Days of High Adventure (Part 1)

Chapter 1.  Ruins of a Razed and Ancient Civilization.

The horse and rider slumped and buckled without much resistance across the sandscape, just moving ever forward in the search for water. The rider had been lost for days, and as her situation became more desperate she had left the trail to head south in search of sustenance for her animal. Sand and grit stuck to the dry muzzle and tear ducts of the speckled horse, and the mark of a crescent was upon the brow of its bowed head.
         This traveller from the west was armed like a homeless soldier from the wars, and when the wind did blow in those dry and dusty dunes the ruinous threads of a flag turned and folded itself lazily into a different shape at the end of a thin jousting lance (resting in a peculiar mount at the back of the saddle). The black standard of the griffon didn’t look so proud now as it stood on its hind legs before the chequered field of green and orange, only to fall back in on itself. Empty saddle bags served as shade for the flies as they hitched a ride in their own relief from the desert.
         In the early chill of the morning twilight she had looked out toward the east and become attracted toward a speck of light between the great shadows of the dunes. Now, she had doggedly pursued this new trail for hours, and before the sun had reached the vault of the blue sky above, the scattered ruins of an ancient and lost civilization arose from the marching waves of the desert. Green rusting copper domes and beaten roof panels crumbled atop the worn and cracked foundations, stone walls rubbed rough from the wind and the cutting sands. The rider moved on past the empty arches and windows as though they did not exist in her sight, even when the buildings steadily reached above her head in the forms of stout towers and bridges over the dry riverbeds of the past. Who had built such a place was anyone’s conjecture, for it must have been from a time when the inhospitable Sea of Dust (as it was known) waved a living green in the watered fields. Dancing girls and burdened lizard-beasts where carved beside hunters and war chariots, bordered within the knots and windings of geometric patterns. Standing like the shells of cracked eggs, these bricks had once repelled the unlearned savages who had now only just taken office behind their own walls in the last hundred years.
         Hanging the end of the reigns over the hinge of a doorframe in one of the silent avenues, the rider drew her sword and began to explore these sudden and strange surroundings. Crouching with her long ears pressed flat against the sides of her blonde hair, her toned leather tight legs stalked along sand filled streets and empty ruins.
         The creak of a bow-string pulled taut came from somewhere behind her.
         “Take another step, and I’ll put this feather between your eyes!” Commanded the dry voice.
         Pausing from her observation of the ruins, the traveller with the long blonde hair turned her head slowly enough to catch a glimpse of the archer, who was kneeling on the overextended rim of some tower’s ornament, looking down on her with safe distance.
         “Water? Do you have any water?” She asked. “I have been lost for three days now.”
         “You are no bountyhunter!” Exclaimed the archer, mostly as a confirmation to himself. “Yes, I have water, but I don’t know how safe it is to drink; it has been in here with these old statues for a long time.”
         “I’ve drank worse. Show me this water good archer, that the gods may look favourably upon your head when you must next revive yourself with drink.”
         The crouched figure laughed in agreement, and light as the bird he leapt from the tower, turning his body to land on another roof before jumping to the street, which shook out the sand from the folds of his torn black clothing. Ragged cloth covered his nose and mouth like the bandit, and his own jet sable hair rested in a top-knot coming out from his scalp. Flexible hide armour, (but beginning to crack in the unrelenting heat of the sun) was buckled and fastened about himself as though it had been assembled piece by piece through his own adventurous travels.
         “I am known as Tengu.” He bowed with his palms pressed together in a humble gesture.
         “Leora……” The traveler introduced herself. “So tell me, Tengu, why are you in fear of bounty hunters?”
         “Not in fear! It is a long story, Leora san.” He gestured with his finger to an avenue of sandstone pillars. “Water is this way!”
                                                           *          *          *

