Date: Sun, 19 Jun 2016 21:09:23 -0600
From: Michael Offutt <kavrik@hotmail.com>
Subject: Chapter 23-The Orb of Winter-Gay Science Fiction

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				   *****

			   Chapter Twenty-Three


   Kian finished eating, and then washed his head and hands in a snowy
creek just outside the village of Kalek-Haru. He also cleaned out the
inside of his helmet by washing out blood, vomit, and the sweat that
collected in the padding.
   "I wonder if I smell bad," he said under his breath, letting the
freezing water run over his numb fingers as he submerged his helmet for a
rinse. To his nose, he detected nothing. And because he was Atlantean, Kian
knew most of the legends.
   One of them talked about something in his sweat that inhibited
stink. Another legend spoke of the taste, specifically mentioning that
there was nothing the palate could detect. This account matched Kian's
experience most of the time.
   "I'm so weird," he said to himself, looking at the piles of snow in the
river. Fish swam lazily over the river rocks, some just a few feet from his
boots.
   Kian didn't spend much time at the edge of Kalek-Haru. A village of
three-hundred peasants (give or take a dozen), it squatted in a huge pit
that might have been a mine as recently as ten years ago. He thought he
might try and steal a horse, but didn't see any that he thought were worth
stealing. There were a couple of draft horses, but they belonged to a
farmer that looked like he would have been in a lot of hurt if Kian had
stolen even one. So he decided against it.
   Taking one more bite of raw fish, he tossed what was left into the
river.
   I wish I'd remembered some salt, he thought. Maybe I'll get some in
town.
   His stomach full, he brushed his teeth with some baking soda concoction
he stored in a jar he kept in his belt pouch. An apothecary flavored it
with mint leaves, and it did wonders to get the taste of the fish and the
elven bread off his tongue. When he finished, he put all of his belongings
back into the backpack and into his various pouches and resumed his
marathon. He'd chosen this place to respite for an hour because it was near
the highway, which had clear signs pointing to the Holy City. Kian figured
he'd have to run another sixty miles today, but if he kept up the pace he'd
be at the gates of Zanda before midnight.
   "Tethyr's teeth, my limbs ache," he said, stretching and popping his
knees. Then off he ran.
   As Kian approached the highway, he switched the cloaking device on with
a button inside his helmet. This was a feature of the armor that bent light
around him, producing a shimmer in the air that matched the exact outline
of his body. It could also create very convincing illusions. Unless someone
was looking for him, chances are they'd miss him as he ran past. But just
in case, Kian gave travelers on the road a wide berth, sometimes going as
far as fifty yards from the highway into the deep brush to get around
pilgrims traveling to the big city in their horse and cart.
   Kian stopped twice more before the gates of Zanda. Each time he ate some
food, stretched, and refilled his three canteens. During the run, he tried
to drink every five minutes from one he'd snapped to his belt as he
sprinted over hill and under dale.
   At about eleven o'clock, Kian arrived at the gates of Zanda, thrown open
to the road. The massive walls dwarfed everything for miles. Made of huge
blocks of gray stone, they soared upward from the surrounding plain some
sixty feet. Every one-hundred twenty feet or so stood a guard tower even
higher than the wall, and it only ended when it met the sea. Torches flared
all up and down its length, and Kian saw countless soldiers on patrol. The
gates themselves rose forty feet above the road and each door had been made
of stout planks of ironwood, bound together by thick iron bands now rusted
around the massive pins that held each plank in place.
   Gruesome reminders to all who approached the Holy City lined the highway
on both sides: huge wooden stakes held the impaled remains of victims who
had been run-through lengthwise. Just under their feet, parchments
fluttered in the wind.
   For once I'm glad it's winter, Kian thought, or the smell here would be
unbearable.
   Even at this hour, hundreds of pilgrims lined the highway waiting to get
in while Timeron knights searched everyone at the gate. Kian stole a
non-descript gray cloak from a peasant's cart, and then teleported to the
tree line just a short ways from the road. He switched his invisibility
shield to off and donned it, but the thing just hung off him because his
body was so lithe.
