The walls of Avendoor were quite a bit less exciting to Jenk than they'd been two seasons prior. Having now seen half the cities around the Sea and travelling the same road without Tegg, Vallen, Dar or Winstin made the tall walls seem quite a bit less marvelous. The walk from Tivar had been blessedly easy, with only the mid season chill and a bit of wind to deal with in the mornings. Messages from Tivar had also changed the nature of Avendoor. With war no longer looming in the North, farmers were making the journey back to Tivar or pushing West to find new land to till. A steady stream of tired looking families leading lumbering carts passed the party as they made the final switchback on their way to the great Western Gate.

“The temple will be in the lower district.”, Talbert said quietly. “South from the gate.”

“I thought the temples were all in the main square, near the guilds?”, Jenk said.

“Most. The popular ones are. Diur is... not. The people who are drawn to Diur in need are desperate, angry, often violent people. Those who worship him regularly are either obsessed with the idea of strict cosmic balance or former supplicants. In total it doesn't make the temples very popular, so they sit on the edges of the city.”

Jenk absorbed this and checked back on the rest of the party. Arasen and Blue were walking together, talking softly as always. Blue's addition to the group did little to help them, in his opinion. She was battle weary and ill prepared to face the types of horrors they would certainly find in their path soon enough. He hoped he didn't live to regret that particular decision. When he got to Ren the monk simply noted his glance and nodded, looking a bit lost without Vallen or Cathnoma tagging behind. Behind Ren there was Two, or at least the illusion Two had created. Today the daemon favored a young man in a roadworn cloak carrying a staff.

The crystal sphere where Two truly lived hung in a net bag from Jenk's pack, giving the daemon freedom to look around and send his illusionary self wherever he wished. Jenk didn't quite understand the spell, it wasn't just a vision of the Daemon, it somehow gave the creature the ability to look and hear as if it were behind the eyes of the image. It was insubstatial but convincing, except when weather or solid objects interfered. Two had promised to work on that aspect, adding illusionary water stains in the rain and causing illusionary dust to flow around the person's form. There were other odd limits. The image could only reach a certain physical size, so long as Two could see the illusion he could maintain it, and it could not produce sound or force. Perhaps it was best not to dwell too much on the creature's powers, Jenk often thought, turning his attention to the huge gate.

Avendoor slowly passed them in layers. First to pass was the gate area and the main traveller road, strictly clean and well guarded with cobblestone and block streets, large sidewalk areas and innumerable stables and inns. The press of people here was annoying, but vanished quickly once they turned south down a large street. Here there were taverns and smaller inns as well as numerous businesses, mostly skilled smiths and basic needs shops like the sharpeners and weavers. The group shared the packed earth streets with townfolk with things to do, barely even glancing at the group as they passed, and the odd cart which struggled for passage through the knots of people. Occationally the roads turned and the party had to make a left to continue south, moving deeper into the lower class area of the city. The last few shops shrank to curio and the odd herbalist and finally disappeared, becomming house compounds and sets of stacked homes.

Talbert led them unerringly South, having memorized the path, and the roads climbed steadily and became dusty, rutted and narrow with run down and even abandoned homes on either side. Sunlight barely managed to find the ground here as the road degraded until a few quick turns revealed a large military compound.

“The Temple of Diur.” Talbert said flatly. He had little respect for the tenets of Diur and those who embraced them. This journey had become increasingly unpleasant as they approached.

“It looks like a barracks.”, Ren noted, looking around.

“It is.”

Jenk shrugged and they walked to the gate. “Someone should stand guard, I'm not sure what this is going to involve.”

“I have to stay here.” Talbert said flatly.

Jenk wanted to ask, but Talbert's tone seemed beyond argument, so he dropped it. “Fine. I somehow think it would be a bad idea to take Two in, so I'll have to leave it.” One look at Talbert's face suggested he would be of little help in that area, so Jenk unhooked the bag and passed it to Vera, who fliched slightly.

Ren patted her on the shoulder and walked up. “I'll go in.”, he said.

Arasen stepped up beside Ren and nodded. “I'm in.”

