Dread Rising

Next to the man was a dwarf, his long black bearded braided and woven into his wide belt. The dwarf scowled at his neighbor from underneath an orange headscarf, narrow eyes searching the room for signs of trouble until they alit on Decius. The dwarf chewed a fat, unlit cigar in his mouth and scoffed quietly.

To the dwarf's left was a bronze-skinned visling wearing a black leather vest and a smug smile. Decius instantly found the creature's cruel, haughty gaze infuriating, and though the visling noticed, heresponded with a dismissive laugh and a playful snap of his fingers. Plucking idly at his stylish cape of blue velvet, the visling leered at the bust of a passing slave girl, exaggeratedly following her progress past with his craning head.

The girl vanished through the door out of the chamber and the visling turned to the dwarf by his side and elbowed him teasingly in the ribs. Foreign words flowed from his forked tongue and the dwarf cracked a cruel smile in response. Laughing between themselves, the dwarf and visling settled back into their thrones, only to start again as the doors to the parlor flew open.

In swept a tall, fair elf in a glittering cuirass and robes of blue silk. A silvery band bound his brow, set with an intricately cut sapphire the size of a hen's egg that seemed to glow with its own light. His arms and shins were armored like his chest, and he wore by his side a gilt-inlaid pistol of ivory and a basket-hilted broadsword of silversteel. He was trailed by three more elves close enough in appearance and dress that Decius reckoned them his kin.

The elf strode far enough into the parlor for the doors to boom shut behind him and looked around.

"Such caution, such suspicion," Draithan chided him. "Come now, dear friend. You have no treachery to fear from me."

"Even with the gift of prophecy I could not be sure. I would call you a snake, Draithan, though even vipers have not done enough to deserve such insult."

The half-elf laughed uproariously, and by his side Lomirran brought out into an arrogant smirk. Gilgabraith for his part merely smiled cordially at the barb. Decius calmed himself and pointed the elven newcomer toward a chair. He towered over the other guests in the parlor and Decius could feel himself shrink in the elf's presence.

"Be seated, Caeruthir. We are all assembled now." Decius and the elf seated themselves across from one another and Draithan banished the servants toward the rear of the chamber with a wave. "Now then, I trust that this is a suitably luminous assembly for our conversation? Is there anyone I have left out?"

"Just the one who will soon be breathing sand," the dwarf rumbled, and the man to his side nodded sagely. The orc smiled a seawolf's smile, his fists tightening in anticipation of the kill.

"You have forgotten the queen," Caeruthir declared in an icy voice. "If you think to rise to her side, spare a moment's consideration for your sovereign or she will force you to do so."

"Now, now," Gilgabraith soothed, "We have not forgotten Her Grace. But Draithan thought it poor form to invite her to a meeting plotting her husband's murder."

"Wouldn't be the first time," cackled the visling with an arrogant sneer. "I'd fuck a kraken before I got into bed with that one, but if Draithan wants to take the risk, I'll happily reap the spoils!"

"The reward is worth it," Draithan replied, fixing his elven counterpart with a knowing stare. "Lomirran has read the signs, and they portend good fortune for us all."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" the orc boomed, leaning forward in his chair. "If we are discovered, the dwarf will have us killed without a second thought. Time's wasting as we sit here drinking wine and devouring fruit!"

"I agree with the big man," the visling purred, "There will be time for wine and girls once our work is done."

"Grab hold of your reins, Vaelar," Draithan cautioned. "Ironside sits at the center of a web and to rush in carelessly will get us trapped like flies. We must pry apart his web first."

"Or set it all on fire," the orc rumbled.

"Oh, I should hope not," the man protested. "I have much money wrapped up in this city, Ramuvar, and if you go burning it all down, I'll be destitute. Try to keep the pillaging to distant shores, and the trading to our own, hm?"

"Damn you, merchant," snapped the orc, Ramuvar. "I liked you better when you were an honest pirate."

"So did I. But I wore cotton as a pirate and silk as a merchant, so it is as a merchant I must live."

"You bear your curse well, Halakar," teased Vaelar, and Halakar shrugged.

"Nothing would get sold in this city without me, so you all have nothing to complain about."

"Indeed," Draithan broke in before the plotters could get off track again. "And it is your market I have need of. Magnur is deep in bed with the commercial consortiums of the city. A few words from you about lowered fees and the like would get them to overlook his untimely demise, don't you think? Otherwise, I should hate to deal with a mob of angry shopkeepers."