   "Let's try this," he said, slipping on his haversack and then throwing
the cloak over that. The garment fit better and gave him a
hunchback. "Nice," he muttered, going over accents in his mind. Acting a
part is as important as swinging a blade, Kian thought. I think something
obnoxious is in order. He switched the outward appearance of his killsuit
to that of a dark-skinned Zandan with a beard, eyepatch, and long pipe. He
worried that the image might fail right in front of a guard, and prepared a
"plan B" in case that happened.
   "But it shouldn't happen," he reminded himself. "Henna fixed your suit."
But does anything ever bloody go as planned? Tethyr...are you listening? Of
course he's not. Kian sighed at his inner monologue. I'm going to be one of
those crazy old men. Just watch. It starts here talking to myself.
   He stepped onto the highway from a grove of trees about a mile out from
the city, his old wizened face projected perfectly in front of his helmet,
and he clomped along the highway in illusory moccasin boots. He took to
stooping once he joined a procession of pilgrims. Because of the heels on
his killsuit, Kian stood six-foot two inches tall which was about seven
inches taller than the average traveler on the road. So he bent over and
leaned heavily on a walking stick he'd grabbed from a ditch to help him
with his disguise.
   "What's your name?" an old man with salt and pepper hair asked him,
sidling up with his smelly mule. This guy had bright black eyes, a full
beard and mustache, and wrinkled dark skin.
   "Gicken Diggle if i' please ya," Kian said without hesitation. Tethyr's
teeth, is that too much? He flashed him a grin which (if the illusion was
working perfectly) would show he had only one tooth clinging to his
gums. "I's righ' monkeys outside, innit?"
   The man looked at Kian peculiarly. "Are you from Slaver Bay or further
west?"
   "You takin' the piss wit' me? O' course I'm ou' wes'. You know your
onions. Eva 'ear ov Theog Rise?" Kian asked.
   "Can't say that I have," the man said, taking a drink of water. In front
of him, a woman adjusted some packs on the rump of a donkey.
   "I's dull as dishwater. No' surprised you ain' 'eard ov i'" Kian said,
taking a puff from his pipe. Illusory smoke poured forth from his
lips. "Some cock up pro'lly got us hung on gettin' through tonight. Any
idea whut they're searchin' baskets for cuz I'm proper knackered?"
   "The intense searches started a few days ago. Word is, the knights
suspect the Dreaded Irtemara is trying to smuggle someone of importance
into the city without Skellhaundar Romax knowing about it," the man
replied. "They're searching baskets for bendoh stones people use to
communicate with one another. If they find one, they're gonna ask
questions: who's on the other side? Why aren't they traveling with you?
Where is the other party? It's all done under the guise of weeding out
spies from getting into Zanda city."
   "Manky cun' that one tryin' to snooker...who yew say...Skellhaundar...?"
   "Romax," the man said. "You really know nothing, do you?"
   Kian shrugged helplessly. "Ya, bu' I los' the plo' as they say. Real
cock up lef' me brains addled by a hoof to the skull. Say, 'ow yew kno' so
much?"
   "My friend's in the Blades Acuuarum, the statewide militia of Zanda
under the direct control of the Israfil of Zanda. Skellhaundar Romax is one
of two generals of the Timeron knights in the region. He's
commander-in-chief of the Keep of Anghul across the bay there. See the
twinkling lights?"
   Kian looked and nodded, seeing the distant flickering torches across the
relatively calm bay. Although he couldn't make out the walls of the keep,
he could discern something of its shape in the darkness. "I do."
   "Skellhaundar runs the Blood Bowl held each week in the Arena of the
Flayed Man. Hasn't been a winner, but gamblers a plenty take odds on
certain favorites to achieve tasks on what they call the `dead board' since
most people end up dead," the pilgrim said.
   "What's the point of i' all?" Kian asked.
   "To become a Timeron knight. One of those guys there, searching
haversacks. Only the most athletic men can become the best warriors, and
there are perks a plenty not to mention knighthood makes you automatically
high society," the man replied.
   "Ya don' say?"
   Kian split off from the man to get searched at the entrance.
   The Timeron knight at the door looked at Kian intently through the slits
of his helmet. He had green eyes and looked relatively young. "Any bags
sir?" the knight asked.
