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Back to the Beginning
A tiny swallow flew among the trees in the Gael Serran, flitting in and out between the trees in an aerial slalom, dodging butterflies and glowflies with equal skill. It flew into a clearing where smoke still rose from the bodies littered on the ground. Circling, the swallow finally landed on one of bodies, which suddenly moved, sending the swallow aloft again.
Missy Hissy groaned. Everything hurt, from her head to her toes and everywhere in between. She sat up slowly and looked around, then relaxed. There was Scanthril’s body charred and burnt like an overdone roast. He hadn’t survived. That she did was a miracle; again, she thought of Jathil and his mind tricks, and of the magical enchantments afforded by the wizard’s guild. Between the two, life somehow remained in her body, but not by much.
Using her sword blade to help herself stand, she began to search the bodies of Scanthril and his cohorts. Potions, weapons, and a strange ring were her treasure. Taking the ring in her hand, she selected a wooden staff to support her as she walked back to the town of Ishad N’ha. She could have used magic, but she wanted time to think about what had just happened… to think about what the end of Scanthril meant. His death had been one of her goals for years now, and with him gone… she began wondering about the contract Scanthril had mentioned. Someone wanted her father dead, and her as well.
But who? If all Scanthril’s tales were to be trusted, her father was apparently no angel. But to incur someone’s wrath to the level that they wipe out your bloodline? That was certainly not the result of an arbitraged business deal, or a secret sold to two sides of a war. No, someone must have been extremely angry, extremely hurt, to seek such a thing.
As the glowflies buzzed through the evening air, Missy examined the ring more carefully. It seemed to be made of black pearl, and it was carved into the shape of a merwoman with wings. She would have thought it was an angel, but something about the figure did not seem angelic. More anti-angelic – more evil than good, if she thought about it.
She slipped it into her pocket as she approached the gates of Ishad N’ha. Within moments, she’d be able to check in at the guildhouse to dump her loot, fix her goods, and get an idea of what to do next.
“There’s nothin’ like that I’ve seen before,” said the warrior guildmaster. “Flyin’ fish folk? If there’s ever anything like that, it’d be out in the Enchanted Sea, west of Brimloch Roon. There’s all sorts of craziness there, and that’s where ye’d find one of these creatures, if they exist.”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” replied Missy. “I’m sure I’ll be heading that way soon, as soon as I can find my way to it.”
Everywhere she went, it was the same story – no one had seen a ring like it before, and pointed her in various places – the Enchanted Sea, the Lost Sea, the Gypsies by Nymph Lake, Lake Ogre-Chobee… everyone knew a place it could be, but no one knew a place it was.
Until she got into the pawnshop. Bratsol bid her to quietly step into the private area of the pawnshop, whence he flipped the sign on the door to read “Closed”. He looked around again before speaking, making sure they were not overheard. “I sensed that you brought something new with you this time. Can ye show me?”
Missy showed him the dagger Scanthril had given her for her work. Bratsol let out a low whistle. “Yessss… It is one of them. That is an assassin’s dagger, passed from one member of the assassin’s guild to another worthy of membership. Are ye interested in joining?”
Missy thought of all the turmoil she’d been through in the past days… of the lows of the townspeoples’ reactions to her as a Boogre to the feeling of incompleteness that Scanthril’s death left behind. She thought as well of how long it had been since she’d simply enjoyed life… and how cruelly life had treated her and those she’d known. Kerielle, beaten to death by a windmill… Algamesh, slain by a she-viper… Scabban, betrayed by his magical studies… There was little of the good in life that she could honestly appreciate now, and with Scanthril gone, perhaps a new focus would help.
“Sure, I’m interested. Now tell me, what do I need to do next?”
Bratsol smiled evilly. “Not a thing,” he sneered. “You’re in now, and you can’t get out. At least, not alive… Here. Let me show you a couple of tricks you can work on.”
Bratsol showed her some of the assassin’s standards, poison-dispensing daggers and backstabbing bladework. Promising to practice, she asked Bratsol about the ring.
“Ring? What ring?”
When she showed the ring to Bratsol, he peered at it, and then pulled back, his eyes open wide. “I’ve heard of these before, but I’ve never seen one,” he said. “They’re a sigil for the highest contracts in the assassin’s guild. A pair of rings are held by the contractor and the contractee. When the job is complete, they both turn white, and the contractee can collect his final payment. ‘Tis powerful magic makes that happen, and only the most important contracts are worth it.
“And the fact that it’s still black means that the contract’s still open, and the payee is still willing to pay. Keep it until you find its mate, and perhaps you can collect on the contract yourself.”
Scarce containing a shudder, Missy bid Bratsol good day and left Ishad N’ha to practice the new skills she had learned.
On to Chapter 18
[ 02-26-2003, 10:52 PM: Message edited by: Bungleau ]