Chapter 4 - Part 2

The gates stood open, and the gnolls atop it hooted words of greeting to their brethren escorting the wagon. Delegado hunched forward, trying to keep an eye on the milling groups of people. Feather shifted in position, but stayed on his shoulder.

Vralkek was slightly more developed than the last time Delegado had been here some four years back. He saw gangs of kobolds, goblins, and occasionally a member of some other race in neck chains, sent to cleaning the streets of refuse. An ogre with a huge whip and an eyepatch forced them to shovel and scoop and move. Elsewhere rain gutters were going up, and two of the streets seemed to have been named.

Aside from the minor civic improvements, the biggest change that Delegado saw was the vastness of the crowds. Vralkek had been about three thousand souls the last time Delegado had been by. Now he would guess half again as much. Humans in armor stood on boxes, calling to the crowds. They were mercenary recruiters, promising gold and hot food for joining their band. Delegado was surprised that this was tolerated, but he supposed that bribes were being offered to Tzaryan and Shaidan to not look to closely at the identities of the recruiters. The men went through the motions of being merely bandits, but half were easily House Deneith, two were likely Karrnathi, and he picked out a Cyran and an Aundairian without even trying hard.

“And the war goes on,” he muttered to his hawk. Feather said nothing.

Presently he arrived at the enclave gates. A double row of creatures stood before it. The motley mixture held clubs, knives, the occasional spear, and one axe. Delegado saw a few shifters, some goblins, some humans, and even an ogre with buck teeth. They all wore a sash with the Tharashk dragonne on it.

“Halt your group!” snarled a shifter woman with a spear. Her clothes were cleaner than the rest, and her teeth were long and pointed. The response of the gnoll riders was to lower lances.

“Relax!” Delegado yelled at them in the gnoll language. Similar calls to stand down came from Tharashk soldiers atop the enclave walls. A passing group of ogres and gnolls, their clothing affixed with the insignia of Tzaryan’s watch forces, grumbled at the unrest. They stopped to see what would happen, spacing themselves out, ready for battle. The Tzaryan gnolls and Delegado’s gnolls began barking questions at one another. Loud slams were heard as windows were quickly shut in the buildings adjacent to the area.

The Tharashk gates were opened hurriedly, and a half-orc in fine clothes and a drawn rapier came out, shouting that there was to be no trouble and everyone was to stand down. Delegado recognized him by description as one Master Petran, Khundran’s subcommander in Vralkek.

Petran got everyone to relax, and the watch forces went on their way. The motley crew parted, and Petran sheathed his rapier, sighing with relief. Straightening the lace at the throat and wrists of his velvet dining jacket, he walked forward to Delegado.

“Welcome, fair cousin!” Petran said with a flourish. “Bring our people in for wine and comfort! I am having the gnoll’s final payment brought forth.”

Delegado raised one eyebrow at the dandy, but nodded. He led the wagon through the gates as another group of orcs and humans passed him, guarding a heavy chest of coin for Fegl to count.

Once the wagon was inside Delegado gave instructions to the stablemen about the horses and oversaw the change in guard over Marcuiss. By the time the three orcs who had come with him were dismissed to a well-earned repast, and the newer orcs had repeated his instructions back to him twice, Petran had rejoined him.

“Well done, cousin, well done!” Petran said as he watched the bound hobgoblin wizard get dragged off. “As usual you have brought honor and profit to our House!”

“Yeah, great,” Delegado said. Four years ago a crusty old swamp sailor named Weglan had been running Tharashk operations here. Delegado had liked him, but Weglan had been reassigned because humans were greatly disliked in Droaam. Delegado was not taking to Petran.

“Well, I am having a bath drawn for you, and some comfort women will bring you scented oils – do you prefer orc or human bedmates? Myself, I like both!” Petran started to throw an arm around Delegado’s shoulders, but stopped when he saw how filthy weeks of travel had made it.

“Scented oils?” Delegado asked, not bothering to hide his disbelief.

“Yes, from Sharn!” Petran explained. “All the latest rage, or it least it was when I was there. I try to keep up, believe me our good relationship with the Lyrandar sailors has kept me from going insane.” Petran suddenly paused. “Oh forgive me, you must be famished! Please, follow me.” Delegado did so, and they walked towards the central building.

“You aren’t from the Marches at all, are you?” Delegado asked.

