Chaos and Entropy

Chapter 10…The Master of Thralls

There were four of them and one of me. Not great odds unless Mekrath jumped in with another one of his miracles. Surrender or fight? I guess the fellow in the doorway saw the question in my eyes—he settled it with a punch that sent me reeling back into a stack of crates. Obviously he was not one of those men with inhibitions about hitting small women. He kicked me while I was down, then picked me up by the back of my vest and slung me out into the corridor. One of his friends mashed my face against the wall and jerked my arms up behind my back.

It all happened very quickly.

My captors didn’t bother to search me. Instead they bound my hands behind my back, jammed a gag in my mouth to keep me from ‘spell-slinging’ and shoved me along the corridor. I got the impression they’d done this kind of thing before. They were all human (or close) and were dressed alike in dark pants and a tunic with a red badge sewn on the breast. None of the guards I’d seen in the prison so far wore uniforms. Who were these guys?

“Where are we going?” one asked.

“The Warden said to take her to the Master of Thralls.”

I stopped dead and earned a shove in the back that almost knocked me down.

“Get going.” I’d never been gagged before and I did not like it. When I glared, he gave me another shove. “You’re in deep blek as it is. Keep being a prod and I’ll bash your brain-box and drag you by the hair.”

I got going.

“Master of Thralls, huh? He’s going to deliver the goods?”

“Warden says so. Says the actors are ready to go.”

“Finally.”

“I hear you. Darkwood’s torqued off this has dragged on so long.”

The men fell silent. Before long we were in a section of the prison I hadn’t seen yet. I was getting that sick feeling in my gut that you get when there’s something really, really bad up ahead. Even my escorts’ feet slowed. The corridor widened—why did that seem ominous?—and the closed door at the end of the hall loomed like the gateway to a particularly loathsome hell.

One of the planars opened the door, looking none too happy about it. A hand at my back shoved me through and kept me in the lead. I was so busy looking around for the demon that I didn’t see the three steps ahead of me until I fell down them. No one bothered to catch me and with my hands behind my back, the best I could do was roll and land on my shoulder instead of my nose.

So it was from the vantage of the floor that I looked up—and up and up—into the face of the Master of Thralls.

He was a nabassu. I don’t know that I fear any one of the greater tanar’ri over another. They’re all scary. But if I did, nabassu would be high on my list. The clawed feet, the long dirty talons and the jointed wings were bad. The burning yellow eyes and the huge discolored fangs were worse. The stench was overwhelming.

“Get up, mortal.”

The cold flat voice was pretty bad too, I decided.

The nabassu stepped closer, close enough that I could have touched one of those scaly toes if my hands had been free—if I’d wanted to. I didn’t want to. I scrabbled to get my feet under me. Someone, moved by compassion or perhaps only expediency, grabbed the back of my vest and yanked me upright.

The demon leaned over me. A bright round stone hung on a tarnished chain around his neck. The stone swung towards my face. I shrank back. Foulness flowed from that stone in an icy wave. If it touched me—gods, I felt sick just looking at it. The demon couldn’t flare his nostrils, since they were set flat in his face, but I heard a distinct sniff as he took in my scent. My captors, I noticed, had backed most of the way to the door.

“Remove the gag.”

“Yes, my lord.”

One of the men pulled his knife and cut through the cloth knotted around my face. He sheared off a thick lock of my hair in his haste. I was too terrified to complain but my tiny surge of indignation helped clear my mind. I wiggled my hands in invitation but he didn’t take the hint to cut them loose as well.

Tymora, no—name your reckoning but do not leave me bound before this fiend.

“Our payment, my lord?”

My tongue was as thick and dry as a dirty sock. I felt more than a little relief when those unblinking yellow eyes shifted to the man behind me. He swallowed and went pale but he soldiered on.

“You were to deliver us the Sigil Troupe?”

“Ah. You are the Duke of Darkwood’s men.” The man gave a nervous nod. “The rod you need is on the table behind me. Any of the thralls can direct you to the actors’ cell.”
The leader scooted past the demon and snatched up the rod. The four of them hastened to the hall, leaving me alone with the Master of Thralls.

The nabassu circled about me. Studying me, I supposed. I swiveled my head to keep an eye on him.

