"All Role Playing Gamers dream of stepping into the shoes of their characters.  But when Simon Brewer finds himself really living the life of his favorite character, the saucy thief Foxglove, he discovers that Dungeons are no fun in real life, and Dragons are hazardous to your health!"

FOXGLOVE


or,
Reflections in a Gorgon's Eye
A Transgendered Fantasy

This story is dedicated every Gamer who had a really great game ruined by the unwanted intrusion of crass reality.

Edited by Steve Zink

Chapter 31

 

Lady Avalyn Mornsong finished her morning toilet and came down to breakfast. Avon and J'Mira were sitting together as usual, and the Monkess (if that's the word) was lingering over her morning tea. Where these people got tea, Avalyn didn't know, and didn't really care, as long as they put enough honey in hers. J'Mira was wearing a variation on that 'African Noble' get-up that she'd been wearing yesterday.

She looked around the table. "What's this? Aren't Foxglove or Justin up?" she asked coquettishly. "Well, after that fiasco last night, I'm not surprised that Foxglove is too ashamed to show her face. And poor Justin is probably too terrified to leave his quarters without an armed guard!"

Kitsune smiled at a private joke. "I'd watch myself if I were you, Avalyn," she purred, "Foxglove was already down. One of the ladies of the court tried to pull that shit with her, and now she's busy washing shit out of her hair."

"What?"

"Foxglove shoved her head down the nearest guarderobe. That's sort of a medieval toilet, in case you didn't know."

"She wouldn't DARE!"

"Tell that to Lady Rozelva."

"Has Foxglove no sense of Diplomacy?"

"Oh, I dunno about that - right now, she's sort of established that we are not a group to be trifled with lightly. She sorta hammered home that we ARE an official Church Reconnaissance Mission, operating directly under orders from the Patriarch."

Avalyn sniffed into her tea. "And what about you? Shouldn't you be out, tracking down that Vampire that you claim that you saw?"

Kitsune gave her another sly-fox smile. "Oh, word HAS been getting around, hasn't it? Well, don't you worry your pointy little hea- I mean Ears! The last moves in our little game of Go are being made, even as we speak."

On cue, Foxglove entered the kitchen dressed in her travelling togs. Kitsune looked at her and asked, "Well? Did you check on both things?"

"Yep. First, the warding around the castle hasn't been broken. The Nachonite guards that you put on the warding device report that no one - and I checked, absolutely _no one_ was allowed in to interfere with it. And the guards also report that absolutely no one was allowed to enter or leave the palace."

"And the other matter?"

"I just came from a quick check around the castle. I was right - there were at least three places around the castle that I could find on an off-the-cuff search that would have been better chosen for the Vampire to enter the palace."

Kitsune nodded, satisfied. "Good, good. I thought so, but it's always best to be sure about this sort of thing." Kit cocked a snarky smile at Foxglove. "And what about *ahem* 'Loverboy'?"

Foxglove flipped a sour glower back at her. "Well, even as we speak, Sir Justin is throwing his weight around with the Nachonites. He has the Writ with him, so they should go along with it."

Avalyn cocked an eyebrow. "What's all this about?"

Kitsune just gave her a pussycat smile. "Oh, we're going to church."

"Excuse me?"

"We all are going to pay a visit to the local cathedral of Holy Church."

"Why? Is it Bingo night?"

"Well, someone wake up the Patriarch! A miracle has happened! Avalyn actually made a joke!"

Mornsong glowered at Kitsune. "Now, exactly why would _I_ want to go to-"

Before Mornsong could go into a Wiccanly-Correct rant against the perceived Catholic-ness of the Holy Church, Foxglove stepped in. "Oh, you don't want to miss it, Avalyn. Everybody who's anybody is going to be there. The Prince, the Prelate, the Chapter Commander of the Nachonites, Dr. Xenophanes, Colonel Rhysmarek, as many of the local nobles whose arms we can twist into coming - a real Who's Who of the local power elite. Oh! That reminds me - we should make sure that Hargrim gets the message to get Siegricson there on time. We don't really need him, but he's peevish enough to resent not being let in on a big time pow-wow."

Mornsong was chewing this over as Rasfen bustled in, closely followed by Justin. Foxglove gave Justin a look that would curdle milk at twenty paces. Justin just averted his eyes, no doubt to keep from being turned to stone. Oblivious to this, Rasfen walked up to the table, leaned over, planted his hand and scowled down at J'Mira. "What is this nonsense? The Nachonites have surrounded the Palace with their Men-at-arms!"

J'Mira looked up blandly at him. "That was by MY order. We spent most of the day yesterday running the Vampire down from the attics into the basements. Now, we flush it out of the basements. The Nachonites are to make sure that the Vampire's servants don't manage to smuggle it out as the last uncleansed quarters are scourged. Also, we're bringing in some priests from the Cathedral to check for any traces of vampiric taint that we may have missed yesterday."

"My Inquisitioners are more that capable of handling all that."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, Brother Rasfen. But something's come up that we need your expert services for."

Rasfen looked dubious. "What?"

"I'm afraid that I can't tell you."

"I serve the Inquisition. You will tell me."

"Sorry, Rasfen, but this is strictly 'Need To Know' information. This I can tell you - we need a Carriage train checked and secured to transport persons to and back from the Cathedral. It must be absolutely airtight. Also, we need the Central Worship area of the Cathedral checked for anything that might listen in on a confidential conversation. When you are done, have the Bishop's Guards seal the area and let NO ONE in until we show up."

"I Must Protest-"

"And you can protest later! Time is of the essence! This must be done quickly - we can use the commotion about the vampire to our best advantage. It will give us a reason to get the Prince and the others out of the Palace and over to the Cathedral without too much comment, and the vampire will be too busy ducking our 'cleaning crew' to do anything."

Rasfen stood silently, calculating furiously internally. "It will take several hours to arrange things to the specifications that you require."

"Whatever - but this meeting MUST take place by Three in the Afternoon, and no later."

Rasfen made a perfunctory gesture that was the Holy Church's version of 'crossing himself' and said, "I live to serve."

Kitsune assumed her 'Zen koan' stance and murmured, "What greater service, than to bury?" Everyone in the room gave her the usual 'hunh?' look. "The only thing that no one can truly do for themselves is to bury themselves."

Rasfen shook his head and walked out. Kitsune smiled after him as he exited. Then she looked at Justin and raised a single eyebrow.

He nodded. "It's all set. Exactly what are you up to, Foxglove?"

After a brief peevish snub, Foxglove said, "Don't ask me, this isn't MY show." She jerked a thumb in Kitsune's direction. Kitsune just smiled beatifically.

"Oh, wonderful," Mornsong said, wide eyed, "she's picking up bad habits from Foxglove."

"Now, now," Foxglove chided, "Just because YOU keep falling on Michelle Pfieffer's face is no reason to get down on someone else having their moment of glory."

*****

It indeed took Rasfen the better part of the morning to get everything set. It was just past Noon when the carriage train was pronounced ready. The Nobles squabbled about finer points of precedence for the better part of an hour; then they got it sorted out and the carriage train pulled out. Two lines of Nachonite cavalry accompanied the train as it wound its way through the streets and made its way to the great looming domed cathedral.

The carriage train pulled up in front of the Cathedral and Rasfen got out of the carriage in which his crew of Inquisitors were travelling. The hood of his cassock pulled over his head, he approached the Royal Coach. "First, let my Brothers and I check out the Apse, just to be sure that on one's trying to pull anything at the last minute."

The Prince nodded, and Rasfen gave a signal, at which his group of Inquisitors bustled into the Cathedral in a close group. There was a wait of several minutes, and then one of them came back with the go-ahead.

The Prelate greeted the Prince and the other worthies with all due pomp. As the group approached the Apse, or central worship chamber, Kitsune stopped them. "One last thing - how well does sound carry from this chamber?"

"That's a hell of a thing to be worrying about, after all this!" Lord AuDalles snapped.

"Well, it would be foolish to take all these precautions, just to have everyone who can cock an ear listen it, now wouldn't it? My comrades and I have something to discuss first, anyway. We'll go in and shut the door. If you can hear us, let us know. If, after ten minutes, you still hear nothing, come in and we will begin." She turned to Rasfen. "Is everything ready?"

