Four Women Pt. 01

(Part 1: Four Women)

The Green Halls of the Ingel

Assignment

Neshendra stepped through the door and into the small room that she had been told the old man, Turnin, was using as a meeting place. The room was no more than a small closet, hidden behind some stored items off of the kitchen. This closet could be found in a great mansion in the noble district of the city of Spendecar.

Opposite the door sat an older gentleman, the owner of the grand house. He sat behind a small desk. Atop the desk, directly in front of the man, sat a flask and three glasses. To the left of the desk a shelf filled with books. There was nothing else in the room, except the lamp on the right of the table that gave off meager light, and a man holding absolutely still in hiding aside the shelf of books. Neshendra said nothing, but was ready in case the hidden man should threaten.

"Ah..., Neshendra. You look quite fetching in that gown," Turnin began.

She stood before him, imperiously. It was obvious that she was not comfortable in either the dress, or with the off hand compliment that Turnin had offered. Although quite pretty, with soft features and stark green eyes, those who meet Neshendra quickly learn that she is first and foremost, a warrior.

The fine white gown, long and festooned with small pieces of glass, sparkled in the lamplight as Neshendra removed her overcoat in the warmth of the small room. The dress was of a Thelitian style, wide at the shoulders, low cut, with a slit down each side just below the waist. The dress showed off her legs as she moved.

Although not a true beauty, Turnin thought, This one is quite pretty. Oh to be a few years younger... And the dress. Much was lost when Thelite was destroyed. Not the least of which was the Thelitian penchant for the showing of skin!

"I haven't time for this," she began, "My presence at this party is only as a cover for this meeting... What do the Agents want of me?"

The agents she referred to were the Agents of Dawning, a group of individuals dedicated to the repression of the Dark Three. The churches of Pset, Audin, also known as Cyad, and Chynara^[1].

Laughter in his eyes Turnin next said, "Ah..., the impatience of youth. Will you not enjoy a drink with me before we get down to business?"

"When did we become long lost friends, sir? You only use me as you need a tool for your own needs. I..."

Turnin held up a hand his demeanor suddenly more serious, "You sound as if I am no better then the enemy we endeavor to destroy. Do you truly think so little of me? Why..., you hardly know me!"

Neshendra paused for a moment. Taking a deep breath she replied. "I am sorry. I did not mean to offend. You must admit, though, that again and again I am put in situations where I have at best..., incomplete information. I tire of the mistrust of the organization. "

"It is not suspicion that guides the leadership of the Agents, it is caution. We give you as much information as we can. We must trust that your own ingenuity and skills will..., um..., get you through. Beyond that...," he ended cryptically.

"Enough of this. I have no interest in your proffered libation. What is this request of me?"

Turnin leant back and motioned for Neshendra to have a seat across the table from him. As she moved to take the chair, she turned. Turnin made note of the small dagger underneath the fold of her dress, strapped to her hip. Always prepared, he thought as he gathered his words.

"You know of Azdenen, I suppose," he began.

"Only what I've heard... That there are humans to the south of the Ingel and that they wish to establish trade. Word has it that the Council of Merchants, in Deepfire, is very interested."

"It's more than that. There is an entire civilization south of the Ingel. For a millennia the jungle of the Ingel has been considered the end of the world. All have been afraid to hazard its dangers. The few that have tried, well..., they have either died, or have reappeared telling of mile after mile of endless jungle. Those few that have returned, say..., that every step is hotter and more dangerous then the previous..."

"Yes, Yes," Neshendra replied impatiently. "I know all this. But what has this to do with my being here?"

"A moment..., let me finish." Neshendra nodded as Turnin began to speak once more. "And then, about ten years ago, dark skinned humans began to appear who claimed to be from south of the Ingelian Jungle. There were all kinds of fanciful rumors afoot, as to who they were, and what their intentions might be...."

"It is said that they are magical..., perhaps of mixed Elven blood."

"They are not Fey, Neshendra. But let me have my guest, finish the tale."

