Fahldrash found me at the edge of the former temple buying a drink from a water peddler. "Quite a mess you have here, Sellas," he said as he came up beside me. "Your people make it, or are you looking for the cause?" I finished off my water before answering, handed the ladle back to the peddler. "Better not let Zyranna hear you say things like that," I said. "Wouldn't be healthy." The Rahastran laughed. "No, probably not." I shook his dark hand, met his blue eyes with my green. "I need a reading," I said. "I figured as much." He drew a deck of triangular cards from beneath his blue fustian cloak and began absently shuffling them. "Standard rate?" I nodded. "All right," he said, "Then I need to get in there." 'There' was the burned out remains of the Temple of the Ten Thousand, up until last night the main center for the Paradoxist Cult in Cymril. More of a bordello and tavern than a temple, the place had embraced the chaotic and care-free tenets of irs Zandir founders in the hedonistic style. Now, it held only charred bones and the threat of riot. I escorted Fahldrash past the sentry line meant to keep the gawkers at bay and into the still smoldering ruins. He stopped near the center, pushed a few pieces of debris around with his foot, turned over the top card of his deck, wandered, repeated the process, wandered some more, and finally found a suitable spot. I picked my way over to him as he cleared away some rubble and spread a small rectangle of cloth on the ground. "What do you have so far?" he asked. "Not much. The local sentry captain got here just after things started, managed to keep things under control until the Lyceum sent a couple aquamancers over to put out the blaze. They had one hell of a time, too, from what I understand." "How so?" "This place was made of stone and crystal, not wood." I picked up a bit of debris, nubbed it between my fingers until it crumbled to ash. "Know anything that will make crystal do that?" Fahldrash gave a low whistle. "If I did, I wouldn't be working freelance for you, that's for sure. Now I know why the Key's involved." "As of this morning," I said. There was some concern about possible Zandir retaliation for the burning, but the bigger worry was the upcoming Magic Fair. With Cymril's signature event less than two weeks away, the powers-that-be wanted the situation wrapped up and tucked away before nasty rumors began to circulate. Bad for business and all that. Lucky me, I had been handed the whole mess before breakfast. Fahidrash crouched down beside the cloth he had spread, tilted his neck until it cracked, squared his cards. "So what exactly did you want to know?" "What else?" Fahldrash shook his head. "I'm a cardomancer, Sellas, not a visionary. I can't simply lay the cards and give you a name. Be a little more general." I rubbed a hand along the back of my neck, noted it came away full of soot. General? What else was there at this stage? "Fine. How about 'why'? Give me a motive to work with." The Rahastran nodded, began turning the twenty card deck. After about a minute, he drew the top two cards and laid them down on the cloth. One held the image of a Mandalan, shaved golden head bowed in contemplation. The other depicted a dark circle against the night sky. "The Mystic and Zar, the Dark Moon," he said. "Not the best signs, Sellas." "What a surprise." "Hmm." He tapped the Mystic with a finger. "This fellow usually means some sort of hidden knowledge, but given the circumstances I'm more inclined to believe it indicates a secret, or maybe a hidden agenda. As for Zar..." Fahldrash rocked back on his heels, stroked his beard. "One of two things. The first meaning that leaps to mind is dark magic, which obviously refers to all this." He waved at the blackened pile around us, and reached down to push Zar up against the Mystic. "But together... together, I lean towards a less common interpretation of the dark moon -- a cabal. So, a hidden agenda combined with a cabal." Fahldrash grunted. "Looks like you've got a conspiracy here, Sellas, and nothing simple, either. We're talking deep and twisted." "Great," I said. "So much for simple arson." The cartomancer fingered his deck. "I wonder.. ." That made me nervous. "What?" "Well, sometimes a secondary lay can clear things up a bit. Or not." "Or not?" He shrugged. "All depends on the card." I sighed, knowing I would hate myself in a few seconds. "Go ahead." Fahldrash mmed over the next card, placed it below the other two. A smiling Zandir stared up at us, glowing star in one hand, empty purse in the other. "Looks like Zyranna," I said. Except, of course, she was a woman. "The Charlatan." "Exactly." Fahldrash shook his head. "No, I mean the card. He