He smirked down at her. "Yes, everything is in place."

The group began to enter the apse, but one of the Inquisitors objected to having weapons brought into the Sanctum. Kitsune and Avon weren't carrying weapons, Theocles' and Justin's weapons were Holy Weapons of the Faith and Foxglove, Zohar, Mornsong and J'Mira willingly relinquished their weapons. But Hargrim wasn't having any of it. "You can have my hammer, when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers!" he grated.

Theocles stepped in. "It's all right. Hargrim's hammer is a Holy Weapon of sorts."

The Prelate nodded, and eager to find out Kitsune's urgent information, allowed the weapon.

As the rest of her party walked through the huge wooden doors, Kitsune looked down at a damp spot near one of the doorposts, and smiled.

Unlike most Temples, where the worship area was a solid seating area all facing in one direction, toward an altar or icon flush against a wall, the apse of the Cathedral of the Holy Church in Seth-Barak was circular, with the altar in the very middle of the main worship area. Kitsune walked toward the altar, a waist-high rectangular structure some seven feet long by two feet wide draped by a red cloth, and covered by various instruments of the daily worship.

Curtains covered the large windows of the huge room and the vaulting chamber was dark. Kitsune gestured to the few acolytes still in the room. "Draw back those curtains, and let some light in here. Then leave." The acolytes obeyed, and the afternoon light flooded the chamber, which was designed to be lit by natural sunlight no matter the season. Kitsune smiled, and said, "Zanshin."

Theocles glowered at her. "Well? What do you have to tell us that you couldn't say back at the Palace?"

Kitsune cleared her throat for an extended bit of speaking. "Well, when we first spotted the Vampire, Foxglove suggested that J'Mira and I take advantage of this to get 'catechized' as she put it. The Acolytes that they sluffed us off on were very accommodating. I hadda swat 'em on the head a couple of times to keep them focused, but I managed to get the skinny on the local theological set up. I brought you in here to take advantage of a great visual demonstration." She pointed upwards.

The dome of the apse was covered by what seemed at first to be some kind of sunburst. But when the adventurers looked more closely, it became clear that it was an arrangement of lines all radiating out from the center. At the apex of the dome, there were three large forms, one an eight-spoked wheel, the next a roiling cloud, and between them, a large gray triangular mass which seemed to spring from its foundations in the cloud. At the very base of the mountain there was a coiled reptilian form with a grimacing round mask like face and a halo of snakes. A pair of hands from the mountain tweaked a cord from the mass of chaos, and ran it through the wheel, as if spinning thread. From the hand that took the finished thread off the wheel, the cord split into the many lines that radiated out in three separate sets. The first set of eight lines radiated out equally, and connected with the representations of four gods and four goddesses. The second set split off from the godfaces, forming eight angelic figures each. The third set was completely distinct from the godfaces, radiating out from the hand each on their own cord. These lines reached all the way to the edge of the dome and finished in a golden statue. These statues ringed the entire edge of the dome.

"Okay, now bear with me, 'cause I don't really get a lot of this - according to the bonze who explained it to us, the hands up there at the center represent the Weaver, the Creator God and all-around Head Guy."

"The Creator God is also the Chief Deity?" Theocles asked. "That's odd - in most pantheons, the Creator is either killed by succeeding Deities, or is this vast, incomprehensible force beyond even the Gods?"

"Yeah, that struck me as a little weird, too. Anyway, the Weaver takes the raw stuff of creation - that would be the cloud beside the wheel - runs it through that wheel and the spindle - apparently your 'Holy Symbol' is a stylized spindle, Theocles - and then weaves it into the very fabric of reality."

"Did the Acolyte say exactly what the 'raw stuff of creation' WAS?" Zohar interrupted, "Chaos? Primordial Ooze? The body of a slain monster?"

Kitsune worried her brow. "He said that it was 'breath'."

"Whose breath? The Weaver's own breath?"

"I asked him that, and he got very technical - I sort of get the impression that it's one of those 'how many angels can dance on the head of a pin' things around here. Anyway, from this, the Weaver weaves not only the world, but the greater and lesser gods as well."

"Another oddity - isn't twelve the usual number of gods?" Mornsong asked as she craned her neck, looking up at the ceiling.

"Not all that odd," Zohar commented. "It could represent the Four Cardinal Points of the compass and the intermediary points. Also, they could have come at it from the same process that gave us the Eight Permutations of Tao."

"Hmmm... It could be," Mornsong acceded. "It does seem rather--- regimented. Artificial. Not coming organically from any folk-consciousness."

"What _I_ wonder," Justin started in, before Mornsong could start to get really critical, "is why they chose the spindle for their Holy Symbol, instead of the Wheel? After all, the Wheel is a sacred image in many religions."

Foxglove was concentrating on the images around the rim. "Well, if this were some off-the-shelf RPG, I'd say that it's because of the similarity to the ankh, but more likely it's some kind of symbol of the actualization of reality. But it doesn't really work - the spinning wheel and eyelet spindle are products of the first stages of the industrial revolution which doesn't seem to have even started here, let alone reach the point of producing archetypal imagery. Okay, the faces are major gods and goddesses, and the full images are lesser gods and goddesses - what are the statues around the rim?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, that's one of the things that had me baffled. At first, I thought that they were something along the lines of the local equivalent to Angels. But they're something called 'Atlars' - the acolyte was kind of vague as to exactly what they did. Anyone here ever heard of anything called an 'Atlar'?"

The Adventurers looked around at each other blankly.

"Maybe they're supposed to illustrate some sort of virtue or religious principal?" Theocles hazarded.

"Nope." Kitsune shook her head.

Kitsune gave a gust sigh. "Well, one more mystery for the pile. And here's another one - there are forty-three of 'em. And Forty-Three is a Prime Number, so it can't be one of those multiples of a mystically significant number deals. Anyone ever heard of any mystical significance to the number 43?" There was a general shaking of heads. "But that ain't the real kicker. Foxy, take a look at the third minor godling from the right under the War God - he'd be the godface right over there."

Foxglove turned her attention to where Kitsune was pointing, and her jaw almost immediately hit the floor. The godling depicted was a golden man in chainmail armor with four wings, carrying two broadswords, with two large greatswords floating near him. As she nearly strained her eyes picking out the details, Foxglove could tell that the artist had somehow captured the very image that she herself had created for 'Lord Martos'.

"NO! That is Impossible! It can't be Lord Martos! I _Invented_ 'Lord Martos' out of whole cloth!"

"Sorry, Red, but I asked the acolyte - that is indeed, Lord Martos, Champion of the War God in the fight against the Unclean."

"But that's impossible!" Foxglove grated, "I _specifically_ asked Father Anhass back in Plandury if there was any known supernatural agent that matched Martos' description, 'cause I didn't wanna piss off any supernatural heavy hitters! He said No!"

"Well, then, Anhass must have been wrong," Theocles calmly stated. "Not surprising, him being a mere country priest."

"But that can't BE! Look at him! Every detail is the same! How could I get every detail, if I was just winging it?"

"Actually, it's not surprising, Foxglove - after all, Gods are archetypal images of a sort. You just tapped into the same imagery that Lord Martos is based on and used that to create your illusion."

<Aaarrgghh!> "But this means that I can't use the 'Lord Martos' illusion to bait the Army! If I did, it would be Blasphemy! If I blaspheme a major player like Martos, even the Patriarchal Writ wouldn't keep them from burning me at the stake!"

Theocles chewed on that for a while. "I see your point. There goes a major weapon. And if 'Martos' doesn't make an appearance to face the Unclean, the War Horseman is bound to use that to bolster his troops' morale."

Avon looked at each godface and lesser deity in turn and then turned to face Kitsune. "Well, Kit, any more mysteries to pull out of your bag?"

"Just one, and we can let the nabobs outside in on the riddle. Hermod, would you go open the door for our worthies?"

Theocles' acolyte went and invited the nobles in. In true feudal manner, they filed in, in order of precedence, with the Prelate leading the way. Prince Setacius followed and then the rest. Avon quietly noted the exact sequence - it helped to keep track of the politics of the moment. Colonel Rhysmarek brought up the rear with a studied nonchalance.

