Cold Blood

(image by Warren Mahy, from Fiendish Codex II: Tyrants of the Nine Hells)

by Darth Krzysztof

“We should get back to Sigil,” Kalenthor announced, as Sheen left the room via the stairs. “The contents of this book might provide us with some insight as to Margone’s current whereabouts… indirectly.” Examining the inscription inside the book’s front cover, he added, “And we really should return this book to the library.”

Haden muttered his assent.

“What about them?” asked Talan, gesturing toward Splinter and Katrin, bound and gagged on the bedroom floor. “It doesn’t seem quite right to just leave them.”

“It’s a greater kindness than they’d do us,” said Haden. “Let Mother deal with them when she comes back.” He followed Sheen out of the room, apparently satisfied.

Sensing Talan’s unease, Kalenthor said, “They’ll wiggle free eventually. They’re bedsheets, not adamantine chains.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Talan insisted. Ari circled around his legs before sitting at this side.

Standing on the bed to get a better look at the octopus illusion, Mal said “Maybe it isn’t, Talan, but do you have a better idea?”

“I can’t come up with anything at the moment.” The light from the windows began to dim, but none of the men paid it much mind.

“If you like,” said Mal, dropping down to sit on the bed, “I could set the sheets on fire. They’ll burn through long after we’re gone, and then they’ll be free.” A flame began to dance around Mal’s index finger.

“You had better be joking,” Talan said, a steely edge in his voice. Kalenthor started to move between them, but Talan closed the distance in an eye’s blink. “We aren’t torturers – or murderers.”

A bit put off by Mal’s dismissive response, Kalenthor countered with “Of course not. But leaving them tied up isn’t torturing or murdering them.”

“It’s further down the slope,” Talan snapped. “Today you leave a woman tied up, tomorrow you hide her in the closet so it takes Margone longer to find her. How long before you cut out her tongue to keep her from talking? Or slit her throat so she won’t come after you? How far down the slope will you slide before you even realize that it’s happening?!”

Kalenthor was too thrown by Talan’s urgency to answer. With a sigh, Mal stood up and crossed the room to Splinter and Katrin. “If we say we are sorry and untie you,” he asked with a pleasant smile, “will you let us leave in peace?”

Splinter glanced at Katrin before nodding, the room’s fading light still sufficient to illuminate the hatred in her eyes.

“I will bind you to your word,” Mal lied, “that you will let us leave in peace. If you break that oath, you will be cursed to never again feel pain nor pleasure. Do I have your word?”

Splinter took a little longer before agreeing to this; Katrin also assented. Mal began an elaborate, but fictitious, arcane ritual. Risking a glance at Talan, Kalenthor asked the ranger “Problem solved?”

“Sure,” replied Talan. “I’m sure you can understand my concern; I’ve seen good friends slide.”

“You’ll have to be the judge,” said Kalenthor, smiling. “If I slide, strike me down.”

“It’s me I’m worried about,” Talan grumbled, unclenching his fist. Thunder rumbled outside the villa.

Mal closed the “ritual” with a kiss on each woman’s forehead. Once untied, Katrin and Splinter moved against the wall, allowing the three men to leave. Kalenthor paused to smack Splinter’s behind, bringing an ambiguous moan from the tiefling’s lips.

- – - – -

They found Sheen, Haden, and the three captives in the garden, where a thundercloud had drifted closer to the summer house, rain falling from it in all directions.

“We should get to the portal before that storm gets any worse,” said Kalenthor, shoving the book into his haversack. A stroke of lightning arced to the decoration atop of the tower, a split second before booming thunder.

“Right,” said Sheen, grabbing one of the fuming torches.

As the group took the garden path around the great tree, Kalenthor and Talan both paused to look at the statue more carefully. Though it seemed to be made of ordinary marble, both men thought that they saw traces of red in the woman’s hair.