means either deception or a mistake. In rhis case, deception." "Let me get this straight," I said. "There's a deep conspiracy behind this fire, and it involves some kind of deception." "Exactly." "Nothing personal," I said, "but I should have hired a diviner." Fahldrash gathered up his cards, shook out the cloth, and stood. "The cards hardly ever lie," he said smiling. "I feel so much better. Let's get out of here." Despite the sun and the crowds, the street felt cool by comparison. I bought another dipper of water, sprung for Fahldrash as well. As we drank, I noticed a familiar rainbow making her way towards us. "Water?" I said as she stopped before me. Zyranna made a face. "Ugh. Please, not after noon." My lieutenant's normally seductive, multi-hued clothes were a mass of stains and tears. Her hair had escaped its silver bands to droop darkly before her eyes, and the intricately painted designs on her topaz skin had heen all but washed off by sweat. Despite ir all, though, Zyranna still managed to look dashing, something in the Zandir blood, I suspected. "Now, if you have any Tazian fire ale..." she added. I waved the water peddler away. "Well?" Zyranna's face turned grim. "Nothing yet. I talked to all the right people in all the right alleys, even knocked a few heads together, and came up with zero." She fell silent, and I could feel it hanging there, waiting to be said, to be shouted. I saw it in her eyes, read it along the set of her jaw. It was circulating in every Zandir's mind right now, probably in a lor of non-Zandir heads, I stepped up and opened the gates. "But... ?" I said. Zyranna's eyes looked past me, flashed at what she saw. Right there, across the street: the enemy. "But it's only a matter of time before we find them atthe bottom of it," she said." I turned around, regarded the temple of Aa. At its door, a stern-faced priestess looked out over the crowds, her white robes a startling contrast to the desolation I had just left. Two white armored guards flanked her. "Aamanians," Zyranna spat. "Lobotomized orthodoxist pigs!" "Maybe," I said evenly, "But that doesn't prove anything." "Proof? Who needs proof? They tried to subjugate the Paradoxists for four hundred years, tried to crush our faith, our souls!" "Your faith," I said "Not mine: I'm Cymrilian, remember? And they failed." "They're just craftier now. Mark me, Aa is behind this." I frowned, turned back to the ruined temple that was our business. "Well, before we go hanging every Orthodoxist in sight--" "A good idea if I ever heard one," muttered Zyranna. "Before that," I said, turning pointedly to Fahldrash, "We have a new working theory." Zyranna followed my look. "Oh?" The Rahastran cleared his throat. "Conspiracy." The Zandir looked back at me. "That's it--" "A complex conspincy," he added. "Involving deception.." Zyranna thought a moment. "Gray Petals?" she asked. "Gray Petal," I agreed. Since its inception a little over seven years ago, just after the beginning of the Beast Wars, the Silent Legion had gone through a metamorphosis: from intelligence network to hidden operations, to defensive terrorism brigade. Now, two years after the end of the Wars, we had become an internal security force. Theoretically, we covered all of the Seven Kingdoms: in reality, we worked mainly for Cymril and its Wizard King. Somewhere along the way, the Legion had picked up the cognomen "Keyhole Corps", or just "The Key," and like all bad things, it stuck. So when Gray Petal's pet greeted me as "Key-man," I could only shut up and take it. Gray Petal was not your typical Muse. Oh she was tall, nympho-like gorgeous, and had butterfly wings to die for, but that was just the packaging. The difference was inside. Instead of staying pUt in her sylvan homeland of Astar and frolicking the days away, Gray Petal had chosen to live amongst us plodding, telepathically mute non-Muses. All for the sake of art. All Muses practiced their art to one extent or another, but not all of them were as dedicated, or as different, as Gray Petal. Her at was the Art of Espionage, and if it ever bothered her that her life was based on a turn a phrase, she had yet to show it. We met in the back of an herbalist's shop Drying roots and bundles of leaves hung from the ceiling, giving the place the feel of as eerie, pungent jungle. I had sent Zyranna to check with her contacts at the Lyceum Arcanum about what may have caused the fire; Fahldrash I had simply paid and sent away. Gray Petal's whisp, Gryxx, flitted back and forth in the air before me, his wood- colored brows crinkled into a frown. "You're here about the fire," said the overgrown wood spirit. No wise cracks, so he must be translating, turning the Muse's