   Kian shook his head. "Jus' me walkin' stick," he uttered, smiling. The
knight reached out to touch Kian's hunchback but he cried out at the last
moment, "oh me back hurts, spare an ol' man some change, lad. I beg the
Queen's mercy." Then he fell forward on his knees, hacking and clutching
his stick.
   The knight dropped next to him and helped him to his feet again. The
knight did pull Kian's cloak aside for just an instant to make sure it was
just a twisted spine and not some hidden container. But Kian's illusion
held and the man quickly apologized and sent him through the gate.
   "I's all righ', lad. It'd be the dog's bollocks to be as spry as yew
again," Kian said.
   "Thank you sir," the knight said, smiling. "Enjoy your stay in Zanda
City."
   Once down the street a ways, Kian turned left into one of the hundreds
of alleys that presented themselves for an opportunity to hide. Although
the avenues and boulevards of a huge city like Zanda thrived with traffic
all day and night, the alleys had only a few desperate individuals trying
to sleep in the cold. Kian threw his stolen cloak down atop one such lost
soul with diseased lumps on her face.
   "Thank you, stranger," she said, pulling it over her head to sleep.
   "Don't mention it," he replied. God I'm exhausted. I just need to push a
little further. Trance should do the trick.
   He crouched with his back to the wall and pulled out the vial containing
his drug of choice. He stopped for a second, noticing that his hands
shook. I need fucking sleep, not this, he thought. But then that other
voice in his head spoke louder and said, "You can sleep when you're dead."
Kian shrugged and thought, how do you argue against that logic?
   Carefully, he filled the syringe with a dose of the stuff and then
slipped the needle through one of the holes in his vambrace that Bloodbane
exploited when he held the Sword of Rogues in hand. A warm tingling
sensation spread through his body almost immediately, and he closed his
eyes to just enjoy the comfort.
   I love it when the pain just goes away, he thought, almost drowning in
his bliss.
   Kian licked his lips (as he was ought to do on this drug) and stared up
at the clouds. He popped his visor for a moment and took a swig of cold
water and enjoyed the feel of the liquid sliding down his throat. A few
drops pelted his face, cold and big. A downpour was on its way, and he
could see the mist a few streets over and hear the thrum of drops on
shingles.
   "Just splendid," he said. At least it'll clear out the streets.
   Kian changed the setting on his heads-up display (on the inside of his
helmet) to invisible again. A moment later, he crept out of the alleyway
right as the full downpour started, eyes peeled and alert for any sign of
either the thieves' guild or the scoundrels that kidnapped Captain Ephram.
   As Kian prowled the streets, he kept to the sides of buildings to not
attract attention from anyone that might notice a "sheeting" effect of the
rain pouring around him (or for that matter, the imprint of his boots in a
puddle). When he stopped, he made sure it was under an awning. After about
an hour, he found himself approaching the center of the city, and even in
his killsuit he was cold and shivering.
   Kian rested his armored palm against an ancient edifice built upon the
edge of the Well of Zanda, and its glow painted the underside of the
turbulent storm clouds a sick pallor of green. Each considerable rock in
the foundation of this immense building (which looked to be a training
grounds of some kind) stood taller than Kian; its weight unfathomable to
him. Some bamboo scaffolding held a couple of buckets and an ornate seal
being installed near the edge of a south-facing door. The fortress itself
was monolithic; it soared above him with one-hundred foot
bulwarks. However, Kian still marveled that it was easily one of the
smaller buildings on this side of the Dreaded Irtemara's Holy City.
   "Who's there?" an androgynous voice asked from over his shoulder.
   "Fuck," Kian swore under his breath, turning his head half expecting to
see one of the Blades Acuuarum guards or worse, a Timeron knight. But
instead, when he turned he saw a thin girl in a black poncho staring at
him. It was dark, so Kian couldn't make out many features other than the
girl had the prettiest (and perhaps saddest) copper colored eyes he'd ever
seen. In fact, they looked the color of newly minted pennies. She was also
quite petite. Kian checked to make sure his invisibility cloak still
functioned and was surprised to discover it was.
   "I know someone's there," the girl said. "I don't have any money. But I
have a friend that can detect your body heat. He tells me there's someone
hiding under the scaffolding there. I just want to pass unmolested. If you
think I'm weak, think again. I'm a powerful necromancer. You don't want to
test my magic. I could age you a hundred years with a touch."
