returns into the temple, catching the vipers and stuffing them back into the jar before they can escape. But Tengu has missed the azure scales of the cobra, wriggling its whip-like body with agility away from her vision.
         A voice whispers warning:
         “Watch that one; he has venom………”
         She looks up from the sandy street to the middle of night, and holding her breath to feel the enchantment of that voice again calling to her, from within the cave-deep buttress roots of an old tree.
         Uttered with the thrill of roaring lions, the words came like thunder to the dreamer:-
         “The Sorcerer…..
         “Askar…
         “He knows……
         “He knows, everything…”
         A silent flash of lightning lit up the scene.
         The white lion was revealed in an instant, muzzle dripping red as it sat over the bodies of strange demihumans. Fangs drawn as the dreamworld blackened after the explosion of light, the lion’s call echoed;
         “He knows everything.”
                             *          *          *

         Enjoying the privileges of their gold from their earlier sorties in the badlands between Ch’arlin and Balbados, Tengu and Leora moved to another room in the Gambler’s Oasis, having spoken to the slovenly Feshby about the murder-holes, as he was being painted like a whore in preparation for some meeting with his astrologer-adviser on the other side of the river. A guard was also hired from outside the walls of Feshby’s pleasure palace, waiting by the door of their room with his arms crossed and thick moustache falling at the corners.
         Fruits, untasted for months, were eaten like candy from the bowl as they drank expensive wines by the gourdfull, listening to the news of other travellers and local ruffians who would gather to enjoy the wrestling of ox-large men and the smoking of hashish from their pot-bellied hookahs, veiled in a cloud of their own exhalation like smoking dragons.
         Expecting to find a potential buyer for the Mermaid’s Tear amongst the court of the Caliph, Tengu made preparations to infiltrate their clandestine parties, dressing as a prince and surrounding himself with lackeys (another reason why the guard had been hired to stand at their door) as though he were some personage of great importance rather than the fugitive assassin of the Golden Triangle. Everyone inside the Gambler’s Oasis addressed him as the ‘Pasha Tetsuba’.
         It was agreed that after the gossamer pearl had been sold to the highest bidder, Tengu and Leora would part company to follow their own destinies.

         Having been dreaming again of the bloody muzzled lion with the voice of thunder, Leora awoke to the savoury smell of food. Tengu was sitting inside the rectangle of the window, eating off the bone as he looked at the early morning crowds praying and arguing in the streets.
         “Greetings, Leora san.” The courtier-disguised Tengu nodded. “Our guard has left his post at the door, disobedient mongrel! If I was a real Pasha I would have ordered his head cut from his neck by now!”
         Seth, who was coming out from under the peacock-feathered headdress of Tengu’s costume, stretched out his miniature arms and yawned.
         “Just don’t forget you’re a wanted thief now, Tengu my boy.” Added the sprite casually as he retrieved one of his curl-toed boots from the floor.
         Unnerving Seth with the blank stare of his pale eyes, Tengu grinned at him before continuing;
         “I have left the beggar, Lantaz, in your care for today, Leora san. I cannot take him with me to the palace, encase his unpolished habits should reveal my ambitions.” 
         “Good; I think that I will need him to help me look for someone.” Combing out the length of her hair with her fingers, Leora sat up from her bed to start what would be an eventful day.
         “Ah, your mystery, huh? Well, good luck to you Leora san!” Cheered the masked one. “The world is under your feet after all, as a wise man told me once. The world is under your feet.”
                             *          *          *