telempathic images into words. Gray Petal was about five feet away, appently smelling a bundle of brittle, off yellow flowers. I addressed myself to her. "We think it's more than simple arson," I said. Gray Petal smiled softly. The whisp snorted. "Duh! Even I can figure that one out, green-hair." Gryxx paused, mnslating. "So why was the Key assigned?" "Damage control," I lied. "There's some concern about Zandir reprisals." The Muse raised an eyebrow. "Please," saic Gryxx. "The only thing the Zandir will be upset about is having to find a new brothel." "Maybe," I said, "But you're right: the Key" more interested in the why, not the how." "You have to start with the 'how' to get to the 'why' on this one, Key-man," said the whisp. "Already done," I said. "Then if you want 'why,' you gotta pay." Now came the hard part. I could never predict what Gray Petal wanted, rarely knew what particular trail she was following at any given moment. One visit, a simple street address had been enough; another, a three hour dialogue on the state of Kasmir-Sindar made relations had been required before getting any sort of information. After a bit of haggling, we settled on what I knew about the rise of militant mage factions in the govemment. I'm the first to admit I know next to nothing about magic (not as unusual for a native Cymrilian as many might think), but when it comes to people and policy watching... well, I can hold my own. My oration lasted maybe half an hour. By the end I was starting to develop a headache from all the warring aromas in the air. "So, about the temple..." I said. Gray Petal turned her placid gaze my way. Suddenly my mind was filled with images and emotions. Telempathy. The sensarion was both wonderful and unnerving, and I knew I was being honored in a manner I could never repay. There was a spider's web, points of dew glistening in its web like captured stars. Caution there. After that, the fire at the temple, three figures walking out of the flames: each moving in the other's shadow, hiding rheir feartures, even their races, from me. I felt confusion, knew it as a clue. The temple, a store, an inn, two dead Zandir, a tavern; loss welled inside me. Then, in rapid succession purse, gray cloth white cloth, trees, a falling bird, the Consulate where the ambassadors from each the Seven Kingdoms resided, the old wall along the Kasmir border, a Beastman, an eye. And it was done. I blinked once, took a shaky step back. Gryxx giggled. "I...thank you," I stammered. My tongue felt clumsy and slow compared to what I hal just experienced. Gray Pedal opened her mouth, moved her lips. "My pleasure," she said in a voice as smooth and sweet as nectar. Outside, I could not stop shaking for almost a block. I ended up at Deket's, a predominantly Sindarian tavern. Since it was a warm evening, the walls had been lifted via winch and pulley up to the second level, leaving, the ground floor to the night air and blue glow of Laeolis, this month's moon. It was quiet in Deket's just then, and I was able to enjoy a late dinner in peace. The only other customers were a trio of Sindarans a few tables away, deeply engrossed in a game of Trivarian. I had never learned the game, and since the two halves of my brain could not operate independently of one another -- a requirement for playing, I was told -- I had pretty much given up any notions of trying. Still, I distracted myself from time to time by watching the tall, cadaverous players make their moves, mumbling and scratching their bony crests all the while. I needed two brains at this point, too -- maybe even a third. I had written down Gray Petal's images as soon as I came down from the encounter and been mulling over them ever since. Some were fairly obvious such as the spider web, which signaled the conspiracy, and the "list" of places she had given me: temple, store, and tavern, among others. A late afternoon and early evening of digging through Key archives at the Citadel had revealed unsolved crimes, all violent, at each of these sites. Each incident had somehow involved Paradoxists as targets. The Temple of the Ten Thousand was only the most recent and grandest of what looked like a string of terrorist acts. I still had nothing on the Consulate or any of the other images the Muse had given me, and by the time I had left the Citadel, I was so sick of the case I had headed across town to Deket's, where I knew I would be left alone. Naturally, Zyranna found me just as I was ordering an after dinner drink. "Make it two," she said to the waiter as she slid into the chair opposite me. "Ooh, seriette," she added, dipping her finger into the dessert that had just been delivered. "I love this. The sauce makes