Chapter 4 - Part 4

“Sure, sure boss!” squeaked the kobold in passable orc. “We’s gotta find a painting with a wheat field and a red sky and four moons, sure!” The kobold was the head of his small band of scavengers. Scrawny and cowardly, kobolds often ended up as slaves of other creatures, especially in Droaam, but these were relatively independent.

“Ten times as much as this if you find me a good lead by tomorrow night,” Delegado said, tossing him a purse full of silver coins. The kobolds immediately started barking and squealing in their language with excitement until their leader hissed at them. “Come to the Tharashk enclave after sunset tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got’s it!” the kobold said. It snapped at the others and they all scampered off.

Delegado sighed. It took all of its patience to deal with the little nitwits. Nor was he dumb enough to let his guard down while doing so. Kobolds might be puny, but an oddly high number of them were born with some innate magical power.

The half-orc bounty hunter walked away from the side street, letting himself be seen briefly by the gnolls that had been following him from afar. So far Delegado had paid what was chump change for him, but a fortune to the impoverished and oppressed groups in Droaam, to six different groups. Renegade gnolls, human street urchins, goblins, a hulking bull-headed thing, a greedy ogre, and now kobolds. With each group he had given them a small sum, promising them more if they found some odd object for him. He’d made up each thing on the spot, and told them all to report back to him at some time the next day when he would already be out of the country.

In addition to his thick trail of red herrings, Delegado had taken to giving significant glances to random strangers, stopping and tapping on discolored bricks, and talking to a tin whistle that he had on him. Normally the half-orc was not interested in the petty little games that espionage agents played. Delegado was a creature who enjoyed the wild, the blunt reality of nature, the way and shape of the real world. He had no patience for bluffs, double-speak, or what he termed ‘forked-tongue goat droppings.’

However while Delegado was unsubtle, he was not stupid. He knew that desperate and poor people in a place with an oppressive government made a living as informers, and that Droaam was a place where those charged with spying on strangers were not very sophisticated about it. Therefore he was laying a thick and confusing trail. By the time Shaidan’s secret police and coterie of stool pigeons, spies, and informers untangled the entire thing, Delegado would be long gone. The bounty hunter grinned to himself. Petran would never think Delegado capable of such cleverness.

Deciding that laying false trails was thirsty work, Delegado got back to the business of showing himself publicly. He turned right down the town’s main street, and came to The Hamstringing, a place that had the dubious distinction of being Vralkek’s best tavern.

The Hamstringing was a three-story building, the highest in Vralkek that was not either a government building or the property of a Dragonmarked House. The prostitutes who worked the upper two floors were of varying races, including several orcs and gnolls. The ladies were disease-free, and the food and drink were unspoiled, if not gourmet. Rumors abounded that the owner and bartender, an ogress with a pegleg and a wicked temper, was paying House Ghallanda for its services.

The windows of The Hamstringing were shut, but the glass was mostly clean, antiseptic by Droaam standards, and a well-lit common room was shown within. Delegado could hear music playing, glasses clinking, and other sounds of general carousing. This far south the winter air was only mildly cold, but the fireplace within was roaring.

Three ogres with swords as long as Delegado was tall hunkered by the door. To each person coming in they charged three pieces of copper as an entry fee, and warned them against theft, violence, abusing the girls, or not obeying instructions from ‘Mama One-Leg.’ Delegado approached them slowly, making sure they saw his sword and bow.

“Three coppers,” grunted the ogre to Delegado’s right as he came close. The thing stank of sweat and feces, but less so than other ogres Delegado had dealt with. Its eyes moved up and down him, taking in his weaponry and his chain shirt. “That mithril?” it asked.

“Yes,” Delegado said, tossing the ogre a silver and not bothering to ask for change. “I heard you tell the rules to the others, I’m not looking for trouble. Just a drink.”

“Da Boss of Vralkek got mithril armor, too,” the ogre said. It turned away from him and muttered something to its two companions. One laughed and the other spat a greasy wad of something into the street.

Delegado walked past them, his mind working furiously. Even in civilized lands mithril was expensive. For Shaidan Infernix to acquire it meant that the demon-bred orc had grown wealthy indeed.

The heat of the tavern’s interior hit him in a rush. Scented candles, thick enough to be almost cloying, mixed with the smell of fresh sawdust to cover up the stink of many bodies, the dried blood of past duels, and the vomit and other muck coming from the door to the connected outhouse. Light came from candles attached to the wall, tapers and lamps hanging from the ceiling, and the strong fire in the fireplace. The music was loud, and almost good, provided by a pair of human men, one playing a large thing of pipes and the other a fiddle. Both men had chains attached to their ankles, keeping them on the small stage that they inhabited.

