Exalted Slave (Forgotten Realms)

[Imperial Overlord]

I wasn't going to write more fics until I finished "Whirlwind" and "Deathwalker", but this one keeps pushing so here it is.


Once there was a noble lord who was served by many knights. As he grew older the greatest of his knights grew weaker and new ones arose to replace them. One triumphed in many battles over those who were foolish enough to think the great lord diminished by age. The knight won many prizes and received great gifts from the hand of his lord. The greatest prize of all was his wife, one of the greatest beauties of the land.

But age claimed the lord and his son inherited his domain. He was a weak and suspicious man and envied the knight for his skill and valor. He blamed him for a series of misfortunes and humiliated him, taking back much of what had been given. The knight's wife left, choosing the lord's bed over that of an unfortunate who was going to lose everything.

His heart broken with sorrow, the knight gave away most of his remaining possessions. He belted on the Black Sword and filled a rucksack with food. The knight was no more and in his place stood the pilgrim. He stepped upon the road and began his wanderings.

-From the Parable of the Pilgrim


I pull the sheet tighter around my body as I huddle uncomfortably on my cot. The light and cold breeze streaming into my cell tells me it is morning. I groan and get out of bed. The stone floor is icy against my feet. Standing is misery.

I open the door and exit the room, walking towards the mess hall. The novices glance my way ocassionally, but then look away. I am invisible. They don't know what to think about me.

I got into line and awaited my turn. The cook flinched when he saw me. It is a terrible thing to see the mighty humbled. He dipped his laddle in a small pot and gave me a bowl of cold gruel. I loath gruel warm. When served cold its unspeakably awful. It made up most of my diet for the last three weeks.

I took my bowl and sat down. In the first week, a number of would be hanger oners had joined me. Now the novices moved away. I began to eat. It was vile.

When I finished I would don armour and spar outside in the cold until I reached exhaustion. Then I would eat again, wash in cold water, and pray. I would spend the last few hours of the day studying before sleeping again.

My penance demanded misery, but forbade weakening the body. Strength in mind and body was to be cultivated and improved so I would eat enough and exercise and not mortify my flesh in a way that would cause further weakness. When my superiors wished my services, I would be ready in mind and body to serve them instantly.

An initiate came up behind me. He was in his mid teens and mostly grown. He wore heavy black wool tunic and pants. His boots were fur lined and polished enough to gleam. "Drakor Nresk," he said.

"Yes," I replied.

"Jaglos Bavarg wishes to speak with you in his study." I got up, leaving my half eaten bowl of gruel behind. He trailed behind me.

"I know the way," I said. "You can go back to your duties." He drifted back as I climbed the steps. My feet were half numb, making me clumsy. I ascended.

It was warmer upstairs, both from the increased height and the heating. I walked down the hall and knocked on Jaglos's door. "Enter," he commanded.

Jaglos was wearing a black robe lined with wolf fur. There was a roaring fire blazing away in the heart at the center of the room. "Close the door," he said. "You're letting the heat out. The autumn chill is bad enough without that."

I did as I commanded. The warmth was very pleasant. I could luxuriate in it forever. The carpet was warm against my bare feat. "Are you enjoying your self imposed penance?"

"It's unpleasant," I said. "Weakness must be eliminated and failure punished."

He shook his head. The last couple of years hadn't been hard on Jaglos, but the preceeding decade had been brutal. The years had all caught up with him. He was going bald and his remaining hair and beard were both iron grey. He was stooped now, but his mind and soul had gained more power than his body had lost. Those who thought him weak usually ended up screaming for mercy on the black altar.

We had a good relationship. We were both driven, ambitious men but our ambitions did not conflict. Jaglos wanted to acquire more power and status in the hierarchy and I had my own goals. As the dictum says there are all kinds of strength, but the greatest strength is the multitude working in concert, directed by a single will.

"Your zeal is admirable, if slightly insane," he said. "No one would fault you for failing under those circumstances. Still, at least you have the good sense just to make yourself miserable, not turn yourself into an invalid."

"The flesh is the home of the soul," I said. "If I had been stronger, the results might have been more favorable."

"Consider your penance over." His voice made clear that this was not open to debate.

"Your will," I replied.

"Good. Now we've had some problems in Sembia. Not our legitimate efforts, but our other business. To make things worse the man in charge went and got himself and his mage killed trying to make things worse. We need it straightened out."

"Of course," I replied. "We" in this case referred to the Zhentarim, not the church, not that the distinction meant much these days.

