Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

“Come in,” rang Tyrangal’s mellifluous voice, and Duvan complied, noting that Slanya could no more resist the voice than he could.

Once inside the ornate and cluttered house, Duvan’s eyes still adjusting to the dim light, Tyrangal stood before them, radiant in her red finery. “Were you able to recover the tome?”

Duvan nodded, then slung his pack from his shoulders and pulled out the book. “I had quite the time getting this before the esteemed baron’s last bastion fell into the Under-chasm forever.”

Tyrangal accepted the tome gingerly in her small hands. She muttered something under her breath, casting a spell as she examined the thick hide cover.

Slanya stood perfectly erect next to Duvan. No sign of her earlier rush to get moving on her journey was in evidence now. Duvan understood that; you didn’t hurry or interrupt Tyrangal. He’d learned that over the years.

Despite her luxurious appearance, Tyrangal was one of the most accomplished thieves he’d ever met. She’d rescued him three years earlier from the Wildhome elves-from Rhiazzshar and her ilk. Tyrangal had taken him under her wing, had continued his training in thievery, in combat, in climbing and falling and countless other things.

And in return, he acquired things for her. The sorts of things she sent him after were esoteric and bizarre: a vial of powder negotiated from a nomadic merchant in Murghom; an amulet containing a metallic liquid at its heart, recovered from a treasure casket in prison dungeons underneath Alaghon in Turmish; a cache of wine barrels floated from a sunken galleon in the Sea of Fallen Stars.

Duvan never asked questions about why she wanted these things. He didn’t really care, and Tyrangal would never tell him anyhow. She paid him enough that he didn’t need to ask questions. Besides, he thrilled to the challenge.

He had done the occasional job for other collectors in the past, but like a child to fire, he always returned to Tyrangal. He owed her so much, and he loved the work she gave him. Can’t stay away from the intensity, he thought. It was the only thing that made him feel alive.

Tyrangal looked up from her examination of the tome. “You have done well,” she said.

Duvan smiled. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he wanted to please Tyrangal. He had wondered on occasion what it would be like to kiss her, but he had never dared to try.

“I will need the ring back as well; it won’t work where you’re headed next.”

“Of course,” Duvan said, and handed the teleportation ring to her. Enchanted jewelry and other magical items often misfired or just didn’t work in the Plaguewrought Land. The ring would be just as likely to explode or turn into a swarm of moths as it was to work properly.

“I received word that things did not go exactly as planned.”

Duvan scowled. “There are spies among the Copper Guard,” he told her.

“The Order is getting bolder with their infiltration.”

Duvan nodded. “I should never have let Beaugrat hire the team. I should have screened them myself.”

“Yes; then you would have had but one mutineer.” Tyrangal’s gaze was intense, but not disapproving. “Tell me, did Beaugrat or any of the others get a look at the tome?”

Duvan shook his head. “No. The other two are dead anyway, and I chased Beaugrat off when he tried to take the book.”

“Did he know what he was trying to take?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Excellent. Tell me the whole story.”

Duvan sent a questioning glance in Slanya’s direction. “In front of her?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Tyrangal said, her hands reached out and brushed the air in front of Slanya’s chest. The cleric went into a trance, staring straight ahead where she stood. “She cannot hear us now.”

So Duvan told her the whole tale. He relayed how they found the citadel barely hanging from a ledge down in the Underchasm, and how they’d descended to search it. He described the battle with the manticore, and the secret compartment he narrated the sorcerer’s demise and the tower’s plunge into the darkness, until finally, he told of the mutiny and Seerah’s death, Beaugrat’s spellplague attack and cowardly escape.

“Beaugrat’s spellscar created blue fire?” Tyrangal asked. “Are you certain?”

Duvan nodded. “I’m quite familiar with it.”

Tyrangal gave a laugh, although Duvan wasn’t trying to be funny. “I suppose you are,” she said, and then added, “And he realized that his attack had no effect on you?”

“Yes, I’m certain of it.”

Tyrangal frowned. “That is unfortunate. I fear you will be sought by those who would use you for your talents.”

Duvan looked away. It was convenient for Tyrangal to tell others he was clever or lucky, but she and Duvan knew the truth: he was resistant to the spellplague, and his resistance extended to anything and anyone near him. A blessing and a curse, as spellscars were, though in his case the curse came more often by the hands of those who had stopped seeing him as a person and only saw him as a spellscar to harness.

Duvan shuddered. His years at Wildhome threatened to come flooding back over him. He tried to focus on the here and now, on Tyrangal and this new mission. He needed sleep; dreamless rest would help him focus.

“Duvan,” Tyrangal demanded his attention. “Be exceedingly careful. Avoid the Order and get out of town. Take Slanya.” Tyrangal touched Slanya’s chest again. “Duvan here has uncanny luck avoiding the threats of the changelands. He is the only person I know who has survived near-exposure to spellplague without getting spellscarred.”

Slanya came out of her reverie and nodded her nearly-bald head. “He seems like the ideal guide for my journey. Well, except for the trying-to-kill-me part.”

“Oh?” Tyrangal said. She looked enquiringly at Duvan.

Duvan smirked. “Yeah,” he said. “That was a misunderstanding.”

“I presume,” Tyrangal said, “that it won’t happen again.”

His smile grew. “As long as she gives me no cause,” he said. “Besides, she can take care of herself.”

“Excellent,” Tyrangal said. “Sister Slanya has my full approval. And her quest is an important one, even though it is probably more dangerous than any I have sent you on previously. It is your decision whether to go or not; I will not exert my influence on you in that regard. However, it would be a convenient way to stay out of potential mischief for the time being.”

“Yes, Tyrangal, I will-”

“However, I request that if you agree to take it, you promise to see it through to the end.”

Duvan nodded. “I promise,” he said. “If I accept the job, I will see it through.”

Slanya looked at him. “Will you do it, then?”

“What’s the arrangement?” he asked Tyrangal.

“You will get triple your normal pay,” Tyrangal said. “One third up front and the balance when you and Slanya return with the plaguegrass load.”

You and Slanya-he looked over at the priestess. Solemn, but under that stern face she was worried. At least she was smart enough to know it wouldn’t be easy.

“So,” Duvan said. “When do we leave?”

Walking next to Duvan with the high Vilhon sun beating down on them, Slanya found herself sweating in the heat. For some reason that wasn’t yet completely clear to Slanya, Duvan wanted to avoid discovery by the Order of Blue Fire. So they had decided to skirt around the city on their way to the monastery, where they would pick up their supplies and head out to the Plaguewrought Land.

Gnarled trees and tall brown grass surrounded the disused trail on either side. Through the foliage Slanya could see glimpses of some ruins off to their left-perhaps an ancient military tower, its once-strong structure no more than discarded rubble now.