Hermod began to address the assembled nobles, but Kitsune shushed him. Ah, Avon thought - making a production of humility. Always a nice ploy. It's hard to get up on your high horse, if you need something from someone who refuses to put on airs.

Kitsune bowed. "Greetings, Exalted Ones! This humble person is called Kitsune. I am, as must be obvious, from the lands far to the East. I, along with my treasured traveling companions, have been entrusted by the Patriarch of the Church that sponsors this wondrous Cathedral, with a mission into the dark Outlands."

"So we heard," one of the nobles muttered. "Though I gotta wonder why His Holiness chose a heathen foreigner for this mission."

"Ah! But you answer your own question, even as you ask it! As an outsider, I can see things that blend into the scenery for you! This is all very new to me, and I question things that are as sure as sunrise for you."

The Bishop drew himself up. He was an elderly man, the very image of a medieval cleric, down to his shaven tonsure. "So, what have these Outlander's eyes seen that demands our attention, Infidel?"

"I have seen that which makes your Blessings wither, your Wards crumble, your Healings fail, and allows nightmares to haunt the faithful. I have found the Unholy thing that your Inquisitors have been looking for."

Setacius bristled at the Bishop, "Arimasal, what is she talking about?"

Kitsune interrupted before the prelate could get started. "Two nights ago, as we were checking the walls of the palace, my colleague Foxglove and I witnessed a dark stream of smoke rise up one of the walls - against the wind." She paused a moment to let that sink in. "Then a shuttered window opened, and allowed the smoke in."

"What?" Setacius roared, "A Vampire, in MY palace? Arimasal, what is being done about this? I want that thing out before it does any damage!"

"Oh, it's much too late for that," Kitsune assured him calmly. "You see, the Vampire has been in Seth-Barak for months. Bishop Arimasal, tell me if I've gone wrong - some months ago, a priest of the Holy Inquisition, one known personally to you or Bishop Jehozadak - by the way, how do you keep track of who's in charge?"

"Jehozadak is in charge of the Inquisition for this entire region. But-"

Kitsune cut him off. "This Holy Inquisitor, probably renowned for his faith and diligence in pursuit of the Unclean, came to you from the Outlands, telling you that he was on the trail of a particularly subtle and dangerous vampire, and that he had followed that trail to Seth-Barak. He asked for carte blanche in finding the creature, and wanted a team of Inquisitors to assist him."

Arimasal nodded. "Yes. But how did you know? Osdorin asked for complete secrecy, so that he could track the vampire without alerting it to his presence."

Kitsune smiled mysteriously. "But for all his efforts, Osdorin couldn't find the vampire's resting place. And signs of spiritual contamination began to show in not only the city, but in this Cathedral complex as well: befouled Holy Water, wounds that wouldn't heal and went gangrenous, petitions for Auguries that went unheeded, and notably pious Clerics that withered and died, no matter what prayers were said over them. Even you, Bishop, have been visited by foul nightmares that haunt your sleep."

"Who told you all this?" the Bishop demanded, "All that was kept under a seal of utmost secrecy! And I told no one of my nightmares!"

"No one told me anything; I saw the evidence of it as I was bustled past hospitals that normally would have been flaunted as a sign of the Faith's diligence toward the healing the sick. I saw a line of monks and priests stumping along on diseased limbs, praying for relief. I saw that the Holy Water Font in front was dry, when it should always be full. I was besieged with questions about events in the Outlands from Seers who should have been able to keep tabs through their auguries. And as for your nightmares, they're written on your face in the lines and bags under your eyes. It was all there, if you had the wit to see."

Kitsune broke off her one-on-one with the Bishop, and addressed the assembled nobles. "From the moment that we saw the vampire enter the Prince's palace, Foxglove and I knew that the Unthing was playing games with us. We asked ourselves, WHY would a vampire with an assistant inside the palace, make such a blatant entrance? The only answer that made any sense was that it wanted us to raise the alarm, to spread the news that there was a vampire in the palace."

Lord AuDalles scoffed, "And WHY would it want to do that, and set the Inquisition on itself?"

"Because to do so would have set the cat among the pigeons. A vampire is loose among you - who has it attacked? Who has it contaminated? Who is under its control?" Kitsune fixed them all with a wintry gaze. "Since I've gotten here, I've been amazed at the lack of unity among the nobility. An Army is heading this way, ripping up the Marches as it gets closer - do you draw together, set aside your differences to be settled in better days, form plans and polish your weapons? No! You sit around and snipe at each other! My guess is that a person of impeccable reputation has come to each of you with tales that the reports of the oncoming army are nothing but a ploy to get you to make concessions that are against your best interests. Am I right?"

There was some grumbling and the various nobles and worthies looked at each other embarrassedly.

"Exalted ones, ask yourself - in terms of pure tactics and questions of personal honor aside, which foe would you rather face: an alert and ready foe with a sharp sword and a sound shield, or a dazed and confused foe, with eyes blindfolded, sword bound and shield rotten? Well, right at this minute, the War Horseman, the general of the Darkling Army, is marching toward a foe who is hoodwinked, bound hand and foot, and whose shield will crumble with the first touch."

Prince Setacius asked, "So, you say that you have seen the fiend responsible for all this? Well, why don't you ferret it out?"

Kitsune smiled a vicious little kitten smile, bowed, and said, "As my lord commands. Foxglove! J'Mira! Justin! Now!"

Foxglove pulled back the bell sleeves of her gown and with a single fluid movement whipped the draping red cloth off the altar, sweeping the regalia on the altar into the bag formed by the cloth. The second that Foxglove had the altar cleared, J'Mira and Justin grabbed a corner of the altar and shoved the covering panel, removing it like the lid of a box.

"What?" Bishop Arimasal began to scream at the sacrilege, but stopped when he saw a head poke up out of the box formed by the hollow in the altar. The head belonged to a very flustered, mild looking man in the gray robes of a cleric. "Osdorin! What do you think you are DOING? This is Sacrilege!"

Osdorin started to gather his wits. "I have a perfectly good explanation-"

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Kitsune murmured. She stepped up to Osdorin, and her hand a flashing blur, she snatched an amulet from his chest. As soon as the talisman was off his chest, Osdorin threw his head back and screamed like a lost soul. His flesh began to smolder, and he trashed around in mortal agony. He fell back into the altar/coffin and was quickly reduced to a heap of desiccating foulness gathered around blackened bones.

The doors of the Apse burst in, and Rasfen and several other members of the Inquisition forced their way past the Nachonite guards. Rasfen looked at the blasted skeleton draped over the altar and shrieked, "Osdorin! Nooo!" Quickly, the Nachonites forced the Inquisitors to the ground and bound them. It wasn't easy, and it took an average of three Nachonites to bring one Inquisitor to bear.

<Ahem!> Once she had the noble's attention again, Kitsune held up the amulet. "My guess is that this talisman allowed Osdorin here to withstand the light of day. Let me hazard the further guess that it was Osdorin here who approached each of you with tales of double-dealing and treachery. Such a nice man, with such a soothing voice, and what he said made such _sense_, now didn't it?"

The nobles were understandably shaken. "But—how could he even BE here, in the Holy of Holies?"

Bishop Arismasal, also shook, said, "He can't - it's impossible! The Apse is ceremonially re-consecrated every day at sunrise!"

Kitsune nodded. "Yes, but if Osdorin there was already under the altar as the consecration ritual is being done, then the ceremony is fundamentally flawed. Once the rite is finished, Rasfen created a reason to be alone in the Apse, killed some small animal, a rat or kitten maybe to desecrate the room - if you'll look, you'll spot a very clean spot by the right hand side of the door, where the blood was spilled and then cleaned up."

Arismasal was dubious. "Maybe - but for months? Always at the same time?"

"No, not always at the same time. Some times Osdorin would sleep all day under the altar and come out at night. Some times, Osdorin would have to make a daylight hours appearance, and his man Rasfen, or whoever was available would let him out."

"But if that talisman made Osdorin immune to daylight, why did he have to hide out of sight?"

"Two reasons - First: this amulet is probably only good to protect him for short periods of direct exposure to sunlight. Besides, like all vampires, he does need to sleep during the day, and what better hiding place than here, right under the nose of the Holy Church?