"There will be a berth on the Foamtreader," Jaglos continued. He picked up a leather wallet on his desk and handed to me. "And here is a letter of introduction from me. It should give you all the authority you'll need." If it didn't I would supply the rest.

"Anything else Imperceptor?" I asked.

"Succeed Inquisitor," he answered. "And remember martyrdom and self flagellation are the works of Ilmatar. Don't let your enthusiasms cross the line and remember the dignity of your station."

"My penance was executed in private, not public so that no ridicule could be attached to us," I replied. "Before Bane, everyone crawls," I reminded him. "We are all his slaves."

Jaglos nodded. "Good. Take care of this and touch those who would cross the Zhentarim with the Black Fear ere you destroy them."

"I am you clenched fist," I replied.

[Alan Bolte]

"There will be a birth on the Foamtreader,"

There's the usual set of typos, and then there's this one. Threw me for a moment.

An interesting beginning, I don't know enough about Forgotten Realms outside of the Nalifan stories to know where you're going with this.

[The Grim Squeaker]

hmm, looks like it might be interesting:). I await the next chapter

[haard]

I wasn't going to write more fics until I finished "Whirlwind" and "Deathwalker", but this one keeps pushing so here it is.

Yay! Also - oh-noes! I want more Whirlwind...


Splelling nazi:

He blaimed him for a series of misfortunes and humiliated him, taking back much of what had been given. The knight's wife left, chosing the lord's bed over that of an unfortunate who was going to lose everything.

The novices glance my way occassionally, but then look away.

When I finished I would don armour and spar outside in the cold until I reached exhaustion.

He shook his head. The last couple of years hadn't been hard on Jaglos, but the preceeding decade had been brutal.

"Of course," I replied. "We" in this case refered to the Zhentarim, not the church, not that the distinction meant much these days.

It should give you all the authority you'll need." If it didn't I would suppy the rest.

Don't let your enthusiams cross the line and remember the dignity of your station."

[Imperial Overlord]

There's nothing wrong with "armour" you American heathen.

[haard]

Sorry

Also, I'm actually Swedish and my english that was originally kiwi from going to school in Hamilton has been awfully afflicted by US media dominance

[Imperial Overlord]

Sorry

Also, I'm actually Swedish and my english that was originally kiwi from going to school in Hamilton has been awfully afflicted by US media dominance

Silence! I find you guilty of heresy by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed, and heresy by action! Four counts of heresy! Guards, take him away!

[General Trelane (Retired)]

An interesting beginning, I don't know enough about Forgotten Realms outside of the Nalifan stories to know where you're going with this.

If you've read all of IO's Nalifan stories, then you've met servants of Bale before. An interesting beginning, indeed!

[LadyTevar]

Sorry

Also, I'm actually Swedish and my english that was originally kiwi from going to school in Hamilton has been awfully afflicted by US media dominance

Silence! I find you guilty of heresy by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed, and heresy by action! Four counts of heresy! Guards, take him away!

And I grant him a universal pardon for his offense, as he did point out all the Other Typos you had made in your text, my dear. Look to the mote in your own eye, before plucking out anothers.

[Imperial Overlord]

And I grant him a universal pardon for his offense, as he did point out all the Other Typos you had made in your text, my dear. Look to the mote in your own eye, before plucking out anothers.

Never! Use of American spelling is one of the vilest heresy's imaginable!

[Imperial Overlord]

One day the pilgrim came across of stretch of rode lined with pikes. On top of the pikes were the heads of orcs and the line stretched as far as the eye could see. Night came and there was no shelter to be found so the pilgrim slept under a tree. He was not disturbed.

The next night he came upon a village where the folk were hard at work. Their fields were full and their houses were pleasant and well-crafted. They were a handsome people in good health and greated him. A farmer offered him hospitality for the night and the pilgrim gratefully accepted.

When asked about the orc heads the farmer explained that their lord was fierce in war and protected his lands. His taxes were high, but it allowed his people to prosper under his protection. The pilgrim slept soundly that night.

He was given new provisions when he left in the morning. On the following day he left the lord's lands and passed into domain of another. He spent the night in a tree near a burned out farmstead with a hand upon the hilt of the Black Sword.

-From the Parables of the Pilgrim


I retrieved my clothes from a chest in the barracks, clothing more suitable for autumn in the Moonsea. I donned two layers of tunics and thick trousers over my small clothes and a heavy cloak lined with wolf fur. I belted on my morning star and pulled out my holy symbol so that the black fist of Bane was hanging on top of my chest.