Ringing the front bell brought a boy to the gate. He was wearing a robe with a deep hood that was black on one side and white on the other with a deep red stripe running between them. The symbol of Diur, a scale inside a large drop of blood surrounded by stripes of black and white, was emblazoned in the center of his chest. “Your needs?”, he asked suspiciously.

“We seek an audience with a priest of Diur.”, Jenk said.

The boy took a long steel rod from the side of the gate and reached up to unhook a massive loop that held the gate to the wall. “Violence on these grounds will be punnished.” the boy said, allowing the gate to swing inward.

The three entered and the boy quickly closed the gate behind them. The youth was careful to never look at them, and once the gate was latched he simply pointed down the roadway toward the central building visible between the barracks. It was a low, square building made of flat tan stone that was entirely unremarkable next to the other buildings around it. Jenk approached, noting the lack of windows and the single door. It made for a very uninviting structure. A knock on the steel-banded door revealed a middle aged man wearing the same robe as the boy, but with his hood down. He was thin, with greying hair and missing his left eye. There was a gruesome scar that ran down his jaw that showed where areas of flesh had clearly been removed by the blow. “I am Emmsan, a priest of Diur.”, he said with a guarded tone.

Jenk bowed slightly. “I am Jenk, this is Ren and Vera. We are here to... well... ”, Jenk suddenly found himself unsure of how to explain their situation.

The man waited for only a moment and intervened, it seemed something he had to do regularly. “Are you seeking balance for yourself?”

Ren shook his head. “We're here on behalf of another. He... he made a deal with Diur.”

“It is rare for others to act on behalf of an Agreement of Balance.”, the man said guardedly.

“He made the deal just before he died.”, Ren explained.

The man suddenly looked skeptical again. “Diur does not make deals with the dead. I'm afraid you have been misinformed.” he said.

Jenk looked at Ren, confused. “I don't understand. We're certain that he...”

Emmsan stopped them with a wave, gave them a long, careful look and shook his head. “Come, we will consult with the High Priest.”

Tegg's world flowed in and out of darkness with regular flashes of agony until eventually slipping completely into awareness. He finally managed to open his eyes and regretted it. The face above him was one of unrivaled horror, a daemonic visiage missing half a jaw and covered with massive black scar tissue. Slow bits of feeling were returning to his waist, where total numbness was slowly replaced by a throbbing disconnected numbness. Tegg noted a bitter taste in his mouth and wondered if it was daemonic medicine or something to make him speak more freely. He tried to move, but was laying on a wooden surface with his arms bound at his sides. What little struggle he managed was certainly not going to break the straps.

“I would recommend you stop pulling like that.”, Seven's cordial voice said. Tegg turned to focus on him and the world faded and refocued. “I'm afraid you are quite badly damaged. We are putting you back together, but our magic and medicine are not tuned to your world.”, he said apolgetically.

“So nice... after you ripped me apart.”, Tegg managed.

Seven smiled, it was an oddly affectionate sight. “Now, now. Your encounter with the Kaaedenndos had nothing to do with me. I've not been in that charming tower for some time.”

Tegg considered arguing, but the waves of pain prevented him from thinking very clearly.

“Your arrival there was, however, very timely.”, Seven continued. “It seems our plans are going to have to change again. You said your name was Tegg, human?”

When Tegg gave him nothing but a grunt, Seven chuckled. He reached down to what was left of Tegg's leg and squeezed gently. The agony was astonishing and Tegg spoke before he could think. “Yes!”

“See? That was easy enough. Understand Tegg, I have very little patience for you and your kind. I have been here for far longer than I'd like and my plans are yet unfulfilled.”

“You are looking for something”, Tegg said in a daze. He hoped to make the daemon think he knew far more than Seven might suspect.

Seven paused and said something in his gutteral language. “Something.” he agreed finally. “Perhaps I need to update my understanding of what you already know, human.” Seven said with only the slightest hint of threat.

“No..”, Tegg begged, realizing he'd gambled poorly. “You want something, and you'll leave if you get them.”, he begged as Seven stroked Tegg's leg again.