it, you know." I sighed, pushed the pastry her way. "How'd you find me?" Zyranna arched her eyebrows. "You forget, I am a charlatan, an all-powerful and all-knowing seer." She took my fork and attacked the seriette. "Besides, you always come here on nice nights." I smiled, made a mental note to change my routine again. "So," I said, "Any luck at the Lyceum?" Zyranna swallowed, nodded. "I talked to a few faculty members. It's thaumaturgy. Whoever did it, they used some hybrid form of red menace that not only started the fire but also changed the elemental nature of the material it consumed. Basically, it made the crystal and stone flammable. I'm surprised the aquamancers were able to put the thing out." "Flammable crystal?" She shrugged. "Sure, why not? I'm no thaumaturge, but from what I understand, they can use quintessence to alter the nature of just about anything." "So we're looking for a thaumaturge," I said. "Nope." The drinks arrived and I took a long swig of aquavit. "Explain," I said. "We're looking for whoever stole the modified red menace. A thaumaturge by name of Uldran reported the theft of some of his wares three weeks ago. I talked with him earlier, found out he's been experimenting with red menace on the sly without reporting it to the Cymrilian Wizard's Council." Zyranna pushed aside her empty plate and turned to her drink. "Convenient theft," I said. I thought so too. That's why I threatened to deport him for the experiments." "Names?" She shook her head. "None he was too scared of whoever bought the snuff to roll over. I've put him under surveillance. How'd it go with Gray Petal?" I leaned back, rolled the glass of aquavit between my palms. "It was... interesting," I said, and went over my encounter with the Muse. Zyranna listened in silence, then had me repeat the images I had seen. "Dead Zandir, white cloth, and an eye," she said bitterly. "Among a host of other things." "It has to be the Eye of Aa, which means Aamanians. I knew it!" She took her ecup to her lips, slammed it back down on the table. "Who else?" she yelled. "Who else woiuld burn down the temple?" I slapped the table in turn. By now, all the eyes in the tavern, and half of those on the street were looking our way. "Stop!" I said, barely keeping my own voice down. "I will never let you make this into a personal crusade." "It's beyond personal, Sellas. It goes back too far to..." I leapt half-way out of my seat, leaned across the table until our noses almost touched. "I don't care how much your two peoples hate each other," I said in my Special Tone of Voice, "You're keeping it in check as of now. You still work for the Wizard King of Cymril, not the Caliph of Zandu. Got it?" We glared at one another for a half minute before she finally relented. "Fine," she snapped, slumping back in her chair. "So what next?" "Next," I said, resuming my seat, "we try and link the Aamanians to your thaumaturge" I enjoyed watching her jaw drop. "But.. "It's the best theory we have right now," I said. "I just want to approach it at a littk less than full speed. So, assuming the white cloth, among other things, means Aaman, then the gray cloth..." Her eyes narrowed. "Revenants?" she said. "Oh, hell." The problem with trying to question Arimites is that they don't like to talk; not just to Cymrilians or Zandir, but even to one another They're a dour, drunken, and dangerous people overall -- just the type who would come up with something like the Revenant cult. Revenants specialized in revenge-for-hire but to me it seemed the for-hire part always came before the revenge aspect of their trade. Want a threat delivered, an enemy removed, or, say, a temple burned? Put a note on the right wall, drop a pouch of coins behind the proper pile of trash, and the deed is good as done. The Key estimated a little less than half the population of Arim was somehow associated with the Revenant cult. Given the influx of Arimites into Cymril in the past twenty years, I figured there to be a good two hundred core members in the city itself by now, with twice as many "fringe" Revenants rounding things out. Despite my promise to myself, I was forced to return to the Citadel the next day to talk to our resident expert on Arim's main cult. She briefed me, then helped arrange the sending of a message. The missive went out that night. Come noon the following day, I was walking in the Cymril Bszaar, an Arimite called Rokag at my side. "You Key?" asked Roksg. "You Revenant?" I rejoined. Rokag grunted. "I know people who are." He was shorter than me, broader, with a dark complexion and the profile of a hawk. He kept his thick fingers in his belt, close to his throwing knives. I noticed an unusually high