         Walking beside the blonde warrior clad in tight leather armour, Lantaz was hard to recognize after Tengu’s expenditure to clean up his appearance. Instead of the bandages that had covered him earlier, his clean shaven head was topped with a turban, and a simple garment of undyed wool hung from his lean shoulders.
         Everywhere around them was active with the industry of shopkeepers (who could afford to sell their goods inside their front doors, as compared to the open air markets of Ch’arlin), hammering in their workshops. Animals burdened with sacks and passengers had to be watched for, as some of the larger beasts could easily crush any slow pedestrian (or their horse) by accident.
         Having done business with a gnomish jeweller to further enhance the value of a rare topaz, along with other matters of interest in the paved streets and mixed styles of buildings paid for by dead dynasties and tyrants, Leora continued to lead her horse Moonshadow toward the paved edges of the dammed river, swirling against the walls that held it from giving life to the desert outside the city walls and cliffs.
         “Let us rest, good lady! We have been walking all morning, surely your horse agrees with me?” Spoke Lantaz as he paused at the sight of the sun radiating a blinding white on the moving surface of the Mandha.
         She agreed, and they both continued to the end of the history-worn avenue, until the views of the southern bank could be seen, shadowless in the hour of midday. Looking from right to left, starting at the dam walls and slums until the eyes began to see the grandeur of ancient times, converted by later tenants to accommodate their extended families. Before the city walls, where further shantytowns emerged, it appeared as though a large section of the bank had been abandoned, one tower even leaning on the skeletal ribs of another buildings’ roof. Not even the birds of the sky would pass it drink from the live-giving Mandha.
         It was an obvious sight, grey and weathered compared to the white-washed buildings and bridges that crossed the river, a haunted place, giving the impression that tragedy had played its part there in the terrible past.
         Silent as she observed the foreboding decay, Leora asked; “What is that place where none will make their home?”
         For a brief moment Lantaz could not answer her, caught in his own superstitious mind.
         “Bah! It is owned by a devil! His very presence there is probably cursing us right now!”
         “What does this devil call himself?” Leora inquired with curiosity as something came together in her mind.
         “Shh! No one mentions the name of the demon! Imagine if he should hear us and tear the ghosts out of our flesh! Silly woman.” He grunted.
         “Is he named Askar?” She asked.
         Colour fading from his face as he imagined the wheels of death now set in motion from the sound of that name, Lantaz fled from the street, shaking and praying as he collided with others in his way of escape from the evil foreign woman.
         “I’ve found you.” Leora whispered to herself, staring at the only tower that remained in complete condition amongst the rubble.
         Lifting herself with a foot in the stirrup to step over the saddle, she rode away to the nearest bridge that would take her to the southern side of the river, and Askar.

         Using the various sights of Mawran-Jeerkah as bearings to find the streets where the living would not tread in fear of its occupant, She was soon alone after reaching the other side of the deep waters, Moonshadow’s hooves echoing from the walls and empty houses. Every door and hollow window, every stone brick and the air between it and the next wall was as silent as the tomb, except for the click-clack of the horses metal shoes on the street.
         Having made himself known after the last voices of men had been passed on the bustling bridges, Seth sat on the ladies shoulder.
         “What if he’s dead, mistress? Nothing has stirred in this place for many years!”
         “Even his death will be news to my father.” Leora said in a solemn tone that matched their expressionless surroundings.
         Because of the irregular construction of the older quarters, the road that Leora had been following ended abruptly as an arch on the roof of a stone building, like an artificial cliff made of houses on which she was standing at the top. A clear view of the surviving castle and its lone turret could be seen.
         “Before we go any further, let me take a closer look, encase we are knocking on the wrong door.” Said Seth as he looked down on the battlements.
         Caught in the next breathe of the wind, a moth flew from beside her cheek, borne on the current to the lichen crusted bricks of the castle.
         Flittering about the walls until it found a gap in the form of an iron-grilled window, the powdery insect crawled into the dark spaces between the bars, until it was free to continue flying. But before reaching the other side of the empty room it collided with the hanging tendrils of the cobwebs that had been strung all through its unseen corners. Fighting against the sticky strings, Seth only managed to wind his moth-wings even further until he had trapped himself, hanging in exhaustion from the ceiling.
         Still waiting in the shadow of the arch overlooking the dead streets, Leora soon gave up waiting for the return of her loyal companion, suspecting that his nose might have led him further than his wits. Pulling at the reigns, she led Moonshadow by other avenues, down to the surviving castle.
         Having followed Leora from the crowded bridges, when they realized that she would be alone in the empty streets toward which she was heading, three dirty goblins; pale, snivelling little creatures that looked like shaved dogs with albino eyes, watched as the woman rode toward the fortified ruins near the banks of the river. Sharing a maltreated caramel-brown mule with a triple saddle, they quickly scrambled aboard it to continue their pursuit.
         