   Kian decided to use the quantum sidestep rather than say "Hello" and
teleported to the roof of the building, springing his cibrian cleats (which
easily punched through the leather boots he wore for warmth) to get better
traction. Just a bit to his right, the edge of the fortress dropped almost
a thousand feet into the turbulent fluorescent waters of the Well of
Zanda. They circulated in a counter-clockwise motion around a blackstone
mountain that rose from the very center. The mountain was home to the
Librarium Apocalypto, the palace of the Dreaded Irtemara, and the Basilica
of Zanda. The fortress itself looked bleak and foreboding, with dozens of
towers stretching into the skyline like wicked nails clawing at the soft
underbelly of a vast purple cloud.
   "What do you mean he's gone?" the girl asked of no one in particular.
   Is she talking to herself?
   Kian didn't want to get distracted, but he couldn't help but peer over
the edge, rainwater rushing by him as he perched on the shingles. As he
looked through the glass of his visor, he saw something. A shadowy shape
emerged from the inside of the girl's poncho, and it resembled a very small
dragon.
   What in the nine hells is that? Kian thought to himself, but knew he'd
get no answer.
   The young girl shrugged and said, "All right. Stop bossing me
around. I'll get it." She took a step over to the alley directly beneath
where Kian perched and headed for the wall at the dead end. A pile of wood
and some old barrels had been stacked there, and once she reached them, the
girl started to climb with about as much awkwardness as a three-year old
with no athletic ability at all. Kian almost laughed as the sight of high
heels, but then grew concerned when she slipped and almost sprained an
ankle.
   I can't get involved with her, Kian thought. I absolutely can't.
   "This is going to get me killed," she said desperately. A moment later
the girl said, "I know. I promised. I always keep my promises." Then she
managed to get up, but not without tearing open her dress on an exposed
nail.
   "Fuck this night," the girl uttered, voice tearing at the edges.
   Well she may not dress like a sailor but she sure curses like one.
   "Does it have to happen at midnight?" the girl asked the dragon. There
was a pause where Kian only heard rain. "I hate you, and I've only just met
you." But the girl pulled herself atop the highest barrel, soiling her fine
lace gloves. Once there, she had to jump to grab the edge of the wall and
only barely made it. Digging shoes into the mortar, she finally managed to
get a foothold solid enough to hoist herself up onto the top. Breathless
and soaked through to the bone, the girl sat very unladylike, with her
small feet dangling a thousand feet over the well. Kian watched as the girl
took out a spool of string, tied a beaker to one end, and started lowering
it into the well. Slowly, the spool unwound.
   This is bloody crazy, Kian thought. This can't end well. Kian, this is
not your problem. You are a ruthless assassin. People die all the time and
you are a cruel heartless bastard and could care less about other people's
problems.
   He shook his head in disbelief, still listening to the girl's chit chat
with the small dragon. But he had other things to consider too that were
crucial to his mission. He regarded the entrance to the Librarium
Apocalypto with some intrepidness. I need to get inside the citadel, he
thought. Two enormously fat colossi made of industrial steel with faces
that wept rivers of molten rust gazed with unblinking eyes over a
procession that only just now emerged at this hour from the gargantuan
basilica. They spilled out from the citadel, pouring forth like a vacating
of bowels from the corpse of a titan onto the streets of Zanda
city. Torches hissed in the rain as they strode past wailing into the night
with merriment at their god's insanity.
   Is this a holiday? Kian asked himself. Why did I have to show up on a
bloody holiday?
   His eyes flicked from the glistening nude bodies of men and women
carried on bamboo palanquins and returned once more unto the guardians that
flanked the serpent's tongue bridge. The morbidly obese constructs were
identical in appearance. Their hair was braided metal cable. Their mouths,
chins, and necks flowed seamlessly into rotund chests made round by
spherical bellies.
   Is Ephram inside the Librarium Apocalypto? Or did I beat Kahket's
kidnappers to Zanda? After all, they might have wanted to avoid
Skellhaundar's men. Blast at not being able to find the thieves' guild. I
need bloody information.
