Amanita (Act II)

Template:Amanita nav Whacking Andarial didn't solve everybody's problems at once. Dead Rogues were still dead. Local animals were still hostile. Demons still huddled in camps. The dead still walked... well, stumbled. But there was no coming back tomorrow this time, and they knew it. It kind of took the ginger out of them. Five Rogues on top of Warriv's wagons cleared the whole pass in a few hours. Kashya took a contingent into every cave, basement, crypt, and hole-in-the-wall along the way, and never fell behind. It was impressive... Rogues are dangerous. Too bad they were surprised and outnumbered the first time, it might have been a real fight. All I had to do was sit back and watch. Conquering heroes don't involve themselves with the clean-up anyway.

The monastery itself was empty. I'd already gotten most of them, and the survivors were heading for the hills. The Rogues took a few pot-shots at their fleeing backsides, but there were too many to chase and they had more important things to do. First, they opened the pass to travelers: to wit, me. Second, they spirited me away to a secret chapel, hidden from the eyes of all men. With a quick ceremony, I was dubbed an official Rogue, with the rights, privileges, and blessings pertaining thereto. Rogue rituals are very different from Viz-Jaq'taar ones; they sing, clap, hold hands in a circle, and smile even during the serious parts. It was kind of fun, but if this means no more men, I'm gonna make a lousy Rogue.

I'm not much for goodbyes, but it was kind of sad to go. I liked being in a big group of happy people, with everyone's guard down. You don't see a lot of that in my line of work. The Rogues were too happy to notice if my mind was leaking, and I'm not sure I would have cared if they did. Charsi wasn't even a little nervous around me. I gave her Leadcrow as a parting gift; maybe she could do something with it. Kashya even went so far as to ask to be my friend, and meant it. I don't think she makes friends easily, or often. As much as I might have liked to, I couldn't stay. I have older friends, even if they're not as cheerful, and they're going to need me a lot more.

We left after Warriv loaded the wagons with casks of water. I'd heard caravans can make it across the desert if they stick to the regular routes, so I thought he was taking advantage of the Rogues at first. He was already overjoyed that they'd forgotten the fee for using the pass. Turns out he'd just listened to Cain more than I did. Diablo's minions fouled Tristram's water supply, and Warriv knew exactly how important water is in a desert. More than half the oases we found were tainted, the water undrinkable even after boiling. We didn't see any demons, but we might have died anyway without those casks. That's when I decided to spend a little time talking with Cain myself.

Right from the start, I learned things. My first lesson was, there's no such thing as "a little time talking with Cain." I thought only women knew how to talk without stopping to breathe. My second lesson was that this humble old fart knew a lot about everything in the world and outside it, and was desperate to share with me. The "conquering hero" act impressed him a lot: he was sure I was going places, and needed to be educated so I'd know what to do when I got there. The trip across Aranoch was a long one, so we brushed up on demons, and Cain got to exercise his jaw muscles. Everybody was happy, except Gheed, who kept asking if I was hot out here in this desert and shouldn't consider going back to the thong. He never did figure out why he was suddenly so prone to migraines.

Journey's end was Lut Gholein, the biggest trading port on the western shore of the Twin Seas. Last I'd heard, Lut Gholein was ruled by Faduwas, an infamous sultan infatuated with money, food, money, drink, money, women, money, and more food. Instead of a fat old man with a lot of guards, we were met by one young guy, obviously rich but not even close to what I was expecting. Warriv, now dressed like a local, paid a hefty entrance fee and filled him in on the deal with the Rogue's pass. After the prince was done collecting, he came to meet me. I couldn't have been more thrilled.

"Greetings, honored traveler," he said in a tenor voice that seemed to think it was pretty damn good. "I am Jerhyn, lord of Lut Gholein, and I bid you welcome to my city."