         Tengu now admired the female outline of Leora as she drank from a broken clay jug beside the water-well sunk into the sands at the town centre. He guessed that she had come from some land unknown to the map-makers of men, and was probably not a mortal. Her slender frame showed uncanny strength for its size, and her ears were shaped like spiralling white sea-shell, or like the length of a rabbits’. Unlike his own eyes, which had no discernable pupils, hers were a rich earthy colour, and seemed to show most of the expression on her reserved and tight-lipped mien. The tailored leather of her clothing, and the sword at her side were human also, but he had never walked in such lands as they had been made.
         After wiping her mouth, she emptied the water onto a concaved shield for her horse. At the sound of the waterfall, something the size of a rat dived into the bowl with a shriek of delight.
         “Stay your hand!” Spoke Leora. “He will not harm you.”
         A tiny little figure broke the surface of the water as it stood again, showering itself with the water it scooped in its hands. A miniature hat floated in beside it, which it presently dumped on its head with another rush of water-drops. Blinking with its saucer-wide eyes it exclaimed;-
         “WATER!”
         “What is it?” Asked Tengu, as though looking down on some tiny vermin.
         “Where are you manners, man?” Spoke the tiny creature. Drawing a needle blade sword from its belt, it attempted to fly up and meet Tengu face to face, but the insect-webbed wings were too heavy from the beading water, and the horse muzzled it out of the way to relieve its’ dry throat.
         Amused by the character of the sprite, Tengu listened as it picked itself up again and started walking toward him as the sand stuck to its wet boots like layers of mud.
         “I am Seth, master warrior and knight, guardian, and escort to the daughter of the Lord of the Woods my lady, Leora.” He bowed.
         “Lord of the Woods, eh?” Tengu laughed again.
         “Be warned, rogues such as yourself have died for much more trivial insults.” Seth growled with his hands on his hips.
         “Be warned that I don’t squeeze all that water out of you again.”
         “Enough!” Said Leora.
The antennae of the sprite drooped in submission.
“How much of this place do you know about?” She asked as she looked about herself at the foundations.
“I have only arrived this morning, as you yourselves have. It doesn’t seem that the scorching desert has left us any treasures in this lonely place. Not even bones.”
“Did you come here hoping to find such treasures?” Asked Seth.
“No, it was quite by accident that I found this place, as I am on my way north to the lands of Tulphat, so that I may find a good animal to continue further. Were where you going before you came lost, Leora san?”
“I am seeking someone in the east, in the men’s capital of these deserts.”
“Oh, that is many miles yet.”
The shield rocked, and the sounds of moving liquid inside signalled that the horse was reaching the bottom of its’ drink.
“Let’s see if all the treasures of this place are really missing.” Leora stood up and brushed some sand out of her straight hair. “I wonder what that is?” Looking up at another of the green minarets on the far side of the ruins.
“Before we look further, I must warn you that a ghostly light led me toward this place, like an animal taking the hunter’s bait. There might be surprises yet, Leora san.”
*          *          * 

         It must have been a great temple for the people. In the gloom and cool shade (the roof was still together) there could be seen a great slab of polished obsidian, mounted onto a supporting block underneath, which in turn was carved with glyphs and priestly symbols of their gods and devils. Gargoyles watched with unblinking eyes as Leora and Seth moved about the empty rooms, treading silently because of the stillness of the place. The horse, Moonshadow, would not enter the main chamber; content to peer through the empty mouth of what had been the main portal to the temple. Without much success, Leora returned toward the obsidian altar before she noticed the earthenware jars that had survived times’ flight.
         On opening the first one, an agreeable perfume met her nose, and a thick syrup, similar to honey, was inside.
         “How could such a resin keep after so long?” She asked herself.
         The second jar was not as agreeable. If she had lifted it from the ground, as she had with the first, Leora would surely have died. Already having the jar of amber in one hand, she merely lifted the fitted lid of the next, and expelled by the disturbance of air, a fine gray powder lifted from the jar and settled on her skin as well as the sprite (who had peered closer). Vision and the other senses blurred beyond recognition, and the details of the temple of shadows merged until all was as dark as the beginning of time.
         Morningstar galloped from the temple, and the echo of its’ falling hooves startled Tengu from his work. Having passed the columns and exposed entrance of an impressive foyer, he was at that moment puzzling over a visible anomaly in the roof, as though someone had sealed up a kind of manhole. Being at a great height, his mind worked to find a way when he heard the drums of the hooves. Treading over the very steps he had climbed to enter the palace, Morningstar showed him the whites of its’ eyes, stamping its foreleg onto the pavement for attention as it shook its’ long mane in panic.
         Without thinking further of the elusive manhole, Tengu leapt into the saddle of the painted horse, carried to the other side of the street wherein was the outer face of the temple, and seeming disaster. Alarmed at the limp figure, more pale than the natural white of her skin, Tengu drew upon his own sword from the belt on his shoulder, but no-one emerged from the still air of the bare chambers.
         Pushed through the arched cavity by the muzzle of her horse, the oriental rogue knelt over the fallen bodies, and using his sensitive fingers against her neck he could feel a weak flutter of the heart.
         “Poisoned.” He muttered.
         With one of the jars still in her hand, and the others beside herself and the unconscious sprite, Tengu dragged Leora back from what he guessed to be the source, lifting her under the arms (and pinching the little pixie between thumb and forefinger) to rest against the door jar with her loyal animal.
         Tapping against the remaining jars with his sword point, it wasn’t long before the jar of poison was separated from the others, which had become slowly hollow with the years as their contents shrivelled up. Only the poison and the amber had survived.

