The introduction and untimely demise of Malyn of Calsòret

One

It was another bustling night at the Tower.

An awkward and unattractive man appeared in the crowd. He exchanged a quick glance with the bartender who nodded, motioning him onward. The man moved uncomfortably through the crowd, clutching a small bag tightly between thin white hands. His face was thin and his eyes and cheeks seemed hollow. Though his clothes marked him as a poor man, his clean-shaven face and a whiff of perfume told another story.

The man nodded and bowed slightly. He lowered his bag to the table without relinquishing his vice-like grip. The bag made a sound that could only be coins. Lots of coins. Nervously he sat down across from Malyn, sweat beading on his forehead. Before speaking he glanced again at the bartender who had moved on to another customer. The man’s unease began to make Malyn nervous. Tilting his head toward the bar the man spoke. “Tavon told me to come over here.” Looking once more toward the bar, a look of abandonment crossed his face; the bartender was gone. “Uhhh… He said that I could, ummm… Hire you to do something for me.” He seemed somehow relieved that he had said his piece, and then his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Uhhh, no! It’s not like that. I don’t need… Well, you know. I’m not asking you to, well, no…” The man stopped himself. He knew that he rambled when nervous, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I need, I need someone killed,” he said with his eyes closed.

“Tavon must be mistaken,” the woman replied coolly. “I’m retired”.

Two

The man’s jaw nearly dropped from his skull. Frantically he looked for the bartender, but Tavon was still nowhere to be seen. “But, but..” he stammered, pulling the bag to his chest. “Retired? Oh, gods. I’m dead. I’m a dead man.”

He stood to leave and then sat again, a new thought finding its way into his brain. “I get it. You’re bargaining. Yeah, that’s it. You just want more money. Fine. That’s fine.” The sweat continued to pour from his forehead. “That’s fine. I’ll give you four hundred aurad. That’s a hundred more that I was going to.” Pleased with himself, he looked back and forth from Malyn’s eye to her patch. “It’s an easy job. I could pay someone much less, but I want it done quickly, professionally.” The man stopped to reconsider his words. “What am I saying? She said she’s not interested. Oh gods!”

The desperate man looked around the tavern. “Half now…” he said patting the bag. Thinking a moment, he added, “Well, almost half now. I’ll get you the rest later.”

Malyn grinned. In a low voice she said, “You know, old man, this is not the sort of place you want to be acting nervous and throwing money around. If you buy me a drink, you may sit here a while and calm yourself before you go on your way.” The man settled back into his chair as Malyn called a server and ordered ale. “Now, who else but Tavon knows you’re here? And who sent you to me?”

Three

The man stopped and smiled despite himself. “So you will do it!” He gripped the bag against his chest. “Nobody sent me,” he explained, looking toward the bar. “Not really. I asked Tavon, the bartender, where I could find someone to hire. He pointed to you. No one else knows. Well, I mean.” He strugged with his words. “What I mean to say is, I’m here for me.” Shaking, he added “I’m not working for anyone.”

Soon, the barmaid returned and placed two ales between the man and Malyn. After an uncomfortable moment, the man fished a coin from his belt and handed it to the barmaid.

“I can’t stay here long,” he said. “Listen, I don’t even know who you are. I don’t want to know. If you take the money, and decide not to deliver…” the thought crossed his mind for the first time, and was filled with despair. “There’s really nothing I can do about that. But, if you want the extra two hundred fifty you’ll do what I ask.” Pushing the coin bag across the table, he added “Are you willing to listen?”

Malyn looked around the room and along the balconies. It didn’t look like anyone was paying special attention to their table. In a crowd though, one could never be sure. Drinking slowly from her tankard, Malyn stared at the man. “I didn’t say I would do anything for you. I’m retired. I don’t do that sort of thing anymore. If you want to keep babbling there’s nothing I can do to stop you. But I am not promising to do anything for you. And please, try to keep your voice down.” She wasn’t sure how long she continue this cat-and-mouse game, but she was enjoying it enough to continue a bit longer. Taking another slow sip from her tankard, she waited for a response.

Four

Malyn took another sip.

