Poker Interrupted

“Sh’ree did say she was coming tonight, didn’t she?”

Edrilli shrugged, “I haven’t spoken to her this afternoon. But, the last I checked, she didn’t say she wasn’t.” 

The Tellarite woman tutted in reply. “We can leave it a bit longer, I guess,” said Lugmilla, “I’ll call her if she’s not here soon, though.”

It was unlike Sh’ree not to leave any kind of message, thought Edrilli, so most likely she had just been delayed somewhere along the route. The Bolian shuffled the deck absently, having nothing better to do as they waited. The four of them met up every now and then for a game, taking turns between entertainments native to each of their worlds – one of the advantages of such a multi-racial starship as the Endeavour.

Tonight was the turn of an Earth game, in honour of the human member of the group. This time, Sumati had picked poker, a game she had apparently come across at the Academy, since it wasn’t native to her part of the planet. Ironically, it was Sh’ree who was the best of the four women at playing the game, although sometimes the Andorian’s  betting became too aggressive, giving one of the others a chance to wipe her out.

Blue

Author's note: This obviously shares characters with A Bad Day For Shore Leave, but the two stories are stand-alone, and can be read in any order.

The sky was clear and blue, not even a wisp of cirrus to be seen as the golden sun shone down on fields of crisp, white snow. Towering mountains reared all around, patches of trees on the lower slopes, snow and rock further up, a majestic scene of beauty almost entirely untouched by human hand.

Almost, but not quite. A group of five people stood on a broad ledge on a mountainside, the only sentient life for over a thousand miles around. Behind them stood the shuttlecraft James Cook, nestled calmly amidst the snowbanks. Around them, all was still, not even an alien bird wheeling in the sky.

Max Dorner, Lieutenant, j.g. in the Starfleet Sciences Division, breathed out into the chill air, his breath forming a cloud of white mist that rapidly dissipated. The air was fresh, and clean, as much so, if not more, than the skies of 24th century Earth, now that technology had conquered pollution. There was a slight alien tang to it, probably from the local plant life, such as it was at this time of year, a reminder that they were not on Earth at all, but a colony world many light years away. A colony world, moreover, where all the settlements were at the far end of the continent, close to the equator.

A Bad Day for Shore Leave

Sumati pulled her uniform jacket taut over her body, glancing down briefly to confirm that she looked suitably smart. It really shouldn’t matter, she thought to herself, as she flicked aside a few stray hairs from her jet black fringe. Here, just beyond the borders of Federation space, nobody was going to care that much.

Except that the senior officers might very well care, especially with the Captain being such a stickler for rules. The Captain always looked immaculate, almost infuriatingly calm and polished. And Sumati knew exactly what the Captain would say: today she was representing Starfleet, and couldn’t afford to let the side down.

The last thing Sumati wanted right now was to turn up at the transporter room and be sent back to tidy herself up. Perhaps it wasn’t very likely – it rather depended who was on duty – but she wasn’t going to take the risk.

50: Endings

[Start from the beginning]

The city was beginning to return to normal after the horrific recent events. Little, it seemed, could subdue the people of Haredil for long. Commerce was essential, and the city's inhabitants had lives to lead, even after the temporary inconvenience of a plague of zombies. The market was open again, sellers hawking their wares, and, for the most part, there had been very little structural damage.

And yet, if you knew the city as well as Almandar did, you could tell that it had not yet quite got over the shock. It had been only two days after all, and, if you looked carefully, you could see the haunted expressions on some of the faces, the nervous glances that tried to remain well-hidden. Trade might be going on, but it was a little less raucous than usual. Many had lost loved ones or friends, and much of the previous day had been spent cleaning bodies from the streets. That was something that nobody could forget in a hurry.

Of course, he was one of the few who had any idea what had really happened. For the rest, there was no clear indication that the undead would not return. Last night had been quiet indeed, everyone barricaded inside, lest it should all happen again. A few pointed to the double Lunar eclipse, saying that that had somehow magically caused the dead to rise, but others pointed out – quite rightly – that they didn't really know that. Nobody was even sure quite where the dead had risen from, and there was no good explanation as to why they had vanished so suddenly.

49: Messandra (3)

[Start from the beginning]

Calleslyn's trepidation increased as she turned the corner into the street where Messandra lived. All morning, she had been telling herself that nothing would have happened. The undead assault had been focussed on the temples, and, to a lesser extent, on the Rotunda and the city's main markets. Surely Messandra lived far enough away to have been safe?

