Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

Feeling drawn forward, Slanya stepped inside. And before she realized it the door was closing behind her, plunging the room into darkness. “I have had brief communication with your Brother Gregor,” came that musical voice again, seeming to harmonize with itself. Slanya wanted to listen to it for hours.

The light filtering in through the high windows did little to allay the darkness in the room. Slanya hesitated while her eyes adjusted. Soon she found herself fascinated by the room itself. The marble floor was inlaid with a mosaic of a dragon, the sinuous likeness crafted from many tiny shards of polished copper. The stone walls held paintings and alcoves for statues, but there was no order to them. Too many valuable pieces crammed cheek by jowl together.

Slanya pursed her lips in distaste. The display conveyed not beauty or elegance, but excess and wealth.

“Mistress Tyrangal,” Slanya said in the direction of the voice. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

Tyrangal stepped into view from the shadows. “Please just call me Tyrangal-no ‘mistress’ necessary.”

Slanya was tall for a human, but Tyrangal stood a head taller. She wore a rust-colored silk robe embroidered with runes that Slanya couldn’t read. Tyrangal looked older than Slanya, but how much older Slanya couldn’t say: the other woman’s face had a timeless quality. The most striking thing about Tyrangal, however, was her hair. Hanging straight down to the backs of her knees, it shimmered a strangely metallic auburn in the dim light.

“Certainly, Tyrangal,” Slanya said, gathering her wits. She had no reason to be intimidated, but the thought did her no good.

“Can I offer you nourishment?” Tyrangal asked.

“Thank you; I have eaten already this morning.”

“Ah, but do you not desire to try new things? Curiosity, Slanya, and new experiences are what keep us alive.”

“Certainly,” Slanya said. “But my matter is of some urgency to Brother Gregor, and I would do well by him to conduct our business first.”

A smirk flickered across Tyrangal’s features-amused and predatory all at once. “Very well,” she said. “We shall start with business. What can I acquire for you?”

“I need a guide into the changelands.”

“You wish to become spellscarred?”

Slanya shook her head. “No. Brother Gregor has perfected an elixir that can protect the exposed from getting sick and dying. One of the ingredients can be found in abundance only inside the borders of the Plaguewrought Land.”

“So this guide would have to travel into the changelands with you and help you find and gather this ingredient?”

Slanya shrugged. “Does such a person even exist?”

“Well,” Tyrangal said with a coy smile, “it turns out that I know someone qualified to do just that.”

“In truth?” Slanya hadn’t believed anyone would be foolish enough to do that, even for the kind of coin Gregor was willing to pay.

“In truth.” Tyrangal’s tone was playful. “Although, in truth, if I were lying-which I have been known to do from time to time-you would not be able to discern it from truth.”

Slanya considered. She would have to trust Tyrangal on this. “You have a good reputation.”

Tyrangal laughed, and it was a melody of the gods to Slanya’s ears. “Yes, dear girl. Trust in society comes from a collection of opinions. I like you.”

Unsure how to take that, Slanya remained quiet.

“There are some things that you should know,” Tyrangal continued. “One, the journey will test you . Two, you have a good chance of dying. And three-”

“Are you trying to scare me into not going?”

“Not at all. Not at all,” Tyrangal said. “These are just things I can tell. I can also see that you’ve never been inside the border of the changelands.”

Slanya nodded. The statement was true enough, although she suspected she’d be tempted to agree with whatever that wonderful voice told her, true or not.

“If there is an order, purpose, or logical organization to the Spellplague’s destructive force, then I know not what it is,” Tyrangal continued. “The changelands are the one place in Faerun where the rules of law are always changing, where nature follows no patterns and the only constant is chaos.”

Tyrangal paused, her smirk gone. Her golden eyes shone yellow in the morning light. “That seems like a dangerous place for someone who holds tight to an ordered world.”

Slanya remembered the funeral fire from yesterday, the allure of the flames oh so close. All the fires from her past came to her mind, and the temptation of losing her control rose up in her in that remembrance. Yes, there was something to Tyrangal’s assertion.

“I understand,” Slanya said. “And thank you. But you need not concern yourself with me.”

Tyrangal smiled. “I’m not ‘concerned,’ but I do like to give my customers the full benefit of my knowledge. You’re paying for these warnings. Perhaps they will help you prepare.”

Slanya nodded. “Thank you. What was number three?”

“Three, you will find the guide is a bit … wild and unruly.”

Slanya gave a confident smile. “That, I think I can handle.”

Tyrangal appraised Slanya carefully. “I think you might, at that,” she said.

“So where might I find this guide?”

“He is currently out on a task I have given him. I expect him to return to me by tonight or tomorrow.”

“That long?” Slanya asked. “With the Festival of Blue Fire in two days, we need vastly more elixir than we can currently make. Otherwise hundreds of pilgrims will get sick and die.”

“Well,” Tyrangal said slyly. “I do happen to know that he’s arrived back in Ormpetarr, but he hasn’t personally paid me a visit just yet. Not his style to come to me right away. He attends to … other needs first.”

Slanya frowned. “I’d like to speak with him as soon as possible. If he’s in Ormpetarr, I shall seek him out.”

“I don’t recommend it; he will return when he is ready. Hurrying him isn’t likely to speed your departure any, and it certainly won’t win you any favors.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Slanya considered her options. She could ignore Tyrangal’s counsel, or she could wait.

“However,” Tyrangal continued, “I can see that you feel you cannot sit idle. So for your own sense of accomplishment I will tell you this: His name is Duvan, and you will likely find him at the Jewel-the festhall and gambling house across from Finara’s Inn on the main thoroughfare.”

“Thank you,” Slanya said, wanting the interview to be over. “I shall seek him out.”

“Be careful, young cleric,” Tyrangal said. “Duvan is a feral beast on his best days, but he is truly the only person who can accomplish what you seek to do. I have considerable influence over him, but he is completely free to make his own choices. I advise against angering him.”

“Your counsel is very much appreciated, Tyrangal. If my need weren’t so pressing …”

“But I see that it is. You may go, and may the gods watch over you.”

Slanya took her leave and headed back down into Ormpetarr, her gaze studiously avoiding the gut-heaving swirl of the border veil. And by the time she’d made the walk back down the hill, through the gate and into heart of Ormpetarr, the sun had fully risen.

Beneath a cloudless sky of palest blue, peppered with motes flowing out from the changelands, the thoroughfare bustled with activity. The cobbles and flagstones from the city had pitted and become uneven, replaced with dirt and mud. Wooden shop fronts and businesses of all kinds lined the thoroughfare while merchants with wagons and carts, tents and tarps crowded the streets. Under the vigilant gaze of Tyrangal’s guards and the Order of Blue Fire Peacekeepers, merchants plied their wares to the crowd.