Legacy, part 2

{{Fiction
 * author=Andrew Getting;
 * hasSetting=Larisnar
 * storyBody====The Lands of the Kabal, five months ago===

"They said they called you as soon as they found the body?," the barbarian woman behind him asked as his fingers traced the runes along the edges of the tomb door. She sniffed the air. "I can still smell it. It's not like the Kabal to take so long to notice something's gone wrong."

"Don't start with the conclusion, Keridwen. The Kabal's usually quick to respond to these accidents, because the Kabal are usually the cause," he offered, still hunched over the obliterated shards of the sarcophagus. "We know that isn't the case here. The Kabal was slow to respond because of their own precautions. They didn't want to draw untoward attention to what they had."

"And because of that, we're at least three weeks behind our quarry," Keridwen countered. "I know it's a danger whenever the Kabal has something they don't want getting out, but it happened without any warning at all. Don't you wizards have alarm spells or something?"

"Mm. Or something," he acknowledged as he felt through the rubble. "Though they were advised not to waste their time here. The wards held due to a delicate balance and any other spells cast among them could interfere."

"Hmph. If you ask me, they shouldn't have followed that advice. Magic's nothing but trouble. No offense." Keridwen snorted and spat.

"Only a little taken." He craned his head back to her, his unseeing stone eyes searching for her. "I was the one who advised them."

Miseris. Today.
It wasn't that Kun Atoll hadn't earned this reward. The gods had clearly favored him, after all, to survive the bloodbath at Castle Blackthorn, much less to get rich off of the pay there. Even yet, he fidgeted. He had spent the last two days pouring over his newly-purchased apartments and their contents; all of the statues, the books, the ownership deeds to businesses, and even the room of shockingly realistic stuffed monsters that he had only ever worked up the nerve to visit after drinking three bottles of wine.

He stood on the balcony overlooking his new home city and sighed. He was now halfway through the fourth bottle, and as he downed the glass in one gulp, he found that he could not even taste it. He tried not to breathe through his nose. Even this late at night, and this high up, he could smell the smells of the street - the trash, the sweat, the dirt. For a moment he found himself tempted to drop the glass over the ledge, but decided against it. It had cost him far too much. No, if he had to indulge such fantasies, he knew exactly where he should do so. He left the bottle and glass on the railing, and barely had the presence of mind to close the door to his apartments as he left for the Blue Parrot Inn.

The streets were empty. The shopkeeper stalls were bare of goods and of life, and would be for hours. Kun Atoll stumbled along the abandoned market, until finally collapsing into one, sending an entire counter into splinters. Dazed, he tried to laugh into the night air - at his predicament, his foolishness, anything - but all that came was sobbing.

"I've heard of drunken fighting, but I doubt even all the watchers in Gods' Eye have ever seen so famed a warrior laid low by shoddy furniture." A rough hand pulled Atoll up by his hair. Atoll could barely see through thehaze, but the blood-red eyepatch was all that he needed to see.

"Hob," Atoll said. "Just the man I was looking for."

"Your mistake, monk." Olafsson kneed Kun Atoll in the stomach, then threw the mercenary into the street.

Atoll laughed now, long and cruel. "Oh, come on, Hob. It was just one drink, and you were the one that poisoned it!"

"And you should have taken the other eye when you had the chance," Olafsson spat.

"You know the rules," Atoll said as his arms flailed. "I'm paid up. You can't touch me."

"Like this couldn't be a mugging, if I wanted it that way. Besides, the rules have changed. The boss has new allies, and they need some practice," Olafsson crouched next to Atoll's struggling form. "You see, they're not used to dealing with our kind, and the boss wants to make sure they're worth his time." Olaffson stood, then kicked Atoll's head, sending the monk flying into another stall. "Time to earn your keep, you little rotters. We can't do this often, so make sure you learn what you need to. Take your time, if necessary."

Atoll could hear the shuffling of feet all around him, but his bleary eyes could see only the faintest shapes as the shadows spewed forth his would-be killers. The street spun around him, and the swarming enemies' bodies grew to giants and shrank to small children, then back again. Atoll's eyes rolled in his head. "You've... you've forgotten something, Hob, you daft, one-eyed, piggish..."

"What's that, Atoll?" Olafsson laughed, and the killers in the streets stopped in their tracks. "Oh, I'm sorry, is it your birthday? We'll light some candles in your corpse."

"Your boss works with my people," Atoll said. "You think the Kun would ever listen to him again if one of their own dies in his streets? They won't believe your mugging story for a second."

"Hm," grumbled Olafsson. "You're probably right. You heard the man, peanuts. Make sure nobody'll recognize him when you're done."

Atoll shut his eyes tight, and braced for what was to come. After a moment, he realized that he hadn't heard anyone move.

"Well?" Olafsson asked. "What are you waiting for?"

"They have business elsewhere." Another man's voice; strange, Atoll hadn't heard anyone join them. "As do you." Atoll opened one quickly-swelling eye. The shadows were retreating, and Olafsson stood face-to-face with another man, who had to be at least twice Olafsson's age. The newcomer had an unkempt, sandy grey beard hanging nearly halfway down his chest. His belt held two sheathed shortswords.

"You're picking a fight with the wrong hood, old man," Olafsson said. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"No." The old man waved his hand. "Do you?" Olafsson frowned, then glanced about. "Then might I suggest you leave, before something worse befalls you?"

Olafsson glanced at Atoll, then walked off, dazed.

"What was that? You some kind of wizard?" Atoll asked as the old man helped him to his feet.

"Not precisely, though that's what he'll no doubt think once it wears off. You are Kun Atoll, are you not?" The old man's hand was suddenly an iron grip on Atoll's own.

"Ah, yes, yes I am. Thank you for helping me, mister..." Atoll began.

"I do not need your thanks, Mr. Atoll. I simply wish the answer to one question. What happened at Blackthorn Castle?" }}