Seven grunted something. “Close enough. Yes, human. Things stolen. Things lost. Things you will help me find again.”

“Why me?”

“Why were you in the tower?”, Seven asked firmly.

“We were looting it. There's gold there.”

Seven chuckled and squeezed gently. “No. Thieves do not bring a Doorkeeper along.”

Tegg writhed in agony. “Vincent! We were looking for Vincent's remains!”

Seven considered this. “Vincent.” he said softly. “Perhaps he will be useful to me even after death.”

The high priest was an older woman with long, thin grey hair who leaned heavily on a huge, gnarled staff. She wore little to indicate her rank, the same robe as the priest and boy with a simple red hem along the cuffs and hood. She greeted them in a small, windowless office full of small leather covered furniture just inside the building with a large smile. “So, Emmsan says you seek an Agreement of Balance with the dead?” She sat gingerly on a large couch and indicated the rest should sit. “Such things are... very unlikely.” she added with a slight shrug.

Ren sat nearby in a chair. “I understand, but this is an unusual case. The man's name was...”

“Ah! No, no, no!”, she interrupted, bringing her hands up quickly. “We do not discuss Agreements within the temple!”

“Then... then how are we to figure out what...”, Jenk started to ask.

The woman waved him quiet. “Whatever this Agreement might be, one of you must determine the Path to Balance in accord with Diur. Terms of the Agreement are yours, you must never speak of it here in the Temple.”

Jenk glanced around. Ren gave him a concerned look that Jenk took as reluctance and Arasen had a look of horror creeping in around his eyes. Jenk evaluated his current deal with Two and wondered if he was already doomed. “I'll do it.” he said.

Deep under the low temple of Diur was the Room of Agreement. After donning a heavy robe, descending a huge stone staircase and waiting while the room was prepared, Jenk was supremely underwhelmed. The round stone room contained nothing more than a plain stone table, a wooden rack with a few unremarkable weapons and two breziers of coals. Nothing hung from the walls and there was no other furniture or items of worship visible. He stepped inside to look around and the doors were closed swiftly behind him “Lovely”, he mused.

Atop the table was a small cloth bundle. Jenk pulled the string to reveal a tiny bone dagger and a stone disk engraved with the symbol of Diur. They were simple in design and form and Jenk set them on the cloth absently.

“Do you come for an Agreement?”, a voice whispered.

Jenk wasn't sure what he'd expected, perhaps a booming voice demanding he grovel or worship. “Yes... well... I seek... ”, he stammered.

“There must be an Agreement.”, the whispering voice insisted.

“I seek... information on the Agreement of Vincent.”, Jenk said, turning to look for the source of the whisper. He was starting to wonder if this was some elaborate prank.

“There must be an Agreement. Even in this, there must be an Agreement.”, the voice repeated.

“Then... then I seek an Agreement.”, Jenk said, annoyed. The room seemed to swim for a moment and Jenk grabbed the table to steady himself.

“Then we shall barter.”, the voice stated. It was stronger now, more solid and came less from everywhere and more from the other side of the stone table.

Jenk turned and tried to focus. The area on the far side of the table was shimmering. “I have... other agreements”, Jenk said, suddenly worried in where this was going.

“The daemon contract is noted. ”, the voice said. “We shall barter.”

Jenk nodded, trying to hold himself steady.

“The Agreement of Vincent is unfullfilled. Will you fullfill this agreement?” the voice asked.

“I don't know... the terms. I must know what the Agreement was.” Jenk argued.

The voice grew even stronger and more localized. Jenk could almost see the vague outline of a person across the table. “Anything.”, the voice said with a deep resonance.

“He promised ANYTHING!?”

“Anything.”, the voice confirmed.

“And in return?”

“Diur took possession of Vincent's soul. Protection. Vengeance.”, the word echoed softly through the room.

Jenk felt sick. It was a ghastly deal, a desperate lunge for air by a drowning man. “I cannot... cannot agree to do any act.” he said.

The voice's tone shifted with a hum. “One act. If you agree to this act, we will release the soul of Vincent to you.”