"Second: This altar is the heart of this Apse. This Apse is the heart of the Cathedral. This Cathedral is the heart of the Holy Church in Seth-Barak. But if Osdorin was under the altar at every ritual and ceremony performed here, then those rites would be fundamentally tainted by his evil, and the spiritual defenses of Seth- Barak would slowly corrode until they were virtually non-existent. Once the Darklings marched up to the walls of the city, there would be nothing to stop their magics from tearing you all apart. And more, those Nobles who came here to worship would feel none of the sense of relief and belonging that they would feel at the chapels in their own keeps at home. So, they'd feel no real obligation to protect the city of Seth-Barak. When the fighting got heavy, they'd just pull their forces out and go protect what really mattered to them - their homes. And so, the weakening of the defense of Seth-Barak was furthered even more."

Arimasal held up a hand. "So, how did you know that the Inquisition was being corrupted?"

"Well, that's where my 'outlander's eyes' saw more than you did - in your minds, the Inquisition is the very Hand of Justice. To me, they're just watchmen - and in the words of an ancient philosopher, 'Who will watch the watchmen?' My guess is that Osdorin here was an old and trusted friend of your Bishop Jehozedak. He really was sent out to track down and destroy a vicious and devious vampire. He tracked the vampire down, but he didn't destroy it. No, it got the better of him, turned him, and sent him to Seth-Barak to have a nice long conversation with his old friend Jehozedak. From there, he corrupted as many of the Inquisitioners as he could, and sent the ones that he couldn't get at off on fool's errands."

Arimasal snarled at Olmer, the Captain of his guards, "Arrest every member of the Inquisition! Even Jehozedak! Dralmeres, have your Nachonites help them."

"Measures that drastic won't be needed," Theocles assured the Bishop. "Without the Vampire polluting the very heart of the rites, you can reconsecrate the Cathedral. Then hold a great mass, while making sure that the Inquisitors are kept busy and kept in the dark about the destruction of the vampire. You should be able to finesse them into partaking of what they think will be an impotent blessing."

"Nice try, Theocles," Avalyn sneered, "but the second that the first of them reacts to the blessing, they'll scatter like roaches. It looks like you'll have to drag the Inquisitors in and have them cleansed at halberds' points."

"That won't be necessary, Bishop," Kitsune assured him. "Once Rasfen has been appropriately scourged of Osdorin's influence, he should know exactly who in the Inquisition should be detained and forcibly excorized. And even if Rasfen's corruption is too deep, Foxglove has a few tricks up her sleeve to get the information."

Arimasal shook his head. "No, this is a Church matter. I am deeply thankful to you worthies, but we shall handle it In-House."

Avon stepped up. "That isn't the end of it, Your Worship. If anything, our work here is only beginning." With that, he went to work on them. It wasn't Henry the Fifth's Saint Crispin day speech, or Marc Anthony's 'Friends, Romans, Countrymen' speech, but it was a very good piece of bardcraft. In so many words, he told them that they had been made to act like fools. The told them that the War Horseman was laughing at them, that he could ride toward Seth-Barak at his leisure, knowing that they'd be sharpening their knives for each other, not him. He told them that the only way that they'd be anything other than fools would be to stand together against the fiend that had tricked them. By the time Avon was done, the Nobles may not have been standing hand-in- hand singing hymns, but they were talking unity, not intrigue.

Theocles took Kitsune, J'Mira, Foxglove and Mornsong aside. "Very well, ladies, the Holy Church thanks you very much for your efforts. Now, we must concentrate on matters of great importance. If you would be so gracious?"

Avalyn cocked an arched eyebrow at the cleric. "Oh, you mean, 'Well, Ladies, it's been fun, but now we menfolk have to take care of grown-up business'?"

Theocles opened his mouth, but before he could put his foot in it, Foxglove intercepted it. "So what? From here on, it's all chest thumping anyway. Besides, Avalyn, there's a matter of majick-craft that I've been meaning to talk over with you. Kit? Jam-pot?"

When they were well out of the cathedral and in a carriage returning to the palace, Mornsong turned to Foxglove. "And exactly what matter of The Craft did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering where you got all those great dresses of yours."

 

CHAPTER 32

Your Mission, Mister Galliard, Should You Chose To Accept It,

In her apartments, Lady Avalyn Mornsong steamed at Foxglove and Kitsune as they helped wrap J'Mira up in a length of cloth. "Dresses! Matters of State are being decided, and you want to natter on about clothes?"

"Why not?" Foxglove said through a mouthful of pins. "It's not like they're going to talk about anything really important."

"They're going to decide the fate of this kingdom!"

"Principality, actually. And of course they aren't. The World-keeper does that. All that they're going to do is spin a lot of guff to draw Theocles and the other guys into that Byzantine quagmire, to keep them busy until the Army of Darkness gets here."

Mornsong made a disgusted noise through her lips. "That 'World-keeper is trying to kill us' nonsense again?"

"I haven't seen anything to make me think that all of this is anything but an elaborate con game. What he's trying to con us into doing, I dunno, but I definitely get the impression that we're being had. All things considered, I think that making sure we have decent wardrobes is a lot more important than trying to get Setacius, Arimasal and Brastren to play nice with each other."

Avalyn cocked an eyebrow. "And what do you want from me?"

"Hey, all I want is for you to show me how you do your 'Fashion Update' spell."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, the spell that you use to change your dresses from one scheme to another? I noticed that Maybelle, your maidservant, only packs five or six different dresses when she folds up camp. But I haven't seen you wear the same outfit twice in the whole time that I've known you. My guess is that you use your magic to alter your dresses to fit the mood and situation. J'Mira here wants to get a little variety in her look."

"Yeah!" Foxglove's imp, Scintilla, piped in, "How's a girl s'pozed to keep her guy interested, if she wears the same outfit all the time?"

J'Mira gave Foxglove a look. "Oh, like you don't want to know, so that you can use it so that you don't have to keep traipsing around in your signature outfit all the time."

"Traipse? Do I traipse, Kit?"

"Far more to the point," Mornsong interrupted, "why should I reveal one of my mystic secrets for your convenience? After all, if you really want to, you can keep casting illusion spells for new outfits."

Kitsune gave one of her patented 'cruel kitten' looks. "Oh, you'll give the secret, because there's something that we have to offer in return - the secret of how we really figured out that that stupid vampire was hiding under the altar."

"What secret? You blabbed everything that you figured out in that disgusting show-off display of yours."

"Oh, really? Run through it again in your mind, Avalyn. I think that if you really run through it, you'll notice that there was nothing to conclusively point us to the Altar in the Apse. And I think that you'd really like to know what it was that pointed us toward that deduction."

Mornsong worried her lower lip for a minute or so. Then, curiosity chewing her up inside, she blurted out, "Okay, okay! I'll show you! What was it, already?"

Kitsune's mouth spread into a pussycat grin. "Your word?"

"Yes, yes, my word! What was it?"

"Well, it does have something to do with what we're doing here. You see, while we were working with the Inquisition tracking down the vampire - or more accurately, being sent on wild goose chases while they moved Osdorin around - J'Mira was wearing one of Foxglove's illusion dresses. The Inquisitors didn't know that, because they took us to the Cathedral for our 'catechism lesson' and showed us the apse."

"So?"

"So, J'Mira's dressed stayed in one piece."

"And?"

"'And'? And it was a freaking Cathedral! That illusion should have dropped the second that J'Mira put her first foot through the main doors! But it didn't! It stayed put all through the tour, even in the Apse, which as I pointed out, was supposed to be the beating heart of the Cathedral! Admittedly, it didn't occur to me until I saw an acolyte trying to bless himself in a dry font. Then it hit me, and J'Mira and I got rid of our cicerone, and searched the apse. I noticed that the top of the altar was slightly askew - I mean, really! The Altar of a church is supposed to be the very center of its geomatria! - and found the vampire's 'coffin'. After that, it all sort of fell into place."

Mornsong gave Kitsune a harsh glare. "And that little story is supposed to be fair recompense for my Dress-Altering charm?"