I left the temple and walked onto the streets of Zhentil Keep. Most of the buildings had been rebuilt, but the scars of the sack were still there. My breath formed fog in the air, but the frost had melted off the streets. People made way for me in the streets. It did not take me long to reach my father's house.

It was my brother's now, as was right and proper. The door was new, as was most of the glass and most of the shudders. There were still chips and gauges in the stone. I walked up the steps and gripped the knocker. Two blows upon the doors and it opened.

Macraeg, a veteran of the Zhentilar, opened the door. He was my height, but leaner. Old scars marked his face and hands and a fresh one was across his throat. He had died defending this house during the sack, but his body had been intact enough to restore him to life. "Master Drakor," he said. "Welcome home."

"My brother's home."

"Yours as well, as long as he is master," replied Macraeg. He stepped aside, allowing me to enter. I hung up my cloak, my weapon belt, and scuffed my boots clean at the entrance.

A blond woman came down the hall, slender and pale. "Drakor," she said with a smile. She wore a coat of white fur over her dress. Diamonds glittered at her throat and on her ears. She embraced me a touch too eagerly.

"Illyusa," I replied as I hugged my sister in law. There was guilt in that too eager embrace. My father had disowned me during the Banedeath. It had been a pragmatic move and I did not blame them. They had then benefited from my return to power when Bane returned. I bore them no ill will over that, truly. They had obeyed the dictums and bowed to the strongest. They were not priests and subject to different demands, but a sense of nagging guilt remained with them. "You look well. How are you?"

"Good, good," she said. "The children are good. Ergor is up in his study."

Father's study. That brought back memories. "I know the way," I said with a smile.

"Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Yes," I said. "And the night, but just one night."

She nodded and smiled. "I'll go tell the cook." She withdrew and I climbed the stairs to the second storey.

The walls had been replastered and the carpet replaced so there were no visible signs of what had happened here. But I knew. I knelt in the place my father had died, sword in hand, defending his house and his family. His mistress Svennaya, a woman who had almost been like a second mother to his children, had died just behind him.

There was not enough pain to pay for the sack. It killed my father and my mother, Svennaya, and my brother Bregar. I can only hope my sister died quickly. My mother hadn't. We never found her body. She might even still be alive, a slave dragged back to the cold north by the barbarians when they were finished raping her and the city. I had scryed for her and found nothing.

There should be a reckoning for the sack. We should scour the northlands with such ferocity that no man of the Moonseas need step foot in the north for a century for the Black Fear to remain. The tribes of the north should be broken, the giants scattered, and the dragons made into mounts for our skymages.

I breathed in deeply, calming myself, before knocking on the door of my brother's study. "Come in," he said. My brother looked up from his desk. "Drakor," he said and stood.

All my father's sons look like him. We are tall, broad shouldered and heavily built with thick, dark hair. I was cleanshaven and slightly younger and my brother wore a dangling mustache, but other than that we looked the same. He embraced me. "How are you?"

"Well enough," I replied.

"You're staying for dinner?"

"Yes brother," I said smiling.

"Good," he replied. "What brings you here?"

"Just seeing my family again before I leave," I said.

"That thing out west?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "My superiors wish I had succeeded, but they do not hold the failure against me."

"Good to hear." My brother was a member of the Zhentarim as well. Our family had been involved in trade almost since the founding of Zhentil Keep and trade was at the heart of the Black Network. Control of the trade routes and the wealth they would bring would be the heart of new empire, at least that was the theory. In fact there was more than a little resistance to the Zhentarim and a variety of additional measures were necessary for this empire to be born. The idiots of the south prefered their chaotic and bloody freedom to be invaded and have civil wars to Zhentil Keep's prosperous tyranny.

My brother was a member of the Black Network, as our father had been before him. In a way they were the core. There were armies of warriors, assassins, spies, mages, and priests but it was the wealth of trade that made those armies possible. Some fools though that adaption to depravation and scarcity produced the best armies, but if that was the truth then orcs would rule the world. The strong needed to be hard, but it was wealth which bought the time for training and education as well as the arms and the magic to outfit them.

That was the history of the Moonsea in a nutshell. The regions wealth had lead to its settlement and its dangers had birthed the first rulers and armies that had safeguarded those fragile first outposts of civilization. Here the worship of Bane had emerged from the dark, embraced by a people who understood the benefits of a ruler with an iron will and strong sword arms.