But what if she hadn't been home? She might have been out shopping, or even praying to Nyrandos, her favoured deity. She didn't even know how the temple to the God of Knowledge had fared, although at least three other temples had suffered badly during the attack. The conviction that something terrible had happened was beginning to gnaw at her. Had she been naïve to dismiss such possibilities earlier in the day?

When she had awoken, after a long and pleasant sleep, the sun had been shining through the window, and the thoughts of her triumphs the night before had put her in a happy mood, unwilling to contemplate any dark thoughts. She had dressed in some of her finest clothes, a white elven dress made of silk, lace, and the softest cotton. The skirts were long, almost trailing to the floor, less practical than her normal clothing, with a tight bodice trimmed in gold, long outer sleeves trailing free from her elbows.

48: Horvan

[Start from the beginning]
The villa seemed quiet as Vardala headed downstairs from her room. After the events of the previous night, she had slept in, and was surprised to discover how high the sun had been in the sky when she finally awoke. By this time, she would normally expect the villa to be bustling with morning activity, but there was no sign of anyone. Perhaps they were outside, clearing everything up.

Suppressing a yawn, and running her fingers through her hair, she walked into the villa's main living room. It looked like everyone else had finished their breakfast, and there wasn't that much left, even for a gnome's smaller stomach. She picked up an apple that had been left over, and took a bite out of it, as somebody quietly stepped into the room behind her.

"Can I get you something? There's plenty in the kitchen."

She turned, to see Horvan standing there, polite and self-effacing, as always. "No, it's all right – I can wait until lunch. Perhaps it is a little late for breakfast, anyway."

"Of course."

"Where are the others, anyway?"

"They're all out, clearing up, or just checking on things. I believe Lady Tarissa is at the temple, and Calleslyn has gone to check on her friend from the scroll shop. I'm not sure about Almandar and Dolrim; they didn't say."

47: Larimor

[Start from the beginning]

“He’s upstairs,” Ansrael told her when she arrived at the house, “you’re welcome to go on up. He told me what happened. Or some of it, at least. I gather we owe you a debt of gratitude – the whole city does.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Lady Tarissa informed the elven squire, “there were many of us involved. Including Larimor.”

“Thank you, nonetheless. I saw a lot of what happened, and I can’t imagine what it would have been like if you – all of you – hadn’t put an end to it. I’m going out to help with some of the clean-up at the temple. Larimor has been there all day, but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”

“Thank you, Ansreal.” She was visiting Larimor’s home, a well-appointed building, if smaller than the adventurers’ own villa, and one that, of course, he shared with his squire, at least until her knighting ceremony, which was due quite soon now. She had not been here often before, and then only for brief visits, and it was a pleasant surprise to discover that they would actually have some time alone for once.

46: Lissica

[Start from the beginning]

Tinberly sat on the edge of the fountain, swinging her legs idly as she watched the crowd go by and chatted with her best friend. Lissica was her own age, eighteen years old, and they'd grown up together, only a few streets apart. They had a lot in common, both having lost a father; in Lissica's case a southern merchant who simply never returned home one day from a long trip abroad. That showed in her fair hair and grey eyes, contrasting against the more typical dark tones of Tinberly's own.

They had a lot to talk about, as they always did, the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, the constant bustling life of the city around them. The afternoon had gone fast, and now the sun was setting, the sky starting to dim, signalling that the day was finally at an end.

"It's getting late," said Lissica, eventually, sitting beside her on the stone ledge. "Maybe  tomorrow?"

"I can't go home," said Tinberly, glancing down at her feet, "not yet."

The other girl frowned, a quizzical look on her face. "Why not? Is everything all right?"

43: Throndar

[Start from the beginning]
Throndar raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The land he was travelling through was dry and dusty, and he had not seen a cloud for days. The occasional hardy bush or thorn tree broke the monotony, but this was not a good place for living.

Not that he minded, for Throndar was a barbarian, born and raised in lands not much less harsh than this, skills and reflexes honed in a dangerous environment, to become one of the greatest warriors in his tribe. That tribe was gone now, slain by evil sorcery, and Throndar wandered the world alone, a freebooter and mercenary in search of plunder and riches.

He was a tall man, standing six feet and four inches in height, but powerfully built, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps. Like all the people of his former tribe, he wore little, especially in the warm climate of this land, with leather boots, a wide belt about his waist, a loincloth of thick fur and naught else but his sword belt and a small bag of provisions. The hot sun glistened on his bare chest, his powerful muscles well defined beneath the lightly tanned skin.