         After splashing some water up to Leora’s face, the poisonous shade of weird dreams and endless sleep was washed away, and her strength returned after some time as they waited outside the buildings to recuperate.
         “That is a noble beast you have with you, Leora san.”
         “Yes, he has never left my side since we left……. Darran”
         “Darran? Is this your homeland?”
         The name seemed to stir up some memory for the lady, and she smiled at her unseen memories.
         “Yes, that is where I am from. It is a great forest, in the furthest reaches of the west. Mortal men do not know of such a place.
         It might be pertinent at this moment to tell the audience of this tale that Tengu himself, as was obvious from his white eyes and hidden features, was also something beyond mortal.
         “I come from Shambarra, south of here.” Leora looked puzzled at the sound of this land, so he continued: “It is one of three territories, united once as the ‘Golden Triangle’ with the others, but those days I fear are over.”
         Dropping low into the west, the orange glow of the sun had dramatically lengthened the shadows of columns and cracked walls, as it would be setting soon. Leaving the ruins of the temple behind them, they entered into the empty spaces of the palace that Tengu had earlier found.
         “I have an idea - said Tengu, as he measured the length of the lance – “to reach that plaster seal in the roof.”
         The ceiling was not high enough to avoid the tip of the lance, and Leora rode inside the confines of the expansive foyer, thrusting upward as she passed the off-colour mark on the ceiling. Wheeling the horse about on its’ hind legs after the fourth pass, Leora sat up in the stirrups and struck her target.
         Plaster came down with other rags that had been stuffed into the aperture, breaking into further pieces as it struck the floor and the rump of the horse.
         “Empty!” Whistled Seth. “Oh, well.”
         “Why don’t you take a closer look, honourable Seth.”
         Taking to the air with his insect veined wings and into the hole in the ceiling, the echo of his voice told them of a wrapped parcel was wedged in between the beams.
         “Well, push it out of the hole, so we all may look at it!” Called back Tengu.
         More plaster fell from the cavity, followed by a bundle of cloth, which Tengu caught before it should strike the pavement beneath. Unraveling the layers with care, he lifted the last folds back to reveal a misty pearl, stretching any light that touched the contours of itself into colours not unlike those found when oil and water mix together and make lurid rainbows; bright metallic colours that hold the focus of the eye. It was of dimensions unheard of (for a pearl), almost the size of  Tengu’s head.
         “Bodan be praised!” Tengu gasped after some time to his god of wisdom and benevolence.
         Too busy admiring the surfaces of such a treasure, the sun had met with horizon, and the distant skies glowed as if it were blood. Something howled, maybe it was the cooler air that now rushed into the ruins of an ancient civilization, but it was enough to return their senses to the world around them.
         “Evil has made itself welcome here!” Roared Leora, as she lifted herself back into the saddle of Moonshadow. Extending her arm before snatching at his sleeve, she reached down for Tengu and lifted him off the ground and onto the rear of the saddle as she steered her mount with the remaining hand through the columns and into the seemingly empty streets. Even now Tengu could feel it, an indescribable presence that weighed in the air.