"So, Network or Church business?" he asked.

"Not much difference these days," I said. Ever since Fzoul Chembryl, Chosen of Bane, had become leader of the Zhentarim the Black Network and the Church of Bane had grown together and almost become one. "Network business," I said. "Beyond that I can't say."

"Need to know and all that," he nodded. "Sure you can't tell me anything that might effect business?"

I could have, of course, but that might things harder for me. "No," I said, "but I'll try to make life miserable for potential competitors while I'm gone."

"Good enough," said my brother with a smile.

[haard]

This looks good! More!

Since I was pardoned by what is clearly a higher instance, I continue my work:

They were a handsome people in good health and greated him. A farmer offered him hospitality for the night and the pilgrim gratefully accepted.

I had scryed for her and found nothing.

The idiots of the south prefered their chaotic and bloody freedom to be invaded and have civil wars to Zhentil Keep's prosperous tyranny.

Some fools though that adaption to deprevation and scarcity produced the best armies, but if that was the truth then orcs would rule the world.

Also, and this is more of a question - do you really form new words in English by appending them? In Swedish you do, but I thought that was not true for English.

skymages
broadshouldered
cleanshaven
swordarms

[Xon]

Also, and this is more of a question - do you really form new words in English by appending them? In Swedish you do, but I thought that was not true for English.

In English it is perfectly valid to drop letters, slam words together(prefix or postfix). Adding hyphens or dashes are generally reserved for 'temporary' joinings, which may or may not persist for any length of time.

[General Trelane (Retired)]

And I grant him a universal pardon for his offense, as he did point out all the Other Typos you had made in your text, my dear. Look to the mote in your own eye, before plucking out anothers.

Never! Use of American spelling is one of the vilest heresy's imaginable!

Amen! No mercy for the heretic Haard! American spellings must be rooted out and eradicated!

She nodded and smiled. "I'll go tell the cook." She withdrew and I climbed the stairs to the second story.

Oh noes! Someone must have hacked your account and changed the spelling of 'storey' to 'story'! It must have been Haard. Let's get him!

In English it is perfectly valid to drop letters, slam words together(prefix or postfix). Adding hyphens or dashes are generally reserved for 'temporary' joinings, which may or may not persist for any length of time.

True. . .to a point. New words can be formed by joining two words together. For nouns, such new combinations usually start as hyphenated words. Over time, if the new word enters common usage, the tendency is for the hyphen to be dropped. But this doesn't apply to compound adjectives--we can string multiple adjectives together, and if one adjective modifies another adjective, it is (usually) proper to hyphenate them into one compound adjective (but note that this is a style issue, and style 'experts' come to blows over this).

So in Haard's examples:

". . .and the dragons made into mounts for our skymages."

Out of the three options (skymages, sky mages, and sky-mages), I actually prefer IO's choice of 'skymages'. I see no problem with 'sky mages', but I don't think 'sky-mages' would work.

"We are tall, broadshouldered and heavily built. . ."

This one would be better separated as 'broad shouldered'. Contrast the following two phrases: the man was broad shouldered; the broad-shouldered man. The second phrase is an example of a properly hyphenated compound adjective, but rearranging them leads to separated words. I'm also an advocate for the serial comma. . .

"I was cleanshaven. . ."

Again, I would prefer this one separated as 'clean shaven'. But some dictionaries disagree with me and actually do list 'cleanshaven' as a proper word. So that complaint is dismissed.

". . .embraced by a people who understood the benefits of a ruler with an iron will and strong swordarms."

This one would be better separated as 'sword arms'.

These examples are crossing into that nebulous area of style (rather than grammar or spelling), and as mentioned, various 'experts' do not agree.

By the way:

A two layers of tunics and thick trousers over my small clothes and a heavy cloak lined with wolf fur.

Looks like Haard missed a sentence fragment! I hope this is all taken in good fun.

[LadyTevar]

... Wow..
They're gonna take my job as Grammar Nazi if they keep this up, IO.

[Imperial Overlord]

Skymage is one word. It's a Zhentarim specific prestige class.

[Imperial Overlord]

The Pilgrim met a man on the road who claimed to be a great warrior. He wore gleaming armour, carried a sword that shown like the sun, and road a white stallion. He spoke of his victories over goblins and orcs and of the dungeons he had cleared and the evil clerics he had slain. He boasted of the villages he had saved.