The man smiled briefly, something like hope twinkled in his deep-set eyes. In a lower voice he continued, “Her name is Ōlànda Ældar. She’s an older woman that lives north of here, along the ledge. Not far actually. You can’t mistake her, she’s got long gray hair and blue eyes. She lives at…” He stopped and fumbled inside a pocket. Pulling out a small piece of folded paper he read, “Harbor Street. Small place. But anyway, every evening she walks out to the South headland to the watch the waves come in. That would probably be the best time to…” Reconsidering, he said “well, I’ll leave that up to you.”

Putting the paper back into his pocket he prepared to leave. “Oh yes, one more thing. When you’re done, tell Tavon that you saw a crow on the cliffs. That way, I can arrange to find you and give you the rest.” Standing, he hesitates for a moment, thinks better of it, and moves awkwardly away through the crowd.

After the man crossed the room, Malyn gathered the bag and her things and followed toward the door.

Five

As Malyn moved toward the door a familiar voice grabbed her attention. At the top of the staircase a long ledge extended along the right wall from the tavern floor to above the gate below. Standing atop the ledge stood two Ogdar watching customers move up and down the steps, waiting for the command to pounce. One of the monsters stood close by and was addressing Malyn in a low, raw voice. “How are you tonight, miss?” Grod smiled a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth and the smell of his last meal spilled from his lips. Malyn stopped with a sour look on her face, watching her mark disappear through the gate below. Grod glanced toward the gate and then stood back. “Thank you for coming to the Tower, please come again,” announced the well-spoken Ogdar. Seeing Malyn relax he added, “Happy hunting.”

Running down the turning stone staircase Malyn pushed through the gate into the night beyond. The man was nowhere to be seen. Tying her scabbard to her belt, she ran through the gathered throng toward the open cobbled street. This was where the lowlifes gathered, people without two shads to rub together. Most had been turned away at the gate, and waited here innocently playing with their daggers and toys. Only desperate and poor customers hired these rogues. They watched Malyn race by. They knew of the one-eyed sword-woman and never harassed her comings and goings. Turning the corner she saw an outline of the man hurrying down the avenue. Moving to follow, a young man stepped from a corner. Behind her, the gate rogues stopped to see what was happening.

“Look who’s in a hurry”, the young man taunted her. Malyn didn’t recognize the young man, and so moved to avoid him but he stepped into her path, blocking her pursuit. Glancing at the knife in his hand, Malyn wondered why the young man chose to mess with her. There was something in his expression that could either be anxiety, excitement, or something suicidal. Watching her mark turn another distant corner, she knew that dealing with this cutpurse would let the man escape. Gritting her teeth, she snapped “Get the hell out of my way. I don’t have time to play with you this night! Grod!”

Six

Behind her some of the rogues snickered. Malyn could tell by the young man’s face that he had no idea who Grod was. Not that it mattered, Grod couldn’t have heard her from inside anyway.

The man looked around and smiled. “Looks like your prince isn’t coming.” The man threatening passed his knife from one hand to the other. “So where you off to so quickly, beautiful? Or are you half-deaf as well as half-blind?”

“Better to be half-blind than fully stupid,” she answered. “Is it money you want? Here, take it, it’s all that I have. My luck failed me at the tables tonight.” Malyn drew two coins from her clothes and tossed them to the cobbles.

Seven

As the silvers rang upon the street stones, the gate rogues scrambled forward. As the young thief looked at coming crowd, Malyn stepped close and drove her knee into the man’s crotch. A soft crunch stopped the rogues in their tracks as the man’s body grew limp and slipped formlessly to the ground. The crowd stopped in mid-scramble, their eyes wide with sympathetic horror. Malyn stepped aside, her sword in hand and raced away from the folded figure at her feet. Behind her, a mournful groan was subsumed by the scrambling of feet and hands to claim the discarded silver.

Racing into the next avenue, desperately trying to regain lost time, Malyn stopped briefly to listen. Somewhere a team of horses protested under the crack of a whip. Rounding the building, she could see a two-horse carriage pulling away, their hooves thundering against the cobbles. Malyn looked around, seeing nothing else on the streets. The sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels sounded for sometime into the distance. Having no way of knowing who was in the carriage, and no way to pursue, Malyn sheathed her sword and looked around. It was late at night, but she had no way of knowing how long she’d been at the Tower.