Kalenthor performed a quick spell, then said “As I thought… sort of. This statue radiates psionic energy.”

“Really,” said Haden, circling back to the spot.

“I think it’s storing… quintessence.”

“Then there may be someone alive in there,” said Sheen. “Quintessence shields things from the flow of time.”

Before anyone could stop him, Mal invoked his fey powers to dispel the effect. Kalenthor had just enough time to wonder how the hellwasps would react if the magic suspending the tree was cancelled before the layer of quintessence evaporated into space-time, revealing the unconscious nude form of a red-headed young human woman suspended in midair.

Talan blushed as Ari slid behind him. Kalenthor blinked. Mal poked her with a finger. Sheen covered her with Haden’s cloak, and the added weight seemed to bring her gently down to the flagstones. As Mal examined the woman for signs of life, her eyes fluttered open, and came to focus on him. “Greetings to you,” Mal said with a gracious bow. “I am Maloranserani Valtherees’Heranusee.”

“Are you with her?” implored the woman. “That… that monster?!”

“Sheen? Yes, unfortunately.”

A stifled laugh worked its way through the group, drawing the woman’s attention to the elan. “Sheen?” she said, with a hint of recognition.

“Do you recognize her?” Talan asked Haden. The aasling shook his head.

“Do I know you?” Sheen asked, moving closer.

“I doubt it,” replied the woman, getting to her feet with Mal’s aid. “The Cullers exiled you from the enclave about the same time I was initiated. I’m Lexina.”

“Lexina.” Sheen scratched at her temple. “That sounds vaguely familiar. Not that you’re unmemorable; I just prefer not to reminisce about my last days at the enclave.”

“I suppose not,” said Lexina, casting her gaze down.

Kalenthor moved closer to Talan and asked, “Does the entire multiverse revolve around Sheen?”

“Possibly. You’ll notice that we’ve finally met someone that doesn’t know Haden, and she does know Sheen.” Talan found himself thinking about what Sheen and Haden’s children would be like, were they able to have any.

“Between the two of them, they must know everyone in the multiverse.”

“Don’t worry,” said Haden with a wink, ”’we’ll introduce you to everyone.”

The storm cloud drew closer to the summer house, and another lightning bolt struck a tower on the far side of the sphere.

“That’s our cue,” said Haden as he fished through his pocket for the avoral feather. The portal spiraled to life, even as the feather burned to ashes in his hand.

Sheen and Haden filed through first, shepherding Lexina and the captives. As Talan, Mal, Kalenthor, and Ari moved through, however, another lightning bolt lanced out of the storm, striking the portal arch. Reality lurched, and they time and space unravel around them.

- – - – -

They found themselves on a long, narrow, garbage-choked street, buffeted by rushing crowds of humanoids and fiends. Raw heat radiated from the iron-gray buildings, washing over them like a tidal wave.

A gray, parapet-encircled tower rose out of the city, so high into the smoky green sky that they could not crane their heads enough to mark the top of it. The tower seemed to melt and reshape itself before their eyes, as if their poor brains couldn’t settle on what it looked like.

A high city wall seemed to surround everything they could see, with forbidding mountains beyond. Gargoyles leered from the wall, and devils taunted the countless mortal and petitioner slaves constructing new buildings while others were torn down.

“This is what the Lady showed us,” said Mal. “This is the Iron City of Dis.”

Ari yelped and leaped from foot to foot as the scorching ground burned her paws. Talan scooped her up in his arms, shifting the weight around so he could cast endure elements. He set the dog down, relieved to see that the heat no longer bothered her – or himself. He was also relieved to note that they weren’t drawing much attention.

“We’ve got to find a portal back to Sigil,” Mal announced.

“Right away?” Kalenthor peered into the sensory stone that Annali had given him – he had to record an experience related to each of the five senses (or one experience that encompassed all five) to join the Society of Sensation. “Seems like an opportunity in disguise… “

“Mal is right,” said Talan, trying not to dwell on how weird it felt to say that. “We need to get out of here.”

