And then this afternoon, Kethry had nearly fainted when it "called" with all of its old urgency. They'd obeyed its summons, until it led them at last to Delton.
Tarma saw to the stabling of their beasts; Kethry to bargaining for a room. The innkeeper looked askance at a mage wearing a sword, for those who trafficked in magic seldom carried physical weaponry, but he was openly alarmed by the sight of what trotted at Tarma's heels -- a huge, black, wolflike creature whose shoulders came nearly as high as the swordswoman's waist.
Kethry saw the alarm in his eyes, realized that he had never seen a kyree before, and decided to use his fear as a factor in her bargaining. "My familiar," she said nonchalantly, "and he knows when I'm being cheated."
The price of their room took a mysterious plunge.
After installing their gear and settling Warrl in their room, they returned to the taproom for supper and information.
If the streets were deserted, the taproom was crowded far past its intended capacity.
Tarma wrinkled her nose at the effluvia of cheap perfume, unwashed bodies, stale food odors and fish-oil lanterns. Kethry appeared not to notice.
Tarma's harsh, hawklike features could be made into a veritable mask of intimidation when she chose to scowl; she did so now. Her ice-cold stare got them two stools and a tiny, round table to themselves. Her harsh voice summoned a harried servant as easily as Kethry could summon a creature of magic. A hand to her knife-hilt and the ostentatious shrugging of the sword slung on her back into a more comfortable position got her speedy service, cleaning her fingernails with her knife got them decent portions and scrubbed plates.
Kethry's frown of worry softened a bit. "Life has been ever so much easier since I teamed with you, she'enedra," she chuckled quietly, moving the sides of her robe out of the way so that she could sit comfortably.
"No doubt," the swordswoman replied with a lifted eyebrow and a quirk to one corner of her mouth. "Sometimes I wonder how you managed without me."
"Poorly." The green eyes winked with mischief.
Their food arrived, and they ate in silence, furtively scanning the crowded room for a likely source of information. When they'd nearly finished, Kethry nodded slightly in the direction of a grizzled mercenary sitting just underneath one of the smoking lanterns. Tarma looked him over carefully; he looked almost drunk enough to talk, but not drunk enough to make trouble, and his companions had just deserted him, leaving seats open on the bench opposite his. He wore a badge, so he was mastered, and so was less likely to pick a fight. They picked up their tankards and moved to take those vacant seats beside him.
He nodded as they sat; warily at Tarma, appreciatively at Kethry.
He wasn't much for idle chatter, though. "Evening," was all he said.
"It is that," Tarma replied, "Though 'tis a strange enough evening and more than a bit early for folk to be closing themselves indoors, especially with the weather so pleasant."
"These are strange times," he countered, "And strange things happen in the nights around here."
"Oh?" Kethry looked flatteringly interested. "What sort of strange things? And can we take care of your thirst?"
He warmed to the admiration -- and the offer.
"Folk been going missing; whores, street trash, such as won't be looked for by the watch," he told them, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, while Tarma signaled the serving wench. He took an enormous bite of the spiced sausage that was the Blacke Ewe's specialty; grease ran into his beard. He washed the bite down by draining his tankard dry. "There's rumors -- " His eyes took on a certain wariness. He cast an uneasy glance around the dim, hot and odorous taproom.
"Rumors?" Tarma prompted, pouring his tankard full again, and sliding a silver piece under it. "Well, we little care for rumors, eh? What's rumor to a fighter but ale-talk?"
"Plague take rumors!" he agreed, but his face was strained. "What've magickers and demons got to do with us, so long as they leave our masters in peace?" He drained the vessel and pocketed the coin. "So long as he leaves a few for me, this Thalhkarsh can have his fill of whores!"
"Thalhkarsh? What might that be? Some great lecher, that he has need of so many lightskirts?" Tarma filled the tankard for the third time, and kept her tone carefully casual.
"Sh!" the mercenary paled, and made a cautionary wave with his hand. " 'Tisn't wise to bandy that name about lightly -- them as does often aren't to be seen again. That -- one I mentioned -- well, some say he's a god, some a demon summoned by a mighty powerful magicker. All I know is that he has a temple on the Row -- one that sprang up overnight, seemingly, and one with statues an' such that could make me blush, were I to go view 'em. The which I won't. 'Tisn't safe to go near there -- "
"So?" Tarma raised one eyebrow.
"They sent the city guard trooping in there after the first trollops went missing. There were tales spread of blood-worship, so the city council reckoned somebody'd better check. Nobody ever saw so much as a scrap of bootleather of that guard-squad ever again."
"So folk huddle behind their doors at night, and hope that they'll be left in peace, hmm?" Kethry mused aloud, taking her turn at replenishing his drink. "But are they?"
"Rumor says not -- not unless they take care to stay in company at night. Odd thing though, 'cept for the city guard, most of the ones taken by night have been women. I'd watch meself, were I you twain."
He drained his tankard yet again. This proved to be one tankard too many, as he slowly slid off the bench to lie beneath the table, a bemused smile on his face.
They took the god-sent opportunity to escape to their room.
"Well," Tarma said, once the door had been bolted, "we know why, and now we know what. Bloody Hell! I wish for once that that damned sword of yours would steer us toward something that pays!"
Kethry worked a minor magic that sent the vermin sharing their accommodations skittering under the door and out the open window. Warrl surveyed her handiwork, sniffed the room over carefully, then lay down at the foot of the double pallet with a heavy sigh.
"That's not quite true -- we don't really know what we're dealing with. Is it a god, truly? If it is, I don't stand much chance of making a dent in its hide. Is it a demon, controlled by this magician, that has been set up as a god so that its master can acquire power by blood-magic? Or is it worse than either?"
"What could possible be worse?"
"A demon loose, uncontrolled -- a demon with ambition," Kethry said, flopping down beside Warrl and staring up at nothing, deep in thought.
Their lantern (more fish-oil) smoked and danced, and made strange shadows on the wall and ceiling.
"Worst case would be just that: a demon that knows exactly how to achieve godhood, and one with nothing standing in the way of his intended path. If it is a god -- a real god -- well, all gods have their enemies; it's simply a matter of finding the sworn enemy, locating a nest of his clerics, and bringing them all together. And a demon under the control of a mage can be sent back to the Abyssal Planes by discovering the summoning spell and breaking it. But an uncontrolled demon -- the only way to get rid of it that I know of is to find its focus-object and break it. Even that may not work if it has achieved enough power. With enough accumulated power, or enough worshipers believing in his godhood, even breaking his focus wouldn't send him back to the Abyssal Planes. If that happens -- well, you first have to find a demon-killing weapon, then you have to get close enough to strike a killing blow. And you hope that he isn't strong enough to have gone beyond needing a physical form. Or you damage him enough to break the power he gets from his followers' belief -- but that's even harder to do than finding a demon-killing blade."