         Directing her horse by the reigns as they rode alongside the walls, Leora could find no entrance into the strange keep, although she wished that she had thought of bringing rope with herself to try and reach the windows far above.
         Calling out to anyone that might hear her on the other side (including Seth’s name), she at last gave up and searched the nearby ruins for any clue to his disappearance. Not far from the walls however, a section of the road had given way, exposing the old plumbing and drainage under the streets and houses.
         Shooing the horse away from the pit lest it should fall into it, she climbed into the hole of the antique drainage system, which only just accommodated her height.
         Shuffling along the passages which were interspersed with light beams from the cracked pavement overhead, boot-deep in the stagnant waters and other things better left alone, Leora chose a path which she hoped would take her under the old palace, letting instinct plot a course through the terracotta pipes, that only differed from each other in their circumference.
         Alarmed by the sound of another echo, near an X junction ahead, she stood motionless, waiting for any other sounds, but the silent gloom set in again.
         Stealing closer like a tiger within seconds of the chase, two daggers in her hands as its fangs, the Amazonian terror pounced upon the three hooded figures creeping towards herself, losing one of her knives in their bodies as she turned to face them again.
         Wielding a club of embedded nails, one of the assailants struck her arm repeatedly as she defended herself, sacrificing the knife she held to draw out her sword from where it had twisted in her belt.
         Another grabbed her round the ankles, pulling her into the water so the other with the bat could try and drown her, but rolling back with her sword in hand, she came out of the water and removed the head of the goblin with such force that the body lifted out of the water, turning like a spear until it planted itself into the round wall with a sloppy thud of impact.
         Gulping in panic, the club-wielder turned to make his exit, but struck in the back of the head by a knife pommel thrown by the warrior, he fell against the wall in pain, which in turn fuelled its nasty little mind to such rage that it turned and clipped Leora’s chin with a swing of its spiked club.
         Driving her heel into the goblin to get some distance between them, her sword tip stabbed like lightning, having been taught the technique by Solomon of Balbados. Prodded closer and closer into the cesspool by the sharp point raining down, the blade pierced the goblin’s heart many times before it floated away, face down, into another of its headless brothers who was submerged in the waters. 
         The sounds of the feud with the three goblins had drawn no attention, and as suddenly as the hooded villains had emerged and fallen at the feet of Leora, the mind-suffocating silence that had trailed her so far into the drainage tunnels was there again.
         After continuing from the junction and unfastening the torn leather gauntlet from her left arm, the only light sources through the holes in the surface streets ceased to shine as Leora passed under the foundations of the old palace. Having sharpened her senses by danger and natural gift, she progressed easily to the dry cellars and dungeons below the streets. Untouched for a hundred years, the walls had sprouted colonies of mould and fungi in the moist air, and the corners of the rooms stank of rat droppings.
         Attracted by another beam of light at the head of a stairwell, she had finally found her way out of the lower depths; a cellar door, or rather an iron lid, was closed over the top of the stairs, but because of age and the humid air, it was now holed with cankerous rust.
         Clearing away the loose fragments with the end of her sword, Leora assembled any surviving objects she could find, rocks and chains mostly, so she could reach over the lid and lift herself out (having taken off her mail shirt and tied it to a rusty chain to retrieve it). Blindly finding a handle on the outside, her task was made easier, and with a few scrapes along her abdomen from the metal rim, she levered herself upward, swinging one of her legs wide to roll out of the entrance and onto the dust coated floor.
         Blowing the hair out of her half-dusted face, Leora gently fished her armour from the pile that had served as a step, catching quick glances of the cavernous hall and its rows of arched windows that let in the post-meridian light on one side.
         Most disturbing to her wild mind, the blonde tigress was in awe of the detailed interior, carved and painted to the visions of a mad poet; monsters loomed large from the pillars and over the architraves, devils and angels wrestled in the air of the domes, and fishtailed beauties swam in the waves of the tiled floor, betraying no smile as they watched her in the borders of the scene they shared with other oceanic creatures.
         The artistry was alive.
         Everything that had been made in that great hall was now staring at the intruder, lips dumb.
         Unaware of the cold-sweat and her heart which was hurried in fear of the living interior, she yelled at the approaching sculptures with all the air in her lungs.
         “Aaasssskkkkaaaaarrr!!”
                             *          *          *