"Hey, is it OUR fault that you're an easy mark?" Scintilla asked. "We cut a deal here, Blondie."

Mornsong worked her delicate mouth in distaste, but nodded. "Yes, we did, didn't we?" She took a deep breath, and centered herself.

She started to gesture, but Foxglove stopped her. "Hold a sec! Let get something--" She fished around in her purse and pulled out the Hags' Eye.

"Eyyeeww!" Mornsong squealed, "Why do you still have that revolting thing?"

"It's useful - disgusting, but useful. Go ahead, Avalyn." Mornsong wound up again and gestured. A lavender mist wafted from her hands and wrapped itself around J'Mira's form. When the mist cleared, J'Mira was dressed in a dark green batik African gown that was literally cut for her.

Foxglove's face went slack, and the Hag's Eye dropped from her hand. "What the fuck?"

But before she could say anything more, there was a thumping at the door. Avon stuck in his head. "Ladies? Are you decent?" Then he spotted J'Mira. "Mmm-mmm! Very nice!"

J'Mira beamed at him. "Why, thank you, kind sir! And did you come in here just to see my new look?"

"Well, if I'd known that you were experimenting with fashions, I'd have come armed with a few suggestions - red latex catsuits and things like that - but alas, dread duty calls with a louder voice than mere libido."

"Duty?"

"Yes - it seems that Setacius was very impressed with your detective work, Kitsune. And the prize for a job well done, as we all know, is another job. His Princely Highness wants to talk to us about a job that he wants done."

"Well, it's about time that he sought our input!" Mornsong said snippishly.

"Ah -- he doesn't want to see you, Avalyn," Avon corrected. "He wants to see Kitsune, J'Mira, Foxglove, Zohar and myself."

"What? Why you and not me?"

"I'm not sure; he said that he would explain in private. I think it's a confidential matter." Before Mornsong could complain any further, Avon swept Kitsune, Foxglove and J'Mira out the door.

'What was I thinking?' Foxglove asked herself, but she couldn't dredge up her lost train of thought. She gave it up as irrelevant. "So, what sort of agreement did you MEN come to?" she asked Avon.

"Well, the Principality of Barak isn't one big happy family, but at least they've wrapped their heads around the fact that the Army of Darkness is the real threat, not each other. The Frontier Barons have agreed on Pildash as the Grand Marshall for the combined armies. In return, Setacius has agreed to postpone calling the Lundsgravvy for the acknowledgement vote until the end of the crisis, when all the Frontier Barons and their Thanes can attend and vote. Also, Setacius has promised to build a paved road through the Marches, that the Frontier Barons have wanted since the far side of forever." Avon finished with a snicker.

"I get the impression that you're amused by Setacius building a road, Avon. Why?" Kitsune asked.

"Oh, I'm just appreciating Setacius' underhanded methods," Avon replied.

"What's so underhanded about a road?" J'Mira asked as she slipped her arm under Avon's.

"Ah, but you see, it IS rather underhanded - you see, the Frontier Barons have been carping about having a reliable road linking them up to the rest of civilization since the first time that the Empire was out here. But the Imperial governor, and then the local Prince, and then Setacius' ancestors all turned them down."

"So?" Foxglove asked, "Setacius is giving in on old issue to show that he really wants to mend if fences. So what?"

"AH! But you see, the reason that Setacius' ancestors never agreed to build the road was that it might start a civil war."

"Civil war?" Foxglove hooted, "How would a road start a civil war?"

"I get it!" J'Mira popped, "You can't build a road for the entire Marches all at once! Whoever's lands get the road first gets a huge trade and tax edge over the others, while the last one hooked up gets the crumbs instead of a real slice of the pie! And given their rather confrontational lifestyle, I rather doubt that the one slated to be the last one in line will just lie back and accept getting shafted."

"Exactly," Avon agreed. "Up to now, unity on the frontier was more important than the road. But with that acknowledgement vote coming up, Setacius is looking to throw a cat among those pigeons. I doubt that the road will actually get built any time soon - Setacius will bring up the issue of exactly where the road will go, before the vote is even a real issue. That should split up the Frontier Barons enough that Setacius should be able to play them off against each other to get his authority verified by a legitimate vote of the Lundsgravvy."

"Maybe," J'Mira mused, "but then he'll have problems with the Interior nobles, once they're secure in their power-base."

Kitusne sighed. "'Mira, we aren't here to stabilize Secatius' power base. We're here to complete the mission that we were sent on, which is to scout the Thaumaturge's 'Dark Tower'."

"No, we're not," Foxglove corrected. "Our real mission is to figure out what's really going on, and get the fuck OUT of this loony bin! And do it before the World-keeper manages to squash us like bugs!"

Before they could pursue Foxglove's tangent any further, the four walked up the doors of Prince Setacius' chambers, where Dr. Zohar was waiting for them. "Hey, Zohar! What's Up, Doc?" Foxglove chirped, cheerfully.

Zohar just shrugged eloquently in his long draping cape. Then he turned to one of the guards beside the doors. "Tell his Highness that we're here."

In time, the guard showed the five adventurers in. Prince Setacius was sitting at a table that he used as a desk, with two advisers by his side. Setacius was a fit man, maybe not quite in his prime, but definitely not over the hill. If anything, he rather looked like what Foxglove thought a medieval ruler should look like; not a fairy tale prince, but a man who actually held sovereignty over thousands of people. His clothes were rich enough to suggest majesty without implying that he was emptying the treasury, and his sword was hung at his hip in a way that suggested that he actually knew how to use it. He stood and nodded his head. "Ladies. Good Doctor. Honored Bard. First, I'd like to thank you for the speed, insight and adeptness with which you handled the matter of Osdorin. Indeed, it is exactly that speed, insight and adeptness that I am hoping to engage in a matter that is just as important, if not as immediate."

Okay, here comes the other shoe, Kitsune thought to herself.

"As the Darkling Army approaches, we have a major strategic problem - a good part of our standing forces must stay posted here along the frontier with the Ysfarren Wood." He walked over to a frescoed map on the wall. "If we pull these forces, the Elves will most assuredly move to try and extend their dominion further along the frontier. Moreover, there is yet another force along the Ysfarren frontier." He pointed to a stylized tower, with a silver lemniscate painted over its top. "Before we make any decisions as to placing those troops along the Ysfarren, We must know the mind of the Mystic in this matter."

"Mystic?" Foxglove asked. "No name connected with this guy?"

Setacius shook his head sadly. "No. Both the Tower and the Mystic were there long before Barak was settled, and he has never shown any interest in the welfare of neither the State nor folk of this region. He stirred himself not when the first settlers came, nor when the Empire conquered, nor when the Empire receded, nor when it came back."

J'Mira raised an eyebrow. "So, if he's so insular and apolitical, then why are you so worried about him?"

One of Setacius' advisors spoke up. "For he's NOT either insular nor apolitical. Every so often, he will send forth edicts as to matters that would seem ridiculous, if not for the fact that if not obeyed to the letter, he enforces them ruthlessly."

"What sort of edicts?"

"The placement of a road, the digging of a well, the building of a silo or wall, the planting of a crop, the clearing of a field, the timing of a fair, things of that sort."

"And he enforces these edicts? How?"

"He sends forth either an army of strange silent knights in red armor, or bizarre beasts that bleed not when they are cut. He sends them forth to level the buildings that he doesn't want built, or chase away the woodsmen, or collapse the well, or scatter the fair."

Another advisor added, "Also, he prevents us from issuing forth into the Ysfarren Wood with all our forces to crush the Elven Hosts."

Avon cocked an eyebrow. "So, you're asking us to visit this 'Mystic' and try to talk him into maybe getting some kind of assurances from the Elven Royalty that they won't attack? Or do you want him to agree to hold the Elven Hosts if they try to attack, so that you can pull a few of your troops from the Ysfarren border?"

Setacius sighed gustily. "No, Kind Bard, we expect no such boon - rather, we simply wish to know the Mystic's mind. You may assay these things with him, but we hold no great hope for it. At best, we might wish that he not seize this opportunity to rearrange the countryside more to his liking, or actively assist the Shining Host when they raid our flanks."

J'Mira chewed on this for a while. "What sort of reception did he give the envoys that you've sent before?"

