Shamites infested the markets posing as merchants, pawnbrokers, moneylenders, hawkers and members of the Merchant’s Guild. He watched as the richly robed Shamite men haggled and conned even the largest of night mortals. He was always surprised when a night mortal did not rip the piercings off a Shamite’s smug smirking face.
Shade supposed he should not be so surprised. After all, Kurn had originally been a Shamite city before it fell under Doljinaarian rule. He could not abide Shamites, but at times he had to admire how fiercely they chased wealth. Of course, he never saw a Shamite down here without a bodyguard or an entourage or a brute to collect on his debts. In Shade’s book the only thing worse than a Shamite merchant was a Syssrah. True, a Shamite would swindle you out of your life savings with a honey smooth smile and speech like wine, but a Syssrian merchant would slip poison into your cup or stab you in the back.
Shade scowled through his hood at the disgusting, slithering Syssrah. Syssrian merchants, adorned in colored folded linen robes and half-pleated kilts, hovered over booths hissing softly in the customers' ears. Shade saw forked tongues slither out of their mouths and could have sworn he saw the jewels on their white headdresses twinkle with hypnotic effect. Bronze scale armored Syssrian mercenaries and thieves slivered among the crowds, pushing themselves up on their tails to appear taller especially among Drakor. They carried cowhide or bronze shields, sickle-shaped kopesh swords and long spear quivers.
Syssrah were merciless hagglers who most would assume avoid altogether if it wasn’t for their wide array of exotic merchandise. Syssrian booths and tables were filled with poisons and potions, gold trinkets and charms, fine parchment, spices and perfumes, strange beasts and slaves from far off lands, scrolls of the Psionart and Soothsaying, and the finest bronze weapons available in the civilized world. Shade often marveled at the rich abundance of wares from a country that was reputed to be nothing but a desert waste.
Shade passed by a tall Drakoran mercenary as he leaned over the table of a Syssrian merchant. The dragon-man appeared enraged. He unfolded his wings and stretched them out five…six feet. He stood seven feet tall. His magnificent bronze scales glistened in the torchlight. He adorned a menacing suit of plate armor, blackened and charred, as if forged by dragon fire. He cocked his head dangerously flexing the horns that grew through his long oily black hair. A jagged black sword creaked at his side.
“Backbiting snake!” the Drakor roared. He slammed a bloodstained terramite helmet down on the table. The helm’s purple crest signified it had belonged to a Doljinaarian centurion and that it came off with some resistance. He growled and flashed a clawed finger at the Syssrian merchant, “You promised me ten bloodstone pieces!”
“You will get one-fifth the market priccce or you’ll tassste the tip of my ssspear!” said the Syssrah. He pulled out a long bronze spear which had been stowed in a rolled mink rug. He raised his spear menacingly at the dragon-man. He dangled a small pouch in his free hand sending a clear message to the Drakor that the tip had indeed been poisoned.
The merc unsheathed his sword, pointed it at the snake-man’s lips and seethed through clenched teeth, “I ought a cut out that lying forked-tongue of yours!”
“You don’t like my pricce? Then find another buyer! You Drakor expecct to be handed everything.”
“I was there, you forked tongued traitor! I liberated Oreb and Ithsiss from the legions of Doljinaar in the Six Dragon War and yet your slippery kind abandoned us at the siege of Ysalmariya. You left our warriors to die after we bled for your accursed country! Now you owe me! Pay me! Pay me what you owe!” The mercenary launched himself over the table. He seized the Syssrah by the collar.
The Syssrah and the Drakor tumbled head over heels. Sword and spear clattered to the ground. The pair rolled over one another swapping bitter punches. The two night mortals wrestled one another and reached for their weapons. They broke apart and scrambled to their feet. They stalked each other in slow steady circles. The mercenary fully unfurled his massive wings projecting the illusion he doubled in size. The Syssrah pushed himself up on his tail and brought himself to eye level with his foe. The Drakoran merc licked his jagged sword. The Syssrah raised his spear with an unnerving hiss.
“Break it up!” a third figure growled.
Shade felt a gust of air and suddenly a light-armored Drakor entered the scene. To the assassin’s surprise, the newcomer extended his legs and sent his fellow dragon-man flying with a double-legged kick.
The Syssrah laughed, but his new adversary cracked a leather whip. The whip whirled around and caught the snake-man by the wrist. The new Drakor’s muscles gleamed as he pulled the Syssrah face-first into the pavement with a hard yank.
The mercenary shook his head. He sat up dazed.
The Syssrah raised his head and stared up at his new foe.
The newcomer also wielded a jagged black sword. His breath seethed hot like dragon fire, “I said break it up or I’ll put a permanent end to this feud forever!”
Shade stopped to get a better look at the new arrival. This Drakor’s burning gaze was less bestial, but finely honed and housed a dangerous intelligence which made him of keener interest to the Dark Elf. His tightly cut physique boasted of his grueling conditioning and training. He wore a thigh-high skirt of iron-studded leather that protected his abdomen and pelvis. His chest was bare, though he wore black spiked plates on his muscled shoulders. He was an assassin. Shade recognized that immediately. Then it dawned upon him. Here before him stood Lewd’s personal assassin—otherwise known as Lewd’s Hand.
Lewd’s Hand stalked over to the mercenary. The merc was still rubbing his head. The Hand grabbed the mercenary by the collar and squeezed hard. He shot a glare back at the Syssrah and snarled, “Didn’t I tell you two last week to leave your grudges back in your own black countries?”
The merc knocked the Hand’s fingers away. He rose groggily to his feet and sneered, “Backbiting Syssrah!” He turned his back on the Syssrah attempting to cool himself.
The Syssrah rose as well. His slitted eyes stirred with treachery. Shade could almost see the ideas rolling around in the Syssrah's treacherous snake eyes.
Lewd’s Hand turned and recognized the look as well. Shade found it strange that the Hand was reduced to policing the warlord’s streets. Then again…was this any different than the work Shade often did for Gordwin back home? In fact, it made perfect sense. Turn the Hand loose on the public streets…let him use a few blades on a few miscreants and the streets would shape up mighty quick.
“Hold your forked tongue, Snake!” Lewd’s Hand warned.
“Drakoran coward!” the Syssrah called to the mercenary, “If your dessspicable kind had any ssspine, they’d fight their own battless!”
The Drakoran mercenary turned back around and roared. He spread his great wings and with one mighty flap he was upon his enemy, but he was too late.
Lewd’s Hand had already slit the Syssrah across the throat.
The merc landed on the dead Syssrah. He jumped back in shock as his enemy’s blood washed over him. He realized what had happened and smirked devilishly. He rose and nodded his approval, “Served him right!”
“I warned you too, Groulbag!” the Hand said coldly. He slashed Groulbag across the chest. Groulbag’s face froze in shock as he tumbled over the nearest divide. He fell into the sewer water dead. Lewd’s Hand kicked the Syssrah’s body over the ledge. It splashed into the murky water and floated downstream.
The Hand put his whip away. He wiped the blood off his sword with a black cloth. He made slow work of the cleaning. He raised his blade and shouted, “Anybody else have a quarrel they can’t put a leash on?”