         Cold lights strengthened in pallor as the twilight deepened, waiting inside the decrepit buildings as the horse and it’s clumsy burden of two charged through the avenues and processional ways of the haunted ruins. The sharp fingers of the dead cut through the sands underneath them, scratching at Moonshadow and the dangling legs of the others.  Unknown quantities of these fiends hauled themselves from the desert, and the dying sun reflected their yellow, brittle bones and balding skulls. Leora slashed at them, swinging her blade from side to side over the horse as she continued to navigate her way through a seething mob of animated bones. With his back to the lady warrior, Tengu halted the approach of those who came too close with his shortbow and darts, some lifting the bony demons from the ground as they fell back amongst themselves like bowled skittles. Each clung desperately to the saddle as they waded through the outstretched claws. Moonshadow reared and kicked in a possessive fear. Nails ripped at Leora’s right thigh, and the blood welled in the torn skin.
         Crossing the threshold of the city and the dunes, the arms and fingers sunk back into there graves, but Moonshadow bolted without pause over many dune ridges before coming to a standstill, nostrils flaring in an out with laboured breath.
                                                           *          *          *

         Unlike the still air of the daytime, at night the desert moaned as the chill winds moved amongst the channels of piled sand and dune. Neither had come prepared, and so they survived the nights by digging into the sand, and huddled against the horse they kept each other warm until the pale dawn. As the water in their wine skins declined with the days, the sound of it swishing with each step brought much mental agony, and so they entertained one another with legends and local stories to distract them from guzzling down all that they had left.
         It was the middle of summer in those lands of the east, and such a wasteland of hell they would never have crossed knowingly, but necessity directed them to leave their tracks for miles behind them as they progressed, aiming for a wall of rising hot air that wavered in all directions. Various scavengers were soon following, waiting for the day when they would not waken from their camp, but they survived the wheeling birds of death and continued. 
         On the third day they looked on in silent horror toward a landscape of salt growths and crystals, a salt lake that reflected the heat and the white light back up at them. If anything came close to defeating them, it was this moment, but there was also movement in the distance.
         
         Men and their beasts of burden where waiting at the other side of the lake. Dressed in loose robes, their dusky skin told of a nomadic, desert people. They had come, as had their fathers and their grandfathers, to collect the salt for the markets and bazaars, loading it into their trains of caravans and the backs of their assorted animals; camels, horses, rock toads, and kokosh, that resembled plucked chickens with fat padded toes and an elongated head that ended in a snout like an anteater. The caravan people gave them water and food, and they also directed them toward a fortified outpost, nor-east of the salt lake. With much gratitude they thanked these people and steered toward the lights that were seen at night, winking at them from the outpost of Ch’arlin.
         Sheltering his eyes from the glare of the sun and the wispy strands of his own hair, Tengu surveyed the distant walls and the single rock outcrop that it hugged into itself. Seven nights had passed since they had left the company of the caravan people, and now they were only hours from this bastion of trade and culture (such as Tengu had).
         “How many cities have you walked in, Leora san?” He asked, still watching the distant lines of creatures, coming back and forth from the portcullis along the main avenue of approach.
         “Not one.” Leora replied.
         “None at all…..well then” – he laughed in astonishment – “you will soon learn very quickly to be on your guard; we are fortunate though, as this one appears to be of mixed races.”

Chapter 2.  The House of Vultures.

From the ramparts above the walls, two colossal beasts rested from their labours of raising the iron grilled portcullis, their chains still linked to the mechanism on either side of the gate. From outside the walls of Ch’arlin, a single tower dominated the skyline, built into the side of the monolithic rock that sheltered those that lived in its shadow. This was the soldiers’ keep, from which the city had grown as the demand for common trades became necessary for it’s own survival.
         Within, the streets of Ch’arlin squabbled with noisy crowds, all of mixed origins and languages that bartered or laughed together while stray dogs skirted their gaze as they searched for off-cuts in the gutters. Beggars and fortune tellers shook their bowls and dice at the traffic all around them in the heat and stench of a rat warren.
         Some of the inhabitants of the outpost noted the arrival of Tengu and Leora, watching them pass the main gates while they played a game of tiles outside one of the public houses, drinking their cold herbal tea.
         “Look at this!” One turbaned man gestured to his friends.
         The sight of the female warrior on horseback, and the masked figure in black that walked beside her, soon mixed with other strange sights and people. Dried fruits and hanging meats buzzing with flies where offered to them by voices under the shade-clothes of the street markets, and Leora stopped briefly to watch a  rope-walking act, the nimble acrobat walking over their heads on a rope strung between the clay buildings .
         “Come, we must find somewhere to rest your horse, and ourselves.” Reminded Tengu.