Eight

The night almost gone, Malyn found a likely road and headed toward the harbor. The roads were lined with crowded houses, all shuttered tightly and dark. The road descended steeply toward the harbor’s edge, giving her a good view of the roof tops and the crenelated walls of the Southern Keep. Even in the pre-dawn morning hours merchant wagons were lining-up outside its gates, waiting for the first ships to brave the Kre Dùlnar. Malyn could remember arriving at the Kryçàryn, and walking up those crowded ramps form the harbor to the city streets. It seemed like a long time ago. It was a long time ago. Through the harbor’s mist, Malyn tried to spy the outline of Kryr Shùrulm, but the fog wouldn’t burn off until much later. On clear nights, it was possible to see the torches and candles burning in the windows of the High Lord’s keep. Beyond the city, to the north and east, the sea extended to the starry sky; even now the horizon paled with the coming sun. A cold wind reminded her that she was going home, and she started down the slope toward Taala’s.

Approaching Southmarket, Malyn could now see the merchant wagons lining up. A few draymen stood around smoking pipes and drinking barb-tea. They stopped as she walked by, first because she was a woman, lastly because of the sword that swung from her hip. In a couple hours the barren courtyard would come alive with hundreds of fishmonger tables. Other things were sold here, but that was why most came to Southmarket. Everything else could be found in the Temple Square.

Turning westward, Malyn left the marketplace for the Kreyard. Soon, she could see the familiar lantern hanging outside Taala’s door. It was always good to come home. Entering the house, Malyn was welcomed by the rich smell of stew from the rear-kitchen. Somewhere toward the back, Taala was awake and fixing breakfast for her many boarders. Wondering if the woman ever slept, Malyn peered into the kitchen. Taala sat in a fat heap, her mouth open, eyes closed, and one hand absently stirring the giant pot. She was a strange woman, but she kept a clean, warm, and well-fed house.

Malyn climbed the narrow stairs to her third floor room. Closing and locking the door behind her she inspected her few possessions, and found that everything was as she’d left them. Securing her shutters she undressed and slipped into bed, leaving another day to memory.

Nine

Malyn slept through the brief splash of morning sunlight and well into the overcast of late morning. The aroma from Taala’s cooking finally roused her, calling her down to the kitchen. The large woman handed Malyn a bowl of stew and waited as until she finished. Malyn made motions to help her clean but Taala would have none of it, brushing her efforts aside with a meaty paw. “Don’t be silly, I’l take care of these.” Taking a large pot of hot water from the fireplace, Taala squatted on a short stool and wiped each bowl and cup clean.

Taala had been very helpful to Malyn since she first arrived in the City of Oð. She was an adviser, but not a confidante. “Have you ever heard of Ōlànda Ældar,” Malyn asked her.

Taala finished cleaning and drying the bowls, carefully setting each one back on its cupboard shelf. “Ōlànda Ældar,” she mused. As she thought, her hand instinctively snatched up the large wood spoon and began stirring the stew anew. “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” she said at last, “but Ældar does. They’re a trading family, one of the richest ones in the City. There was also a Priest Ældar some years back, but he was old then, and probably gone by now.” The fat woman than met Malyn’s gaze and asked, “You’re not in trouble are you?”

The boarder smiled at the question. Everything she did was trouble. “Not yet,” she answered at last. “I’ve been asked to do a job for one of them and I am curious as to what sort of people they are. I can’t afford to be cheated again. Who do you suppose might know more about them, and this Ōlànda in particular?”

Ten

Taala shrugged her heavy shoulders, showing some concern. “They’re much too rich to dally in my circles.” A smile came to her face and then dissolved into worry. “Truthfully Malyn, I know nothing of them. I’ve heard the name here and there, that’s all. I would imagine they’re members of the Merchants’ Guild.” Taala looked at the pot she was stirring. “That’s your biggest worry, the Guild. They run the city. Well, not exactly. They protect their interests.” She reached for a small jar from a nearby shelf. “They just have interests in nearly everything. You’ve seen them, they were those coin brooches, copper, silver, like coins. I suppose their ranks of some kind.” Opening the jar she sprinkled some dull green spices into the pot and continued to stir.

“Are they trustworthy?” Malyn asked.