"And what would my recompense be for these fees I will be remitting?" the merchant mused. He slouched back in his chair, his fingers playing idly with a last bit of mango between them. Draithan sighed.

"I know you've had your eye on his tenements on Bridge Street. In all the chaos likely to follow his death, I suppose the deed to it might find its way to your office."

Halakar made a show of thinking and then shrugged. "I find your terms acceptable."

The others burst into a frenzy as Magnur's business empire was marked for dismemberment. A collection of jewelers' shops went to the dwarf, Gunnar. Caeruthir claimed a dye plantation and three of the dwarf's galleons. The orc secured the transfer of Magnur's foundry in exchange for trading his own dyeworks to Caeruthir. Vaelar won himself a weaving house and the dwarf's prized racing sloop while Halakar secured the transfer of Magnur's infamous slave pens.

As the mad scramble subsided, Caeruthir turned to Decius, his green eyes glittering with eldritch light.

"And you, sorcerer. You have traveled far to join our conspiracy. What is it that you demand?"

Decius swallowed hard as the alien eyes penetrated deep into his soul, seeming to search his mind with their cold, emerald light. "I have secured my own reward from Draithan already, but I serve the Collegium, and they require vast quantities of spice. With the smugglers gone, the Spicers' Guild tightens its grip. Break it again, and you have my aid."

"Is that all?" the visling sneered. "Just break the Spicers' Guild and we get, what? The aid of a lone sorcerer?"

"The aid of a sorcerer with the emperor's ear. Unless you think your little fishing boat could stand in a line against the emperor's fleet?"

"Pirates don't form a line of battle," the visling shot back, "we head for safer waters with a speed no warship can match."

"Damned fool visling," Caeruthir snapped, "the Armada comes not for your ship, but for the port. Seize the port, put his legions ashore, and it won't matter where you run. Breaking the Spicers' Guild benefits all of us."

"Aye, the Guild is the dwarf's strongest ally here."

"And the queen's," the elf went on. "You would cross them at your own peril."

"Leave them to me," Draithan replied. "Decius and I will handle the Spicers' Guild. The rest of you have other targets. Vaelar, find the dwarf's moneychanger. Gunnar, seize his armory. Halakar, can I count on you to dispose of his captains in port? Caeruthir, take Ramuvar and seize his ships at anchor. You can claim your galleons then, but see that the sloop is kept safe."

"What of the captains not in port?" Ramuvar demanded. "Varith, Miemiri, Ujaz, Gonnsar, Myrdad... what will you tell them when they return?"

"I will tell them that I had consort to the queen," Draithan replied. He looked to his companions to either side, who nodded in agreement. "They have no more love for Magnur than any of us."

"But they benefit from him," Halakar reminded him, "They have longstanding contracts with the dwarf."

"Contracts I will honor if I have to. We must strike quickly and seize control of the city. Once it is in our hands, what can they do? Sorcerer, what say you to this?"

"It is a good plan," Decius replied, "But spare their belongings. When they return, it must be as if nothing has changed, except that Magnur has grown taller and more handsome."

Draithan smiled, and a chuckle ran around the room. "And changed his friends. Indeed, all Magnur's captains in port must be done away with. His man in the Thieves' Guild as well, for he uses the Guild as spies. Find Shadow and offer him whatever he wants to take over the Guild for us."

Caeruthir broke in, "Before anything happens, we must kill his warlock. I will send my sons to do the deed before any auguries are performed. But we must be sure. Are we committed to this?" the elf cast a stern glance around the room. Draithan nodded, then his lieutenants did the same. Caeruthir looked to each of them in turn, securing their assent. He then turned to the elves behind him and nodded. With grim faces, the three of them turned and left without a word. Caeruthir turned back to the council. "It is done, we are committed now."

Decius felt the tension in the room ratchet up, like a catapult being wound up toward release.

"Once the warlock is dead, we will move to the next stage." Draithan tapped his armrest impatiently. "Once all is done, I will go to the palace and reach an accord with Lamira. Then there will be a grand celebration, with wine, music, whores, and enough lotus drink to make your fathers stupid!"

That brought a smile to the lips of all present.

"A new era dawns," Ramuvar declared, leaping to his feet. He thrust a clenched fist into the air. "The era of Draithan the Dreaded!"