"So, when is this set, exactly? I mean, when did it happen?"

"Hush. It'll all become clear."

42: Yarai

[Start from the beginning]

It hadn't taken Almandar long to find her. If you asked those who liked their music, and knew the local entertainers, she was distinctive enough that it really took very little effort indeed to learn where she was performing tonight. He was lucky that she had been in the city at all, of course, because she often travelled elsewhere, as bards were wont to, but once he knew that she was, it had been easy enough to find the right tavern.

He heard her even before he entered the room, her clear voice floating out onto the street. The patrons were quiet, enraptured; there was no hubbub of conversation while she performed. And there she was, as he walked in to stand at the back, near the bar. A flicker of recognition, of surprise, crossed her face, but it was momentary, and her performance did not halter for a second. It was unlikely anyone else would even have noticed, such was her professionalism.

He hadn't seen her for years, for all that they had so much in common. In a way, perhaps, he had more in common with Yarai than anyone else in the city, yet he had been avoiding her. He wasn't sure how she would react to seeing him now, after all this time, and the brief flicker across her face as he had walked in was not enough to give him a clue. Perhaps she would be the one who would avoid him. He hoped not, because that would make things awkward… well, more awkward than they were going to be anyway.

He should have sought her out before, really. But instead, he had taken the obvious course, looking for records in the College library, trying to find some explanation for what had happened in the distant past, and for why it might be happening again now. Yarai knew all the old legends; she would have made an excellent source. But he had pushed the possibility to the back of his mind, putting off the inevitable encounter.

40: Kara

[Start from the beginning]

The raid on Sashjant's lair had been a far shorter venture than any of their great expeditions into the wilderness, plundering ancient tombs or forgotten labyrinths. Yet it felt just as satisfying, producing the same thrill that escaping from near-death in an underground catacomb did. Or so Almandar felt, and he got the impression that the others did, too. Admittedly, in his case, the manner of his escape had been somewhat unorthodox, if far from unpleasant.

Presumably, for the others, the experience had been rather more conventional, but what really mattered was that they had saved five women from a terrible fate at the hands of a wicked demon. It was clear, now that they were free of his mental influence, how they regretted what they had done in his name, and, for some, at least, he suspected it would take a long time for their emotional scars to heal. Which meant that he currently felt as if he was walking on egg-shells when he was around them.

The former members of the harem were currently gathered in the main room of the adventurers' villa. Calleslyn had left to give Ornejirhs the good news, and Dolrim had left them alone, unaccountably bashful – perhaps he was overwhelmed by the emotion of the event, since dwarves were known for their taciturnity. That left Almandar with Tarissa and Vardala, talking to the rescued women.

39: Villains

"…and with that," Yelvann was saying, "the temple of Pardror will be crippled until it is far too late for them to interfere with our plans. By the time any of them are able to look around, the ceremony will already have been completed, and the Presence will reign supreme."

The skinny necromancer stepped back, into the ring of hooded conspirators, the Presence's chosen disciples and future rulers of Haredil. Eristacia found her suggestion, involving as it did a horde of undead, rather distasteful, but it was all a means to an end. The most important end of all, the Presence was whispering in her mind, worth whatever it takes. The Presence did not speak to her directly, not in words, the way it apparently did to Lady Amloth, but she could feel its urgings, expressed in emotions and concepts, always at the back of her mind, pushing her forward. Right now, it was telling her that everything was assured, that its triumph – and hers – were close at hand.

Eristacia turned to face the drow, standing not far from her in the ring, her jet black face and keen amber eyes peering out from the hood of her long cloak. As always at these meetings, she wore the same black hooded robes over her regular clothing as did all the other conspirators, although she added a silver chain around her shoulders, and, somehow, her robes always seemed more figure-hugging than anyone else's.

"Thank you, Yelvann," said Lady Amloth. "Now that that is in place, we are fully prepared. In two days time, my agent will deliver the censer from its safe-keeping, and Domand," she nodded in the direction of the priest, "will deliver the sacrifice. The night after tomorrow, we will all gather in the agreed upon place, except for Yelvann, of course, who will be directing the attack."

38: Sallisha

[Start from the beginning]

Horvan looked around the cell. There was nothing much here, and what there was was familiar. His employers were away on a mission, rescuing some women from the clutches of a demon. Or so he had gathered, from what he had overheard of their planning.