“Trust?” Taala shrugged. “I have no idea. I imagine some are trustworthy or they would never get anything done. On the other hand, I’ve seen what happens in the alleys of this city and sometimes in the open. You try not to look but sometimes it’s just there, in front of you, like a painting, wanting to be seen. I guess my only advice would be if you must deal with them, don’t cross them.” Malyn nodded and stood to leave. “Tarle might know more,” Taala added reluctantly. “He’s an old friend, lives up on Oak, around the corner from the Wounded Jester. One moment.” Taala heaved herself to standing, released the spoon, and shuffled from the room. In a minute or two, she returned with a pouch. “Look, if you’re going up there could you be a dear and take this to him. I told him I’d return it when I had the chance, but… Oh, he’ll understand.” With that Taala placed the small tied pouch on the table.

Malyn snatched the pouch from the table. “I will do this for you, and deliver your friend your greeting as well.” Placing it in an inner pocket, Malyn returned to her room to gather her things. Strapping her scabbard to her hip and grabbing her cloak she stopped to survey the room. This was the only home she knew anymore. Today for some reason she wondered if she’d ever see it again. Back in the kitchen, Malyn paused to arrange her cloak. Taala noticed the stalling but said nothing. “Good day to you Taala, breakfast was excellent as always.” Before leaving, Malyn retrieved a pouch from her belt and set it on the table. It rang with the sound of coins. “I do not know truly what this day will bring. It could be that I go to dangerous places. Please, keep this safe for me until I return. If I do not return…” Malyn stopped, turned and left.

Eleven

The tied pouch was sewn from blue cloth with a golden cord tying it closed. Without examining its contents, Malyn could tell that it held a single hard object that she guessed to be metal or glass. It also seemed that the object was probably hollow, as the pouch weighed almost nothing.

Climbing the hill from the harbor, Malyn crossed several streets, none of them Oak. Her searching deposited her in an old square dominated by a statue of three bronze women rising from metal waves. Each statue held its arms high and in each six-fingered hand was held the head of a man. Water poured weakly from the mouth of each man, and from the fish and creatures rising from the waves at the women’s feet. The dark water of the fountain swirled slowly with the look of oil.

A man selling vegetables from a wheeled rack tied to a donkey gave Malyn directions that were more accurate than she had hoped. Within two turns she found a building with the faded word Oak painted on a cornerstone. From there, it was easy to find the sign of the Wounded Jester. It depicted a crumpled jester with a bright red chest would, staring at disbelief at the blood on his hand. In the background a fat king laughed and pointed. The place seemed empty. Next to the tavern was a dark and narrow alleyway, like a lightless fissure carved into the wall. Stepping into shadow, Malyn noticed stairs descending below the street level. Further into the dark, the alley turned out of sight.

Twelve

Before going further, Malyn waited to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Confident that she was alone, Malyn made her way down the steps to an open door. Inside she could hear things being moved around. It sounded like a warehouse, not a house, or tavern for that matter. The bottom stair well was filled with rainwater. The sounds were much clearer here. There was a crash of a large crate being dropped to the floor, followed by the scrapes and grinding of others being pushed.

Peering into the doorway, Malyn could see a largish room crowded with piled barrels, sacks, and crates. The low ceiling was supported with heavy timbers and a few thick pillars rose from the piles of stacked crates. From the timbers hung perforated metal lanterns which cast starlight patterns throughout the space. Half-way across the room two figures pushed and pulled a giant crate from one pile to another. Farther still, a well-lit area shone brightly some two chambers distant.

It occurred to Malyn as she pulled her head from the small doorway, that the crates could never have fit through the door or alleyway. Malyn thought about the situation a moment. The door was open and they didn’t seem shy about making noise. This didn’t seem like an illicit operation. It also fit the location described by Taala. Sighing, Malyn stepped into the doorway and announced, “Hello?”. Somewhere another crate was dropped. “I seek someone named Tarle. Do you know where I might find him?”

Thirteen

Standing in the doorway, Malyn’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light. Soon she was able to see the laborers better. the closest figure stood ramrod straight, and after exchanging looks and shrugs with his partner silently pointed to the lit area in the back of the warehouse. The second man, who seemed unnaturally thin, mumbled something to himself and set to picking up the dropped crate. As she entered, a third man that Malyn hadn’t noticed, stepped out from behind some crates. Silhouetted against the far room’s light, Malyn could make out no features other than the sword in his hand. The figure turned toward the light and spoke with a fourth person that Malyn could not see.