percentage of Arimites in the crowd around; but then, there were an usually high number of Cymrilisns watching the Arimites, too. "Same with me and the Key," I said. "Hmph. Now that we're both confirmed liars, what do you want, Key?" I smiled despite myself: I liked this cut-throat's style. "Information on some Revenant handiwork." "Such as?" "The Zandir temple a few days ago." "Why?" "I don't want it happening again." "Won't -- no more temple to burn." He gave a brief, mirthless grin. I stayed silent. Finally, "What makes you think it was Revenant?" "I know about a few things, all hired by the same people. Inns, stores..." Rokag hummed to himself, a deep rumble that filled the air around us. "A pair of dead Zandir," I added. The rumbling stopped. "Revenants don't betray contracts." "No," I said, "But they cancel them." "For a price." "You heard my offer in the message." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Worthless." "From what I understand, the Revenants in Cymril don't see eye to eye with those in Arim. You're more enterprising, they're more traditional." "They cling to the past," said Rokag. "We are the future." this meant the Revenants in Cymril cared nothing about revenge, the suppposed Revenant by-word, and everything for profit and power. I shrugged. "Not my place to judge, but I know those in Arim have been making things difficult for the Revenants of Cymril. The Key might be persuaded to help you this one time. "How?" "Revenants don't kill Revenants," I said. "So I hear." "The Key is not Revenant." Rokag stopped suddenly, regarded me with a tired look. There were tents and booths to either side of us, and I wondered if I could kill him and make it out of the Bazaar before his men cut me down. Rokag stepped in close, and at least two dozen people around tlS began reaching for their weapons. "You know what you offer, Key!" he whispered. "The Revenants of Arim would declare war on your Secret Legion." "Only if they suspect us, which they won't," I said just as softly. If I had it my way, they would suspect the Revenants of Cymril. Rokag narrowed his eyes, stared up at me. "And for this payment, you would ask...?" "No more contracts from your employers and no terrorism during the Magic Fair." The Revenant reached up to play with his mustache. "That's a lot of business to lose, Key." "The price of freedom," I said. He shook his head. "No, I cannot. It is too much. But..." Rokag let go of his mustache, smiled an evil smile. "But I will do this: who do you believe has been hiring for these things you speak of?" "Aaman." "Yes and no. You look too far afield, Key: often the best vein of ore lies on your own land. You'll go where they want you to go, not where the smith is." "No names?" "Names are unimportant in this. It is about entire peoples." Rokag stopped, nodded to himself in satisfaction. "That is enough." Now it was my turn. "No. Nothing during the Fair, or no deal." Rokag glowered up. at me for a long moment. "The Key's reach is long," he decided. "The Fair shall be safe. You will get the names of those I wish visited by the Key." There was no hand shake, no words of agreement. We simply turned and walked away from each other. Zyranna met me after I had gone fifteen paces. "Well?" she asked. I smiled. "Better than I could have hoped." Sitting in the foyer of the Consulate, I ran over everything in my mind again. It had all sounded good over hot mochan after breakfast, but now the giddiness of too little sleep was turning into doubt and fatigue. Zyranna and I had sat up the rest of that day and all through the following night trying to piece together what we knew. We had taken our own information, mixed it with Gray Petal's visions, and added the advice given to me by Rokag. Just to be safe, we checked Key files on Aaman. Slowly, a picture had begun to emerge that neither of us liked. Still, it accounted for every image, every fact, every hunch we had. "Too many holes," I said. "We're guessing." "Nothing is known," said Zyranna, quoting a favorite Paradoxist maxim. "Yeah, but the stakes are high this time." "Our butts, you mean?" "Yeah." A door opened behind us. "The underambassador will see you now." Zyranna and I exchanged a look, got up, and went into the office of K'chee Skra, under-ambassador for Vardune and unofficial representative of that kingdom's answer to the Silent Legion, the Hreer. K'chee got up from his desk and came around to meet us, smiling. Although supposedly devolving from a flighted to a land-based species, the Aeriad still had a vestigial beak and wings, and a good amount of plumage. K'chee was green, marking him as one of the less temperamental, more contemplative of his race, as opposed to