From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon May 9 15:15:16 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7245 Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!news.hal.COM!olivea!koriel!cs.utexas.edu!convex!news.duke.edu!eff!news.kei.com!ssd.intel.com!chnews!ornews.intel.com!ibeam!hutch From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Subject: [DS][MG] Favorite Treasons Message-ID: Organization: Intel Corp., Hillsboro, Oregon Date: Fri, 6 May 1994 07:32:59 GMT Lines: 264 [ADMIN] This follows after Stilt Man's recently-posted meeting between Thorn and Arcania Dorval. Somehow that post managed to miss my site, or expired very quickly, or I'd have made this a followup post. Anyway, it happens the next day. Acknowledgements to Stilt Man for details on Arcania, and to the rest of the Guild junta for their feedback. All characters herein are property of their respective authors, and this story is copyrighted (1994) by Stephen Hutchison. Permission is granted for the distribution of this story on the usual alt-net channels and for archival but all other rights, including repost, are reserved to the author. ----- Thorn paced angrily in the waiting room. Finally, though, Fautueil's imported secretary let him into the offices of the Archmage of Extra-Planar Contacts. Faut' was sitting behind his desk, as usual, the picture of the middle-management professional bureaucrat/wizard. "I don't appreciate being made to wait," Thorn said, making sure to include a little venom in his honeyed voice. "I had no choice," Fautueil replied resentfully. "I had to cover up your tracks again, that whole business with the Vordigan." "That's not important," Thorn said. "The Vordigan will collapse in on itself within the week, taking all traces with it." "Nobody told _me_ anything about it," Faut' scowled. "An oversight. I was very busy. Were you able to get me the information I needed on the woman?" "It's not going to make you very happy. There is very little in the way of reliable data -- so much is gossip. Besides, you know I don't deal with demons of information like you or Dasham. Why don't you ask her?" Fauteuil stroked his long white beard -- an affectation that Thorn thought silly, since the fellow was thirty years younger than he, and used the rejuvenation facilities just as eagerly ... He noticed that Fauteuil was still looking at him, expecting an answer. Thorn smiled, making Faut' uneasy. "Because she's taking her job a little too seriously right now. It's a temporary position but she seems to want it to be permanent. In any case, she's not to be given any extraneous information about our visitor. It might upset things." Fauteuil shifted behind his desk. "It's all in the folio." He tossed a sealed folder down in front of Thorn. "Don't bank on all of that being true." Thorn smiled again, and opened the envelope. Five pages of tight crabbed writing. "This is all?" "Unfortunately, yes." "Pity. Hmm. Father a wizard, mother a nymph, mother died in childbed with her, father died by assassination at her hand." He allowed himself a wry chuckle. "Death of both her parents, a fitting start. Ah, here we go. Took throne by incinerating her cousin and sinking neighboring port city into the sea. Nice lady. She's obscured her nymph ancestry when meeting with folks here. Wonder why. Well, it does make one thing clear: she's not a goddess, or if she is she doesn't carry around the Primal power. Fortunate, that -- it leaks, you know. Won't stay around on Nexus, too many dimensional holes." "I know that, Thorn. I was the one who told you about it." The Archmage of Politics continued reading, ignoring the other's outburst. "Of course. Says here she's indiscriminate in bed. I don't believe that at all. She'd never be so careless. Ah, I see the pattern. She takes lovers, even known to haul captured enemy warriors to her on occasion. Never has been known to seduce the most bitter enemies, though. Off with their heads. They'd be far too dangerous for her to trust. Who gave you this stuff about orgies and sex magic?" "That came from some of the small countries. Mostly rumor and unconfirmed, because not too many of her lovers make it out to tell the story." Faut shrugged. "Well, they're not going to last very long if that's the kind of information they give out." He tossed the folio back onto the desk. "This is worthless. There is nothing in here about her method for bringing in undetectable spies and assassins." "Like I said, ask one of your demons of information." "I already have. They're afraid of her and won't go near enough to find anything out. I have to resort to indirect methods." "What methods?" "You don't need to know. They won't have sufficient effect in time for my needs anyway." Thorn slapped his right fist into the palm of his left hand. His eyes had a slightly wild look. "That might do it, though. Of course it would kill me, but I can send an agent to do my bidding instead." "What are you talking about?" Fauteuil said, nervous. "Another of those 'Mar' things -- remember how we couldn't even find that Dariel entity, and that Dasham concluded it existed in a too-archetypal state? Well, there are more of them around, we could try to attract one to _her_ world, and watch what the results were. She'd have to defend it, even as addicted as she is to the Dark she's not a complete fool." "That is not a good idea, Thorn," Fauteuil said. "You are letting her become an