They were often away, of course, venturing into unlit catacombs in the far reaches of the wilderness was, essentially, how they made a living. Normally, at such times, he tended the villa for them. But this time was different. This time they were doing something in the city itself, and more importantly, somebody had sent a demon into the villa.

He shivered inwardly as he remembered facing the thing. He had known immediately that the creature was far out of his league, and that it could kill him in an instant. He had shouted out to it instinctively, before it had turned around and its full nature had become apparent. Not that he was any sort of warrior – in retrospect it was obvious that he should never have made himself visible to it at all.

Those glowing red eyes had fastened on him, and he had known the gut-wrenching fear that he was about to die. Even being hit with the knife was nothing compared to how terrifying that one look had been. It brought him newfound respect for what his employers did all the time, and he still did not know why it had spared his life at all. By all rights, he should be dead, yet it had not taken the trouble to finish him off. Perhaps he was just too insignificant to even care about.

36: Geska

[Start from the beginning]
Dolrim’s axe was already in his hand, and he stepped forward, shifting into a battle stance as the red-haired woman shouted out in alarm… and then, a moment later, slumped to the floor as Almandar’s spell hit her. Anyone else could be around the corner, perhaps the demon himself, or at least the more competent of his remaining slaves.

“Let’s…” began Tarissa, and then her voice cut off as everything went black and the world seemed to spin around them.

“One of you cast a light spell!” grunted the dwarf when, after a few seconds, neither of the magicians had done the obvious.

There was no reply. The spinning had not disoriented him, and he had thought at first that the physically weaker magicians had been affected differently. But no, they were not here, and Dolrim was on his own. He wasn’t even sure he was in the same part of the complex. For all that his eyes could adjust easily to the dim light of a dwarven cave system, nobody could see in the complete absence of light.

Unless, perhaps, they were a demon. He froze, straining his ears to catch any hint of what was around him – although he was blind, Sashjant might not be. He could hear, somewhere in the distance, Tarissa’s voice, muffled by walls of the fake stone, its texture just a little too regular to be the real substance, but otherwise similar in its properties. He took a step in the direction of the paladin’s voice, but then stopped again as he heard a quiet footfall.

35: Gut'rul

[Start from the beginning]

The place was evidently extra-dimensional in some way, a pocket of reality that did not fit within the regular dimensions of the physical world. Almandar had heard of such things before, had even seen them on a smaller scale, but he had never experienced one large enough to actually walk into. Judging from the doors that led off from the stone flagged corridor, it was even larger than they could see from here, an entire home hidden by what was presumably an easily portable door.

They stepped carefully and quietly down the corridor, not wanting to alert anyone inside. Luck, however, was not with them. Before they had moved even half way along, one of the occupants turned the corner at the far end and saw them, and let out a sudden yell. He recognised the red-headed slave he had met at the market – he seemed to recall her name was Kara – and immediately cast a sleep spell in her direction.

The woman collapsed, her legs falling from under her, and hit the floor heavily. Almandar darted forward, for a moment moving away from the others as the woman’s shout continued to echo through the magical space, evidently enhanced somehow. He did not want to hurt her, for she was an innocent victim, just as Mei-Xing was, just as all the harem were, but it was imperative that Sashjant and his slaves not have the chance to arm themselves.

“Let’s…” said Tarissa, but at that moment everything went dark.

34: Celestial

[Start from the beginning]

Nyvara looked at the water ahead of them, filling the tunnel as it sloped down into the depths. That Zarenis wanted her to swim though it was just ridiculous. She already regretted having agreed to help the tiefling out, but the problem was that she was too far into it to back out. The only escape route from this passage that she knew of was through a hideous barrier of flesh-eating vegetation that she had absolutely no idea how to neutralise. If she tried to leave, she would probably die in the attempt.

But going ahead looked no safer. She had to try to appeal to whatever sense of preservation Zarenis still had.

“We don’t know how far the water goes,” she pointed out, “we could drown.”

“It’s not that far. We’re physically fit; we can swim it.” The tiefling woman sounded quite positive. Nyvara almost asked her how she could be so certain, but bit back the question. It was the Presence, of course; that strange infernal entity that spoke to her in her head, or whatever it was it did.

“Well don’t forget, there’s a celestial waiting on the other side,” she said instead, “the creature we fought before was one thing, but how can we hope to fight a celestial? I don’t know much about them, but I do know they’re incredibly powerful. I bet even hardened adventurers would think twice about taking one on, and we’re going to allow it to jump us while we’re trying to get out of the water. It’s suicide!”