“I don’t suppose you’d cut me loose? My hands have gone numb.”

At least my voice was working, more or less. He made no response but I felt his hot stinking breath stir my hair. A claw scraped my back and then my hands were free. The sudden release of the strain in my arms and shoulders would have been a joyful relief if I wasn’t so close to pissing myself in fright.

“Thanks.” I rubbed my wrists. He’d circled back in front of me, which was an improvement of sorts. “You should know that I don’t belong here. I mean, there’s no bounty out on me or anything. I wandered into this prison by accident and you’ve no right to—ack!”

The nabassu sank his talons into my shoulder and dragged me towards the dark table in the back of the room. The table looked like it was carved from black onyx (although it probably wasn’t). The room itself was huge. This place was bigger than a dance hall but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to enjoy the music. And the partner was not at all to my taste.

Now I’ve run against evil before. Hells, my own brother was an evil, evil man, who delighted in death and destruction. Yet compared to this demon, Sarevok’s evil was a homely, comfortable human type of evil—that of a little boy pulling wings off butterflies (or avariel). His evil had a point to it, an evil that led to an objective that which, while it appalled and shocked me, I could at least understand. The nabassu’s evil was something utterly different. It served no purpose; this evil was the demon’s purpose. It was its nature and with almost every fiber of my being, I wanted to crawl away from this horror.

Almost every fiber—for as the succubus had noted, I was Bhaal’s child. There was a tiny spark within me that brightened. It was that spark that kept me from collapsing into a puddle on the floor, even when I saw the collar waiting on the table.

“I hope you’re not planning on putting that on me. Like I said, you’ve no right…”

The demon casually slammed me into the table. It might not be onyx but it was certainly hard enough to knock the breath out of me, at a time when I desperately needed my voice.

“I can see why the duke’s men gagged you.”

I finally sucked in a deep mouth of air, and wheezed it out as a spell. Quick and fervent as a prayer, I called up my last Stoneskin. The spell forced the demon’s claws out of my flesh and with a twist and a dodge, I broke free from him. I ran around the back of the table. I guess the demon had too much dignity to chase after me like I was a mouse in the pantry. He just stood there for a moment and watched me. I jerked my eyes away from his burning stare before I lost my nerve.

It was an awfully long way to the door. In the unlikely event I could win the race for it, then what? Let him chase me down the hall? I needed to disappear but would he be able to see through a spell? There was one way to find out. Mekrath had told me to save the invisibility ring for emergencies—well, this seemed like a frigging big emergency to me. I gave the ring a twist.

The demon’s roar of frustration was sweet bard song to my ears. I ran for the door. Anticipating me, the demon spread his wings and took to the air. The ceiling was high but not that high—he barely cleared the ground. I swerved and ducked to keep him from brushing against me as he flew towards the door to cut off my escape.

I saw no other way out. This was not good.

I opened my mouth to quiet my panting and raced through my options. That didn’t take long; I couldn’t think of any. How long could I expect to hide before the demon called someone to throw a couple of dispels around and reveal me?

“Do not force me to sniff you out, mortal.”

Stupid, stupid, I was so stupid! Mekrath’s fire wand had been poking me in the side, a constant irritation since I’d stepped through the portal to this prison, and now that I could use the thing, where in the Nine Hells was it? When had it fallen out of my belt? I looked around in a panic. And saw it—right by the steps, practically under the demon’s foot.

The gods hate me. They really do.

Did I want to get close enough for the demon to smell me? I did not. Did I have a better idea? No again. I was getting thin on spells and not one of them was worth giving away my position.

The demon spread his wings, presumably to keep me from slipping behind him. I crept closer.

“This delay is pointless and serves only to annoy me.” The demon’s long ears swiveled in my direction. I froze. My heart thumped like a drum. I don’t know how long we both stood there, motionless, waiting for someone to break the stalemate.

Someone did.

The door opened behind the demon. The nabassu whirled and hissed at the newcomer, who stepped back in horror. It was one of the duke’s men. His tunic was ripped at the chest and damp with blood.

“Why do you disturb me, mortal?” The demon’s voice had been scary before; now it was much, much worse.

The planar gulped.

“There is a problem.”