It was barely two hours later when Caeruthir's sons returned carrying a bloody sack. They strode up to the pirate lords practicing archery on the patio and dumped the contents of the sack onto the bricks. A shaven head splattered to the ground; its green eyes dull with dead surprise.

"We caught him in a spice den," said the foremost of the three sons. "He never woke from his stupor."

"A good death," murmured Vaelar.

"There's no turning back now," muttered Gunnar. He clapped his hands and two servants rushed forward to arm him with a bandolier and two falchions. "I go to seize Magnur's armory."

The others armed themselves and set off with eager purpose, leaving only Decius, Draithan, and his two lieutenants in the garden. Lomirran and Gilgabraith each armed themselves with swords and knives before Gilgabraith strapped on a bandolier with a pistol hanging from it. Draithan armed himself similarly. He held out a sword to Decius.

"You know what you're doing with this, sorcerer?"

Decius took the blade from him and studied it. It was a basket-hilted broadsword like those common among infantrymen in the empire. The blade was good quality steel and the hilt inlaid with silver. He drew it from its scabbard and slashed the air, testing the balance. While not the finest blade he had held, it was a cut above the usual. Satisfied, he sheathed it and tied the scabbard to his belt.

"And yes, I do know what to do with this," he replied. "Whatever you have heard about the decadence in the empire, aristocrats are still trained for war. And thus far, none have been able to best us in war. Look to the battlefields of Armannais for evidence enough of that."

"Very well. Now, our assigned task is the Spicers' Guild, specifically the death of the local head, Barbatio Marcellinus."

"So do you have a plan?" Decius inquired. "Or are we just to kill everyone in the guildhouse and let them sort it out later?"

"No, I have a plan. You are familiar with Claudius Nevitta?"

"I know of him by reputation. He is a clever trader and good diplomat."

"He is well-positioned here in Torvuls. Should his superior Marcellinus meet with an unfortunate end, Nevitta is almost certain to replace him."

"There is that word 'almost' that makes men quake with fear," Decius remarked dryly. "Define 'almost.'"

"He is well-liked among the guildsmen in Torvuls. He will certainly be master of the guildhouse for as long as it takes the news to reach the Imperial City and return. Would your emperor send a replacement when the man on the spot is reliable and capable?"

"Most likely not, but predicting curia politics is not easy. There are deadly undercurrents in both the curia and the Guild."

"Nothing in life is certain," Draithan countered, "but Marcellinus' accession is as certain as they come. Surely, your family could put their thumb on the scales. I am informed that your father is not merely rich, but well-respected."

"Indeed he is," Decius sighed. "Though he is careful to wade into the arena of politics only when he is prepared and has something to gain. What is the gain here? Surely, you do not mean to have me replace one friend of Magnur's with another?"

"No, don't be absurd. Marcellinus is no great friend of Magnur's. They quarreled not long ago over a whore in the Lotus, and then over a boat race not long before that. Marcellinus is also an avid gambler. Cards, horses, boats, dice... he loves a thrill, and loses as often as he wins. He could stand to do with a bit of cash."

"How substantial a bribe? He is highly placed in the Spicers' Guild, he surely does not lack for money."

"Substantial enough. It will require some persuasion. If you could promise him your family's support, he would be swayed, for surely he looks to rise higher in the Guild that Torvuls."

Decius sighed. There were few higher places for a spicer than Torvuls' guildhouse, but it would not be terrible to have an ally in the Guild.

"Very well, though my fellows in the Collegium would be apoplectic to see me make a friend of a spicer. Prepare your bribe and let us be quick about this. It is only a matter of time before the warlock's death becomes news."

"The servants will have it ready in just a moment. But come, let us make for his house in the western quarter, post-haste."

Draithan and his companions started off for the palace gate and Decius fell in behind them. They passed a fountain where Cassio was bathing with Draithan's concubines, including two new girls who had not joined them earlier on the patio.

"Master," Cassio called as Decius passed by, "Give me just a moment to get dressed."

"Worry not, boy. We will not need you, so enjoy the half-elf's hospitality until I return."

Cassio looked at once disappointed and pleased as Decius went by without breaking stride, but then one of the girls embraced him from behind and kissed his neck. Any concern for Decius vanished from his mind and he turned to kiss her lips. Decius smiled to himself. Once the dwarf and the spicers were dealt with, he planned to fuck every girl in the palace.