The Pilgrim asked the warrior how the villages fared now and the warrior shrugged. He had left them long ago. The Pilgrim pressed him, asking if he had left them defended by stout men and strong walls. The hero shrugged. Were wise men or fools leading them, the Pilgrim pressed. The hero shrugged again.

"Then what good have you done?" the Pilgrim asked. "They are merely prey for the next band of brigands or orcs to come along."

The hero had no answer for this and grew angry. He drew his sword and raised it high. The Pilgrim drew the Black Sword and cut the hero down. He sold the hero's possessions at the next town and reprovisioned himself.

-From the Parables of the Pilgrim


Dinner was wonderful. The cook had made a mixed dish of sliced beef and green beans in black bean sauce as the main course, with a side of sauteed mushrooms and mashed potatoes smothered in gray. Orange slices for desert rounded off the meal. After weeks of penance food, it was a culinary paradise.

My niece and nephews were adorable. They were well mannered, of course, but happy to see me. I was the exotic uncle who went to strange places and had exciting adventures. I indulged them in the telling them mostly true accounts of my exploits, with a few important details withheld. They ate it up.

It was towards desert that Alexan dropped the question. He's nearly nine, with blond hair and a build more like his mother's than his father's. "Uncle Drakor, how did you end up becoming a priest?"

Ergor's eyes darted to me. This was a touchy subject. "It was a long time ago," I said. "I wasn't much older than you are now. Your father was the heir to the house and I was jealous of him, very jealous. And angry and disobedient because of it. I earned more than a few whippings.

"Your grandfather had every right to be angry. It was my duty to support your brother and the family, not sulk because I wasn't going to become head of the family. He was right, of course. The burden your father bears is very heavy. But at that age I didn't see the responsibility, only the power.

"My father had to decide on how I was going to make my way in the world. At that age you have an idea of where a boy's talents do and don't lie. I would make a decent soldier, but my father had loftier ambitions. I was a fair student, but without the brilliance that would make a good mage. The priesthood was another option, one that could use strong arms and good minds. It was also a powerful institution, one it was good to have as a friend. So he enrolled me as a student and the rest is history."

That was the truth, but not all of it. My father had been angered greatly by my stubbornness and he had feared I might try to assassinate my brother in order to take his place. It was something never spoken of, but between us always.

I had considered the idea, though never acted on it. I had been embittered and jealous, angry at my brother for having the best of everything and more of my father's love, angry that it would be like that for the rest of our lives. It wasn't fair.

Fair is a word for small children and they should be quickly and sharply broken of its use. I learned that in the temple, among other things. It was not nearly as pleasant a place to grow up in as my father's house and it taught me quickly and well the futility of such words as fairness or justice. Or peace and mercy.

The strong make their place in the world and bend it to their wills. The easiest way to gain strength is to increase your numbers and act as one so order is an essential component of strength. Weaknesses are avenues of attack and must be eliminated. Mercy allows your enemies to know you and survive to strike again. Fear prevents your enemies from massing against you and brings with it the service of those it has power over. Tyranny brings security and with order comes continuity. What is built lasts and is built upon by others. That is why Zhentil Keep rules the Moonseas and men can hack wealth from the bones of the wilderness. Everything worth having is built from strong right arms and disciplined wills.

After desert and a glass of brandy I retired to bed. The family home had a central hearth system and ducts running through the house to channel the hot air, as well as several secondary hearths. They were at low ebb as I changed for bed, but it was warmer than an underground cell and the layers of sheets and heavy blankets kept me far warmer. I fell asleep almost instantly.

I awoke in the morning and broke my fast with my family, before heading out to the docks. The children insisted on big hugs before I left and little Lyanna insisted and being twirled through the air. I indulged her twice before returning her feet to the ground. I kissed my sister-in-law upon the cheek and embraced my brother before leaving.

A grim man, my height but leaner, with snow in his beard and a fearsome collection of facial scars under that beard matched my steps. He wore a sword with a new sharkskin grip and plate armour marred with several gauges. "Going for a walk, captain?"

"Just walking with you, my lord," replied Treldor Urik.

"My brother's instructions?"

"Yes," said the captain of the household guard. "And even if he hadn't given them, I would be coming."

"Very well then," I replied. I first headed to the temple, to pick up my gear. It was waiting for me in a locked room and was easily packed, armour and all, into a magical shoulder bag. We then headed to the docks.

