Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos Read online

  ***

  "Ladies and Gentlemen!" the announcer commenced, his voice projecting outward through the cone-shaped Propheticone, duly dubbed by its Gnomish inventor whose mismatched eyes now brimmed with tears of pride at its debut. "It is my distinct honor and privilege to introduce one of our most revered Heroes! Please make welcome Captain Reginald Krue!"

  Having played a part in the majority of gathered factions among the entire assemblage, Reginald's entrance was well received by all present, and as he strode to the podium, he was greeted by a deafening thunder of applause and cheers as the crowd rose to their feet. As this went on for some time without sign of easing, Reginald finally raised his hands to the crowd, gently motioning for order, and as it was with his own troops, his presence and bearing somehow reached out to everyone in such a way as could not be denied. The cheers and applause died quickly as everyone took his seat.

  "I need not remind anyone here tonight of just how far we have all come," he began in a relaxed projection, not at all like a public address, but more closely resembling a casual conversation between close friends. His impartment was warm and personal, almost as though each who listened was his only target. Just a couple of old chums chatting by a hearth in winter.

  "Not so long ago, there was a time when few of us would have even considered attending such a function, much less in such close proximity to so many old foes. Yet now, as I look among you, I see a real miracle in the making."

  A low but approving murmur washed gently through the assembly as their mixture of Race and Class looked about in the obvious realization of Reginald's truth.

  "Aristha?" he called, pointing to the Barbarian Shaman. "You are sitting directly behind the Mayor of Broakendale and his entire family, yet you appear to be getting along with them quite well. In fact, you look perfectly at ease."

  The Shaman smiled, reaching forward to clasp a large hand on the Halfling Mayor's shoulder, thereby demonstrating her friendship.

  In return, the Mayor patted the woman's hand without even turning around, thereby illustrating his own friendship and trust toward her, the tears in his eyes serving as testament to the valid peace and growing love between their peoples. Of course, her perfume may have played some small role in the intensity of his response, as a number of people sitting in a rather extended radius about the large Barbarian woman could testify through their own heartfelt tears.

  ***

  As per the Captain's advice, she had waited until dark to go out in public. Her grant of Sanctuary may have ended her confinement, but it offered no guarantee of safety. There remained many who still viewed her as an enemy.

  Though she understood this, she would still have preferred to go alone. Regardless of any possible ill will she might encounter, the cover of night would more than protect her among a city of half-blind Humans. Nevertheless, she reluctantly agreed to the Captain's insistence upon protection consisting of a full Detail, which accompanied her.

  Other guards, wearing non-military armor, were assigned posts along the building's front, and at several strategic points about the immediate area, including several rooftops. This was not only as a matter of observation, but also within a capacity of communication in order to avoid civilian detection. Delphi made no question or comment on these procedures, but she could not help but wonder how the guards on the rooftops considered their over-exaggerated hand signals, often accompanied by the profuse waving of small red and white flags, to be a matter of covert behavior.

  As she approached the Art Gallery, serving as the unofficial facade of the unofficial guild, she could detect no sign of actual Rogue involvement. She realized the need for such measures. Still, it felt so strange. Rogues were a revered and highly valued Class within the Empire, while they seemed to be barely tolerated in this community.

  Then the Detail assigned to her abruptly came to a marching halt. This was punctuated by a single loud stomping of each soldier's right foot, thus causing Delphi to jump with a start. This is the Captain's idea of inconspicuous?

  The Detail remained at attention, with the exception of the Sergeant-at-arms, who insisted upon escorting her at least as far as the gallery's interior. As they entered the establishment, she looked up at the large sign above the entrance, which read, Canvas and Dreams.

  Once inside, she looked about casually, or so it appeared to her escort, who observed her carefully as she strolled along, inspecting a large collection of paintings.

  The works near the front were tasteful pastorals. These were the more popular market among the wealthier clientele. She passed them by without really affording the works a solid glance while continuing toward the back where the grade and styles began to drop as drastically as did their prices.