obsession." Thorn blinked. "You're right. Of course." He stood there, breathing slowly, for a minute. "It's a side effect of the summonings, you know," he said conversationally. "They try to corrupt the mind that calls on them." "I know that," Fauteuil said acerbically. "Why do you think I have avoided that particular avenue of power?" Thorn shrugged. "You're far too specialized," he said. "Is there anything else?" The Archmage of Extra-Planar Contacts tapped his quill against his inkblotter. He had pulled out a stack of paperwork and was starting to read. "Not for now." Thorn stepped out into the waiting room and summoned the transit-portal to his private rooms. He smiled. Fauteuil had completely bought his obsession. Which meant that it would join the half-dozen other bits of carefully fabricated false evidence that his erstwhile partner in crime was compiling -- backup for the remote chance that their partnership collapsed. A tissue of lies and deceptions that would fall apart at any magical examination, should it come to that. Except the kind that Fauteuil would perform. He called up his amanuensis. "Master?" "Review for me, the time in the Inn." "Master." A flood of images brushed across Thorn's mind. "Wait. That one." "The death? An unimportant petty thief, one you have used for your own researches in the past." Blank eyes stared at him. "Did you see how it happened?" "The room was warded, I could not see within them without using power. The wards had a spell of silence in them which damped out all vibrations, so I could not overhear their speech. Therefore I must conjecture." "I permit it." "The thief died of a kind of heart failure which suggests natural causes. There is a poison which causes this, which is rare here, but may be common elsewhere. Its effects are triggered by emotional states -- intense fear followed by profound relief. I conjecture that he was given this poison." "A rare poison... I don't think she'd waste it on a casual hireling." "There are spells which have the same effect, but I have not seen one that left no magical trace. Passing the wards might disturb such traces." "Well, then. It doesn't matter, really, the fellow's just as dead either way." Thorn smiled, pressing his fingertips together. "An admirable way to make an example, but why would she bother doing so here? There is no benefit in it. Do you know what she was trying to find out?" "The location of a man wearing bandages, and a companion wearing a magical cloak of concealment. They are not in the city at this time." "Ah, so she believed that he failed her. Rather a foolish thing to do, since he had given her useful information." "Master, it would be impossible for him to prove the absence of two persons from the city, except by finding them elsewhere." "I know, slave. Don't be impertinent." He snapped a his fingers and pointed at the creature. The amanuensis shuddered and fell to its knees. Its blind eyes stared at him, weeping. "Oh stop," Thorn said, "You know you enjoy that pain as much as I enjoy giving it to you." It stood, a faint smirk almost showing on its lips. "Yes, master." "Now, finish the review." The amanuensis complied, but there was nothing really useful revealed. Thorn paced back and forth for a moment, then poured and drained a wineglass. "Has the report been filed identifying the reasons for Dorval's visit here?" "Yes, master. I have routed them through Rivy's most inefficient and troublesome bureaucracy. She will do your work for you." "Good. What has your creche-brother told you of the jewel she seeks?" Thorn snapped a finger, summoning a low table into existance. He undressed, and lay down on the table. "Most certainly the Amethyst -- it carries a powerful magic that twists probability, the lands around it are held by its Guardians, and there is a tentative treaty of mutual defense with your Guild, which has been much strained lately." The amanuensis knelt, and poured warm oil from a flask under the table into its hands. It began to massage Thorn, starting with the small of his back. "What about side effects?" Thorn moaned slightly as the amanuensis found a knot in his back. "Before they discovered him and destroyed him, my creche brother found it to be a vessel, he could not divine the origin. It holds a focus of magical power, without a spirit itself, but a distorted mirror for the spirits around it. The energies it manifests alter those who draw upon it, changing them in time to something that might reflect their self-image. Those who hold it see themselves as the ultimate governors of existence, and it has given them angelic aspect. Yet their spirits are not the pure holy things that their bodies would suggest." "I see. So that's how they got their so-exalted forms. Let her play with it then, she might be able to tame the thing. When is she expected to move on them?" The amanuensis spread more oil and put more weight into its massage. Its hands moved up to Thorn's neck. Claws clenched spasmodically in the air and then relaxed, defeated, before it continued the massage. "There is restlessness in one of the Hells, as you predicted. The Portal may be opened at any time." "Good. Send a dream to General d'Jean at the northern march of the Mist Woods. Have him dream of the streets of Generica, paved in gold and steel. Incite his lusts." "It is done, master." "Good. That should keep Dasham busy." Thorn relaxed, allowing the amanuensis to finish his massage.