         After asking advice from a hawker in the market place, they turned left from the main procession and soon recognized the description given to them of a small teahouse and gaming room, dwarfed by the size of the rich houses on either side. There was only enough room for Moonshadow in the stables behind the establishment, thin and starved from a month in the wastes that he was; as skinny as the overworked mules and cart horses sharing the same roof.
           It was some time before they left the shade of Jani’s Teahouse, content to rest their blistered feet and to finally remove them from the boots that had rubbed them for weeks. The keeper of the house served them some of the local tea and stewed dates, and they spoke with the older customers as they arrived to escape the midday heat in the settlement and gamble.
         “Where will you go from here, Leora san?” Tengu asked, as he began to remember his own objectives in life.
         “I’ll follow the trade route to the east, make my way to the capital, Mawran Jeerkah. Maybe I will be able to hire a guide, or travel with the caravans.” She was looking at the light and the scenery outside the beads that hung like a curtain in the doorframe. Date palms could be seen, growing by an oasis near the centre of Ch’arlin.
         “I myself will stay here for a few more days.” He replied. “However, I would first like to take care of some business, so that my other plans may bear fruit.”
         Tying back the cloth that covered the lower half of his face, Tengu rose from the cushions and low table that had held their pottery cups and jug, plucking up his sword and belt from where it had been leaning against the wall.
         “I will meet you here again at dusk.”
         Seth, who had been hiding inside Leora’s vest, waved his hat to get Tengu’s attention.
         “What are we to do?” He called out.
         “Do as you please, but don’t wander too far from here.”
         And with that, Tengu shouldered his sword as he pushed aside the bead curtain of Jani’s Teahouse.
         “Do as you please! Who does he think he’s fooling with such an act.” Said Seth with a huff.
         “We need to get some repairs done ourselves, Sir Seth.” She winked at him.
                                                           *          *          *

         The jar of perfumed syrup was worth more than Leora had realized; a spice merchant had paid much gold dust for a sample, telling her it was a rare ingredient in medicines and toiletries of the rich. It was known inside the borders of Tulphat as ‘Dark Amber’, being of a more purple shade than the common variety.  Already she had laden Moonshadow with new saddlebags for the journey ahead before having seen the other end of the bazaar. Her sword and hunting knives were sharpened; leather stitched, and her quiver bristling with arrows.