"None have gone further than his gate. I am hoping that an envoy mission of fellow mystics, such as yourselves," Setacius indicated Kitune, Foxglove and Dr. Zohar, "will be more to his liking than the nobles and clergy that I've sent in the past."

Foxglove cocked her head and looked at the prince measuringly. "And what about Doctor Xenophanes, your court wizard?"

"Wise Xenophanes was sent running, covered in rotten vegetables."

Oh well, Foxglove thought, at least this Mystic has a sense of humor - a nasty sense of humor, but at least a sense of humor. Then a thought occurred to her: Why did Setacius want them out of the Palace? Or, more to the point, why did the World-keeper want them out of Seth-Barak? Well, the only way to find out what a trap is, is to spring it. "Your Highness, you do realize that we are a Church Reconnaissance Mission - we have a very specific agenda. We're charged to investigate the Thaumaturge of the Dark Tower. There is nothing in our brief to cover dealing with this threat. Indeed, we have been perilously neglecting our mission, dealing with the Darkling Army as much as we have! While it pains me to leave Seth-Barak at the mercy of the War Horseman, we must make plans to circumvent the Army and make toward the Outlands."

Setacius and his advisors looked blankly at Foxglove for a long while. Doctor Zohar hissed in her ear, "Foxglove! What are you up to now?"

"Not to worry, Doc," Foxglove whispered back, "I'm playing an angle."

The Prince and his advisers blinked stupidly at Foxglove for a while, and then Setacius cleared his throat. "Ah, uhm, well --- I think that speaking with the Mystic of the Basilisk Tower would probably provide much in the way of valuable information about the Thaumaturge, now wouldn't you? After all, the Mystic is rumored to be quite wise in such things. Even if he refuses to give you any direct information, well, what a man won't talk about is sometimes as edifying as what he will, No?"

Foxglove made a production of thinking about it. "No, My Prince, I'm afraid that if the Mystic does know anything of the Thaumaturge, then it is far more likely that he'd send his colleague news of us than he'd tell us anything of real value."

Setacius looked squarely at Foxglove. "I get the impression that you have some specific intention with all of this. What is it?"

"Well," Foxglove began gustily, "going to see this Mystic IS well outside of our brief, and we have neglected our duty to our mission to see to the welfare of a minor outpost client state. I see no _profit_ in delaying our journey to the Outlands any further." Foxglove stopped significantly, as the implications of the word 'profit' were still ringing.

Again, the Prince and his advisors stared blankly at Foxglove for a moment. Then Setacius walked over to his desk and began writing on a piece of parchment. "Milady Foxglove, ours is not a wealthy province. We don't have mounds of gold heaped high, just waiting to be doled out. And the havoc being wrecked on the Frontiers isn't helping our bullion reserves. But we can offer you something of value, a great treasure that we had hoped would help us against the onslaught."

Setacius placed a seal with red wax on the parchment and handed it to one of his advisors. The advisor looked with concern at the parchment, but Setacius held firm. The advisor left hurriedly. There was a tense hour of silence and stilted conversation as they waited for the advisor to return.

When he did return, the advisor was carrying a box bound in iron and was accompanied by a four-man armed escort. He handed it to Setacius, who opened the large lock with a key that popped out of a trick recess on one of his rings. Inside the box, nestled in a bed of purple velvet, was something that Foxglove took at first for a large squarish green bottle. But when Setacius picked it up, she could see that it was a huge square-cut emerald, large enough that it had to be held in both hands. Inside the emerald, a faint flame danced. "This," Setacius breathed reverently, "is the Gorgon's Tear. It is said that when the Weaver defeated the Gorgon and turned its body into the wheel that spins the thread that the entire world is woven from, that it shed this single tear. And in shedding that tear, it trapped a piece of the primordial chaos inside it, which you see as that flame. This gemstone has the ability to intercept magical assaults and render then impotent."

Setacius tore his eyes from his reverent gaze at the stone and dramatically handed it to Foxglove. "This is what I offer you to undertake this vital mission for me."

"You – overwhelm me, my prince," Foxglove murmured.

"The Gorgon's Tear has been a treasure of the Principality since the days of the First Prince. I had intended to use it in the defense of Seth-Barak. But, if I give it to you, then not only do I have absolute certainty of our position on the Ysfarren Frontier, but the Tear will still be here to guard the city if you are still here, and it will defend you when you go to face the Thaumaturge. Thus, by defeating the festering sore that this sickness oozes from, it will still serve to protect my principality. So, I offer it to you. Will you accept it?"

Foxglove took the gem and stroked it lovingly. "For this? For this, I would do almost anything..."

Prince Setacius smiled. "Very well, we have a contract. May that jewel aid you well as you deal with the Mystic. His magics are varied and subtle, and you will definitely need the Tear's protection with him as much as you will with the Thaumaturge."

"Thank you for the suggestion, my prince. Ill send my imp to handle a few minor chores, and we'll set out at soon as possible." With that, she sent Scintilla off to find Theocles. "Is there anything that we should know about the Mystic before we go? For instance, how has he received those envoys that you sent before - oh, that's right, you said that none got any further than his door." Foxglove flickered her gaze at Dr. Zohar. "So, we'll go in a way that will insure that at the very least, we'll do better than that."

Foxglove curtsied and swept out of the room, still holding the emerald. The captain of the guard began to stop her, but was restrained by the merest gesture from Prince Setacius. The others hurried to catch up with her.

Zohar raked her with a scathing glare. "Okay, Foxglove, get it off your chest. You know that you're just dying to spell it all out for us. What 'angle' are you playing - other than hustling Setacius to fork over a huge gem of incredible mystic power?"

"Oh, THIS?" Foxglove held up the Gorgon's Tear. "You want it? You can have it!" She cavalierly tossed the emerald over to Zohar's fumbling hands.

"What? You mean that all of this wasn't an underhanded ploy to get Setacius to give us this?"

"No. Why would it be? I never heard of the fool thing before."

"You hadn't? Then what was all that business about you being so hot to get to the Outlands to complete our mission?"

"Oh that? I just wanted to see how badly the World-keeper wanted us to go to see this 'Mystic'."

"The World-keeper? What makes you think that the World-keeper - if there IS a World-keeper - had anything to do with this?"

"Well, d'you remember when I told Setacius that we had to hie ourselves out to the Dark Tower tuit suite? And then when I started to shake him down? Setacius And his advisors froze in their tracks."

"They were stunned that you'd be so cold blooded."

"No, I think that I completely jumped out of the 'script' from which they'd been 'reading'. They couldn't do anything while the World-keeper decided how to deal with my ad-libbing, sort of like an on-line game locking up due to net-lag."

"What? You mean - just now - we were talking directly to the World-keeper?"

"Well, not directly, but close enough."

"But - if you knew, they why didn't you just ASK him what they HELL he wants with us?"

"What makes you think that he'd tell us? Besides, that's probably why he wants us to go to the Mystic's tower: to have the 'mystic' lay a bunch of mumbo-jumbo on us that we'll eventually figure out - if it doesn't kill us first. But I do know one thing - there's no way in hell that we're taking that emerald with us to the tower."

"Let me guess," Kitsune jumped in. "Setacius was too insistent on it, right?"

"Spot on, Kit."

Avon folded his arms across his chest. "And what if the World-keeper has a NON-lethal and perfectly valid reason for having us take the emerald there?"

J'Mira shook her head. "Nope, I'm with Red on this one - if Setacius had a magical item that powerful, it'd be a major topic of discussion. But this is the first that we've heard of it. I'll bet that the World-keeper just whistled that dingus out of dream-stuff right now. If the World-keeper really needed the emerald at the Mystic's tower, then he'd simply have created it there. There'd be no need for us to move it there. Nope, I can't help but think that this emerald's some kind of trap."

Foxglove paused. "You're onto something there, Jam-pot. I'm not exactly sure WHAT, but it's there.

*****

As one might expect, there was some dissent among the party over the choices to go speak to the Mystic. Well, except for Hargrim. After all, the Mystic couldn't reasonably be expected to have any beer. "I can understand not sending Theocles or Justin," Mornsong whined, "but why didn't the Prince pick ME to go negotiate with this 'Mystic'? After all, if he's lived this long on the Ysfarren Frontier, then he must have a long and deep friendship with the Elves of the Ysfarren Woods, now wouldn't he?"