Neshendra said nothing, pretending surprise, as the mystery man stepped from the shadows next to the shelf. His clothing was foreign in appearance. He wore a dress of plain white with golden trim and a round folded cloth upon his head. The color of his skin was like that of burnt wood, and there was a slight upturn to the corner of his eyes, not unlike an Elf. Neshendra now understood where the rumors that these people appeared of mixed Elven blood, had come from.

Neshendra had only been able to see him where he had hidden because of her improved vision. She believed in keeping her own council, so did not reveal to Turnin her own mixed blood. One never knew when her Elven sight could be used to her advantage.

"Gude' eve," the gentlemen said. He spoke with a thick accent, rolling his r's and speaking s's heavily. It was obvious that he was from elsewhere, and not from the east.

"I am Kodahka. I am a Muli, what you wude' call a Priest. We worship all that is natural and call her Menendra. I am from a place..., a city called Zesbah. It is three days south of the southern border of the jungle that you call the Injel. It is also far north of our holy city of Azdanine... We are an independent people..., we enjoy our freedom..."

"I do not wish to be rude..., sir. Every moment away from the party..., well..., there are those who will become suspicious..."

"Yes, Neshendra..., we are aware of this," replied Turnin. "But..., this is important." Glancing at Kodahka Turnin said, "Continue..."

"As I was saying..., we are an independent people. We respect and revere the Holy Ones, but, the people of Zesbah do not necessarily live by the most strict edicts set dawn' by them."

"The Holy Ones?" Queried Neshendra.

At this point Turnin interjected, "As near as I can tell the capital city is run by the countries High Priests. They are rigid in their interpretation of religious canon. As they are far away, though, from Zesbah, they have little control over the day to day lives of Kodahka's people."

"How is it that you come by our tongue, Kodahka?" Queried Neshendra.

Turnin answered impatiently, "I have taught him, Neshendra. He has been here a few months and he is a quick learner. Now continue Kodahka."

"Yes, well..., where was I... We are more, how do you say..., liberal. We believe in our Gods and respect our Holy men..., but, my brethren Muli in Azdenen do not understand that the people have shops to run, crops to harvest... This may be a problem for my people."

"How is that?" Said Neshendra. She glanced at Turnin as she asked this question and he waved for Kodahka to continue.

"Because of your people."

"My people!?"

"He means our enemies, Neshendra, specifically those who worship Cyad."

"They bring their gold and..., well..., their magic. Some of my people begeen' to listen... They are swayed..."

"It is always the way, Kodahka. Myself and Turnin do what we do as we wish to stop them."

"Yes and they fool his people by calling him the God of Power. You and I both know these people worship the God of Destruction and would spread his evil to Kodahka's people," Turnin interjected.

Suddenly Neshendra understood. Staring back at one and then the other, she began. "Oh by Torin! I am a fool! You have brought me here to hazard a thousand miles and more of deadly jungle..., to act as an agent for a people that we do not even know!"

"We have learned much from Kodahka, Neshendra."

"From this man! What do you know of him!? How much is lies, or, perhaps, half truths!?"

Turnin now stood his face dark with anger. His reply was a furious retort, "Calm yourself, warrior! If you want a safe life then go tend a farm on the Zurin plains..., or, better yet run a shop here in Spendecar...! Waste not my time! Now sit...! I said sit!!" With this last he motioned violently and she reluctantly lowered herself into the chair.

After a pause he began more calmly, "We need someone down there to begin the organization. We need someone..., someone to counter the damage our enemies can reap upon Kodahka's people." Now a pleading tone to his voice he said, "We need someone to attempt this trek who has any chance at all..., of making it!"

For a moment Neshendra sat silent. Slowly she calmed and then turned to Kodahka. She began, "Answer some questions for me, Kodahka. Just so my superior, understands what he sends me to

do."

"If I can, dear lady..."

"It would surely help me to hold my anger if you would be more disagreeable."

He gazed at her with a look of confusion upon his face. It appeared he did not understand her comment. He began to ask what she meant but Neshendra raised a hand cutting him off.

"Never mind... The questions... How many were in your group?"

"I am afraid I am the only one who made it here to your fair city."

"Better and better. And how many left this village of yours..., um..., Sesbuh you said?"

"Zesbah... And over two score of us left the city, to come here."