         Tengu, meanwhile, had found his way to the moneychangers and bankers, who gathered with their scales on the many steps that led to such houses of business. Seeking amongst them for a banker he had been told of earlier, Tengu was soon in the company of Tagmoule, a small man who sported an impressive moustache under his beaked nose.
         “I believe that I have something of value, but it would be too dangerous to show you here, on the steps of the bank-house.”
         Rubbing his nose, and nodding his head, Tagmoule directed with open palm up the stairs.
         “Please, this way; no one will disturb us in the shade of the pillars.”
         One of the larger buildings in Ch’arlin, the roof was supported by columns that where shaped at their summit like the floating petals of the lotus flower. The clinking of the metal weights and scales continued inside, as cedar, ivory, and other precious loads were counted and paid for amongst the pillars that Tagmoule and Tengu spoke behind in privacy.
         “I found it in the desert, ten days ride south of here.” Whispered the mongol traveler as he unraveled the layers of cloth around the large silvery pearl. “What price would you put on such a thing?”
         Tagmoule bent closer toward the smooth sphere, pressing it with the tip of his finger until the words came back to him;-
         “This…..this is not something that can be easily gauged in worth. It is worth more than all of the gold and slaves that I have. I think I know someone however, who might want to take it off your hands at a good price.”
         “Where might I find this honourable man, Tagmoule san.”
         The banker looked out from behind the lotus pillars, and after scanning the crowds inside the bank, he rushed toward a taller figure in blue robes who was ushered back by the smaller, excited man.
         “This is Teg, councillor of the city and an ambassador from the capital.”
         Teg looked to be a lean, mean son of a bitch, tanned and weathered, and if one looked hard enough, they would notice that the pupil of his right eye never dilated from the damaged muscle.
         “Tagmoule here tells me that you have something of great value, may I see it?”
         Impressed by the size and lustre of the pearl, Teg asked them to retire from behind the columns, joining him at the counting tables. Signaling to his armed escort, scales and small misshapen ingots of gold and bronze were heaped on the table, and the man in the blue robes began to organize them in groups as he weighed them. Teg did not offer enough gold in Tengu’s opinion, so he finally refused when the man would not reach his last offer.
         “You are much smarter than I took you for, Tengu of Shambarra.” Admitted Teg. “So, since I cannot buy this treasure off you, I might just tell you a little of its history. Where exactly did you find the Mermaid’s Tear?”
         Tengu’s white marble eyes unnerved the ambassador as he looked for the signs of deception.
         “South of here, I came across many ruins, and hidden in one of these I found the Mermaid’s Tear. The land is cursed; I swear to you that the dead rise from the sands to murder after the sun has set.”
         Raising his eyebrows in mocked amazement, Teg now spoke of what he knew of the pearl.
         “Although I might be mistaken, stories have surfaced of a giant pearl, deemed so valuable by men that a war was fought for its possession. The victor of this struggle sent for the Mermaid’s Tear, and he ordered it to be given to one of his concubines, but the Shah never fulfilled this ambition, as the treasure was lost in the arid lands of the sandstorms which swallowed up all trace of the returning expedition. Who knows; maybe one of them survived long enough to hide it in the ruins before you found it a hundred years later.” Teg smiled as he paused, nodding to another merchant he knew before finishing. “The amount of gold that you ask for can only be found in Mawran Jeerkah, and even then it might be easier for them to just kill you.”
         Tengu had to agree in grim silence.
                                                           *          *          *

         After finishing a meal of salted meat after dusk at Jani’s Teahouse, Leora and Tengu asked the keeper of the house where they might find a guide to take them east. They had not picked a good time, he told them, as there were few who would traverse the land in the hottest part of summer. There best hope was with a man who sold odorous foodstuffs in the market place. It was known that Rajah (as was his name) was the descendent of an extinct tribe of hunter-gathers, and along with the ebon skin he had also inherited their knowledge of bushcraft.
         “He is, no doubt, drinking and gambling at The House of Vultures, a den of debauchery and mischief near the northern slums.”
         “Thankyou.” Bowed Tengu. “Prepare some room and bedding for us, noble sir, as we will be late to rest tonight.”

         The two moons hung in the carpet of the stars, like tiny diamonds that had been thrown into the cosmos. One of them was a silver sickle, and the other waxed like the red of rust, surrounded by rings of rock and moon dust that gathered in its orbit. From far above the moons wandered across the night sky and the outpost city of Ch’arlin.
         Candlelight and oil lamps shone brightly from door lintels and the alcove shrines of house-deity ancestors. Riding on the back of Moonshadow, Leora noticed that the clay houses were slowly degrading into makeshift huts and tents except for those on the main road to the north gate. But even these showed signs of disrepair. Unknown sounds, muffled and painful, could be heard in the hive of the slums, and the shadow of an alley rat loomed large as it ran by a candle in the street.
         Tengu had re-slung his sword to his hip for easier reach, especially in a place where many foreigners had had their throats cut.
         Peering into a side street, Leora pulled at the reigns to stop her horse. There, in the unlit pass, the silhouette of something large and ugly was cursing like a drunk mariner. Waving a shortened sword at a young man it had pinned against the wall, the inbred orcling turned its pig of a head to address the lone rider observing them.
         “Keep on your way!” It squealed.
         The rider didn’t reply, but edged her horse into the dark side street with a silent menace.
         “I warned you, bitch!” Threatened the orcling as it surged toward her, swinging the wide edge of its sword as the cobra strikes; springing back out of sword range after its’ bite. The thieves of Ch’arlin were especially known for their skill with these modified swords, shortening the blades so they could draw and touch their victim with speed.
         A neat incision had cut through Leora’s leather armour, and enraged by this action Moonshadow whinnied as it kicked up its front legs at the thief. Seth, unseen, pierced one of its eyes as he passed in flight.
Before realizing that it was being attacked on all sides, Tengu emerged from the roof tops and silently pinned two arrows into its throat and chest, a signature shot he sometimes used to puncture a lung and an artery. Gasping for its final breath, the orcling clutched at its own throat with the four stubby appendages of  each hand before falling into the rubbish and stinking offal on the ground.
         “Thankyou! Thankyou!” Cheered the young man who had been pinned up against the wall. “I am in your service, noble ones.”
         “Can you tell us were we might find the House of Vultures?” Leora asked.
         “Most certainly!” The young man smiled. “I will take you there myself.”