         Approaching the gates of the palace via the avenue of the royal procession, Tengu, ala Pasha Tetsuba, lent against a chest at his side, inside the veiled confines of his sedan. In solemn step with the strong-men that were carrying the Shambarrese actor, Feshby’s dancing girls had been dressed as attendant virgin priestesses in white and gold. In fact, many of the rogues that frequented the Gambler’s Oasis were following the spectacle, dressed in their finest clothes in the hope of entering the palace of the Caliph.
         The gate attendants were not pleased to see the throng, coming toward them so unexpectedly and in such a jubilant mood. Warning the others to be ready for trouble, one of the veteran royal guards left his post before the reinforced gates, dumping his helmet onto his head as he went out to see what all the commotion and fine clothing was about.
         “Who dares approach the Gates of Allaphat the Third, son of Tulphat, intercessor between the chosen races and the gods of the Sun & Moon!” He grunted at the occupant of the veiled sedan, puffing up his chest at the barrel-chested carriers who were looking down at him with their height advantage.
         “Did you not receive a message, telling of my arrival? The Pasha Tetsuba? I have travelled very far to meet with the court of the Caliph.”
         “No one has told me that you would be arriving! What is this, mmh?”
         “Ah, now fear not loyal guard.” The curtains of the sedan were drawn, and a prince in black silken robes with a peacock-eyed crown reclined on a cushion and a chest inside. Tengu’s black lips had been painted with cosmetics, but the colourless eyes still peered blindly from under his dark scarred eyebrows.
“I have brought with me something that would be of immense interest to your masters, look!”
         The lid of the lacquered-black chest was parted, and resting on the softest cloth was the pearl, scintillating as it turned out all manner of metallic colours from the light. Only the guard had caught a glimpse of it, however, and as the trailing crowds bent their heads to look at what had taken the expression from the mans face, the lid was sealed and back under his arm.
         “Listen carefully, honourable guard; when your masters see this, they will be in the mood for much celebration! I can picture a gate guard being promoted to watch over the caliph’s harem for having made the right choice, in allowing me to exchange such wealth and benefit his treasury with something so rare.”
         “The harem?!” The veteran guard thought aloud. “I myself have never seen such a thing, so if you are right he would also be in awe, and maybe your gratitude. What lands does your father own? Somewhere to the south, I would guess from your accent.”
         “Indeed, my father was given the lands for his services to the local warlord, they border the lands of your Caliph, which is another reason why I am here.”
         Listening intently as he nodded in agreement to Tengu’s fabrication, he sent a messenger into the grounds of the palace to tell someone of the situation outside. Presently, to the accompaniment of ram-horned instruments and formally organized soldiers, a thin figure with a platted goatee waded along in his voluminous attire and drooping turban.
         “Pasha Tetsuba of the Border Lands, welcome to Mawran Jeerkah. I hope that you have had an agreeable stay so far? Yes?” Spoke the man with the goatee. “I am Viser Awabi, advisor to Allaphat the Third.”
         “Honourable Awabi, may we speak within the gardens privately? The street is no place to discuss matters openly, and I will not take up much of your day, I can assure you.” Tengu asked from the open side of his carriage.
         “Of course; after all, what man alone could challenge the Caliph’s army?”