“What is this act?”

“You must kill The Bull”

“What is the Bull?”

“The Bull is a person.”, the voice corrected. Jenk suddenly had a vision of the desert. There were tents haphazardly pitched in a low canyon next to a large well. Men in ragged combinations of tan and brown moved across the site. A large cart was being ransacked and it's three passengers dragged rudely to the ground. Before Jenk could see their fate the largest tent filled his vision. “You will find The Bull here.”, it said.

Jenk blinked and looked across at the vague shape. “Why? Why should I kill this Bull?”

“Balance.”, the voice insisted. There was a deep note of reverence in the sound that carried.

“For who?”

The shape moved and fluctuated. “Another Agreement. One that cannot be fullfilled directly by the Supplicant.” Jenk had several quick, shadowy visions of a person, severely injured in a raid on a merchant cart by men in tan and brown. Screams in the dark, a sudden loneliness of a young boy.

Jenk blinked the vision away. “Balance.” he muttered.

“Balance.”, the voice agreed.

“That is the whole of the agreement? Kill this Bull and nothing else?”

“That is the Agreement.”

“And these visions, they are true?”

“Balance cannot be found in falsehood.”, the vision and voice insisted.

“Then I agree.”, Jenk said softly.

“The Agreement must be Sealed.”, the voice said.

Jenk glanced down at the blade and plate and had some idea of their purpose. He started to pick up the blade, but the voice interrupted.

“You must select a weapon.”

Jenk glanced behind him and walked over to the weapon rack. There were simple weapons of various types, daggers, long bladed swords and even a few clubs and staffs. He picked up a sword not terribly different from the first sword he had ever owned and returned to the table.

“Place the seal below the weapon of choice.” Jenk did so and picked up the bone knife. “Mark them and state your Agreement.”

Jenk cut his palm and was surprised at how easily the blade bit. There was a slight flash of pain and he let the crimson drops touch the sword's dull edge. The flow increased quickly, dibbling down edge and onto the plate below, where it pooled. “I agree to kill The Bull in trade for Vincent's Soul” he said. The blood flowed suddenly faster and Jenk had a sudden flash of concern before his world started to go grey.

“IT IS BOUND AND AGREED”

Winstin adopted the second starting pose with ease, left foot slightly forward and leg bent, right leg braced back, shield high and ready. Except for a shield he had only his arm and there was no sword held high behind him. Winstin reversed his feet, putting his right leg forward and bending it, and nearly lost his balance. With a few careful shifts he managed to mirror the position, although now he had no shield arm and his left arm felt awkward and out of place held poised to slash. Winstin gave a hearty sigh and abandoned the pose. He wanted to leave.

The monks were friendly and helpful, although they had little to offer by way of news or gossip. Winstin knew nothing of Sartull and the local politics and goings on were beyond him. So aside from the now steady report of his regained health, Winstin had nothing to occupy him except thoughts of his arm and his scattered companions. He had been putting off leaving only because he feared for his safety in Sartull. Without sword skills he was reduced to what hand-to-hand he had bothered to pick up, most of which required both of his hands to be where he expected them. That luxury gone, Winstin felt at the mercy of every cutpurse and mugger in the city.

The contrary option was to sit in a hospital ward and feel sorry for himself. Winstin certainly had a bit of practice over the last few weeks, but it was a tiresome occupation to dedicate his life to.

Originally he'd entertained fantasies of having a sword grafted to his remaining arm. Legends of heros with sword-hands or other things attached to their stumps were common enough, but they were all injured at the wrist, missing only their hands. Winstin had but two hand spans of flesh left beyond the shoulder. He imagined himself with a sword blade stretching from his bicep to slightly beyond his original fingertips and chuckled sadly. It would be quite a sight, his style reduced to fancy spins and odd flailing lurches, hardly the stuff of any new lore.

No, finding a talented blacksmith was not in the cards. Winstin's current concern was struggling into his shirt and pants and making another round of the abbey to regain his strength. He supposed it would get easier, learning ways to do these day to day acts, but that knowledge would not help him lace up his boots today.