"More than forty...," she stared intently at Turnin. "And let me guess..., Turnin. I will have but a handful of hired mercenaries to accompany me on this trek."

For a long moment no one spoke. Kodahka too stared at Turnin, awaiting his reply.

"You know the answer to that. We must ever keep our organization secret. Our enemies would have us and our families murdered."

"Damn...! You are correct about one thing... I should have been a keeper of a shop!"

Dravis' Ending

High summer in The Ending brings with it the redolent odors of the jungle that stretches for a thousand miles just across the River Ingel. The midday heat permeates the small village, like the sound of the waves that lap upon the shore of the sea some twenty leagues to the west. Few dare the sun this time of day, so the town appeared deserted as Neshendra walked the main street towards one of the local taverns. Coming at last to the Draught of Drahg, Neshendra wiped her brow as she passed through it's bat-wing doors.

Those inside the tavern saw a woman walk into the room and immediately step to her right. She wore leather pants, and a chain vest over a leather jerkin. Her feet were covered to her ankles by riding boots as worn and used as the rest of her clothing; a dagger sticking from atop the right one. Her leather pants covered in dust. Her long dark tresses tied in the back, a short sword at her left hip, a mace on her right.

Neshendra stood a few moments letting her vision clear. As her eyes adjusted from the bright daylight to the dark interior of the place, she noted that the few patrons present were relaxing in a group near the bar, discussing whatever news of local interest. Her eyes finally accustomed to the room, she walked across the tavern, and up to the bar. The Tender, a tall and not unkempt gentleman, bobbed his head in acknowledgment as she sat upon a stool pulling herself close.

"An Ale, Tender..., and perhaps a plate of food."

"Nothin' but cold cuts of meat, cooked this morning, warrior. 'Tis too hot to light the stove today." As he spoke he grabbed a clean mug off of the counter, and filled it with ale from a barrel that sat on the counter, next to an assortment of bottles.

"Thanks," she said as she placed a gold coin upon the bar." And a cold meal would be fine." Sliding the coin off of the bar, the bartender placed it in a jar set back on the counter. He walked from behind the bar to her right, and through an opening which she presumed was an entry to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, as she nursed her drink, he reappeared with a plate of food which he sat before her. The plate was filled with sliced pieces of meat, a chunk of cheese, and a half a loaf of bread.

Neshendra enjoyed the food, none the less. She ate ravenously, for she had not gauged her own hunger. In just a few short minutes she had consumed almost the entire plate of food. Still holding a chunk of the week old bread, and chewing upon her last bite of venison, she motioned to the Tender who slowly sauntered over to where she sat. "Yes?" He said as he stood before her.

"I've a question for you," she said around her mouthful of food. "Where may I find the Bard that this hamlet is named after? I've an interest in talking to him."

"And you might be someone important?" He answered a bit sarcastically.

"No..., she is no one of any importance," came a booming voice from the doorway of the tavern.

Startled the barkeep looked up. Neshendra turned, staring at the owner of the voice with an unreadable look. She gazed into his gray eyes taking in his visage. It had been several years since she last saw his raven hair, with it's single streak of silver atop the left side of his head. He was of medium build, slightly taller then average, but he moved with the grace of a cat. Most remarkable about him though, was not his apparent Half-Elven features, pointed ears and a narrow face, nor was it the bastard sword he still wore buckled to his waist. It was his handsome countenance. To her he was breathtaking to behold..., to watch.

Slowly a rueful smile began to play across her face. "Well, well, well... If it isn't my old friend Dravis. What is it today..., Dravis Rat Slayer, or perhaps Dravis Kitty Cat slayer. I can never remember, as you change your name as often as a Sprite changes directions."

As she spoke he sauntered across the bar and sat upon a stool next to her. "Laugh not, dear lady, what truly is a name anyway," he began leaning back against the bar like a King surveying his domain. With a flourish he continued, "In my former life, I was last known as Dravis Wyrm Slayer. This before my retirement. Scoff too loudly and I'll have you jailed. You see I own almost everything in this berg. Including the local constabulary!"

"And as handsome as ever. You always did get by with your looks, more than your abilities. And what of Drahg..., I see his name upon the building? Is he about drinking away the profits..., or is he sleeping it off in some barn about the village?"