As if on cue, a dusky-hued man threaded his way through the crowd toward them, seated on a tiny flying carpet. “Greetings, effendi,” he said to Kalenthor, who was closest to him. “Tarik al-Gana at your service. Are you newly arrived from beyond the Iron City?”

“That’s right,” replied Kalenthor. “We’re here to take in the sights, do some shopping, and then probably pop over to Sigil as we continue our tour.” He missed Talan’s reaction to this declaration. “Can you suggest any sites we should see?”

“Of course, effendi. I cannot recommend that you visit the Iron Tower at the center of Dis. It’s dangerous to the uninvited, and difficult for mortals to reach.”

“What do you mean?” Mal pointed at the ever-shifting tower. “It looks like it’s a block away.”

Tarik motioned for him to turn around. Mal did so and realized that, even though he was now facing in the opposite direction, he could still see the tower before him, about a block away.

“I’m confused,” said Talan. “Is it at the center of the city? Or does it surround it?”

“Yes, effendi.”

“How can that be?”

“Because the Iron Duke wishes it so?” Tarik removed his fez to wipe his balding pate with a small towel. “It’s not the place of a humble barber to ask such questions. You must see the Garden of Delights, but it is also to be avoided – unless you have no desire to return to your former lives.”

Kalenthor favored the barber with a wary smile. “Is there any place in Dis you would recommend without simultaneously trying to dissuade us from seeing it?”

“Perhaps God Street,” Tarik said with a shrug. “But you cannot go there without a holy man… unless one of you worships a tenant there?”

“No,” said Kalenthor, watching a nearby building collapse. “But you may be able to help us in other ways. Have you heard of Lady Margone?”

“That name is known to me,” Tarik said at once, eyes narrowing. “What business would men such as yourselves have with a creature like her?”

“We were traveling with her son.” said Talan. “He wanted to talk to her, but we were separated.”

“I see, effendi. Yes, I have seen her before, with the remmanon. I will tell you what I know, for a price.”

The remannon? thought Kalenthor. Is that Betzalel? “Tell us what you know,” he said, “and we’ll decide what it’s worth.”

“Fair enough. I’ve seen them here, in Dis, perhaps a week ago? They were meeting with a priest who follows one of the God Street upstarts. Uin the Unseeing, the newly-crowned god of blind obedience.”

“How do we gain audience with this priest?” asked Kalenthor.

“For what I’ve told you, and what I shall tell you next, I ask a thousand gold coins.” Seeing Talan’s reaction, he added “Most devils don’t need haircuts, effendi. A humble barber must earn a living somehow.”

“Half that,” Kalenthor said flatly.

Tarik steered his carpet close enough to look Kalenthor right in the eye. “You drive a hard bargain, effendi. I admire that. The priest’s name is Orthros. He has recently departed Dis for the City of Doors. While there, he stays at the Tenth Pit.”

“Many thanks.” Kalenthor hefted a jingling sack of coins. “I’ll pay you the other five hundred if you’ll tell me where there’s a portal leading to Sigil. Preferably one you know the key to.”

“That was to be my proposal, wise effendi. Seek the guardhouse across the way from the entrance to the Garden of Delights – it’s surrounded by a sandstone wall, the only one in the city. The guardhouse doorway is a portal to the Cage. The key is a parchment marked with lipstick. I would offer to give you directions, but…”

“I thank you again, Tarik.” Kalenthor collected some money from Mal and Talan, then paid the barber. “I hope to send more business your way when I return to Sigil. Maybe you can afford to lower your prices then.”

“You are most generous, effendi. I will await further proof of your generosity here!” With that, Tarik’s carpet bore him up and out of sight.

- – - – -

After a few hours of wandering the streets of Dis, they found the sandstone wall, and began following it to the Garden’s entrance. Mal conjured up some lipstick, applied it to himself, and placed a kiss on a spare of parchment.