They were busy, as always. The cities of the Moonsea didn't do much trading with each other, with the exceptions of trading to Zhentil Keep and Mulmaster. The two cities historically despised each other and dominated different ends of the Moonsea. They also provided the other cities of the Moonsea with all the skilled craft work they couldn't provide themselves. The bulk of the Moonsea's trade was to the south, Sembia and beyond. There the rich natural resources of the Moonseas, in raw or worked form, would fetch high prices and goods of warmer climes, such as the wine and orange I had consumed last night, would work its way north in return.

Foamtreader was a carrack with a bronze dragon figurehead. Her captain was a swarthy man, slightly overweight, who recognized the captain if he didn't recognize me. A man who did business in Zhentil Keep would know better than to cross House Nresk. Treldor's presence made my family's patronage explicit, even if the captain didn't know who I was.

He did. "Lord Nresk," he said. "Please be welcome aboard my vessel. You'll have the cabin just below my own."

"Thank you," I replied as I walked up the gang plank. I took the captain's hand and shook it firmly. His hands were scarred and calloused. He wore a Lantanese pistol and a saber in a belt around his waist. "Those things any good?" I said eying the gun skeptically.

"Yes," he replied. I had my doubts. Sure they packed a punch but they were loud, inaccurate, and unreliable. Give me magic any day. I can close my fist and crush a man's heart at thirty paces, even if he was wearing dwarf made plate. What gun could match that?

"I am eager to be underway," I said.

"We'll be on the open water by noon," he replied.

"That'll do," I answered.

[The Grim Squeaker]

"That'll do," I answered. ["/quote"]

A great grammatical improvement (Remove the second quote) . The parables are nice too.

[Imperial Overlord]

The Pilgrim met a traveler on the road. The knight was returning to his home, which he had left years ago in order to go to war and satisfy his obligations to his liege-lord. They broke bread together. The Pilgrim shared his cheese and dried apples and the knight shared his wine.

The knight was eager to return home. He had not seen his wife in three years and had left everything in the care of his younger brother. He invited the Pilgrim to stay with him before going on the next part of his journey. The Pilgrim accepted.

The next day they reached the knight's lands. The farmers were thin and scared looking. The fields were half planted. The knight's brother met him at the gate to the knight's keep and laughed at him. "Go away," said the brother. "This land and your wife are mine now." His men raised their crossbows and the knight and the Pilgrim retreated.

They waited until the dead of night and then slipped over the wall. Most of his brother's men were sleeping or passed out and they were cut down before they could resist. The knight threw his brother from his bed and struck off his head.

-From the Parables of the Pilgrim

The Foamtreader finally arrived in Selgaunt, ending the first part of my voyage. It was evening when the ship finally tied up on the docks and the irritating fat customs inspector finally went away. Captain Basserg nodded as I departed his ship. I had used the powers granted to me by Bane to heal a sailor's broken leg, which the crew had appreciated. Fear and respect, the pillars of any good relationship, had been maintained.

I walked down the gang plank, a light mail shirt concealed under heavy tunic. My plate remained in the shoulder bag. I had no intention of advertising my presence before I needed to do so.

I followed the instructions I had been given and headed to the rooming house run by Aslaya Turniken. It was a modest looking three story building not too far from the docks. The exterior paint could use some work, but the house appeared basically sound. An affordable place to stay that was, unfortunately, all filled up.

Well, not quite. It was filled with Zhentarim agents because Aslaya Turniken was one of us. I knocked on the door.

An short and wiry man opened it. He wore a leather jerkin and had a pair of daggers on his belt. He was dark of hair and skin. "We're full up," he said. "Not taking any new boarders."

I pulled the symbol of Bane out from under my shirt. Bane's fist, worked in black iron, surrounded by green enameled flames. "Are you sure?"

He retreated, letting me in. He was suspicious, of course. I could be an impostor, say a Harper agent. If I was, I would leave the house by way of the passages beneath and never be seen again save by the fishes.

The common room was warm. There was a large hearth with a crackling fire. Tables and chairs were clustered around it and several lanterns hung from the ceiling. A complicated card game of some sort was underway. There were a half dozen players. All of them were no longer doing anything but watching me. Weapons were in their belts or within easy reach.

A hard faced woman with blond hair going to grey stood up. "Who would you be?" she asked.

I opened my wallet and held out Jaglos's letter. "See for yourself," I replied. She opened the letter, read it, and passed it along to a man about my size with a mane of dark hair and a beard that mostly concealed several scars.