33: Rupinder

[Start from the beginning]

Calleslyn waited and watched nervously as Vardala fiddled with the lock on the door; they really didn’t want to be caught by anyone while doing this. She and Almandar were standing in the alley behind the house that Sashjant had rented in the city. There was no sign of life inside, although she knew that the demon was at home, along with, at the very least, two of his female companions, and probably all of them. Except, of course, Mei-Xing, and they did not yet know whether he had worked out what had happened to her,

Hopefully not, because that would give them the element of surprise. Sashjant was expecting Ornejirhs, and doubtless had warding spells in place to warn him of the approach of a dragon, whether in human form or not. But, with any luck, he had no idea about the adventurers, allowing them to quickly get inside and deal with him.

To her surprise, the lock on the back door to the house had not been enchanted, so it had nothing to do with the magical key they had stolen. That had to be for something, but evidently it wasn’t just for accessing the building, which used a standard Haredil lock on all of its doors. Which meant that Vardala should not be much longer.

32: Mei-Xing

[Start from the beginning]

The woman was most immediately notable for her flaming red hair; a rarity in Haredil. Her long skirts and the high collar on her dress marked her out as a native of the southern lands, far from her homeland. But that was no surprise to Almandar, for that was where Ornejirhs had followed her from.

Or, more accurately, that was where he had followed Sashjant from. As the dragon had indicated, the shape-changing demon travelled with a personal harem, and the redhead was one of that number. Almandar and the others had observed the group, confirming Ornejirhs’ story, at least as far as it could be. According to Lady Tarissa, Sashjant was an unusual type of demon called a rakshasa, and highly skilled in the ways of magic. Mind-affecting enchantments were clearly among his powers, and he had used them to gather the women, and to hold them in thrall.

It had soon become apparent that the women were the route through which they could tackle the demon. Each carried some kind of magical key that they used to enter Sashjant’s home; there was no other way in, which perhaps explained Ornejirhs’ failure to get close, especially since the demon could obviously sense his approach, and knew Imrilda’s identity.

It did not, however, know the adventurers, and that was the basis of their plan. Almandar would get one of the women on her own, allowing the others to capture her without the demon realising. Between himself, Calleslyn, and Lady Tarissa, they were confident of being able to end the enchantment, freeing the woman from her slavery. Once they had the key, they had a way to approach the demon, and deal with it permanently.

31: History

[Start from the beginning]

“I hope you know where you’re going,” said Nyvara, as the three of them trod the branching passageways beneath the city.

“I know the direction,” replied Zarenis, “I can feel it. This thing,,, the Presence, whatever you want to call it… it shows me images sometimes, but mostly I just sense the way I have to go. All I have to do is work out the details.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” complained the sorceress, “how do we know it isn’t lying to you?”

“It has no reason to. It wants to be released, and my demonic ancestry is the strongest link it has to this world.” She didn’t add that the Presence had already shown her that it had been responsible for her own birth, through a lesser demon. Since she had touched the censer, it could send her visions while she was awake, and she had experienced first hand its ability to manipulate the infernal taint in her blood, tying them together.

At least, she had now been able to gain some measure of control over the new powers in her blood. She was able to suppress all the transformations it wanted to make in her body, restoring her eyes and horns to their usual forms, and now looked as human as any tiefling should do, not like the hideous half-demon she had been at risk of becoming.

30: Ornejirhs

[Start from the beginning]

Calleslyn awoke suddenly. She felt refreshed, invigorated, as if she had just had a long nap and was ready to face the new day. And yet… she was sitting on a small, backless armchair, bound to it by her wrists, and with her ankles also tied together. There was a man sitting across from her.

“Welcome back,” said the man, “it would seem I owe you an apology.”

“You attacked me!” snapped the elf, as her memory returned.

“In fairness, you had just attacked my fighting companion. What was I supposed to infer?” His voice was calm, sounding reasonable, and almost affronted by the accusation.

“And now you’ve kidnapped me.”

“That was a necessary precaution. I did not know how you would react when you woke. I have not treated you badly.”

Glancing around to gain her bearings, Calleslyn had to admit that things could have been worse. She was not in a dungeon, or anything of that kind, although neither was she in the house where she had first encountered the pair. Instead, she was in what appeared to be a tent, a large and luxurious one of red and gold cloth, with soft cushions and mats upon the ground. The chair she was sitting in was padded, and would have been comfortable had she not been bound to it… with, she now noticed, white cords of silk that were tied firmly, but not overly tight.