"I am afraid not, Neshendra. It has been two years since I have heard from our friend, Dwarf. He returned to Narshal so that he, and Abith, may raise their daughter amongst Dwarven tradition."

She paused for a moment, lost in her musings. Drahg a father... The picture of him doting over his daughter. The image was so..., incongruous. The Dwarven warrior she had stood beside in battle, raising a child of his loins. And then a thought came to her, "But I thought the Dwarves^[2] have abandoned Narshal?"

"Most have... A few families have decided to stay behind. Drahg has no liking for what he calls the cowardice of his people. "

The two, for a few minutes, did not speak. Lost in their own memories, they sat quietly. Neshendra and Dravis had at one time been passionate lovers. Partners in both bed and battle. Neshendra had once dreamt of settling down and living her days and nights in the arms of this man. He had been unable to give up his wandering ways, the life of the adventurer that they had shared. Finally they had parted. Embittered, Neshendra had changed from a somewhat serious young lady, into the taciturn person that was now the woman she had become.

" So you have retired..." she said.

"Yes. I tire of the life of the adventurer. Perhaps now to earn some profit from my talent, rather than from the drawing of my weapon, or delving in some dark catacomb. Just to sing a song or tell a tale. A much better life..."

Neshendra said nothing. Looking at her hands she realized that she still loved this man. She also understood that it had been too many years. Even though he had given up his wandering ways... No..., she had a mission to complete.

Mentally shrugging she said, "How did you know it was me?"

"Your eyes, Neshendra..., your lovely eyes. You could never be any good as a spy. For all that see your orbs can not forget them. Of course I hear of all new arrivals to Dravis Ending, and you were described as a female warrior, how many of those do we see around here, with shocking green eyes and raven hair of better than average height. I..., I just knew it was you."

"Well, Dravis..., There's nothing for it. I'll just say it. I need your sword. I need your skills. I come here as I have something of import to accomplish. Is there somewhere that we may go and speak, privately?"

It was then that Dravis noticed that all of the others in the tavern were eaves dropping on their conversation. Arising from his stool he said, "I have an office behind the kitchen. Follow me and we can discuss this..., business."

Neshendra did as Dravis asked. Turning immediately left upon passing through the kitchen, Dravis brought her down a narrow hallway and to a door at its end, also on the left. Upon entering the office he walked around a small desk and gestured for her to take a chair across the desk from him. He unbuckled his sword and placed it upon the left side of the desktop.

As she pulled the chair towards the desk he asked, Now..., how is it you need my sword? Mind you I am retired."

Neshendra placed one foot in the chair and leaned her arm upon her leg. After a short pause she began, "You have heard of the Agents of Dawning?"

"Only rumor. That they work against the Psetians. But the church has no real power, anymore."

"Precisely because we act against them. But more than that, the Agents are chartered to repress, may hap destroy, the churches of Cyad, Chynara and Pset."

"So...?"

"I am an Agent. I have been for three years. I am currently on a mission for the group."

"And what is this, um..., mission?"

"To hazard the Ingel and make contact in a city called Zesbah."

"Whew...," he whistled. "No small feat! And how many have you to accompany you on this adventure?"

At that she paused. "A half dozen mercenaries and a Priest of Barote.., Melendra^[3] as she is called in his city. He is from this city..., Zesbah."

Suddenly Dravis' face began to turn red. "You..., you are insane! And you would expect me to risk my neck with you on this..., this..., suicidal venture?!"

"I had hoped that perhaps, well..."

"That you would pull my heart string and that I would jump at your bidding."

"No..., 'tis not like that. I wish..., I only..., I need your help."

"You'll have as much luck catching a Dragonet in flight...!"

"You are obviously not the man I once knew! Soft and fat! Enjoy your retirement!" Quickly standing, knocking the chair down behind her, she turned to leave.

"Hold!" He yelled. "Quick as ever to anger..." A twinkle in his eye and a grin upon his face.

"Now sit...," pleadingly, "please sit. You must forgive my surprise. You must admit, though, that to travel the Ingel with less than half a score to protect you is, well.., at best..., foolish. And where did you find six others that are such fools as you?"