I. The Shadow Ledger
Diedrik picked up the book, his bushy dwarven eyebrows arching with intrigue, and Ender filled him in on the identities of the lieutenants and their superiors. The pages smelled of mildew and something darker-perhaps the residual stench of whatever shadowy dealings had been recorded within. We were only unsure of the last entry. Was it the second in command of the shadowman?
I stared at that final question mark, wondering what fresh horror awaited us at the end of that particular thread. Somehow, an unknown villain felt almost worse than a named one.
II. Wanted: Dead or Alive (Preferably Dead)
Rolled up in a sack were some wanted posters. Two minotaurs last seen just north of Veluna and some demons near Molag. The parchment was rough against my fingers, the ink still sharp and accusatory. The gold rewards were enticing-enough to make a cleric consider a life of crime, or at least a very aggressive form of pest control.
We continued on the road to Veluna, the dust kicking up beneath our boots in rhythmic clouds. I couldn’t help but think that now all four of us would be wanted by Lord Nerof Gasgal and his network of bounty hunters and henchmen. It was becoming something of a tradition, really. First Molag, now Veluna. At this rate, we’d need our own wanted posters just to keep track of who was hunting whom.
III. The Lower City and the Propriety Patrol
Veluna’s lower city was full of hustle and bustle. There were inns and shops aplenty and a thriving marketplace, and yet unlike the chaos of Molag, the energy here had an order about it. Guards in pointed hats stood around chatting together, seemingly without a care in the world. The air smelled of baking bread, exotic spices, and the faint, reassuring scent of civilization-a welcome change from the road.
A small human man approached wearing religious robes but no hat. He had the eager, slightly desperate look of someone who had been waiting for exactly this moment all morning.
“Greetings, I am Lianth. How may I help you?”
“Umm, we’re looking for an inn,” replied Ender, ever the diplomat.
“Follow me,” replied Lianth, and so we did.
As we walked through the lower city, we noticed that many individuals and groups of people were being shepherded around by Lianth-like escorts. It was as if the entire population had been divided into those who needed guidance and those who provided it, with very little room in between.
Soon enough, we arrived at the Lower Lunar Inn. Its sign was an homage to the moon goddess, Selûne, painted in soft blues and silvers that caught the afternoon light. I found myself hoping the goddess’s luck would rub off on us-we certainly needed it.
IV. Bran, Bounties, and Bedtime
We talked to the innkeeper, Bran, about Lianth. We were still uncertain as to his motives. The barman had the weathered hands of a man who had heard too many secrets and the careful eyes of one who pretended he hadn’t.
“Lianth’s an acolyte,” Bran explained, wiping a mug with a cloth that had seen better decades. “He has to work in the lower city until he’s given the position of acolyte adept. Then he’ll be able to work in the upper town.”
Crow asked what the purpose of the acolytes was. Bran replied that their role was to maintain propriety. If people blasphemed, they would come down hard on them.
I exchanged a glance with Ender. Given our track record, it was only a matter of time before one of us accidentally insulted someone’s deity. We’d have to watch our tongues-and our step.
We asked Bran if he knew about the minotaurs. He told us they were disrupting the supply chain to the north. We went to bed, the promise of violence and gold coins dancing in our heads like sugarplums at a very disturbing midwinter festival.
V. Acolytes, Promotions, and Severed Heads
In the morning, Lianth was waiting for us with the barely contained excitement of a puppy who had just learned a new trick. We asked him how we could get to the upper level. Lianth had an idea-he always had an idea, and I was beginning to suspect that was part of the problem.
We followed the acolyte through the lower level until we came to a shop selling silks and fine textiles. The fabrics shimmered in the morning light, rich purples and golds that spoke of wealth we could only dream of. Lianth introduced us to Bora, another acolyte. Bora had the smooth, well-fed look of a man who had already secured his promotion and saw no reason to rush anyone else’s.
“We plan to defeat the minotaurs,” we told him.
Bora’s eyes gleamed with the cold calculation of a bureaucrat who had just found a solution to his paperwork problem. “I am able to issue season passes to the upper level in exceptional circumstances,” he said, steepling his fingers. “Bring me back the minotaur’s heads and you shall receive upper-level access.”
“And you, acolyte Lianth, as the organizer of this adventure, may be in line for a promotion,” added Bora teasingly.
Lianth practically vibrated with hope. I felt a twinge of sympathy-there was something painfully familiar about watching someone else pin their dreams on our questionable competence.
It was still early, and so we decided to head north on the path from Veluna to Miric immediately in search of minotaur meat. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Birds called from the treetops, oblivious to the fact that we were marching toward a slaughter.
VI. The Charge of the Bull Men
Diedrik, who had had some experience with minotaurs, warned us to keep to the side or behind the beasts as they tended to lock onto a victim in front of them and charge. His voice was steady, but I noticed his hand drift to his axe with the casual readiness of someone who had done this before and hadn’t enjoyed it.