   "What lies beyond the colossi?" the girl asked from down below. It was
somewhat muffled because of the continuous rattle of rain, but Kian had
exceptional hearing. A moment later, she said, "Oh that's neat. How do you
know?"
   Kian clenched his fist in frustration. What I wouldn't give to hear the
other side of that conversation.
   He peered over the edge again, saw the girl had almost lowered the vial
to the halfway point. Gutters in the shape of gargoyle mouths spilled water
from the roofs onto the woodpile. A viscous sludge in the center of the
alley served as an open sewer, ferrying refuse downhill toward the less
elevated areas of Zanda and the slums that crouched there.
   The strange girl shook the rain from her shoulders; she looked like a
wet rat with bold eyes and a nervous twitch.
   "Got it," the girl said.
   Kian looked and sure enough, the vial had made it all the way down into
the well. Now, she was rolling the string back up.
   Why would anyone need to get water from the Well of Zanda? Kian thought.
   He was just about to pop his visor open to rub his tired eyes when the
top of the wall gave way, having been weakened with rain and not really
built to support a person in the first place. The girl screamed into the
wind and toppled over the edge, hurtling toward the ghastly waters of the
haunted well far below them.
   Kian swore and leapt off the roof.
   He drew his sword in mid-air as he plummeted toward the shrieking
girl. Bloodbane awoke at Kian's familiar grip. The handle of the sword
unraveled veins of pure corobidian and slid them into his wrist. They
turned scarlet with the assassin's blood as his heart pumped it into the
magical blade.
   Bloodbane exulted in the life it consumed from its master.
   Shaking off the momentary anemia, he gave the sword a stern shake; it
transformed into a composite longbow, and Kian fired an arrow that trailed
a cord of corobidian ribbon. In the next instant (while the arrow was still
in flight) Kian sidestepped, reappearing beneath the girl and catching her
in his arms. The arrow transported with him; on its reappearance, it
continued in its trajectory and slammed into the rock cliff that marked the
edge of the Well of Zanda. The arrowhead spun clockwise on the rock and
cored the granite. Kian wrapped the lanyard around his forearm; it went
taught. Sparks flew as the ribbon sliced along his armor, corobidian
against corobidian. Their fall broke instantly and they careened into the
unyielding face of the cliff. At the last moment before impact, Kian turned
his body so that he'd take all of the force of the collision on his back
and ribs.
   It knocked the air out of his lungs (and left him gasping) but they were
both alive. And Kian knew the pain would have been much more intense if he
wasn't already high as a kite on Trance.
   He held onto the screaming girl and looked down at the swirling green
waters of the well. Rain that fell from his boot left a steady trail that
dribbled into the liquid; he was worried that something might be attracted
to the disturbance on the surface. The girl's poncho fluttered down from
above and drifted out onto the water, disappearing beneath the churning
waves.
   A putrid smell of rotting flesh rose up from below.
   "Climb up the lanyard," Kian ordered.
   "I-I'm afraid," the girl said.
   "I've got you," Kian assured her. "Please, you have to climb. I'll help
you."
   The girl, shaking, nodded and started scrambling up his body while Kian
supported her with his thighs and hand. She wore lace gloves that did
little to shield her palms from getting cut open on the lanyard. But
adrenaline coupled with the fact that the lanyard was rather rough, allowed
the girl to loop it around the leg and slowly move up. Kian watched as a
few drops of blood fell; he caught them in his open palm. Despite the cold,
he was sweating and looked down to see shadows beneath the glowing green
surface.
   "Tethyr's Teeth," he muttered.
   He glanced around to get his bearings. There was a ledge about six feet
up; he directed the girl to it. Then he joined her with a single invocation
of the sidestep.
   "How did you do that?" she asked him, visibly shaking. Kian made sure to
block her in with his body so that she didn't fall again.
   "Do what?" Kian pulled out his bag and grabbed a spare shirt. He
unsheathed the cibrian wrist knife with a touch to the tongue pad in the
helmet. Then he cut the shirt into strips, wiped some medicinal ointment
that he carried in a belt pouch onto the strips, and bound the girl's hands
where she bled. "There, all better miss. You're a dainty thing, aren't you?
Maybe you shouldn't be out here on a night like this."
   "I owe you my life," the girl said. "I'm Alexi."