“The door was open.”

“Never seen her.”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s asking for Tarle.”

After a small wait the armed figure walked toward Malyn. As he neared, more features became apparent. He wore a vest of hard leather with black trousers and an ornate sash tied about his waist. His hair was gathered into a long ponytail and his face was tattooed with spiderwebs. The curved sword in his hand was from southern lands. The man stopped short as his gaze found Malyn’s sword. “What is your business here?”

Fourteen

“I have come to speak with Tarle on a personal matter. If he is not here, then I have no business here, and I shall not remain to trouble you in your work.” Malyn bowed slightly. The spider-webbed man nodded, but looked confused.

“One moment,” he said finally. Turning, he walked toward the back room again. Malyn tried to hear the conversation but the voices were lower than before. Soon, the swordsman returned. “He will see you.”

As Malyn walked toward the back room she could hear a door being closed somewhere up ahead. Entering the next room, the swordsman closed the door and slid two boards into their braces. “He’s in the back,” the man explained without malice. Malyn removed her hand from her sword and moved toward the light. As she walked among the piles of crates she noticed many stamps, seals, and signs from distant ports. Tarle, it seemed, was an importer. Moving passed the main storage area, Malyn entered a room with a wooden staircase climbing to a closed hatch in the ceiling. Some barrels lined the walls, topped with bolts of cloth. To the right sat several shelves of glass and ceramic bottles. The swordsman followed Malyn to the doorway, but stopped shy of entering.

In the final room, Malyn was startled to see a giant man sitting across three chairs, or maybe more. His legs were like fallen pillars splayed before him. Giant hands at the end of tree-trunk arms held a slim ceramic vase painted with brilliant colored fire and smoke. The massive Yrūn smiled pleasantly and his voice was deep and resonant. “From Taldàna,” he explained, “Late Empire. What would you pay for such a piece?” Malyn had no answer. “Five, six thousand Aurad?” Reverently, he set the vase down upon a blanket-lined crate. “If you could, you would be cheating me,” he chuckled. “Forgive the welcome, but I don’t get many callers asking for me by name.” He nodded his head, a strange gesture that caused his chin to slide back and forth upon the rolls of his neck and chin. “Worron said you had something of a… personal nature to discuss?”

Fifteen

“Do I address Tarle?” Malyn asked. The large man nodded his ponderous head again. “My friend Taala has sent me to you. She sends her greetings and well-wishes,” Malyn began. “Also, she asked me to return this to you.” Malyn unfastened a small blue pouch from her belt and stepped forward only long enough to place it in the man’s enormous hand. As Tarle took the pouch, Malyn withdrew toward door, perhaps more than was proper. There was something very dangerous about the man, despite his smiling.

The man examined the pouch’s contents briefly and then set it aside. “Thank you. Is that all then?”

“My name is Malyn”, she offered. “I have not been long in Oð and am ignorant of many of the people here. Taala said that you might know something of the family Ældar and of Ōlànda Ældar in particular.”

At that the Fat Man smiled widely. “Information then, is the reason for your visit. I should have guessed you weren’t a suitor.” Convulsions rippled across his body as the man chuckled to himself. Malyn stood still, glancing around the room for exits. “Normally, information is costly,” Tarle explained looking at the crated vase, “but you find me in a good mood today, not to mention that I owe Taala a favor or two. I’m guessing that you’ve done her some great favor of your own for her to send you to me.” Malyn did not respond, and the man did not pry. “Ōlànda Ældar is a merchant. An older woman with strange sentimentalities. Her family is ancient and powerful, or at least they were, powerful that is. Like many of the older families, their manor and household is in disrepair, a sure sign of fading power if ever there was one.” Tarle took a deep breath, eying Malyn and the sword at her side. “It would be a pity for her to die, a wonderful woman in her time… but I guess we all must go sometime.” Malyn felt transparent before the Fat Man; had she no secrets here? Before she could respond, Tarle continued. “I ask a favor of you now. If Ōlànda’s days are ending, I would wish warning for my own benefit. You see, I have certain… investments that I need to protect. Strictly financial, I assure you. I see no reason why our efforts and aims cannot be made in concert. In the event that your aims come true, I only wish to have my interests… protected. Let it not be said that the Fat Man does not look out for the interests of his ‘friends’.