         Reminding Tengu/Pasha Tetsuba of his promise to recommend him for harem guard duties, the veteran guard opened a side door beside the main portal in the walls, allowing him to into the manmade paradise of the royal gardens, watered with right-angled channels and streams of lightning-veined dark marble.
         Sitting by the babbling waters of an ogre-faced fountain and bowl in a shaded wall, the two aristocrats, one as real as the other disguised, parleyed over the Mermaid’s Tear.
         “It is true then!” Choked the Viser as he looked upon the contents of the black box. “How unfortunate that it is so.”
         “Why do you say unfortunate, honourable Awabi?” Asked Tengu, fearing that he was about to be cheated of his wealth a second time, as he felt he deserved after coming so far with the yellow haired mistress from the west.
         “The Mermaid’s Tear is cursed, Pasha Tetsuba; I’m surprised you’re still alive after having carried it. Didn’t you know the story of the Tear? Mmm?” Smiled the Viser like a devilish imp.
         “I was told that it was to be the gift for some conqueror’s bride, but the men responsible for its delivery were lost in the Sea of Dust.”
         “True, Pasha Tetsuba, true; but it has a history longer than that!” He laughed.
         Tengu grimaced as he thought of the man in the money-houses of Ch’arlin, cursing him silently for not having told him the full story of his dubious inheritance.
         “Well, it seems that I have been misled. A money-changer, west of here, led me to believe that it would fetch a good price here.”
         “Far from it, Pasha; the curse of the Mermaid’s Tear is well known amongst the court, since the war for its capture cost the lives of many knights and lords who’s current descendants haven’t forgotten after hearing the bitter tales of the past.”
         “I see. Well then, honourable Awabi, I will no longer remind you then of such sad times.” Tengu bowed, quickly hiding the lacquered box in his robes so he could leave before arousing potential bloodshed, especially his own. “Thankyou for enlightening me of the burden now before me; I will see that it is disposed of cautiously.” Which in Tengu’s mind meant finding someone rich who was unaware of its history.
         Without saying a word to the old guard as he waited for the side door in the gates to be reopened, Tengu continued his pretence of calm until he was far enough from the sight of the gate. His party of actors had scattered after being denied permission into the gardens, so he was on his own. Running to escape the streets of temples that surrounded the palaces on the northern bank of the river, he abandoned his crown of feathers and stopped to catch his breath on the outskirts of the procession-way, leaning against the statue of a temple guardian.
         A shadow fell on the ground in front of him.
         “Good day to you, Pasha Tetsuba, if that is your real name!” The body that made that shadow laughed.
         Looking up from his crouched stance, Tengu’s eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement at the figure before him. He was a white man, tall, and dressed in a cloak the colour of midnight blue with no discernable stitches, hanging from his shoulders. His shaved head helped to enhance the features of his skull.
         Reaching for his assassin’s sword concealed in his robes, the bald man laughed at him as though he were a child.
         “I have come to buy that pearl off you, if you are still interested in selling it Pasha.”
         Stirred further by the uncanny knowledge of this man, Tengu asked;-
         “How do you know of these things?”
         Amused, the cloaked stranger continued, “I happened to overhear your little discussion with Awabi in the gardens.”
         “And you want to buy the Mermaid’s Tear?”
         “That’s why I’m hear with you now; come, let’s find a place were we can talk in private.”
                             *          *          * 

         After calling aloud the name of the sorcerer through the empty halls of the castle, the living artworks had ceased their unworldly animation, frozen in place as their bodies continued to surge and stare toward the empty space she had stood in when she uttered that name.
         Guided by an unknown understanding that moved her feet onward and upward, Leora had wandered far from the hall of living artistry and illusion, through the further halls and chambers of that lonely place until finding the silent one who had been waiting for her. On first sight of it her sword was between them like the sudden flash of lightening.
         Unseen behind the layers of clothing that were disintegrating with every movement, a hand of bristle hair and eagle’s claws showed her the way, pointing behind itself to the cyclopean stairs that ascended in darkness.
         “What is up there?” She whispered, “Askar?”
         Nodding its head as deposits of faded fabric and dust spilt to the tiled floor, it again urged her to go beyond.
         Keeping the end of her sword pointed at where a face would be, behind the heavy folds of failing cloth that shadowed it, the amazonian slowly edged her way past, until she felt safe enough to turn her eyes to the high-arched entrance of the huge steps.