The tavern was almost, but not quite, full. A large portion of the patrons were gnolls. Gnolls were the de facto police force for every powerful individual on Droaam, and thus had the most coin to burn. A fair number of the hyena-like warriors were from the group that had traveled south with Delegado, and as they had the most coin of all the gnomes they were quite inebriated. A few noticed him and gave a hearty cheer. An even louder cheer came from the orcs in the tavern. Whatever side of the border (such as it was) between Droaam and the Shadow Marches they hailed from, whether they were druidic followers, Dragon Below cultists, or uncaring of religion, all orcs took pride in House Tharashk. A group of shifters played darts. Delegado didn’t see any kobolds, but a number of goblins were there, grouping together and fighting over food. The goblins were the only ones who sat in the part of the tavern near the connected outhouse.

There were some armored humans in the crowd, staying together in one knot. Delegado was sure he saw a Deneith Dragonmark beneath a raised hood, and hoped it wasn’t anyone he knew. Traveler’s Luck would make it Brogan running that crew. A few ogres were scattered about, one losing badly at a game of dice to some sniggering gnolls. Something like a midget troll hung near one corner, watching everyone.

Delegado headed for a table near the fireplace, passing by an armored humanoid with tightly braided black hair and coppery skin that stood at almost eight feet high, its back to a wall. The half-orc nodded to the large humanoid carefully, but it ignored him. Delegado could not tell if it was male or female, but didn’t really care, so long as it left him alone. Vralkek had no shortage of creatures without any other place to fit in.

The table he sought had two gnolls at it that were arm-wrestling. He tossed a pair of gold coins on the table. “If I beat you both you keep these and give me the table,” he told them. “Either of you out-does me I give you five more and walk away.”

The gnolls gaped at him, and then let each other go, barking laughter. The one on the right, beckoned to be first, and other stood and chortled. Nearby, a pair of gnolls who had traveled south with Delegado hooted with laughter and started to place bets on the half-orc.

Five minutes later Delegado had the table to himself, and he sat with his back to the wall nursing an ale. Both gnolls had left the tavern to avoid being mocked anymore, one with a sprained wrist. Delegado waited until the music took a break, and then roared that he would buy drinks while everyone heard of his exploits on the way south.

If Fegl’s gnolls noticed that the half-orc who had been so taciturn in the time they had been with him was now loud and full of boasting, they made no mention of it. The other tavern-goers gaped as they heard the name Delegado of Tharashk again and again, fighting giant bees, snakes with arms that could cast magic, bandits, rabid animals, and other threats. The gnolls who had been with Fegl exaggerated more than Delegado did, soaking up the reflected glory. To those that toasted him the loudest he bought drinks, even shots of the potent brew known as mulchmead sinister. An hour passed, and Delegado quit drinking, putting his cups to his lips but swallowing no more. The half-orc quit talking after a while, declaring a need to let some ale out.

When Delegado returned from the connected outhouse a few minutes later – the crowd of goblins parting respectfully on both the way there and back, he noticed three things. One, no one had dared sit at his table. Two, a pair of orcs in black leather armor were sitting at the bar, eyeing everyone and everything, and no one was sitting near them. Three, an elderly gnoll woman with a cane was casting bones before an ogre, and everyone around her was respectfully silent. Delegado returned to his table, noting that the orcs in black leather kept their eyes locked on him. They had Shaidan’s personal insignia painted on the collars of their armor. Delegado gave them a grin and then ignored them.

“Who’s the old woman?” the bounty hunter asked to a gnoll at the next table as he sat down. That gnoll had no insignia, presumably belonging to a mercenary band.

“She be Hufwa, keeps an eye on the moons,” that gnoll said, real quiet. “She tell fortunes, got ears of great spirits.”

Delegado nodded, and drummed his fingers on the table in time to the music. Now that Hufwa was here, the musicians played a bit more softly. The ogress behind the bar glared at the gnoll soothsayer, but said nothing.

Hm, if the ratio of ogres to gnolls was different here, I’d say that old Mama Pegleg would toss this Hufwa out on her cane, Delegado mused. The bounty hunter wondered about the gnoll woman. He hadn’t heard of her from Petran or Fegl, so she was likely new to the area.