“No, no, never been. Born and raised in Breland. So tell me, would you like Aundairian wine or Karrnath ale? I have several brands of both. What have you been eating, anyway?”

“Game that I hunted myself,” Delegado said. “What’s with the riffraff in our livery?”

“Oh, that type has been hanging around the city a lot. People flee their troubles from all over the world and they come to the one port in Droaam. I don’t know what they are seeking, but their fates are all the same. Either they become someone’s slave or they look to be someone’s lapdog. I got sick of wasting time repelling intrusions and putting down disturbances, so I hired some of them. They fight the others for a pittance, and it is one less headache.” They had now come to the main door, one of iron-banded oak, and Petran produced a key. “Er, your bird isn’t coming in. You know that, right? We have a rookery.”

“His name is Feather and he stays with me,” Delegado said bluntly.

“Hm,” Petran said. He caught Delegado’s look and wisely chose not to push it. “Well, if anyone can make an exception here it’s me I guess. Come on in!”

Delegado followed Petran into the first floor of the building. The entire floor was one room, with four thick pillars bearing the weight of the upper levels. A few benches and chairs were positioned in the center of the room, although none were currently in use. Two stairwells placed on either side of the room gave access to the upper levels and the basement. Arrow slits, now covered with steel shutters, ran along three of the walls. Two human archers, both of Tharashk blood, stood at attention and saluted as Petran came in. The half-orc dandy gestured them to relax, and he led Delegado towards the rightmost stairwell.

Four years ago the stairwell had been as starkly functional as the ground floor. Now wall hangings from Breland and Cyre decorated the climb. Delegado’s eyes widened at an artistic representation of a naked orc male holding a longbow, ready to fire arrows at a dragon that lived in the moon.

“You like that one?” Petran said, holding open the door to the fourth floor. “It was done by the famous Cyran –”

“No,” Delegado said, cutting him off.

If Petran was offended, he gave no sign. He shrugged and gestured ahead. Delegado walked onto the fourth floor of the building and stopped in shock.

The fourth floor of the main building in had always been where the Vralkek enclave commander worked and lived, and as such it had always reflected the personality of that person more than any other area of the enclave. When Delegado had first come here as a child with his uncle the place had been covered with exotic plants and stuffed animal heads. The man in charge of things then had been a renowned hunter. When Weglan ran the place there was one anchor bolted to the wall, and the rest of the place was file cabinets and an overflowing desk. Now, it was something else.

The place was carpeted; a thick, heavy thing made from rich wool that had been dyed a deep purple. The walls had been repainted and given a gold trim that ran about waist-high. The interior doors had been carved with the Tharashk dragonne symbol and given ivory doorknobs. A small chandelier had been put in the reception room, a brass thing with thick beeswax candles, and Delegado could see a larger one of gold make through the open door beyond. A tall shelf made out of quartz held gold and silver knickknacks, and a long bench of polished red stone held a series of crystal decanters holding wines and brandies of various types, waiting to be sampled.

“What do you think?” Petran asked with a triumphant grin. He seemed to be very fond of that facial expression. “That one in the center is my favorite. It’s from one of the oldest vineyards in Fairhaven. You don’t want to know what it costs to get here!”

Delegado looked at Petran, and then at the open decanter of wine. Without saying a word, the bounty hunter walked over to the bench and opened the drawstring of his breeches. Reaching into his underwear he held himself steady and urinated loudly into the open decanter.

“What the Khyber are you doing?” shrieked Petran, losing his composure at last. The enclave commander lunged at Delegado, but Feather launched himself from the bounty hunter’s shoulder and flew around Petran’s head, driving the man back with threatening slashes of claw and beak.

“Relieving myself, what’s it look like?” Delegado asked him. “You too fancy in Sharn to take a sh’pash?” He turned his head and grinned as he shook off. “I case you don’t speak orc, that means –”

“I know what it means!” Petran said, whipping out his rapier. “Call your bird off!”

Delegado snapped his fingers before closing his pants up, and Feather returned to his shoulder. The bounty hunter turned to the angry Petran. “Well, I’m ready for lunch, what do you have?”

Petran stared angrily, and then forced his face back into a pleasant smile while he sheathed his weapon. “Hm, yes,” he said. His practiced grin was back in place. “You are an unusual one, I was told that, yes.” He walked to the door that led to the room with the gold chandelier. “It’s this way.”