         Laughter and music came from inside the small palace of decadence; the haunting whine of the bow and the rhythms of the plucked lute, attracting weary travellers to drink and make merry with their siren call.
The slender harlots and scarlet women fanned themselves on the wooden terrace, which was in itself a sign of good business as wood was scarce in the border lands. Being the last to enter the gaming saloon, Tengu looked dearly upon the dark caramel skin and almond eyes of the women lounging in the open night air.
         The smoke of opium floated around their heads, and a troupe of acrobats wheeled and flipped themselves on the table tops. Men and others clapped to the beat of the tambourine, their faces glowing in the flickering flame of the oil lamps.
         Their young guide disappeared amongst the haze and sound of the gambling den, and as they caught up with him near the far wall, he had already found the man they sought.
         “Rajah, there are two who would wish to talk with you.”
         Looking up from his game of dice with two others, the black skinned man silently looked at the masked rogue and the blonde amazon.
         “What do you want to talk about?” Rajah asked with a low, smooth voice.
         “A guide who will take us east.” Replied Leora.
         Nodding his head in contemplation, Rajah scooped up the dice and his recent winnings.
         “Sit down and join us for a game, and we’ll see if we can come to an arrangement that pleases all of us.” Showing his white teeth as he smiled.
         Moving aside, the other players tapped out the ash of their pipes in preparation for the next round. Leora and Tengu sat down on the mats and cushions over the bare earth, listening to the house rules of the game.
         “Your friend doesn’t look too happy.” Commented Rajah, as he glanced at Leora.
         The wound from the alley fight had been bleeding continuously, and as they observed, the cut armour had bloomed with a dark stain.
         “We were waylaid by an orcling, he was a larger than most I’ve seen.” Said Tengu.
         “Yes, some of them have bred with women, and they can reach the height of a man. Maybe you should seek a witch doctor; I have heard that there is a band of cutthroats in the city that wipe their blades with an anti-coagulant.”
         Taking the advice of the black man, Leora left the low seating and excused herself, being led by the young man whom they had spared. He knew of a healing woman in the north slums and with a better survival rate for her clients than most. In an unknown shack, an old woman with a bowed back sewed the skin closed with horse hair above the hip before applying the cold honey of native bees to seal it from infection.
         When she had returned to the warmth of the saloon, Leora watched as Tengu pushed his last bronze obal (as the coins were known) toward the grinning Rajah.
         “Too bad, young Tengu.” He laughed. “We have been waiting for your return,” – he turned to Leora- “Nothing too serious?”
         Agreeing with the deep voice and welcome gestures, Leora asked if they had come to an agreement.
         “Twenty weights of gold.” Replied Rajah. “It is harder in midsummer to travel, as food and water become scarce. When do you want to leave?”
         “Within three days.” Said Tengu. “And before you win anymore of my obals with your dice games.”
         “Good.” Laughed Rajah. “You will find me in the markets during the daytime.”
                             *          *          *