Suddenly done casting bones before the ogre, Hufwa waved him away. Delegado was surprised to see the large, smelly creature leave the tavern with real fear in his eyes. The old gnoll walked towards the fireplace, coming within a few feet of Delegado. She stretched out hands covered in fur that was almost all white in order to soak up the heat.

Delegado watched her, knowing that something was wrong, but was unable to figure out what. He saw teeth missing from her muzzle, scars on her legs – perhaps explaining the cane, and a necklace of animal bones around her neck. Her clothing was ragged, but clean, and her ears had not a wound or a scar on them.

Delegado frowned. Gnolls’ ears were long, and suffered in the infighting and dueling that marked a gnoll’s childhood and adolescence.

He noticed a smile on the old gnoll woman’s lips, and then he saw that her violet eyes were tilted his way, even as she feigned staring at the fire. Her eyes had been brown-and-yellow a minute before.

Son of a –

“I wish to speak to the one who bears the Finding Mark,” Hufwa said in orc. A couple of gnolls who understood the orc language nodded and stepped back, gesturing to the fellow at the table next to Delegado. Within seconds that table was moved, and Hufwa sat down across from the half-orc, clearly enjoying the new privacy zone.

“You’re not a gnoll,” Delegado hissed at her, his voice pitched very low so that only she could hear it. “You want to tell me what this is about?”

She giggled a young woman’s giggle as her eyes changed back to brown-and-yellow. “No, I’m not,” she admitted in an entirely different voice, also pitched low.

Her new voice hit Delegado with a wave of memories. Running his callused woodsman’s fingers through thin, fair hair. Kissing pale gray lips. Losing himself in blank white eyes that stared deeply into his. Making love only when she was in her real form. Laughing together in western Aundair as they assisted a young shifter playing a prank on a haughty Aundarian noble.

And losing her, watching with anger and bitterness as she turned away from him, stepping into that damnable building in southern Thrane.

“What at you doing here, Ois?” he asked her. He tried to keep the tartness out of his voice and failed utterly.

She looked at him with pity, an expression that never fit on a gnoll’s face. “Are you still angry?”

“Just answer my question and quit pretending this is a happy reunion,” he told her with a grimace. He saw a gnoll nearby give him a funny look, and he forced his face to smooth out.

“I’m here on a mission for my faith,” she said. “I was surprised to find you here.”

“What does your f’test little fire want in the world’s chamberpot?” he growled. It was difficult to control himself.

“I understand that you won’t follow it,” she said to him with sorrow. “I only wish that you wouldn’t speak of it that way.”

He looked away, composing himself. He was in this tavern for a reason, and that was to appear confident, happy, and unafraid. “We were happy, Ois. We were happy. And then you had to join that cult.”

“You could have stayed by my side.”

“I am of House Tharashk. I don’t get involved in that garbage.”

“What does House have to do with religion?” she asked him gently.

“Your faith is a country, a crusade, not a way to meditate,” he snorted. “Besides which, every religion in the world is nothing more than a scam, I don’t know why –”

“Even your Gatekeepers?”

“They aren’t my anything. They are currently unofficial allies of one family of my House. That’s all. And I’ve seen what they are keeping under seal. The Gatekeepers are performing a useful function, at least.”

“And you saw no use or value in what was important to me,” she said. “You could not accept that it was what I wanted. That’s why we broke up.”

“We didn’t break up. You left me.” The words were ashes in his mouth. Eight years had passed and the ashes still had the heat to sear.

“Your face is going to give us away,” she told him. “We can continue this conversation in a few minutes. Upstairs.”

“Why should I?” he said. It was almost a growl, but he forced himself to stay calm.

“Because I am here to deal with Shaidan Infernix. Permanently.” Her voice was steady and unafraid.

He looked at her with plain astonishment. “Just how much paladin training have you had, anyway?”

“Not enough to take him on myself,” she whispered. “Have another drink then come upstairs to visit an orc prostitute named Luida in five minutes.” She then stood and waved her arms. “Yes, yes!” she called theatrically. “Glory and wealth await you, and you will know triumph and excellence if you will only persevere! Go and enjoy the pleasures of the night, for tomorrow you begin your trials!” With that the ‘gnoll’ whirled and stalked out of the tavern.

Several gnolls and orcs cheered Delegado, but the two orc flunkies of Shaidan looked very angry and downcast. Delegado drank more and told some bawdy jokes, then eventually excused himself to go upstairs. “I have heard tales of the thighs of Luida!” he bellowed. “Let us see if the lass can avoid exhausting herself!” A general cheer rose up from the assemblage.