         Every advancement over the hewn blocks wearied her arms and back as she hauled and climbed against her own weight, shedding her shirt of mail and other items as she progressed. As she reached the upper heights, she wondered if Askar might be larger than most, because of the immense breadth of these stairs that she had to climb.
         The air itself was charged, compacted as though it were under pressure at the threshold of the final step, overcast by a round portal of a dull-green stone similar to the sheen of quartz. The glamour of dappled lights played within as she kept her back to the wall, cautiously extending her head past the green quartz frame of the circular entrance
         The laws of reality were warped beyond recognition; no spatial limits were definable on the other side, and at first only ethereal glowing clouds of humours could be seen floating in the limitless dimensions. Unheard or seen, a strong feeling that could only be described as the force of the wind, imploding toward some central point in this other world as it was seen through the door.
         Gaining closer, Leora began to feel giddy in the stomach as the limitless voids and wisps of the glamour churned like the waters of the underworld on the other side, her face and hair bathed in the glow.             
         A greater nimbus hovered like the waxing moon behind the clouds of lighted fog and mood, silver as the reflections in a stream. And in its’ centre, the shadow of a seated man, reflecting in the dark of her eyes as she blinked her long lashes in the brilliance before her.
         Rippling in the astral winds, the robes crimson as blood, the mighty Askar was slumped in a pile like a dying old man, unmoving in the spheroid throne that carried him where there was no ground to carry.
         He could have been sleeping.
         There was a ground, however, albeit outside the laws of the gods (which the clouds and other strange phenomena passed through), and after finding this invisible contact with the sole of her boots, Leora placed careful step after step toward the ancient one who sat like a wilted red bloom. To Leora, it felt like a tightrope walker who was crossing the abyss.
         Cold steam issued from the fringes of the lighted throne. Standing before the one that she had feared to meet, after having left everything behind to find him, Leora was confused now that he looked so weak; paper-thin skin clamped to his skull, lined with thousands of folds, and the askew stare of his cataract dimmed eyes, perhaps witnessing worlds unseen, different layers in time.
         There still being some metres to the hovering throne, Leora hesitantly crossed the void to meet his gaze.
         The old lips drew breathe and a dry voice commanded.
         “Stay where you are” he paused before finishing “Who is it that has awoken me from the seeded dreams of the rainbow serpent?”
         Falling to her knees as they weakened, the warrior woman of the west bowed before the sorcerer.
         “Forgive me, Askar Benraathiar, but I have been sent by Gralthkirne, my father, to seek your aid.”
         Mumbling the name Gralthkirne silently, Askar looked within his memory to match it with the word.
         “Gralthkirne; the Lion of the West…….I remember the days when we walked astride these lands with war and magic, in the dawning of time…………” The voice whispered again. “Speak then, fair child of Gralthkirne; what news do you bring……….?”
         Unknown to those that had travelled with her, a small purse of green velvet she had worn over her heart was brought forth from between her breasts (which was why it was unknown).
         The sorcerer stared ahead blindly us she upturned from within the folds of her green purse, letting fall three dried leaves that turned before they rested in the nothing and vapours.
         He leant forward and his mouth opened, but not in speech; a glistening strand of the old man’s saliva  came over his chin and stretched down to his lap as though he was once again lost and dreaming with the Rainbow Serpent that bit its own tail, marking the boundaries of the living cosmos within its coils.
         The leaves seemed to be carried away by the currents of a phantom ocean, but somehow Leora knew that this was Askar, feeling the dried foliage to understand it in a way without sight.
         A hissing sound of expelled breath brought her away from her thoughts.
         “The promised lands of the west has been cast under the shadow of death’s angels, wise Askar; the trees have withered, and many of the animals have disappeared without reason.” She said finally.
         “Come closer, Daughter of Gralthkirne, that I may use your sense of sight to illumine the true nature of your troubles.” Askar spoke as though he was assured of compliance, lifting out his robed arm and long bone fingers.
         The warrioress came up from her knees and approached the luminous throne, the waves of her blonde hair enlaced between the sorcerer’s fingers and his palms aligned with her temples before he held her skull like a ball.