They exited Draithan's palace grounds through a smaller gate than they had entered, moving swiftly across the narrow street into a winding warren crowded with the city's poor. Beggars held out rude bowls of clay or wood, pleading for alms in strained voices, but the four plotters ignored them. The local cutpurses gave them a wide berth, conscious both of their fine dress but also the swords at their hips. Two topless streetwalkers watched them go by from the door of a bakery, at once curious and concerned. As they wound across Palace Hill toward the western part of the city, Decius could feel murmured rumors radiating out from them. Curious onlookers peered from doorways and windows, whispers followed them, and Decius felt the hair rising on the back of his neck.

"They know," he hissed to Draithan.

"They suspect," the half-elf countered. "Rumors move faster than the wind in this city, but they will whisper a thousand things. We are not revealed yet, though sloth is not our ally."

They emerged now into the wide street along the west edge of the hill. Ahead of them, the land dropped away over a white chalky cliff, affording them a sweeping vista over the western quarter. Not far away, Decius spied the indigo and gold dome of the Spicers' Guildhouse.

Into the cliff had been cut a winding stair that descended to the streets below. Though Decius saw it as an ideal place for an ambush, Draithan forged ahead without delay, shoving past a knot of Nezzaruni traders who smelled of incense and oil. They shouted after him, cursing in their strange tongue, but of the four only Lomirran responded, silencing them with a cold, glitter-eyed glare. The men fell silent behind them, and the conspirators descended the sandstone steps unmolested.

At the bottom, they fanned out onto the brick streets of the western quarter. Here all the corners of the world came together. Leiyani street vendors in their cotton robes hawked dumplings across the street from Mandakans in their brilliantly colored kaftans and short caps, while longbearded men from the cold north carted a load of furs toward the market. An Armanniase merchant with his powdered face stared coldly from his lacquered carriage as it clattered by, two pages clinging to the coach's rear.

"This way," Draithan signaled, turning down a side street. He checked in all directions, though what he was looking for, Decius could not know. On a street like this, anyone could be a spy, or no one might be. It was impossible to tell what was out of place, for everything looked strange. Even the streets of the Imperial City, bursting with color from all the thousand places under the emperor's dominion, looked monochrome compared to Torvuls' diversity.

The four of them cut across the busy street and were soon swallowed up by towering townhouses on either side. The buildings crowded together close enough that Decius thought he could cross from one balcony overhead to another without jumping.

Draithan stopped at the façade of a townhouse that looked exactly like all the others.

"Here," he said, and wrapped on the door three times. After a long pause, a small portal slipped out and two elderly eyes peered out at him. "I am here to see your master," the half-elf told the eyes. "Tell him 'Red Raven.'"

The eyes stared stoically back at him for a moment, then the portal shut again. Draithan leaned against the wall casually.

"Now what?" Decius demanded. He looked back up the way they had come. Between them and the busy intersection was only a work crew from the Temple of Askallon, moving slowly along the street in their white robes, sweeping and collecting refuse. But their familiar presence did little to calm Decius, who impatiently drummed his fingers against a wooden post.

"The servant will relay the signal phrase to our friend, and we will be admitted soon enough."

"This is all a bit trite, isn't it? Wasn't this in an opera?"

"If it delivers us Marcellinus and his aid, it will make a fine opera. The Rise of Draithan the Dreaded. I think I like that. I'll have the work commissioned once Magnur is dead."

Decius tried not to roll his eyes and leaned against the wall to wait. This street was quiet, and as he waited only the Askallonite work crew and two house slaves passed by, barely sparing his party a glance. But the wait began to grow long, and Decius grew impatient. He cast suspicious looks up and down the street, fingers on the hilt of his sword.

"What's taking so long?" he hissed. "Rumors swirl about this city as we lean against a wall and soon enough, they will make it back to Magnur."

"Calm yourself, sorcerer. The dwarf is indolent. And arrogant. He grows fat and soft in his palace. Even if he hears the rumors, he will not stir from his seat for some time. The long years of his reign have made him complacent."

Gilgabraith looked unconvinced, but said nothing. Decius studied the half-elf, looking for some clue to his inner thoughts, but it was of no use. Lomirran stepped back into the street and looked up toward the windows over the door.