   "Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Kian said. "I'm Hunter." Kian gripped
Bloodbane, gave the bow a shake, and it transformed into a sword again. He
sheathed it in the scabbard and waited a moment for the veins to come loose
from his wrist. As they loosened, they coiled themselves about the ornate
black handle, shaking off a few drops of his blood that clung to the ends.
   Alexi stared at him. "How did you transport like that?"
   "It's a gift I earned by getting in good with Tethyr. I've three such
gifts—that's one of them."
   "What're the other two?"
   "You've asked enough questions tonight; don't you think?"
    The girl smiled and then hugged Kian. The top of her head came to just
under Kian's chin. "Thank you," he heard Alexi whisper.
   Having another human being hug him after a year of loneliness pretty
much made Kian realized how much he missed this kind of connection. He
found himself sniffing her hair through his helmet, and realized she smelt
like flowers.
   I-I can't do this, Kian thought. I'll get distracted, but Tethyr's teeth
is she nice.
   Kian stared upward with his excellent vision. Directly underneath the
bridge was another, much older bridge with significant portions of it
drooping in ruin. The rusted, pitted frame still spanned the gulf of the
Well of Zanda, almost eight-hundred feet by Kian's measure, and joined onto
a terrace of the citadel a hundred feet down from the arched entrance of
the Basilica of Chaos. Kian craned his neck, the arch of the basilica high
above was a thing to see.
   It must rise a thousand feet from here, he thought.
   The façade of the basilica had been lovingly carved by ancient
craftsmen from unyielding ebony rock, shaped into skulls of varied size and
expression. Some had closed mouths; others had jawbones that hung
wide. Some were equipped with glistening obsidian tongues which hung
between pointed teeth.
   The falling rain made the mouths appear as if drooling.
   "How ghastly," he said, grimacing. However, through the mist and rain,
Kian could discern the faint outline of a door on the far side of the
span. "Wait here," Kian cautioned Alexi, and then he plied himself free of
the hug. Then he vanished and reappeared on the ledge where he'd spotted
the portal. Kian brushed spider webs out of the way and moved toward a set
of bound iron doors. They were inset within a stone frame made of charcoal
blocks flecked with bits of silver; they rose up another four feet taller
than he stood. His narrow, booted feet made imprints in the dirt that
collected at this long unused entry. These doors were sealed with molten
lead, the handles wrapped in glowing chains made from thick corobidian
rings.
   He stared back across the gulf. On the far side of the rickety bridge
was a similar door. He teleported over there, brushed away a coating of
slime. "What is this?" he muttered, considering the span, the doors, and
the magically enchanted chain in one singular thought. Behind the slime
covering, he discovered a similar ingress; it was also sealed with
lead. However, there were no visible chains on this side.
   Kian teleported back to the girl, who was fidgeting on the ledge and
hugging herself in an attempt at staying warm. "Do you know what that door
is up there?"
   Unfortunately, he so startled Alexi that the girl almost jumped out of
her skin. "A professor at my school told me that there used to be another
way into the House of Zandine. They replaced it with that bridge about
50-years ago. You can see why; even from here it looks like it's about to
fall."
   "Alexi, what's say I get you out of here? In exchange for me having
saved your life, I ask only that you mention me to no one. Can you do that
for me?"
   "Are you a criminal?" Alexi asked.
   Kian thought about that for a minute. "The one that lives in that house
might say I'm a criminal," he said. "But I'm just trying to save someone."
   "Is the someone you're saving a criminal?" Alexi asked.
   "Same answer? I'm not trying to be evasive, but yeah. So it's really
important that no one know about me," Kian said. "Please, I want your
promise. Just to be clear I'll save you anyway, but I'm asking for your
trust."
   "I won't say a word," Alexi said.
   Kian hugged Alexi and then teleported them both to safety.


				   *****

Chapter Forty-Three (which is also the conclusion of this part of the
story) is now available to read at
http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/discussion-board-for.html under the label
"The Orb of Winter" if you care to read ahead.

Are there any artists out there willing to draw some pics for my story? If
so, please email me.  There is an "Orb of Winter" map now in both the NEWS
section of my website and in the FORUMS of my website.

If you go to my website directly from this posting, you will want to begin
with "CHAPTER Seventeen."