Edward Bolme - Bound by Iron

Instead of attending to distractions internal or external, Cimozjen prayed that Dol Dorn would allow him to prevail in this combat without taking a life.

Across the way, the door opened. Within was a shadowy shape, and, from his vantage point, Cimozjen could see that it had been contained within a large crate. He wondered how many others had watched Four step out of a crate just like that.

“And, by special request,” boomed the voice, “a new creature enters the arena! We’ve managed to procure, at great expense and at the risk of losing our immortal souls in the Karrnathi bureaucracy, a real Karrnathi zombie!”

The crowd cheered.

“Who will it be, people? Which vile spawn will prevail, the living or the dead? Cimozjen favored, four to one!”

Four to one, thought Cimozjen, with no small sense of pride. Pretty good odds. I wonder what Four’s odds were like.

The zombie stalked out of its crate, and suddenly Cimozjen had the answer. The roaring crowd. The lone voice, cutting through the noise, calling the odds, dragging out the pronouncement to stoke the excitement. Four to one. Ffourrr-to-oooonne! It was the noise the warforged had imitated for them. How suitable that it had served as the seed for his name.

The zombie closed like a seasoned warrior, its legs in a wide, well balanced stance. It kept its center of gravity low, and held its shield and sword to the sides, ready for action. No mortal could maintain such an aggressive stance for long without tiring. It was one of the advantages the zombie had. That, and the zombie couldn’t bleed to death.

Its eyes glowed with a malevolent fire, a glint as of the gaze of Khyber himself. They shone starkly against its leathery skin, blackened and desiccated by the alchemical reagents that helped give it motility. It bared its teeth and began to close.

Giving ground to buy time, Cimozjen watched the undead creature, studying its armor, the tatters of its uniform, and the cut of its facial features. Well, he thought, at least it’s no one I know.

He also realized that Dol Dorn had answered his prayer. Only one life was at risk this evening.

The Last, Desperate Act

Zol, the 3rd day of Aryth, 998

As Minrah opened the door to the Dragon’s Flagons, the hot, noisy air gushed out into the chill autumn evening. She took a step back, wondering if that was what war was like-sticky, loud, surrounded by violent people who smelled of sweat and other things best left unmentioned. She steeled her resolve-made possible by the fact that Four entered in front of her-and plowed her way into the thick atmosphere.

As they had discussed, Four went and stood in the corner. Aside from making him feel comfortable, it also gave him the best view of the tavern and kept him out of harm’s way. Minrah stood beside him for a while, watching the business.

“Do my eyes deceive, or are the thugs swarming more than on other nights?”

“There are more people here,” said Four. “Almost half again as many as the most we have previously seen.”

“Something’s going on,” said Minrah. “Well, that will possibly allow me to complete my task a tad more readily. Now to find my target. Keep an ear angled for me, Four. Or whatever you have that hears sounds.”

As crowded as it was, Minrah was forced to move among the patrons to find the person she was after. And, after being jostled, cursed at, mocked, lewdly propositioned, and doused with a spilled tankard nigh full of cheap ale, she at last found the person she sought.

“Boniam,” she said with a smile far sunnier than her heart truly was. “Would you … permit me to sit at your table?”

He gestured grandly to the empty seat with his mug. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Minrah sat demurely. “Well … I don’t see Jolieni here tonight …”

He canted his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed. And we won’t be seeing her here again, more’s the pity.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” said Minrah with a compassionate look. “What … precisely happened?”

Boniam gave her a strange look. “Your friend killed her, didn’t you know?”

Minrah gaped.

“That’s not entirely accurate, I suppose,” he said. “Rather Jolieni used your friend to kill herself. He tried to get her to yield.”

“I–I’m so sorry,” said Minrah.

“It happens,” said Boniam. “As a soldier, you accept that. And with her, the way her heart was burning, it was bound to happen sooner than later. In fact, it may have been the best thing for her, to end it all quickly, rather than get eaten up from within with your own blood poisoning your soul and killing you a day at a time.”

“But-but she was your-”

“She was an acquaintance,” said Boniam. He took another swig. “We were helping her out, but she didn’t let anyone get close to her.”

“Oh. Well. There it is, then.” Minrah struggled for words. “Um … how are you faring?”

“I’ve been better,” he said.

“Really? What news?”

“Took a sword to the bowels,” he said, grinning ruefully. “Thought I was destined for Dolurrh, make no doubt, but the healer got to me in time. So now I am indebted for several hundred sovereigns, and I’ll be working that off.”

“Several hundred …”

“And well worth it, believe you me,” said Boniam. “I can’t tell you what it feels like. The warmth-you can feel the warmth of your own insides on your hands, but at the same time you feel the cold of the world inside you … it’s just … well, I’d rather be working off a debt to a healer than any of the other results I can think of, even if it does take a couple years or more. I’d double my debt if I could get that memory out of my head.”

“So you’re working off your debt by …?”

“By fighting in the ring, of course.” He smiled sheepishly. “I just hope I don’t get eviscerated again, or I could spend the rest of my life in that circle of clay of a debtor’s prison. To better fortune!” He raised his mug in salute. “And how is it by you, fair one?”

“Better than many, and envied by most,” she said. “I’ve won a fair haul with a canny wager, so I’ve more than enough crowns to keep me in wine.”

“Wonderful news!” said Boniam. “Next round’s on you!” He drained his mug and slammed it on the table. “So what’s the word? I haven’t seen you here in several days, thought maybe you’d moved on.”

Minrah leaned forward, her chin resting on her interlaced fingers. She gazed raptly at Boniam, searching his face. “Really? Our absence was a surprise?”

Boniam pushed out his lower lip and shrugged. “I guess maybe not. At least no more so than you showing up here in the first place. Doesn’t really seem like your kind of place. But the Karrn seemed at home.”

Minrah’s gaze flicked from one of his eyes to the other and back. “So are you interested in me, or not?”

“Who wouldn’t be? You’re a very pretty thing, especially for an elf.” His faced flushed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You mean you’re not attracted to me?”

“No, I am. I mean, um, ah, my tastes usually run to bigger, more robust women than your typical elf. Besides, you seemed like you were attached to that Karrn. But I don’t have anything against elves in general. Spent too much time fighting alongside them to have any problems with them, that is.”

Minrah feigned a pout. “And here I thought you were interested in me personally. Consider the other night, you came and sat with us, and you were asking all sorts of questions. Where we were from, what we did …”

“Oh, that? This one gentleman-one of them that owns the arena, I think, at least he’s rich enough to-he was asking after you, that’s all. Wanted to know more about you so he could invite you to dinner or sponsor your man in the ring or something.” Boniam shrugged again. “He asked me to find out for him, because this isn’t his sort of place.”