         But this was not the end of their adventures in the northern slums of Ch’arlin. Waiting for them in the shadows, three footpads observed the approach of a rider and another that walked beside her. A fourth, their leader, nodded at the others to pick their mark. One of their gang had fallen earlier that night, and they wanted revenge.
         Tengu met the first of them, only just drawing the tip of his blade from it’s wood sheath as a blur of motion shot out from the dark streets. The others followed, holding aloft wicked knives that they brandished at the horse and rider. A knife had struck Leora again, thrown into her arm, but with the unforgiving reflexes of the wild, Moonshadow bounced both of them off of his hooves with a quick skip that brought his front and rear legs into action.
         Whipping his blade at an angle across the last of them, Tengu crossed against the other, and as he turned the footpad had already arched its back from the severing cut, taking a further two steps, then falling onto its knees before death claimed it’s own.
         “Halt!” Came a woman’s voice.
         Frantically peering into every shade around them, Leora and Tengu searched for the mystery of the voice.
         “I don’t want to harm you, even though you have injured my companions here in this street.” It continued. “We could use people with your skills; and you would be well compensated for your troubles.
         “Continue.” Said Tengu.
         “Not here, but at my master’s house.”
         “You fool, I won’t be involved in your cheating and filthy plans.” Yelled Leora to the ears of that voice. “Burn in hell!”
         “What do you say, black clothed one.”
         “Show yourself.”
         A boot step echoed from behind, and turning, they observed a young girl who moved like a slinking black cat with jade green eyes. Weighing up his chances, Tengu knew that he needed many obals to survive the crossing to the capital so he could make his fortune with the pearl. If this girl tried to finish what she had started here, well, then Tengu decided that he would just have to rob her and her friends of any possessions they might have.
         “I am interested in your proposal; take me to your master.”

         Keeping the female at swords’ length ahead of himself, Tengu shivered in the cold air of the slums, which also flickered any candle flames that were still burning at this midnight hour. Stepping over one of the numerous animal carcasses that where left in the street, Kaia, who was the remaining thief, knocked against one of the huts. If Tengu had seen all this from above, he would have been curious to note that the original structures and shantytown dwellings had all been connected and reworked to form a stronghold in the centre of the surrounding slums. This was where the Master-Thief, Bulli, controlled his operations over the underworld of Ch’arlin. Under a dome fashioned from branches and the tanned hides of many reptiles, he sat on a dais of cedar like a king as a female attendant held a bronze dish under his chin to catch the falling meats and fruits as he ate. All this was illuminated by hundreds of oil lamps hanging from chains or brackets from the walls and wooden pillars, as their were no windows at the fortified house of Bulli.
         His empire was one of street rabble, orphans, troublemakers, and the most cunning. Their was evidence of their training all around Tengu; dartboards spotted with knife marks, mannequins stuck with arrows, and the rewards of their crimes reflecting the lamplight from where it had been stacked out of sight.
         “This is the one who slew Goobag, along with a female, who was not interested in my offer.”
         Sitting up from his meal, Bulli adjusted his fat girth and robes, looking at Tengu with some curiosity as Kaia described the fight she had witnessed with her own gang.
         “I believe that with this Shambarrese to help me, we will be able to open the coffers of the Vulture.”
         “Is that so?” Bulli played with the hair of his black beard as he thought it over. “Jojo, Missy; bring out one of the archery targets for our guest.”
         A clay mannequin was brought forward, and having a rope tied to a ring in its head, the other end was thrown up to the small crowd that was watching from the tightropes and perches under the dome. Jerked suddenly into an upright position, two feathered arrows struck it before the laws of gravity could straighten its clumsy limbs. Tengu opened his other eye again after taking aim, lowering his shortbow with slow confidence; he had passed the test.
         Kaia seemed to purr in admiration, and the others whispered or drew breath.
         “You are an assassin, aren’t you Tengu?” Asked Bulli. “Which is probably why you are in hiding so far to the north.”
         “This is true, Bulli san.”
         “Such a pity, a skilled Shambarrese such as yourself without work. Well, you have come to the right place my friend. You have already seen the House of Vultures, one of the richest gaming houses in Ch’arlin. Would you have any objections to putting the guards to sleep while Kaia takes the gold?” Asked Bulli with a merchant’s smile. “Do not worry, we have been planning this for some time now.”