  Her progress slowed as she came to the most tasteless group of materials available. An oil work of a dragon and a Gnome, performing an impossible act of procreation, was displayed near a corner, leading to a longer hall. To most people, the abomination proffered an almost subconscious warding, effectively turning them away before subjecting themselves to further distasteful subject matter.

  Then there was a depiction of a most highly fabled Ranger's shooting an apple from the top of his son's head. This particular rendition portrayed a grisly interpretation, as opposed to the more generally accepted joyful ending offered in the original story line.

  The last painting they came to was quite large and by all rights a truly gaudy example, depicting a group of overdressed figures partaking in various forms of decadence on the oblique deck of a golden ship as it sank into a blood-red sea.

  In surveying the piece, the guard seriously doubted that this painting would ever hang in any home of Arbitos. The overly flamboyant color was almost comical in its dark and morbid rendering. It seethed with an obviously negative discourse for anyone of wealth and means. The prosperous and overly corpulent figures were obviously portrayed as if oblivious to their fates. The artist was no doubt a discontented pauper. And he will surely stay that way if all his work ends up like this rubbish, thought the guard.

  What seemed truly odd about the picture were the figures, most of whom appeared to be looking off in any direction other than toward front of the painting. There was one shrouded figure standing in the crow's-nest, but it was difficult to tell where those hooded eyes might be trained.

  Below the painting were a number of odd scratches etched into the wall. To her escort, their random pattern almost looked like a skull, with perhaps several other bones crossed beneath it. Delphi reached out, gently brushed the skull with her forefinger, and then took a step back.

  Presently, a tiny door within the large painting slid open and she was momentarily scrutinized by the same shrouded figure whose eyes could now be seen clearly.

  "I am Delphi Bane," she whispered. "I am the Dark-elf who was recently granted Sanctuary."

  "Well, duh," intoned a sarcastic voice from behind the secret door.

  "I believe I am expected," she stated flatly, trying not to allow her anger at his evident sign of disrespect to be detected. Among her people, it was generally Customary For Guild Chapters To Extend A More Gracious Welcome To Visiting Factions. Perhaps these people had different customs.

  "Yeah, I know. Enter then, Wognix," he drawled without enthusiasm.

  Several more uncomfortable moments passed. "That might be easier if you would open the door first," she asserted in a strained voice.

  After a short pause, she heard the bolt being pulled back and the door-painting slid open several inches.

  "Perhaps I should accompany milady while in this…establishment," offered the Sergeant warily.

  "I'm sure it will be fine. I do not wish to appear distrusting of my own Class."

  "As you wish," he replied in a speculative tone while glancing sidelong at the menacing eyes of the anonymous door attendant, and then into the darkened space of the Rogue guild interior itself.

  "I believe I saw a wet bar near the front, Sergeant," Delphi suggested.

  "
I'm on duty, milady," he intoned with an edge.

  "Yes, of course. Terribly sorry," she apologized while gingerly stepping forward and sliding the door open far enough to enter. Once she passed inside, the door was quickly shut and bolted again.

  Once alone, the Sergeant found himself re-evaluating the wet bar.

  Before her stood an older Human. He was perhaps four or five hundred winters and not very tall as far as Humans go. In fact, he didn't quite come up to her chin. She wasn't sure who this rude little man was. She only hoped he wasn't the guild Master.

  "Goren!" came a shout from the next room. "Show the Lady in, and stop trying to frighten her! I doubt that she finds you amusing anyway."

  Delphi looked back at the person whom she now assumed to be Goren, hoping for some sign of mirth. All she witnessed was the old man's pallid, expressionless face. Somehow, she doubted that his attempts were designed to be humorous. If so, he had apparently lived a long time without ever being properly advised in the art of joke-telling.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Goren commenced to laugh in a much higher tone of voice. This was when Delphi began to suspect that something really was amiss, for although his eyes gleamed as one might expect when seeing someone laugh, his facial expression remained neutral.