“I no more than another can tell the future,” Malyn answered. “It could be that Ōlànda Ældar’s time here is finished. It could be that the instrument of her fate was poorly chosen. I can see by these things that you are a successful man, and thus a smart one. Your ability to judge the outcomes of these matters probably far exceeds my own. I cannot tell what may happen to the old woman, or to myself for that matter.”

Sixteen

The Fat Man smiled again; he was enjoying this. “True,” he agreed. “But it does not always take a seer to look into the unfolding hours. Take me for instance. I make a living planning for things that have not come to pass. I waste each day and night preparing for eventualities, many of which thankfully that never come to pass. Am I then wasting my life… perhaps, but in my business a bad choice could cost me much more than lost time.”

Malyn paused. She was unaccustomed to long speeches. While Tarle was talkative however, she figured she would learn what she could about the Ældars. “Does the family have enemies? Who would wish her dead? and who is the Priest Ældar?”

“Enemies. All members of the Guild have enemies,” he answered. “Enemies willing to kill? I would wager that it comes with the position. Specific enemies?” He made a broad gesture. “Who can know what small things will anger a person to the point of action? Merchants make a hundred decisions every day that affect men’s lives. Few of those decisions better anyone’s lives but their own.” The Fat Man’s smile faded a moment as he thought on the last question. “The priest is dead. He had been dead for sometime. I never knew the man personally, but word was that he was disgusted with his family’s dealings, and sought out a more fulfilling life within the Temple.” His attention then lapsed for a moment as his attentions were drawn to other, internal matters. Looking down at his visitor he added, “There are things I must tend to. Taala is a good woman, but at times her mind is… absent. When she sent you to me, she intended you well, I am sure. Do not get me wrong. I intend for you nothing less. Taala and I have been friends since we were children, and she sometimes forgets the way things have changed. Things that were important then have no relevance today; things that we never worried about then have nothing less than crucial.” He stopped himself again to weigh his final words. “What I am trying to say is that I ask that you not repeat my name to any other you might meet. It would be, inconvenient for me… more than that, it would make things between us difficult.” Malyn shifted her weight uncomfortably. After a deep breath, the Fat Man continued “Discretion and efficiency are virtues my dear, virtues found in too few people. I would like to learn more of your business, at a later time. Perhaps a ‘friendship’ could be entered? It is much more profitable to have friends, than enemies.”

Seventeen

Malyn left the cellar. Worron looked surprised that she exited alive.

The street was alive with another day. Since entering Tarle’s lair, the sun had risen above the city’s cloudy disc. The streets were once again covered in a dusky pall. The watches followed Malyn as she wandered the rolling streets. Here and there the streets grew into knots, surrounded by new and ancient buildings, doors of all shapes, faces long and terminally patient. More than once an apparent dead-end would open onto another street or vista of peaked rooftops spilling down one hillside and climbing up the next. Countless chimneys issued smoky offerings to the shrouded sky. Beyond these ran the dark horizon of the city’s south wall, a massive stone construction that encircled the city. Somewhere beyond the crumbling barrier stood majestic mountains, deep forests, and clear skies; none of which is visible from the streets. Instead, the collapsed towers of the unmanned wall claw at the turning cloud, leaving wounds in the city’s pall.

That evening, Malyn found a place where streets became gravel, and the buildings fell away from the sides. A few ancient ruins stood about, worn smooth by centuries of sea wind. After a time, she came to an old shrine with a broken statue standing over a cracked stone bowl. Weeds and thorns grew from between her feet, seeking to grapple and reclaim the chiseled stone for the rocky earth. Closer to the headland, she found a well-traveled dirt trail that skirted the promontory’s edge. The gray-green grasses bent mournfully here, prostrated by the coastal breeze. Malyn stopped to look at the steel-gray sea crashing atop the stones below. She listened to each thunderous crash as the waves returned to the land, dashing themselves against the stones. With each failed assault, the water slid back into the sea to make way for the next soldier.