Vallen update

Now more than twenty days after arriving in Cattras, Dar was growing desperate. The money she'd scraped together while serving Tivar was all but gone, spent on stale bread and a tiny backroom in a tiny inn that favored prostitutes and accepted coin from any region or realm at an exchange rate that would have embarassed the most jaded banker. The early glut of refugees had finally thinned, but many had travelled east on the great road, turning southeast toward distant and hopefully safe lands. Others bought, begged or bartered passage onto ships travelling across the Sea or were simply absorbed into Cattras.

The one direction that no one travelled was South. While there had once been a steady stream of traffic along the grat caravan road west to Bridgetown and from there South, bandits from the desert had seen opportunity in the chaos of the war. With most guards pulled into the army to defend Cattras the unguarded caravans became prime targets. What was once a relatively safe journey was now almost certain suicide. The bandits had even extended their reach to the road to Sartull, where the caravans now ran in tight packs bristling with every crossbowman and half-able swordsman in the city.

The conversation at the latest caravan shop matched the one in every depot so far. She could pay or hire on to go to Sartull or cross the great wood to Yasim, but no one travelled to Huntsdelve.

“I must get to Huntsdelve, there must be someone going there!”, she insisted.

The man behind the counter was somewhat large in girth but dressed very sharply in a well-tailored jacket and shirt. He was carefully scanning information in a large leather book, making slight notes with a vial of green ink. “I understand completely.”, he said in an honest tone. He didn't glance up from his work, but seemed to be fully aware of her. “And while I would be quite prepared to accept your payment, or even your service as a hiresword, you must understand. We simply are sending no caravans to Huntsdelve. It is interfering with my business, but when you lose passengers... children to these bandits, the losses overtake any financial interest.”

Dar blinked in surprise. “Children? They're killing passengers and children?”

The man set his pen aside, looked up at Dar and nodded. “I can always expect some loss of product, although insurance is impossible these days, but to lose children?”, the man said with just a touch of sadness. “I can't take on passengers with children, the loss would be... well, I am not made of stone, my dear. Beyond that, interest in shipping or visiting Huntsdelve, Bridgetown and anywhere south is simply gone. You're the first to ask in weeks.”

“Isn't the city doing something?”

“No. Well, not beyond the local roads and farms. There aren't enough soldiers, I'm afraid. Although....”

“Yes?”

The man shrugged slightly and considered his pen. “There were rumors of citizenry striking back at the bandits. A few angry family members with weapons, a few retired soldiers, that sort of thing. Perhaps it's but idle chatter, though.”

“How would I find them!?”, Dar suddenly asked. She felt a sudden sense of purpose. A real drive to do something that she hadn't felt in years. This was something she could do, somewhere she could make a difference.

The man regarded her in surprise. “Well... as to that I'm not certain. You could ask Marissa, I'm sure she would know.”

Marissa had lost two nieces and a nephew to the bandits and worked and lived above a candlemaker shop on the west side of the city. The shop was open and Dar found the woman sitting in the back, tending vats of wax. Dar's approach and questions brought a wave of rage to the woman's features.

“Bastards!”, she roared, causing a customer to jump and glare. “Children! They kill my poor Anda, little Sinno and Wemmy! My sister, she could not travel... she stayed... ”, Marissa broke and clutched a large pillar candle so hard that it bent.

“I'm so sorry”, Dar offered weakly “The man at the depot said that there were people trying to find the Bandits?”

Marissa nodded through the tears. “The Red Wren. They meet at the Wren on midweek eve.”, she whispered.

Jenk opened his eyes and tried to sit up but firm hands held him still. “Peace, boy”, the old priestess said. “You'll be fine in a few moments.”

Jenk looked at her friendly face for a second, then glanced around. He was surprised to see that he was no longer in the Room of Agreement. “I'm fine.”, he insisted, easing himself up and swinging his legs off the couch he was on.

The priestess hummed something in disagreement but let him up. “You are Bound now, the Agreement is part of you. Speak not of it to anyone inside the walls of this temple.”, she warned.