They passed a work crew of petitioners, laying the fiery foundation for a new building. One human looked at the group, dropped the heavy stone he was carrying, and shuffled over to their position. “For mercy’s sake, help me!” he cried. “I’m alive, like you! I don’t belong here!”

The adventurers tensed and assumed defensive positions as the man dropped to his knees and winced, his ripped rags providing little protection from the heat. “Please, sirs,” he said, with a clumsy attempt to grab Kalenthor by the ankle. Ari moved to smell the man.

“Come along, Rubbio,” came a female voice from behind. She moved like a whisper between them, a gorgeous woman with gleaming white-feathered wings – an erinyes. “Leave these nice mortals alone.”

“Mortals?” asked Mal, lips still harlot-red. “Is his claim true? Does he not belong here?”

“He belongs to me,” replied the erinyes. “He signed a contract.”

“May I see it? I am an authority on pacts,” Mal announced.

“I don’t have it on me,” the erinyes said, “but I have a blank one. It’s fairly standard.” She handed it to Mal, who began poring over it. The party who signed it was compelled to serve unto death, taking possession of the soul, unless the offering party released her claim, or transferred it to someone else. Mal found no loopholes, and he quietly told the others as much.

“Please, Sauraphine,” Rubbio moaned, crawling from Ari toward the erinyes. “I don’t want to carry stones any more.”

“If you want him so badly,” Sauraphine said, backing away from the slave, “one of you could take his place.”

“Certainly not,” Kalenthor said. “If he’s tired of hauling rocks, do you have any other tasks you could give him?”

“No. Well, there is one task,” she purred, “but he’s not suited to it. Elves, on the other hand…”

Talan raised an eyebrow. Kalenthor said “I’ve sworn never to sell my soul flippantly.”

“Then you’re open to the idea of selling it for a damned good reason?” countered Sauraphine.

“Yes. No. That is, I have another idea.” Kalenthor held up the sensory stone. “Would you object to being recorded during sex?”

Talan blinked, blushed, and blinked again.

“I never have before,” replied Sauraphine, looking at the stone with wonder. “I see no reason why not.”

“Take me as a lover for one night. If you find me satisfactory, then you’ll release your hold on this Rubbio.”

Sauraphine leaned forward to kiss Kalenthor, and it was, indeed, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He broke it off, and said “Afterwards, we may discuss what comes next.”

“We have an accord, stranger,” Sauraphine said, smiling enigmatically.

- – - – -

“Sauraphine has, shall we say, acquiesced,” Kalenthor said some time later, grinning like a fool. “Rubbio Finncleave is released from his contract. And I have just the thing for getting in with the Sensates.”

“Congratulations,” said Mal, the lipstick now smeared across one cheek.

“She may visit me in the Cage, even! How fascinating that’d be!”

“Sure,” Talan said. stopping to finally wipe the lipstick from Mal’s face. “We’d best take Rubbio back to Sigil… he might get scooped up by another crew if we just leave him here.”

They collected Rubbio, found the guardhouse, and took the portal back to the Cage. With the sky darkening, and exhausted from hours of stifling heat, they made their way back to the house on Smith Street.

“Where in the Hells have you been?” asked Haden as they made their way inside. Talan raced up the stairs in search of Hexla.

“Dis,” Mal replied. “Portal malfunctioned.”

“This is Rubbio,” said Kalenthor. “I saved him by having sex with an erinyes! What’s for dinner?”

“Spoken like a true Sensate. An erinyes, you say?”

“That’s right, Haden. Lovely creature, name of Sauraphine.”

In his reverie, Kalenthor nearly missed the shift in Haden’s attitude. “Sauraphine? Are you certain that was the name?”

“That’s what it said on the contract,” Mal said absently, sitting by the fire.

“You had sex,” said Haden, “with my grandmother?!”