         (Unfinished. Sorry guys, there was more to this meeting of Leora and the Scorcerer, but it's lost)          
                             *          *          *

         “Five thousand gold pieces and safe passage out of Tulphat it is.” The man with the midnight blue cloak agreed, settling his glass cup on the table between them.
         “Very good, Lord Bremdemeer san.” Tengu said as he raised the last of his own drink.
         The two of them had chosen a poor inn, and although the sun was still walking the skies they had shuttered the window from outsiders, bargaining over the lacquered box in the glow of a few candles.
         “I will have your gold counted in two days, so when you are ready I will be waiting for you outside Mawran Jeerkah on the eastern side. You cannot miss my camp, I assure you.” Lord Bremdemeer laughed at some hidden joke. “Until then, make sure you take good care of that Tear, now wont you.”
         “Of course, as it will soon make me very wealthy!” Tengu snorted, privately imagining how much more he would be laughing, once he had all that gold in his hands.

Chapter 8. The Man in the Blue Cloak.

By nightfall they had all returned to the Gambler’s Oasis; Tengu, drunk with wine and his dreams of coming fortunes, sang loudly at anyone he passed in the late noon shade of the streets as he swayed. Leora, who had returned without so much attention in the saddle of her painted horse, arrived at a later hour of the night after crossing back over the waters of the Mandha river from the abandoned streets on the southern banks of the city.
         The crowds that night were some of the largest that Feshby had ever seen that summer; all manner of cultured races where there, and their valuable stones and weighted gold twittered like sparrows as they were moved from hand to hand in the games of chance and risk at his tables. The round buttocks and breasts of his dancing girls swayed like rutting birds of paradise behind their veils and mascara eyes.
         With a platter of dates and ripe fruit on the table, Pasha Tetsuba and the beauty-armed woman enjoyed the attention of a small audience around their game of card diagrams carved in ivory panels, which were shuffled and added as they drank and laughed at fate and chance.
         Ever watchful for his life, the princely disguised Tengu recognized, or thought he recognized, the familiar heights and faces of the two Halflings from Balbados. The events of those past days resurfaced, and, sorely curious to try and pry from their minds what they where up to, the Pasha excused himself from their guests by handing over the bronze platter of fruit so suddenly that they almost dropped it. And thus, in that second of chaos, seat was empty.
         “Honourable Oakey! Snitchy san!” 


         
         

         
         
         
         
         

            

   



         


Contents:
1          Ruins of a Raised and Ancient Civilization          
2          House of Vultures                              
3          The Bounty Hunter from Shambarra          
4          Balbados                                        
5          Death Cult                              
6          Journey of the Caravans                    
7          The Sorcerer                              
8          Man in the Blue Cloak                    
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9          Trouble with Flying Fishes                    
10          Charsan Steeps
11          Showdown at the Fox’s Den
12          Ship in Flames
13          Adventures in the Mountains*
14          Arrival of Endo / The Forbidden City
15          Flight of the Carpet
16          UnderCity
17          The Griffon
18          Lost
19          Found
20          Gnome Monastery of Galosh
21          Beyond the River
22          Druid meetings
23          The Black Knight
24          Man-O-War, and the Spotted Lion Hunt
25          The River Orflow
26          The Journey North