He was kind of short, slender yet soft. His skin was smooth as a violin's back, and smelled like perfume. His clothes glittered and shimmered. Limpid brown eyes reflected me like a pane of glass. Some kinds of women would like this boy. Others would want to spit. "You honor me, lord," I said, pouring honey into my voice. "I am Amanita."

"Warriv tells me you are responsible for opening the pass to the west, so that wealth may once again flow between our countries."

He sure has his priorities straight. "Yeah, I guess I am. Too bad so many people died."

Jerhyn sighed, and bowed his head. It was almost convincing. "Forgive me, I know I may have seemed callous. Word has come from many far off lands of struggles with demonkind; I took the suffering of your land as a given. A force I cannot identify has lain siege to my city, killing all who venture outside our walls, and many within. The situation has become so desperate, I have hired mercenaries, but the forces of humankind may not be enough to combat an enemy we can hardly see, let alone understand."

Something was hiding his thoughts. Could a man learn to shield, especially one this young? No -- he's wearing a crown. Most ancient crowns and tiaras were made of alloys given to us by Heaven, and protect the ruler from probing. "Something demonic, maybe?"

"That and much more! The dead rise from their tombs, and strange beasts have been seen stalking amongst the moonlit dunes. I myself have seen many things I cannot explain."

Nothing unusual yet. "You should talk to my friend Cain, here. He knows all kinds of stuff about demons."

"Deckard Cain, the Horadrim sage?" Jerhyn's eyes got even bigger as he turned to the old man. "My city has indeed been honored! Fortune may finally have smiled on us today."

"Greetings, Lord Jerhyn!" Cain smiled. "I knew your father long ago, and thought he would be among the living for many more years. I am saddened to know I was wrong."

"My title has come to me recently, and I would that it had not come to me as it did. My father was one of the first to be lost, and sadly, far from the last."

"What a tragedy for this land!" Cain said diplomatically. I could tell he was actually relieved. "May he achieve happiness, as all good men do."

"Your words are kind. Come, you and I must speak with my advisors. Your council is most desperately needed."

They walked off, forgetting all about the conquering hero. I spat, and went to explore. Lut Gholein was a good-sized town, with paved streets and tall buildings. Lots of people roamed the streets, probably locals hiding inside the city walls, though Jerhyn said people inside had been killed. Probably just old grudges working themselves out, then being blamed on demons. Local fashions were breezy and colorful, but I already knew tight and black are bad ideas in this climate. Going back to the thong might not be a bad idea, except Gheed is still around. Of course, he did mention finding a big bowl of "narlant weed" and smoking until all earthly sense left his body, so I might not see him again for a while.

Past a palace that took up a quarter of the city all by itself, I found an inn, got a room, and changed into something lighter. The innkeeper was amazing. The man looked like he'd been hit by everything but the bucket of a dragline. His whole body was scarred, thickened, flattened, checkered, welted, and had pieces missing. But he had humorous eyes, in a face that smiled at the whole world. His was a smile that had nothing more to fear. Everything had already been done to him that anybody could think of.

Back on the street, I got more stares, but for a different reason. Some soldiers on the wall asked where I was spending my night, among other things. Soldiers are like that, in front of their friends. I've discovered they're not nearly as brave when they meet you alone. Near the city's only landward gate, I found the captain of the guard, a mercenary named Greiz. All the guardsmen were mercs -- Jerhyn's guards were in his palace, along with the city's harems and "ladies of the night." That was odd: Jerhyn seems to like money. Spending it on mercs when he's already got guards doesn't make sense. At least Inella was someplace safe, if you can call being locked up with a bunch of lonely soldiers "safe." Later, I'll have to call for her, and see what's up.

An open-air marketplace was in the center of the city. Stories make eastern markets out to be lively, merchants maniacally buying and selling everything imaginable at the top of their lungs. I could hear beetle legs scuttling across the pavement. Must be the off season. Besides a dozen sad-faced vendors, there was an alchemist and an armorer. The alchemist was a bow-legged oldster named Lysander, who had no eyebrows and a hat he never took off the whole time I talked with him. He tried to sell me some kind of sunburn cream, but never do business with an alchemist with no eyebrows.