He read it too, slower than she did. "My lord Inquisitor, we were expecting you." Of course magic had sent word of my coming ahead of me. "I am Karsh and I have been in charge since Merkos died. We are at your disposal." The room relaxed.

"Good," I said. "I'll need to talk to you about exactly what happened."

"I believe I can help you with that," said a dark haired woman at the end of the table. She was slim and good looking. Her hair fell half way down her back. It had been too damn long since I had had a woman.

"Beshanna is our ranking mage now."

"Good," I said. "Somewhere where we can talk privately?"

"My room," said Karsh. "Aslaya, arrange a room for the inquisitor."

The middle aged woman bowed. I followed Karsh up the stairs. It was possible that these two had arranged the murders of their predecessors in order to advance themselves. It was something I kept in mind as the woman followed me up.

Karsh's room turned out to be quite well appointed, belying the house's outward appearance. "Wine Inquisitor?" he asked.

"No thank you," I replied. "Just get to the meat of the matter." He fished out a bottle and a pair of glasses from the cabinet and poured.

"As you wish." Beshanna picked up the other glass. "We had been having problems for a while. Smuggling in, slaving out is our business here mostly. And business has normally been good. But three months ago one of our big customers stopped doing business with us and the slave supply started to dry up."

Slaving was illegal in Sembia, which in practice meant that the homeless and poor were fair game as long as you didn't draw attention to yourself. "Go on."

"Someone moving in on us was what Merkos thought. I thought it too. So, we decided to sit on our former customer and spend some coin with the Watch to see who was buying from the prisons. Find them, raid them, kill them, take their stuff. They're out of business and our coffers are full up again. That's what we thought."

"And the mage?"

"Zarbin? Same thing. Eager to move up. He didn't want to report a problem back north, he wanted to report a victory. Anyway, we shut most of our operations down in case the other guys were thinking the same thing. There was one big haul though. Zarbin and Merkos and a dozen boys, about half of them Zhentarim and half local muscle who had proven themselves, they were providing security."

"Two of our men were found in the bay," said Beshanna. "The rest probably ended up there. We lost everything."

"Merkos and I, well we managed to get along, but we didn't love each other," said Karsh. "He was a hard bastard. Killed a winter wolf with his bare hands. Scars to prove it. He was hard like basalt. And Zarbin? He was fast and smart and deadly. Both gone like that. That left us hurting worse than before, with our two top guys gone and me holding the bag. So I sucked it up and had Beshanna send a message to the Keep while the situation could still be saved."

"Alright," I said. He could be lying, of course. He could have conveniently betrayed his superior so he would receive a promotion. Or maybe not. Two options immediately presented themselves, but I wouldn't have right magics to go about it until tomorrow. "I'll discuss a plan of action tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord." I got up and went back down stairs. "I'll be needing that room," I said to Aslaya.

"Of course, my lord." She lead me up to the third floor. "This was Merkos's," she said as she opened the door. "I've removed most of his personal effects."

The room was as opulent as Karsh's. Four poster bed, thick carpet, glass candles glowing with magical light and a cooled cabinet for storing food and drink. I cast a warding spell on the room and then took off my boots. I stripped off my jerkin and the mail beneath and hung them on a rack. My weapons' belt followed.

I stretched out and felt some of the tension leave my body. It was still too early for prayers. They were done at the dead of night. I fell back on the bed and it felt like paradise.

There was a knock at the door. I got up slowly and padded across the carpet. I opened the door.

Beshanna was standing their, a leash in her hand. The leash was attached to the collar of a young woman with dark brown hair wearing a simple brown tunic. Beshanna pushed the door open and I stepped back.

"I could see from your eyes that it has been a while," she said with a hint of laughter. She closed the door behind them. "I thought I would correct that." Her dress slid off of her, leaving her gloriously naked.

There are so many rewards for the faithful.

[LadyTevar]

There are so many rewards for the faithful.

For your faithful readers as well, I assume.

They waited until the dead of knight

And then made sure the night was dead? Typos, my dear, typos. Or was that your way of foreshadowing?

[Imperial Overlord]

The Pilgrim was low on funds when he came to a small village. He saw a farmer and called out to him, asking if there was any work he could do. The farmer told him that he should ask the smith. The Pilgrim thanked the farmer and walked into the village. It was prosperous and the people were pleasant. The smith was big man with strong arms and clever hands. A wretched slave was chained to the smith's anvil. The smith explained that he owned much land in the village and needed strong workers to help plow it. The Pilgrim agreed to do the work and laboured in the smith's fields.