“There is about to be a bigger problem,” the nabassu said, with distinct menace. Instead of cowing him, this threat stiffened the man’s resolve. It stiffened my resolve as well. Would I get a better opportunity? I crept forward, walking in a crouch to quiet my steps as much as possible.

“The rod you gave us does not work properly,” the man said, with the beginning of belligerence in his tone. Nothing like getting the crap scared out of you to make you pissed. I’ve noted the phenomenon many times. “One of the tieflings—the Rotter with the twin swords—went mad just as we got them to the gate and attacked us all.”

“Impossible.”

“I’ve got two men down to prove it. Come see for yourself, ber—my lord.”

“No.”

The duke’s man narrowed his eyes but his voice was now mild. Two more steps and the wand would be within my reach.

“The Warden himself is at the gate holding the Rotter off.” And more mildly still, but with a gleam of satisfaction, he added, “He sent me to request your presence. Immediately.”

On my hands and knees, I grabbed for the wand just as the nabassu growled and flung out his wings in anger. One wing caught me a glancing blow, which didn’t prevent me from snatching up the wand but did a thorough job of giving away my position. I threw myself forward towards the duke’s man who stood blocking the doorway, mouth gaping open. I barreled right into him.

“What the—” was all he got out before the nabassu’s claws raked across us both. They scraped across my Stoneskin with damage only to my vest. By the sound, the planar fellow did not get off so easily. But I didn’t hang around to check out his injuries; I ran flat out down the corridor.

The duke’s man screamed. The nabassu roared. And I skidded around and fired off the wand.
The first fireball seemed to piss him off more than do any serious damage. The nabassu shook his head and moved towards me. I hit him again. Fire filled the corridor in a bright explosion. He walked on through it.

“Mortal,” he said. “I am going to feast on your living flesh.”

I hit him again. He flapped his wings and growled. Was he beginning to look a mite singed around the edges? Yes, but he was still coming. I fired twice more, as fast as I could get the wand to respond. He staggered. The hot blast from that last explosion was close enough to make my eyes water. I needed him to hold still, damn it. A quick look behind me told me I was running out of corridor.

In desperation, I cast a Web spell at his feet. He tore right through it.

“I see you now, mageling.”

Oh, crap. I gave my ring another twist. Nothing happened. I fired the wand again but this time the nabassu had enough warning to run at least a little out of its way. That wouldn’t have been so bad if he had backed away from me, but of course he didn’t. Now he was close. Too close.

You should never throw a fireball at your own feet unless you fancy the thought of self-immolation. But I couldn’t say I fancied letting the demon gorge on my living flesh. I raised the wand.

Time stopped. I don’t mean that in a poetic way. Time literally stopped for me, for the demon, hells, for everyone in the multiverse as far as I knew—except for Master Mekrath.
My eyes tracked what happened next but the images didn’t make it to my brain until, with one chaotic leap, time started running again. First he cast what looked like a Malison spell on the demon. His eyes were intent and his brow furrowed in concentration. He cast two more spells that I didn’t recognize. Nothing had happened yet, mind you—once the spell splashed against its target, it was frozen in time as well.

Next, Mekrath walked towards me, past the demon, and stopped between us. He gave me a little headshake. I saw his mouth move but couldn’t read his lips.

And then time flowed again.

“Get down!” Mekrath shouted. He pushed me back against the wall, shielding me with his body just as the first blast exploded. Everything behind him turned white hot. The second explosion came so quick upon the first that to my abused ears it was all one horrendous roar. A blast of hot air rocked me off my feet and Mekrath fell on top of me. Not, I think, on purpose.

He chuckled in my ear.

“I’ve never set off a Sunfire in an enclosed area,” he said. “I should have thought through the physics a little better.”

“Get off.” I wriggled out from under him. The demon wasn’t moving. Something plopped down on the floor next to him. Debris from the stone ceiling—no, it was slag from the ceiling.

“Master,” I said, “You need to teach me that spell.”

Mekrath gave me a look. Thus braced, I stood and walked over to what was left of the demon’s body.

“I’d say he’s pretty much dead.”

“Not really,” Mekrath said gloomily. “Oh, don’t look so frightened, he’s dead and gone, or close enough,” he said. “He’ll be reborn in the Abyss. You needn’t concern yourself about that one for the next century or so, I daresay.”