"Ahhh - not necessarily, Avalyn," J'Mira extemporized. "After all, in this social setting, being neighbors usually means a long history of raids and skirmishes. After all, he does have those weirdoid knights that everyone's so scared of."

"Besides," Foxglove breezed, "it's obvious that Setacius decided to keep you here, so that you could guard this." She handed Mornsong the emerald. "This is the Gorgon's Tear, a treasure of great mystic significance. Hide this among your belongings, where no one will find it. Don't tell anyone that you have it, not even your handmaid. It's very important - it may be the key to our eventual victory over the Thaumaturge."

Avalyn took the huge stone, reverently stroked its facets and gazed awestruck into its depths to look at the dancing flame inside. "Won't you be taking this to the Mystic's?"

"What, and risk having him demand it as the price of his neutrality? No, we're going to need that eventually."

As they left Mornsong to squirreling away her treasure, Kitsune said aside to Foxglove, "You figure that if it's some kind of magical bomb, it might as well go off in Avalyn's quarters?"

"Why not? It ain't on MY side of the palace!"

CHAPTER 33

Weeee're OFF to see the Info-dump...

Foxglove, J'Mira, Avon and Kitsune were all crammed together with Dr. Zohar on his flying carpet. "Are you absolutely sure that you're going in the right direction, Zohar?" Avon yelled, though there was no real need to.

Zohar gave him a withering glare and said in an even tone, "Go North by Northeast, following the Ysfarren Road until it reaches the Desolation. The Mystic's tower is on top of a hill in the very center of the Desolation. How can you get lost with directions like that?"

"What the hell is a 'desolation' anyway?" J'Mira asked.

"Well, generally, in fantasy stories and fantasy RPGs, a 'desolation' is a wasteland of blasted vegetation and stunted wildlife, created by the presence of a very powerful and very dangerous magical being. In 'The Hobbit', the area surrounding the dragon's lair is called 'the Desolation of Smaug'."

"Okay, but by 'wasteland, do you mean a place where nothing grows, or do you mean just a place where there are no farms or buildings or other 'useful' construction?"

"Does THAT answer your question, 'Mira?" Kitsune pointed ahead. Just beyond a well-wooded hill began a patch of ground where what little vegetation grew, did so with great effort, and not very well. What few bits of scrub and weed managed to hold on were scrawny and sickly. The trees that stood were obviously long dead and rotten.

"MAN, am I glad that we talked Avalyn into staying back at Seth-Barak," Foxglove grumped. "If she were here, we'd have to listen to her whine and moan about industrial waste and global warming and all that, all the way to the tower."

"Hmmm..." J'Mira mused, "I wonder where they got the excess vegetables to throw at Xenophanes?"

Zohar's carpet flew them a good mile or so over the deadly landscape, before they spotted a high hill with a tall tower atop it. As they approached it, both the hill and the tower grew taller and taller. When they finally got there, the hill was looking rather like one of those hills that only need a few feet of piled up dirt to qualify as a mountain, and the tower had a good sized fortress complex around its base, along with two prominent domes near the tower that gave the whole thing an unfortunate phallic look. Foxglove snickered, and said, "Okay, who wants to be the one to make the remark about the Mystic being a big prick?"

As they flew closer, they could see that the tower was huge, almost dwarfing the complex around it, as if the walls and buildings were an afterthought to put finishing touches to the tower itself. While they flew around the battlements of the exterior complex, Kitsune was looking at something very intently. "Hey, Kit," J'Mira called, "you see something?"

"Yeah, I think so - Zohar, fly close to the tower itself." Zohar nodded and brought the carpet in close, so close that they could almost climb in one of the large shuttered and balconied windows. "'Kay, now close to the outer walls."

"So?"

"Don't you see? The tower itself is seamless except for those windows - no bricks, no projections, no ledges, and no cracks. But these outer buildings look like they're cobbled together from statues! Statues of men, statues of women, statues of animals, statues of fantastic beasts - and I dunno what that thing is supposed to be. All these statues, with the empty spaces filled in with brick."

"Okay, I see what you're talking about," Avon admitted, "but what does it mean?"

"I dunno. It means something, but I haven't a clue what. Shall we try to break in one of those shuttered windows?"

"Certainly NOT!" Avon bridled. "We're supposed to be a diplomatic mission! We land in that courtyard over there, and present our credentials, in proper envoy fashion."

Zohar nodded, and brought the carpet down in the large open area that Avon had pointed out. J'Mira got off and began stretching her legs as the others tried to catch the attention of the people milling around the courtyard. Then Kitsune walked up to her. "I think we're in trouble."

"Why? They aren't doing anything."

"Exactly - that's the problem; they're all animated statues."

"But if those laborers are statues-" J'Mira looked at the statues that made up the structures around them, especially the two large scorpion-tailed manticores that flanked the staircase up to the tower.

"Then this entire complex could conceivably come alive and attack us," Zohar finished for her.

"Which argues quite convincingly for doing nothing aggressive," Avon added as he walked up.

"Thank God we didn't bring Hargrim along," Foxglove finished up. "But we're still stuck with the problem of getting to see the Mystic without violating hospitality. After all, all these 'drones' are laborers, and they probably don't have very complex 'programming', so they don't know to go and tell anyone that we're here. On the other hand, if we go poking around, we're sure to piss off the master of the manor, and he'll set the house against us - literally." She jerked a thumb at two huge figures holding up the lintel to the main gate.

"Simple," Avon said smiling, "we let him know that we're here." He unslung his harp and began playing loudly. His music wasn't all that loud, but it still carried a long ways.

He'd finished one set and was well into another set, when the sound of his playing was interrupted by the rhythmic sound of marching feet. The sound grew until a column four deep of men in heavy armor carrying hoplite shields and broadswords came into view.

"What the Hell?" J'Mira blurted. All the 'soldiers' were wearing 'armor' of glazed ceramic, with festive flowers and birds painted on them. "What IS this, the 'Arts & Crafts Army'?"

The column of silent soldiers marched around the courtyard until the adventurers were completely surrounded, but didn't start anything. When the soldiers had completely encircled them, and a double row of guards was blocking the front gate, the large double doors to the tower opened up. Mist billowed out of the door, and a dark cloud, rumbling with lightning, rolled out. Riding the cloud was a man.

The man was tall and impressive, with long wavy black hair, sideburns that framed his long hawkish face, and a beard that reached down to his waist. He wore dark clothes, a brimless hat with what looked like a folded piece of paper tied to the front, and a white-fringed shawl draped around his shoulders. He glowered down at the envoys and said in a deep, resonant voice, "Who are you, what are you doing here, and why shouldn't I blast you to into dust?"

Avon wound up his best diplomatic manner, only to get elbowed in the gut by Kitsune. She carefully walked up to him in her best humble Asian mystic manner and bowed low. "Honored Mystic - forgive me, we have not been informed of your chosen cognomen - we are not here to intrude on your serenity. We are here on an issue of great urgency-" and from there, Kitusne basically said that they were sorry to barge in on him, but it was in his own best interests to listen.

The Mystic seemed rather taken aback at the sight of Kitsune. He squinted an eye at her, and then at J'Mira, then Foxglove, then Avon, and finally at Zohar. He returned his gaze to Kitsune. "Did you knock once, twice or three times, on the Gates of Ivory?"

<Hanh?> Kitsune spaced. Okay, things could get very bad if she blew this. At the very best, she'd look like a total dufus; from there it could go downhill from complete failure of the mission to getting ground down into a greasy smear on the pavement. Lessee--- knocking once could be a sign of confidence, of imposing your will on the universe, she thought. But knocking three times could be a sign of respect. And what the hell are the Gates of Ivory supposed to be? Maybe an allusion to the Pearly Gates? But, you don't knock on the Pearly Gates-- Hey, a trick question is exactly what an inscrutable mystic master would be throwing at us right about now! "Wise One, you do not knock on the Gates of Ivory - you wait humbly for the keeper to open them."

The Mystic cocked his head, as if considering her answer. "I see."