At night he and the other labourers ate with the smith's family. The smith was pleased with his work and the Pilgrim was given a place in the bunk room with the other free men. The Pilgrim worked hard for the whole planting season and the crops grew in great abundance. At the end he collected his wages, which were both fair and generous, and prepared to leave.

There was one thing troubling the Pilgrim and so he asked the smith "master smith you pay good money to free men to work for you, but you have a slave as well who does not but menial labour and treat worse than a dog. Why is this?"

"It is because he is worse than a dog," said the smith. "Once he was the richest man in the village and he thought only of himself. He cheated his neighbors, encroached on land that was not his, charged outrageous interest for loans, and bullied honest folk with his hired men. One day he commission a set of axe heads for his retainers from me, but payed me only with threats. I refused him and raised my hammer. Now his men are Myrkul's halls, what was his is now mine, and he is my slave. Under my direction and protection the village prospers and every man receives he deserves."

-From the Parables of the Pilgrim

I ran my hand lightly over Beshanna's flank. She was a very shapely creature. She half turned and smiled. "Are you pleased, my lord?"

I smiled back at her. "Very much so, but I think you already knew that."

She showed teeth. "I had a suspicion." Her hand danced lightly around my thigh.

I brushed it away. As attractive as another bout was, it would soon be time to pray. "Unfortunate that you can't say the same. A pity. You seemed to enjoy some of it."

She turned away. "I have had . . . bad experiences with some men."

"Yes, that would explain the flinching. Your body tells truths that words cannot hide. Still, unless you are an exceptionally talented actress, you managed to find some enjoyment in it. And you didn't exactly jump into my bed because you found me irresistibly attractive. So, why don't you tell me what you want?"

"In short?" she asked. "Your patronage."

I laughed. "Besides that."

"A transfer out of here. Preferably to a place where I can reach out and . . . exchange favors with my patron."

"But not so close that you might have to fuck him regularly?" I replied.

She winced. "I'm a mage. I can do more for you than just fuck."

"That's true," I replied. "There isn't a city in the world where you can't all the whores you'll ever need." It was a pity that she didn't like men more, she was an energetic and skillful partner. "So mage, prove your worth. Tell me what Karsh won't."

Her gaze flickered down the bed to where her delectable concubine lay. "Leave us," she said. She waited until the girl had gotten dressed and left the room before speaking. "Don't fall for that line that Karsh fed you down stairs. Karsh and Zarbin were Merkos's toadies. They drank with him, diced with him, and fucked whores together. He said bullywog and they jumped. Now that Merkos is very inconveniently dead, Karsh is manufacturing distance so he doesn't get it in the neck if the high and mighty inquisitor decides that some house cleaning is in order."

"He's that scared of me?"

"Things go to downhill and then completely to Hades and the Keep sends one man, just one man, to take care of things? Everyone's scared of you."

"And where do you fit?"

"Merkos thought fucking me was a privilege that came with being senior agent. I," her lips twisted, "politely declined. Harassment, on and off since that. Unpleasant but bearable."

"You seemed friendlier with Karsh."

"We came to an arrangement. Karsh wants his version of the truth to stand and I want a transfer."

"And here you are with me. Changed your mind on fucking the boss?"

"Fucking Merkos to keep him happy and fucking someone who is not a bipedal pig to get the fuck away from this place are two different things."

"Alright," I replied. "So how much of the story about your late and unbeloved leader's death is true?"

"All of it," she said. "He shaded how close he was to Merkos, but nothing on the rest. He wouldn't dare. If there's something he's more afraid of than you its whatever killed Merkos. Zarbin was a good mage. Merkos was a bastard, but hard as steel and he knew his business. Whoever killed them is a really hard crew."

I nodded. "And was it just coincidence that both you and Karsh weren't at the site when the attack happened?"

"I'm no traitor."

"And Karsh?"

"I don't think he is."

"Alright. Leave me."

Shock flashed across her face and then she controlled her emotions. She drew her robe back on as I knelt beside the bed.

"Beshanna."

There was a moment of hesitation. "Yes."

"You have served me well and that will not be forgotten."

"Thank you lord."

The door closed behind her. Only a few flickering candles kept the room from total darkness and their lifetime would be brief. What better metaphor was there for existence? Hope fails. Mercy is betrayed. Love is frail. Compassion is impotent. Justice is blind and crippled. In the end, there is only power. I bowed my head and began uttering the prayers of allegiance to my lord.