  Presently, he reached up, grabbed the top of his hairless head, and began squeezing what had appeared to be tightly stretched scalp into a bunched mass of loosely fitting flesh. It stretched far past what the normal skin from any creature possibly could, and continued to stretch, thereby causing the entire face to become a twisted and nightmarish parody of a face, with the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth inching upward until so completely displaced that they were all soon sliding over the top of his skull, and still he continued to pull.

  Delphi found herself slowly backing up until she backed into a wall and could retreat no further.

  The creature's efforts literally to rip the flesh from its own skull seemed endless. Now he was pulling with both hands. He pulled upward and upward until both hands were extended to the farthest reaches of his arms length, the once normal looking flesh now three times its original proportion.

  Delphi Bane was a Rogue, and could by no means of torture ever be made to scream. Even so, she could not help the shrill sound escaping her throat as the vile thing's head literally came away from its body with a pronounced plopping sound.

  "Damn it, boy!" the reproachful voice called from the next room. "I told you to stop that foolishness!"

  Then there came a loud and insistent banging on the front door. The Child of perhaps seven or eight winters who now stood before her quickly turned upon hearing the Sergeant's insistent request to gain entrance. She looked at the boy, and then at the mask in his left hand, and grinned. After a moment she began to laugh heartily.

  His face quickly reddening, Goren bolted for the stairs leading to the basement, and ran down them to the safety of his bedroom.

  Delphi, who was yet laughing, slid the door open again.

  With his sword now in hand, the Sergeant appeared well prepared to storm the building.

  "Everything is well in hand," she assured him while still tittering.

  "Are you certain, mistress? I could have sworn I heard…"

  "I'll be sure to call if I need you," she smiled, and then slid the door shut again with him still attempting to look around the interior.

  "Goren? What has gotten into you of late…" the old man's voice trailed off as he entered the room to realize that Goren was not there. "My sincerest apologies, Mistress Bane. I'm afraid my grandson is something of a trial."

  "Not at all," she replied. "I was surprised, but…"

  "Oh dear!" he cried. "I've not even introduced myself! My name is Tobar Stelthak, and that most upsetting youngster is my grandson, Goren."

  "Yes," she said, feeling the grin return of its own accord, "a pleasure, I'm sure."

  "I do beg pardon for his behavior, mistress. There are…extenuating circumstances that…"

  "No harm was done, milord," she offered. She wanted to say more, such as, I've not enjoyed myself like that in a very long time, though he seemed determined to provide her with an explanation.

  "You see, his mother was killed when he was but a tot. His father…well, quite frankly, his father was something of a scoundrel and never saw fit to even introduce himself," he intoned sardonically. "I have done the best with the boy that I know how, you understand, but I fear an old man is a poor substitute for proper parentage."

  "I'm sure he's a fine young man," she replied with as serious a face as she could muster.

  Returning to the business at hand, which she hoped would also serve to alleviate the gentleman's obvious embarrassment, she asked, "Are you the Guild Master, then?"

  "I am the Caretaker," he offered with a low and humble bow.

  "I see. Could you direct me to the Master's chamber, please?"

  "Well…" he faltered, looking at the floor.

  "He wouldn't see me, would he?"

  The look on the old man's face was answer enough.

  "Then why did he agree to allow me to come at all?"

  "Captain Krue insisted, mistress. The good Captain is a powerful man. The Master could not deny him. Still, the Captain never stipulated an interview. He only requested you be allowed a visit."

  "I see," she said in a low tone, recognizing standard Rogue protocols. "I suppose I was hoping it could be different. I guess I simply thought a Rogue was a Rogue, regardless of his or her Race."

  "And right you are to think so, too," returned the old man, offering as much comfort and conviction as his station allowed.

  "I would have preferred to enter with the Master's blessing, but, under the circumstances, I suppose I have no choice. Would it be possible for me to visit your library?" she asked, using the same protocol of the Master's agreement against him.

  For a moment, Tobar seemed to be considering something. "Well…you were granted a visit to the guild, and the library is certainly a part of the guild. I would be happy to escort the young mistress to our library," he offered, smiling.