Tegg nodded and glanced at his hand. There was a white line where the blade had cut him, but it wasn't a scar. The wound was bound by something else.

The priestess saw him. “The bond on your wound is... a reminder. Should you refuse to complete the Agreement...”, she left the consequences hanging but Jenk could guess at the result.

“What if I cannot finish, what if... events make it impossible?”

The priestess stiffened. “Careful, boy.”, she warned. When Jenk looked sufficiently corrected she continued. “Your... Agreement brings Balance. If Balance cannot be achieved, then you must quickly make an Agreement to do so. Sometimes this can be difficult, demanding, but you have agreed to stand on the Scales. Whatever this has bought you is not measured against what is required to balance the Scales. You have agreed to reach that Balance.”

Jenk nodded and stood carefully. “I understand. Thank you.”, he said simply.

The priestess smiled. “May you find your Balance.”, she intoned, picking up a simple scabbard from a table. She handed him the weapon quickly and with an air of paying little attention to it. Apparently she did not even want to know it existed.

Jenk followed the woman out to where Ren and Blue were waiting. From their looks he assumed he hadn't taken long to make his deal. The two didn't ask him anything, they simply rose and the three walked out of the temple and returned to the front gate where the boy let them out.

“May you find your Balance.”, the boy said as the gate latched. He disappeared quickly into a small guardhouse and they were alone in the streets of Avendoor.

“Where to now?”, Talbert asked, giving Jenk a careful look.

Jenk settled his gear and strapped his new sword onto a belt. “Cattras.”, he said simply.

There was a mix of groans and nods from the party and they moved to get their gear ready.

Uron hesitated for a long while before knocking softly on the door of the room where Master Adsentis was staying. Aside from navigating the maze these Southerners called buildings, he was struggling between what he saw as an overwhelming moment of Ja and the near bottomless depth of honor in which he held Adsentis. To find a resolution seemed to overcome this breach of the normal process, but Uron still held back. Finally, with every ounce of will he could muster, Uron feebly tapped on the heavy wooden doors.

“Enter”, the Master's muffled voice came.

Uron opened the door slowly and bowed deeply “Your utmost forgiveness, Master.”, Uron pleaded in a low tone of defference. “I am caught in... a”

Adsentis waved him in and sounded a note of understanding. “You have come to tell me something difficult.”, he sang softly. When Uron nodded he continued.. “You are caught in Re'tere'Ja, a crossroads of conflicting requirements, yes?”

Uron nodded and dropped to a knee. “We are working with a weaker enemy, but we are only here through abomination. We work rightly against the Siv in this, but are bound to follow them. We are half a world from home, and we cannot return until we have righted our honor. And...”

“And?” Adsentis intoned.

“I can follow no path in which we can return home and still redeem our Ja.”, Uron said softly and sadly.

Adsentis nodded and patted Uron's head. “The weight of Sen'Ja is heavy.”, he said softly.

Uron trembled with the understanding that Master Adsentis had reched the same understanding as he, and it broke his heart. He had no mate or children like some of his comrades, but there were friends, siblings, his aging father left a world from here in the islands of the Tohri homeland. “We are... bound to this land now.”, he said.

“It will be a difficult understanding for the Dom. I will need Dom who have seen the path to tell them.”

Uron looked up. “I don't... me?”

Adsentis nodded. “You have a clear sight, Uron. You see the great stone of this Sa'Ja and while your hands may tremble you do not pause to take it onto your shoulders.”

Uron wasn't certain he had not paused in this burden, but he could see no other path. “What must I do, Master?”

“Will you shoulder this willingly, with clear eye and steady hand?”

“Yes... of course.”

Adsentis pulled a small wooden vial from his scattered gear and opened the stopper. With a careful flick he turned the bottle over with his finger closing the mouth and righted it. A fast swipe across Uron's nose left a bright blue line on the bridge. He was now marked, a servant of Ja, an acolyte of Adsentis. “You are now bound to me, and through me to the Dom.”, he said softly.

Uron started to cry.

“”

“”

“”

“”

“”

“” “”