He prodded the charred carcass with the end of his staff until he uncovered the blackened, cracked gem around the demon’s neck.

“Care to do the honors?” he asked me with a grin.

I grinned back. Was this chivalry? Or just the desire to keep his shoes clean? Who cared? I stepped forward onto the blistering hot floor and crushed what was left of the Mastery Orb under my boot.

“There,” Mekrath said. “You have your revolution. Now can we get out of here?”

“The thralls are freed? All of them?”

“Do you not feel the change? Like a dampening effect, suddenly lifted? That artifact fueled the spells on the collars.”

“Where’s the gate?”

Mekrath pointed to the turn in the corridor.

“It’s a straight shot out.”

“Not your gate, the Warden’s gate! Gods, I hope we aren’t too late.”

Before I could sprint away, Mekrath spun me around with a hand on my shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Haer’Dalis and the other actors need our help. He’s fighting the Warden.”

“Our help? When was I enlisted in this misbegotten rescue? I came here for one purpose and one purpose only. I have achieved that purpose.”

“Stay here then. I’ll be back when I can.”

“If you wish to run your head into a meat grinder, I cannot stop you. But you will not lose my gem again. Give it to me. Now.”

“And have you leave and shut your gate behind you? I think I’ll hold it a little longer.”

“I’ve put up with enough nonsense from you. What’s the matter? Don’t you trust those plane-walking friends of yours to see you back home?”

“I need your help, Mekrath.”

“Oh, I’m very certain you need more than that. From what I’ve heard, this cambion is more dangerous than the demon we just destroyed. I’ve exhausted my best spells. I am not prepared to take on the Warden and neither are you. Let me offer you some wise counsel: walk away while you’re still living.”

“Gee, thanks. That was helpful.”

Mekrath shook his head.

“You should be more grateful, youngling. You don’t live to my age by acting without thought for the consequences. You’ve already freed the actors from their thralldom. What more do you think you can do?”

“I don’t leave my friends in trouble.” I ground out the words. I wished they were true.

I hadn’t meant to lead my friends into the kind of trouble we’d found under the Promenade in Amn. Neither Khalid nor Dynaheir had walked away from it. Sometimes I think Haer’Dalis was right when he said chaos clung to me like a lover—the kind of jealous, abusive lover anyone would be better off without. I could blame Bhaal’s blood for the bad things that kept happening to me but what good did that do? How many more would die because they crossed my wake?

I was just so tired of people doing bad things because they could. Irenicus took me and my friends because he could—because no one could or would stop him. And this Duke Darkwood, what gave him the right to hunt and harass the actors across the planes? What gave the Warden the right to enslave everyone here? I was so sick of it all.

“You barely know this tiefling. He’s used you, Minette. What claim does he have to your loyalty?” He scowled at my shrug. “Let me tell you, Minette, old heroes are as scarce as…as planar gems. So if you insist upon acting against all common sense, would you kindly hand over my property first?”

We got into a short staring contest. Mekrath said he was out of his best spells but something told me he had a trick or two in reserve—a trick he would turn against me if I made it necessary.

Well, hells, if he didn’t want to help, I couldn’t make him.

“Fine. Take it.” I opened my inner pocket and pulled out the gem. He unwrapped the handkerchief I’d wound about it, untrusting sod, to make sure I wasn’t handing him a decoy even though he could surely feel its power. I watched him, hands on my hips.

“There,” I said. “Satisfied now?”

He gave me another long unsmiling look and a short shake of the head.

“How are you fixed for potions?”

“I’m out.”

He rummaged through his case.

“Here. Invisibility and my most potent strength potion. I’ll give you one last bit of advice, which you may ignore at your peril. You realize, do you not, that even if you were rested and prepared, your arcane skills would not be up for this contest?”

“So I should just give up?”

“Yes. You should walk away.” He grabbed my hand as I turned from him. “But if you choose to fight anyway, you have a unique…” He struggled for a word and came up with, “…birthright. You know whose daughter you are. Wait your chance and use your blade, Minette. Assassinate the cambion.”

I couldn’t think of any witty parting words so I pulled a face instead. He quirked his lips at me. I turned and trotted off to my doom.