  As they turned to make their way toward the library, she could see the boy out of the corner of her eye. Not all of him, just the hand holding up the hand mirror above the top step, angled so as to allow a clear vantage of Delphi and his grandfather during their conversation. When they began to move in his direction, the mirror quickly disappeared.

  Delphi covered her mouth to hide the grin she could not suppress.

  "Oh, yes," he said recalling something. Be careful here." He illustrated by squatting, and then pushing down on one of the floor tiles. It gave way easily, as if hinged by a spring.

  "Nice one!" she exclaimed in appreciation of the trap's artful design.

  "Why, thank you, mistress. I constructed that one myself," he intoned with pride. Once he showed her where she could safely place her feet, they continued.

  "Goren has followed your progress ever since news of a Dark-elf Rogue reached our corner Herald," continued Tobar as they came to a door at the end of the long hallway. Tomes of the Scapegrace , read the plaque above its facing.

  "We were even fortunate enough to attend your Hearing. You gave a most eloquent testimony, and…well…quite frankly, the boy may be rather taken with you."

  "I suppose it's possible," she replied while looking over her shoulder as the hand mirror snuck slowly around the corner of the stairwell once again.

  ***

  The task had been arduous, but Sarah finally managed to rid herself of Marcus. She watched him make his way down the dimly lit cobblestone, walking slowly, eyes downcast, and arms just hanging at his side as if simply too heavy to do otherwise. She had the distinct impression of having just kicked a puppy. In fact, she felt terrible.

  [All right, Doc! After what I just had to do, you'd better have a seriously damned good reason for all that…] {There is some type of connection between you and your brother.} [What are you talking about?] {I'm not quite sure, except
it most likely has to do with similar genetic patterns.} [Hey, I'm the first to admit I don't know squat about all this hi-tech crap, but I do know the difference between electronics and genetics! You wanna explain how DNA got in the picture?] {As a matter of fact, there could be a direct connection. If you and your brother have similar neuro-pathways…} [Neuro-whosit?] {Like the differences between your pattern and Selina's pattern. To IBOT, the two are read similarly to bar code.} [Oh wait, I get it! Bubba and I have got similar headgear, and your genius program can't tell the difference.] {Yes. Exactly!} [You sound surprised that I got that.] {Well, anyway, it presents something of a problem. It's going to be difficult to move about freely with your brother…} [No problem. All we gotta do is drop your revised version of the Selina filter when I'm around Jesterwolf. That way, the barcode thingy doesn't cross any wrong wires, and ole IBOT still thinks it's looking at Selina, right?] {Yes…yes, that might just work!} [You still sound surprised.]

  {There's something else you should know.} Pause. [Yeah?] {I've finished correlating data, or rather, as well as can be done under the circumstances.} Pause. [And?] {And the current program doesn't parallel the projected dynamics of any established scenarios.} [And in English that means?] {It could mean a number of things. The game is more complex than any of the previous software tested. Many deviations could simply be a compensation to accommodate the more multifaceted program structure.} [Or?] {Or it could be examples of attempted manipulations by the Government.} [The Hacks?] {If we're lucky.}

  She thought about asking what the unlucky side of that coin might be, and then decided it might represent more information than was needed, or even wanted.

  With no response forthcoming, Kwibee continued. {Most of what I've compiled is of no consequence. By in large, it all falls well within established parameters.} [But?] {But there are traces of diagnostic scanning in a several geographic areas.} [Maybe you already scanned it once, and then just forgot.] {I have a photographic memory.} [Figures. Ok, what areas were scanned?] {So far, the majority have been within a large region to the northeast, some eighteen hundred miles distant.} [What's so interesting about that area?] {Couldn't say. I only know it's a series of small countries inhabited by non-human N.P.C. templates. The game refers to it as the Dark Empire.} Pause {Something wrong?} [Well, if it is your…friends…at least they aren't in the neighborhood. On the other hand, your Dark Empire comment definitely got Selina's attention.] {How so?} [Oh nothing really. Just a feeling of being ill at ease. That, and about three dozen of her preferred defense tactics just crossed my mind.]