Following the trail farther, the massive maw of the harbor came into view. An ear of water set into the land, complete with tangled tides and crossing waves battling amid a forest of stones and islands. This was why no large ships dared enter the Kre Dùlnar and smaller ships were sent out to meet those safely anchored. Past a place where the land was lost to the sea, a recess of bared stone offered a good view of the winding trail. The cut and its occupant were not visible before they were underfoot. Here she waited for the sky to grow light and then dark, and for the waves to double their efforts against the stalwart shores. Here, nestled in her thoughts she became creator, prophet, and queen of all that she could see. After some watches she resolved to shape the world, rather than let it shape her.

The night brought no new sounds, but amplified the old, filling her ears with the endless rhythms of the shore. She waited patiently. After some unknown time, she spied a ghostly figure moving along the winding trail, like an apparition retracing some past journey. The figure stopped to catch its breath and gaze down upon the shattered waves below. In time, it moved close enough to make out details. The figure was a woman wrapped tightly in a gray cloak, white hair strung about her face, clutching a small collection of wildflowers in one hand, and a small book in the other; strange treasures for a night stroll.

Eighteen

“Good evening, lady. It is a nice night to watch the sea. I do not wish to disturb you unduly.” Surprised, the woman turned to see who was addressing her. Her eyes followed Malyn’s outline, coming to rest on the sword at her side. The old woman’s face grew pale. She looked back toward the remote path but decided against fleeing. “Do I have the honor of addressing the Lady Ōlànda of the family Ældar?” Malyn continued.

The woman took a deep resigned breath. “I am she.” Carefully, she slipped the small book into a pocket. “What do you want?”

“I myself have come only lately to Oð, and know nothing of its people and customs. Nor do I wish to. With any luck, I shall not be here long enough for it to matter. Accordingly, I do not wish to find myself involved in its politics.”

Ōlànda smiled. “Wise, wise decision.”

“Lady Ældar, someone in Oð desires you dead, and is willing to pay well for it. Unfortunately, they chose the wrong executioner.” The old woman stopped smiling and looked at the eye-patched stranger in silence. “I am not so much a part of Oð yet, that I can kill an old woman for 15 aurad. You are safe tonight Lady Ældar, but be cautious. He knows your habits and sent me to you tonight. If you like, I can escort you back to your carriage; I do not recommend that you walk alone. I have some skills and can be of service to you.”

The woman smiled nervously. “Such a strange blend of fear and relief,” she thought aloud. Resignedly, she looked again to the waves. Her voice was hard to hear. “Such an odd manner to confront your target, like a cat playing with its food.” Touching her neck she added, “All of this gone, for fifteen pieces of silver.” She laughed weakly. “Silver.” Moving to hear her better, Malyn could see that the fear had been replaced with something more serious, maybe sinister. “How does an executioner,” Ōlànda asked with a side glance, “make a living by letting her quarry live? Accepting money for unfinished deeds would certainly, it would seem, make the hunter hunted in turn.” The old woman turned to face Malyn, the winds catching her gray hair fully. “Who so wants an old woman dead that cannot wait for time to claim the honor?”

Nineteen

“He did not introduce himself, but it might be that I can help you find out.”

The old woman stood still, staring at the eye-patched stranger. A grim mask settled into the wrinkles of her face. The gears of her mind turned and turned, trying to make sense of this encounter above the thunderous waves. It would have been easy for the swordswoman to pitch her over the cliff and be done with her task. There would be no witnesses. Though she enjoyed these nightly perambulations, they were reckless. She had too many enemies for such careless freedoms. Her thoughts returned to the idea of an assassin that refused to kill. Her gears spun in place, and at last engaged. Why would this stranger not take the easiest route? The answer was obvious; she wanted a better deal.

Malyn continued, “I beg your leave, Lady Ældar. It appears that I will need to be departing Oð before morning comes.”

Ōlànda brushed the wind-tangled hair from her face. “I don’t know what to say,” she answered, playing her part. “I must be mad for saying this, but leaving will not do you any good. What road will you take? None far. If what you say is true, and I would be foolish to assume it is not, then there will be others. If it only takes fifteen coins for an assassin to put a sword into my chest, half the City might get the chance. No, your leaving will do nothing but seal my fate.” Her gears were racing now, and a new plan opened before her. “If you wish to help me, come with me. The placidity of this night is gone. Roð preserve me, I will be returning home. We can talk there if you wish. Thought I may be mad to invite death into my home, after this night, my life is borrowed time.” She motioned for Malyn to follow. “Will you be my guest?”

