The Archimage held the amberglass goblet to the window and watched the sunlight break into a thousand rainbows across the bare white walls. With a small motion he placed an empty glass on the edge of the simple, whitewood desk. A serving girl stepped from the shadowed doorway and poured from a decanter worth more than all her simple possessions combined.

The liquid swirled in the glass with the texture and honeydew colour of the finest Cymrillian aquavit. Mand knew better. Memory of the Archimage’s voice spoke in his mind. "Monitors are a lazy and complacent group, too caught up in petty betrayal and sycophantic speeches to look beyond the obvious. Give them an obvious flaw and they will be incapable to look beyond it." Archimage Aamada drank nothing but water woven under a spell of illusion. Once, a Templar had presented him with a bottle of aquavit from before the Cult Wars, its colour the shade of Drome in midsummer. Soon after the Knight had left, the Archimage had poured the liquid, worth more than a handful of adamantium, out the window and into the garden below.

A bead of sweat dropped to the floor, his eyes burned as more fell into his eyes. Mand kept his gaze locked on the floor as he heard the serving girl walk from the room.

"You may rise. We are alone."

Mand stood, ignoring the stiff, painful creaks in his knees and the heavily armored guardsman by the door.

The Archimage finished his glass as he read from a parchment Mand himself had finished not an hour before. Setting the glass on the desk he looked appraisingly at the young Undermage.

"A fascinating read Mand. Where ever did you come across such an entertaining piece of trivia?"

"A rare first edition of Thystram’s Collectanea, Archimage. Curiously enough, later editions fail to mention the Banes at all. But in this copy I found a note scribbled into the margins. It seems that Banes tend to shed a great deal of blood during their mating rituals. "Mand cleared his throat. "According to the note it is something of an aphrodisiac for them, as the unfortunate adventurer discovered soon after killing one. Apparently he had amorous Banes chasing him all the way out of the Werewood."

"Trivia is one thing, triviality is another. Be succinct if you please."

Mand coughed nervously. "Yes Archimage. Well, from there it was a simple matter of finding some Bane’s blood in the Alchemist’s quarter. To test it, we doused a forsaken street brat we pulled from the Zandir market. No one who’d be missed, and she was attacked soon after we let her go. "We had been trying for a week with Zzabul, his eating habits tend to leave a great deal of rotting food and blood on his armor. It was simply fortuitous that the attack happened during the Festival."

"And the Danuvian?"

"I am unsure Archimage, perhaps the Bane took her for a potential rival."

"No matter." Aamada stood and walked to the window. He stood in silence for a while, staring out at the black shadow caste over the city by the nearby Great Barrier Wall. "Is he still able to fight?"

"The wounds were serious but not life threatening. Every bounty hunter in the western lands will be in the city since the Sultan’s announcement that the Bane will fight. It seems unlikely that she won’t be captured and Zzabul has never failed to kill a man who blooded him. He will fight, if not to win, then to sink his teeth into her heart."

The Archimage did not turn away from the window. "Enlighten me Mand. Why have you gone to such trouble?"

Mand dabbed the sleeve of his white robe across his forehead. "But holiness, you gave me leave to find another solution. Zzabul is badly wounded, the Bane is nothing but a viscous animal. No matter who wins, neither could possibly be a match for our champion. Our victory is assured."

Aamada turned from the window and stared at Mand in silence for one long minute, and then slowly nodded.

"Thank you Archimage. May I permission to redraw the pilgrimage route? I have found…"

"No Mand. You will not withdraw our offer to Zzabul just yet. We will wait to see how deep his wounds go. For now find out who the new front runners are, and prepare an outline of each."

"But Archimage!" Mand bit his lip to stop the outburst an instant before the guard’s massive, armored boot smashed into the back of his shin. Mand tasted blood as his head slammed into the hard stone floor. Before the guard could land another blow Aamada stopped him with an almost imperceptible wave of his hand.

"Your concern for the faithful is touching Undermage Mand. Your insolence is not. I will not warn you again. You may take your leave."

"Y… Yes Archimage." Mand tried to stand, but his broken leg collapsed under him and he had to be dragged back to his room by the deaf and unsmiling guard.

A small pebble bounced off the skull of the sleeping Sindaran.

"Stop it Parrow. Qwill said we were just suppose to watch him."

The heavyset young Zandir picked up a few more pieces of broken cobblestone and began to absentmindedly juggle them. "But Hok, I’m booorrrred." he sang.

The young Cymrillian tried to grab at the swirling stones. "Stop it, you’re going to wake him up!"

"Nah, he’s dead to the world. Hey geddoff me!" Parrow tried to push the smaller boy away and Hok responded with a clumsy swing. They were soon rolling around the alleyway in a tangled mess of fists and curses.

"Hok, Parrow." The small, shy voice cut through their tussling and brought the boys to a rolling, panting stop in the middle of the alley. Lirri, the young Sarista girl sat on the Sindaran, her wide, liquid blue eyes watching them with amused interest.

"Uh, Lirri," Hok pointed to the sleeping Sindaran.

She tenderly patted the sandy rough skin and said. "Its okay. He sleeps a lot. Last time Parrow put his hand in some water and he never woke up at all."

Hok looked sharply at the giggling Zandir, but before anything could happen Lirri interrupted, "Qwill says its time for your lessons Hok."

Parrow made a face. "Ugh, readin’ and writin’ . What is the point?"

Hok puffed out his chest. "One day Qwill says I could be a ad-ee-quate mage" He said, sounding out the unfamiliar word carefully. "And I’m going to call myself the NightHok and explore all the Wilderlands."

"Hok doesn’t sound like a bird. It sounds like the sound you make before you spit on someone." Parrow teased. Hok’s face flushed in embarrassment and attacked the plump little thief.

Lirri sighed.

Qwill grabbed Hok’s chin and gently brushed his long fingers over the boy’s swollen eye. "You are suppose to come when I call, not take time to defend every slight. Parrow only does it because he knows it bothers you. Ignore him and he will stop." He released him. "There now, all better. "

Hok rubbed his dirty hand over the healed eye and said in a soft voice. "Yes Qwill. Sorry Sir."

"No matter. Now, before we start, what news on our friend?"

The boy shrugged. "Not much, since we found him he just walked around the city mumbling to himself. He was awake for almost two days before he just sort of fell over in the street. We pulled him into the allay and have been sitting on him ever since. Oh! Before he fell asleep he knew we were there. He threw a melon at Parrow." Hok grinned. "Parrow was really mad too, he though he had been hiding really good."

The tall blind beggar nodded. "Lirri could you come here please."

The girl had been sitting by the fire, fidgeting with a small purse. She stood up with a shy grin and walked to the table with her hands clasped behind her back.

"What have you got there?" Qwill asked.

Her grin grew wider. "You said I shouldn’t try for people’s jewelry yet. Stick with purses and market goods. Well I did it. I got one, look!" She said proudly and held out her hand. There sat a heavy ring of thick red iron. On the face, a child danced, lines of light or magic coming from up his hands. Vines etched along the rim.

Archimage Aamada is Monk’s PC

Mand and Zzabul are NPCs.

Archive

Library

Museum

Links