Then a clear dulcet voice came from the doors. "Oh, for the love of goodness, Aaron! The first visitors that we've had in the Sphinx only knows when, and you throw just as many riddles at them!" A woman swept out of the tower. She was a tall, slender woman dressed in dark homespun, but she wasn't in the least shabby. Her face was long and narrow with a sharp nose, but it was softened by a generous mouth and large soulful brown eyes. Long lustrous brown hair tumbled down past her shoulders. She gave her visitors a wide, welcoming smile. Zohar immediately thought that, except for her years, this was the 'Nice Jewish Girl' that his mother was always nagging at him to bring home.

"Welcome to the Tower of the Basilisk!" she beamed. "I am Rebecca, wife to Rabbi Aaron Baalshem." She gestured at her glowering husband. "And who are you, and what can we do for you?"

Zohar beat Avon to the punch and delivered a long, precisely executed formal greeting, first to the Mystic, and then to the Mystic's wife. He wound up with, "We come, Gracious Lady, seeking nothing more than to know your husband's mind on certain pressing issues. Not to beg him to perform any miraculous feat, not to change his mind, nor to petition him for some vital piece of lore. Just to understand where he stands."

Rebecca gave an amused snort. "I don't envy you the task! I've been married to him for longer than I care to admit, and I'd still love to know his mind! I ask him if he wants salt in his soup, and he answers with a riddle that has five levels and requires that you unravel an anagram in a forgotten language. So, I just pass him the salt shaker and let him salt it or not himself."

The Mystic softened when he looked at his wife. "Rebecca, you know that I refuse to get involved in these political matters. It's all just a flickering dream."

"Oh? And that's a reason to be rude to guests? At the very least, we can give them dinner and a place to spend the night."

"Spend the night? But Rebecca, tonight's not a good time for me."

"Is there ever? Please, Aaron, I just want a little dinner conversation with someone who isn't made of clay."

The Mystic sighed and stepped off of his cloud. "Very well. But I insist that THAT-" he pointed at Foxglove's imp, Scintilla, "-be constrained. I will not allow that in my house." He imperiously snapped his fingers, and one of the animated statues walked up with a clay container. Then he reached out a hand.

Foxglove looked at her imp. "Hey! Boss! You're not gonna let him put me in that, are you?"

"Sorry, Scin, but it's _his_ house, and _his_ rules." Foxglove took the imp from her shoulders. "Don't worry, it shouldn't be that long."

"Hey, that's easy for YOU to say!" Scintilla snapped as the lid of the jar was bought down, sealing her inside. The Mystic sealed the lid by inscribing it with a mystic sigil.

Once the imp was securely stashed away, the Rabbi and Rebecca showed the envoys to up the stairs to some rooms where they could freshen up. "I'm afraid that it'll be a little while before dinner is ready. We haven't had guests in a long while, and I'll have to make a lot more food than usual."

"That reminds me," Foxglove said, "I've been meaning to ask - where do you get your food from? The landscape for miles around is a wasteland, and I don't see any gardens around here."

The Mystic's wife just smiled enigmatically. "Oh, my husband isn't the only one who enjoys a good enigma. Just rest assured that it's healthy and nutritious."

Rebecca left them to take care of the evening meal. Avon and Zohar were assigned a room to themselves, but they followed the women into their room. "Foxglove, you weren't going to use any disguise spells or anything to dress up for dinner were you?"

"Why? You have a preference, maybe?"

"It's not that, but I think that you should be very careful about using any magic in this place?"

"What? You think that he's that sensitive?"

"Foxglove, his 'family name' is Baalshem."

"And?"

"'Ba'alshem' means 'Master of the Name', as in the 'Name of God'. According to Kabbalic tradition, knowing the mystic names of God gives you power. God has many faces, and has a name to count for each aspect, so knowing that name gives you some influence. And the way that he's dressed, with the hat, the prayer shawl, and the talismanic piece of paper that's tied to it, suggest a medieval version of what the Hassids wear. The founder of the Hassidic movement was sometimes called 'the Ba'alshem Tov', or the 'Master of the Good Name', or 'the Good Master of the Name', depending on how you interpret it. The Ba'alshem Tov was regarded as a saintly - and extremely powerful - sorcerer."

"Well, this Baalshem Tov may have been a saintly man," J'Mira retorted, but I can tell you that his namesake ain't no saint! He copped at least three feels off of me when we were walking up the stairs."

"Yeah, Zohar, he took a couple of quick gotchas off of me, too," Foxglove added. Kitsune merely held up three fingers.

"That's odd," Avon mused. "The Mystic seems to be quite fond of his wife, and she certainly doesn't seem like the sexually repressed type."

Zohar shrugged this off. "And lastly, there are all these animated statues around. I doubt that I have to tell you about Rabbi Lowe and his golem."

J'Mira gave a sickly smile and said, "Oh, I wouldn't say that..."

Avon sighed, and began. "Rabbi Lowe and his golem is one of the great Renaissance legends, like Tannhauser. And, like Tannhauser, it's rather fallen into obscurity. Rabbi Lowe was a leader of the Jewish community in Prague, which was, as so often happened, persecuted by their Christian neighbors. The Rabbi found clues in the Talmud and Kabbalah as to how to create a figure of clay and give it motion and awareness. According to some accounts the trigger was to place an inscribed tablet in the figure's mouth, and in others, you write either the word 'emeth' or one of the names of God on the figure's forehead."

"'Emeth'?" J'Mira asked, "What the heck does 'emeth' mean?"

"It's Hebrew for 'Truth'," Zohar replied. "At any rate, Rabbi Lowe created this figure, or 'Golem', and set it to protecting the Ghetto of Prague. But, unfortunately, while he had given it motion and awareness, the Rabbi couldn't give the Golem a soul, which is the sole province of God, so the Golem couldn't know right from wrong."

"Sort of like a Republican," Foxglove quipped.

Zohar shot her a 'very funny' non-smile. "Anyway, the Golem went berserk after a trifling incident - no one can agree exactly what it was - and started wrecking the Ghetto. And since by best accounts, it stood a little over eleven feet tall and was proportionately strong, we aren't talking about a few broken windows and overturned barrels here. Somehow, the Rabbi either managed to get the tablet out of the Golem's mouth, or by other accounts, he erased the first letter from 'emeth' turning it into 'meth', which is a Hebrew word for 'Death'. The point of all this is, that the creation of a golem is a Grand Quest, right up there with the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir Vitae. Only the wisest and most powerful of Kabbalists should even try anything like it."

Foxglove got the point. "And there are all these animated statues everywhere."

"Even built into the walls of the outer fortress," Kitsune noted. She raised an eyebrow at Zohar. "I noticed that they looked like they were all made out of red clay - is there some mystic significance to that, or d'you think that Baalshem chose this place because it's on a deposit of clay that's particularly well suited for making these golems?"

Zohar chewed on his mustache. "Well, Kit, the creation of a golem IS supposed to be a re-creation of the Lord's crafting of Adam from red clay - by the way, the name Adam literally means 'Man of the Red Earth' - so there might be something to that. But, on the flip side, a source of red clay may very well be the reason that he chose this remote site, so both possibilities might be right. But that's not the real point that I was trying to make.

"What I was trying to warn you about, Foxglove, is that Rabbi Baalshem is a very subtle and powerful mystic. The only reason that I can think of that a Kabbalist - who by definition is supposed to be a married man of the community before he even cracks open his first Kabbalah text - would set up shop way out here in the wilderness is that he doesn't want anything tainting his very delicate work. Any magic that you may do here - ANY magic - may have disastrous consequences."

Foxglove arched an eyebrow at Zohar. "A good point, Doc. But it begs an even larger question - Doc, if I remember Kit and 'Mira's little infodump on the faith of the Holy Church, there doesn't seem to be any real correlation to either Christianity or Islam in it. So, there's no context for Jews, Judaism or Kabbalism to exist here. But, according to you, Doc, our host appears to be a classic Hebraic Mystic. So, where did he come from? The question isn't 'what is a classically trained Kabbalist doing way out here in the boonies', it's 'what is a classically trained Kabbalist doing in this WORLD, in the first place?'."

 

 

Since 04/01/04