the high-strung Blue Aeriads. The aide who had shown us in left, closing the door behind himself. "Sellas," said K'chee, "Nice to see you again. And Zyranna, isn't it?" I nodded. "I'm afraid this isn't a social call, K'chee." He looked from myself to Zyranna and back. "you're under arrest," I said, "For violent acts against the people of the Seven Kingdoms and Cymril." "Excuse me?" "The Temple of the Ten Thousand," said Zyranna bitterly. She raised her hand, uttered a word, and the doors and windows of the room closed and locked themselves. "Don't want our little bird to fly away," she explained. K'chee's eyes went wide as he retreated behind his desk. "Sellas, I don't know what you think you're doing, but -- " "We've worried it all out," I said. I sounded tired, felt even worse. "It was a nice, twisted game, and I'm still not sure of all the details, but I do know the Hreer were behind it." The Aeriad held up a hand. "Wait, are you saying I... we bumed down a Zandir temple? Feathered ancestors, why? We share a common enemy -- the Aamanians! Why would a member of the Seven Kingdoms risk alienating a friendly civilized western kingdom like Zandu?" "We asked ourselves that," I said. "And came up with one answer: the Beastmen." "Beastmen? Sellas, you're not making any sense: that war's been over for two years." "Exactly," I said. I moved around the desk, got in close in case he decided to try and he clever. "But Cymril and most of the other kingdoms are still looking eastwards because of it, throwing their resources into a Wilderlands defense." "Except Vardune," said Zyranna. "Your kingdom is too far west to worry ahout the Beastmen, aren't they, K'chee? The Aeriad are more worried about their immediate neighbors. Aaman." K'chee puffed out his plumage. "We've made no secret of our displeasure with Cymril's recent policies, if that's what you mean. But I don't see -- " "You framed the Aamanians," I snapped. "Every target you hit was Paradoxist. You knew sooner or later someone would put that connection together and blame Aamanists -- the natural conclusion. Once that happened, attention would shift westwards, and you wouldn't have to sit that long frontier alone anymore." Zyranna had gotten the three figures in the fire: Arimite, Aamanian, and one other. The three layers to the conspiracy. Following the logic of white cloth for Aamanian, gray cloth for Arimite, we had looked at the tree in that light as well. There were a number of races the tree could have implied, but the falling bird cinched it: the devolving Aeriad. After that, it had been an easy leap to see the Consulate as the source, not a target, as we had first suspected, and the wall at Kasmir and the Beastman as symbols of discord. Then again, we could have been completely wrong, the victim of too many of Zyranna's alertness spells. Could have, but weren't. K'chee tried to bolt using a pair of magical bracers he had on to fly towards the skylight overhead. I leapt at him, missed, but Zyranna clipped him with some sort of magical discharge before he made open sky. He fell back to the floor an unconscious green heap. I was proud of Zyranna: she didn't even kick the under-ambassador once for what he had done while she was putting on the enchanted leg-irons. Two nights later, I was having dinner at Deket's again when a carefully cloaked figure sat down at the table beside me. Even with the disguise, I noted a distinct lack of any sort of facial or body hair on the person's exposed skin. Aamanian ritual depilation. "What do you want?" I asked without turning. "To thank you." "Go to hell." There was a brief pause. "What you did for us...it will not he forgotten. The affair with the Zandir temple -- " "Look," I said, aggravated by the Aamanian's presence, "I did what I had to do." "Nevertheless," she said, "The children of Aa are grateful. Your name will be spoken to the Heirophant, Sellas of Cymril: Aaman will repay its debt to you." Great, just what I needed: friends in the wrong high places. "Let it go," I said. "You just happened to not be guilty this time, is all." "Do not be so certain." I stopped eating, looked over at her in astonishment. The priestess bowed within her cloak. "Praise Aa, and bless you." "Wait!" I said as she rose and turned away. "What are you trying to... ?" But one of her guards was there, armored and hulking. I let her go. I turned back to my dinner and took a long drink of aquavit. Starting tomorrow, I decided, I was definitely changing my routine. Back to Shadis #25 Table of Contents Back to Shadis List of Issues Back to MagWeb Master List of Magazines © Copyright 1996 by Alderac Entertainment Group This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com