Crow scouted ahead of us and soon returned. There were two bloody trails leading from an abandoned cart up ahead. The smell of copper and bile hit us before we even saw the wreckage-someone, or something, had died messily here.
I cast invisibility on Crow, the familiar tingle of magic washing over my fingers like static. He returned to the bloody scene as we slowly followed the cart’s tracks behind him, our footsteps muffled by the mud.
Suddenly, we turned in the direction of a sound as if someone or something had hit the ground. The mud around the cart tracks splattered, and a depression formed in the middle of them, followed by a low groan.
“Crow,” hissed Ender as we all turned towards the trees on the edge of the path.
The branches and leaves parted with a sound like tearing fabric, and standing before us were two huge minotaurs. They were massive things, all corded muscle and matted fur, their horns gleaming wetly in the dim light. The ground seemed to shake beneath their hooves, and the air filled with the stench of wet animal and old blood.
Crow, visible again, was busy installing four arrows in a cordon in the ground-a trap, if the beasts were foolish enough to charge straight ahead.
Ender cast Shield of Faith on himself, his holy symbol flaring with golden light, as Diedrik loosed a lightning bolt at the bull men. The air crackled, momentarily stunning them, and the smell of ozone mixed with the earthy stench of the forest.
The arrows from Crow’s battery were accompanied by hand-drawn poison arrows from Crow’s longbow, but the minotaurs carried on towards us, shrugging off steel and venom alike with terrifying indifference.
The minotaur with the longer horns, Etzug, gored Ender. The big paladin went down with a crash that shook the leaves from the nearby branches, his armor scraping against the rocks. My heart lurched-Ender had fallen before, and I had no desire to make a habit of watching him bleed.
Crow unsheathed the Scimitar of Wounding for the first time… and missed. The blade whistled through empty air, and for a moment, Crow looked almost offended by the weapon’s impertinence. He reverted to a weapon he understood as if it was part of himself and hit one of the minotaurs between the eyes with a dreadful strike. Etzug fell under the psychic blast, and we turned our attention to the remaining beast, Erag.
It too went down under the combination of the wizard’s scorching ray and Ender’s war pick. The smell of burnt hair and cooked meat filled the clearing, and I swallowed hard against the urge to lose my breakfast.
VII. Trophies and Triumphs
Crow sliced off both minotaur heads, using the maneuver as a chance to become familiar with the scimitar. The wet sound of steel through sinew was one I knew I would hear in my dreams for weeks. He drained the blood from the heads-a thick, dark liquid that pooled in the mud like spilled wine-and slung them into the bag of holding along with various religious artifacts and coins found on the cart.
I tried not to think about what else might be in that bag. Some things are better left as mysteries.
We returned to Veluna and a very excited Lianth. After we showed him the religious artifacts, he got even more excited and told us we should show them to Bora. The acolyte’s enthusiasm was almost infectious, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being used as stepping stones in someone else’s career ladder.
VIII. Bureaucracy, Blood, and the Upper Level
In the morning, we visited Bora, who was disgusted when Crow rolled the severed heads across his shop floor. The silk merchant’s face twisted into a mask of aristocratic horror, and for a moment, I thought he might faint. But, nevertheless, he was pleased with the result.
Lianth looked somewhat disappointed when Bora said that he “may” become an acolyte adept soon. The word hung in the air like a half-kept promise, and I recognized the expression on Lianth’s face-it was the same look I got whenever someone told me my literature might be published “eventually.”
Bora tried to take all the coins, but Diedrik fixed him with a dwarven stare-that particular, granite-hard look that had intimidated tavern brawlers and tax collectors across three kingdoms. Bora timidly pushed three gold coins across the table, and Crow snatched them up and pocketed them with the speed of a man who had learned never to leave money on the table. These would serve as our pass to the upper level.
Without delay, we headed for the upper level, showing the coins to the guards at the foot of the stairs. The upper level was like walking into a different world. Bougainvillea and wisteria cascaded down the backs of the walls of private residences, their perfume thick and sweet in the warm air. There were lots of trees and fountains, and very few residents. Those residents we did see were dressed in finery that probably cost more than my entire education. The guards nodded politely as we passed, even though we must have looked rough-covered in travel dust, monster blood, and the general grime of honest adventuring. Getting access to the upper level meant no questions were asked.
We entered the armory and noticed the standard weapons you’d see in any armory-swords, axes, and the occasional polearm that looked like it had never seen battle. We showed the armorer a coin. He nodded with the bored expression of a man who had seen stranger things than four bloodstained mercenaries with a bag of severed heads, and bade us follow him.
Ender excitedly pushed to the front of our group, eager to get his hands on more hardware. I smiled despite myself. No matter how many monsters we fought or nobles we offended, some things never changed-and Ender’s love of shiny new weapons was chief among them.