Twenty

As she turned, a thin smile wound its way onto her old lips.

Walking back along the trail an uneasy silence fell between them. The long grasses seemed to pull at Malyn’s legs. She wondered if they were telling her to turn back. A moment later however, the wind shifted from the harbor and pushed them forward. “It’s just wind,” Malyn reassured herself. The trail turned toward a dirt road where an old wooden structure had fallen into itself. A sign lay across the path but any words that might have been painted there were long gone. Soon, the path became broken cobble and shell.

There was no wall between the City and the sea for the precipitous edge fashioned a more formidable barrier than any that man could build. Stony, grassy fields reached inland from the edge, dotted with the ruins of buildings that strayed too near. A single road divided the headland grasses from the city, the houses of which erupted from the earth like rows of tombstones. The first block was deserted. Empty windows gaped as they passed. There were small yards here, enclosed within rusty, twisted fences. Woody leafless bushes waved and creaked in the wind. The next block was the same, except for the appearance of stores, closed since dusk. The third block stood like a fortress, with high walls and candlelit windows peering over top. Toward the end of this wall, Ōlànda stopped at a heavy wooden gate and knocked. The sound of her fist against the weather-worn wood sounded pitiful against the howl of the seashore wind, but was soon answered by the clicking of a turning key. The gate swung open enough for her to slip through. The old woman stopped inside and beckoned Malyn to follow.

Inside was a splendid circular courtyard built between a stable and a stone row house. The lower shutters, that not be seen from outside the walls, were carved into flocks of birds rising from weeds and bushes. The front door was fashioned from a heavy red wood with a polished brass ring. Wide stone stairs spilled from its threshold, curving around the courtyard, and down to the flagstone ground. A series of hooded lanterns hung from brackets, casting bird-shaped shadows across the ground and walls. Flower beds around the perimeter were overgrown with flowering ivy, left to trail up the old stone. Among the ivy stood the statues of children; the rain had washed the soot from their heads, leaving them sad and strange. The gate closed.

Light slashed across the courtyard. Ōlànda stood atop the short stairs at an open door. She smiled sweetly, like a grandmother might. “Kill her,” she ordered. From the doorway two swordsmen rushed out. One moved to the circling stairs. The other hopped down to the courtyard. Behind them, Ōlànda closed the door.

Twenty-One

Malyn drew her sword. She knew that that situation was dire and was desperate to take one down as quickly as possible. She swung at the first guard’s head, missing and opening herself to attack. The man noticed the opening just as quickly, and slashed with his own blade, cutting into her leather and sending her reeling back. The second guard closed from the stairs. Regaining her poise, she deftly parried a number of attacks trying to determine her opponents’ skill. The first guard pressed hurriedly and to Malyn’s trained eye, sloppily. She cursed herself for letting the man wound her.

She stabbed past the man’s sword, and felt a second cut into her shoulder from the side. As she recoiled from the second man, the first advanced swinging wildly. Although the point of his sword found her arm, Malyn was able to bury her own deep into the man’s gut. One sword clattered to the stones. The man looked grasped at his belly, looking on in disbelief as he crumpled to the ground.

Malyn stumbled backward, squaring off against her final opponent. The guard examined her from a distance. Blood flowed freely from her arm and thigh; his fallen companion had made reckless but short work of the stranger. The guard advanced carefully, knowing that the blood loss would do most of the work for him. Malyn parried his attacks easily. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t trying, but merely waiting. She regained her hold on the sword, fighting a numbness that had settling in her fingers. Finally, the guard’s impatience got the best of him and he attacked. Malyn parried a flurry or attacks, managing to carve a shallow line across the man’s leathered chest. His form was good, but not excellent. On another day, she could have made short work of him, but on this night she stood in a growing pool of blood, too much of which was her own. The guard lunged forward and back, lowering his blade. Malyn thought it odd that he should drop his guard. She tried striking at him but looked down to see a new wound opened in her side. She had not seen the strike. She had not felt the metal sliding between her ribs. She coughed something warm and thick. Sinking to her knees, she looked at the black birds rising from the window sills, wings to carry her into the night. She welcomed that thought and the night grew heavier.

One more road ended in Oð.

Played: 11 Jun 1995 thru 08 Jul 1995