The armorer was a slender woman, with long hair she left loose around her face. It was nice hair around a nice enough face, but I would never have thought she was an armorer -- or a Paladin, as she told me. Her thoughts were dark, covered with a mist of guilt; you see a lot of that in Zakarumites. I didn't go beyond her surface. Clerics don't interest me, and people whose minds turn inward are most likely to notice intrusions.

It was starting to get dark, and my feet were tired. Conveniently next to the marketplace was a tavern, already pretty lively. That was the best sign I could have that this city was in trouble -- nobody was spending money on food, but there was plenty to spend on drink. The doorman had "bouncer" written all over him. He wasn't much less than 7 feet tall, and no wider than a beer barrel. About the same shape, too. The tavern keeper was an older woman, dressed in unfashionable black. I liked her instantly, then saw her mind and liked her a lot less. So, the local deaths weren't just murders of convenience. That was good to know, but you should never take murder as personally as this woman did.

There are those who think the neighborhood bar is the best place for information. I've had more luck in dance halls, but it didn't look like many people were dancing in Lut Gholein. The bouncer was already staggering; he wouldn't need much more to start talking. I bought him a drink. He almost knocked me down getting to the bottle, and it was gone before I found a chair. I had to buy another. Most men, given a choice between a bottle and a woman in a thong, know which one they should pick, but this guy wouldn't. Going back to the bar had a silver lining, though -- when I sat down, I realized why that alchemist was trying to sell me sunburn cream. I stood for the rest of our chat.

"So, handsome..." I smiled. Hey, he might notice. "What's got everybody so down?"

"Oh, I don't know... I think it's because of poor mister Andu, and her son."

"Who's he?"

"He used to own The Rising Sun, before... uh..."

"Oh, no! Something bad happened to poor mister Andu?"

"Well, if you call finding him without his heart and liver and right leg bad."

Something crashed to the floor behind the bar. When I looked up, the tavern keeper was hurrying into the back room. My inebriated friend didn't seem to notice. "It was horrible, all chopped up and parts of him gone or eaten or something. I don't like to talk about it, it makes poor Atma upset."

He stared at his hands, then began to sing. His voice cracked, which discouraged him, and he started to cry. I rolled the bottle on the table, until his eyes rose and tracked it like a bloodhound. "Atma is your bartender?"

"Mister Andu was before," he said, still mesmerized. "After Andu was found, their son went down into the sewer to kill the monster. We never found him. I'd go down there and get it, but... I... uh... I don't like all that living dead stuff."

I leaned way down over the table, and poured half a jug, knowing it wouldn't even be close to enough. "The monster is undead?"

He frowned, but it faded as I kept pouring. "Oh, it's one of those big scary tomb guardians from out in the desert. They're big scary things made from dead men, and they can rip you to pieces and devour your soul like that! They have dead servants too. No one robs tombs with them in there!"

I filled his jug, and smiled. It was empty before I put the bottle down. Never once did he look at me, just the bottle. Someday, I should get this guy to drink water, just for the novelty of it. "Why would anybody make a monster like that?"

"It's a big mummy," he said, his rolling eyes fixed on the bottle. I started pouring again. "When you die, before you go to Heaven, your soul still needs a home, so they dry you out and soak you in chemicals. I don't like talking about it. Dead things are..." He shivered, which is a big deal in a guy that size. It almost knocked the table over.

Pickled human corpses, from the sound of it. Diablo must have loved that local tradition. "Dead things are so nasty," I agreed. "Are there other things that aren't dead?"

"Oh, sure, but they don't get in anymore. Greiz has this city locked down nice and tight, so I don't know why you people keep pestering me about it. I could have done it anytime."

"Well, sure! You're such a big, strong, handsome fella. You shouldn't have to fight with icky nasty undead things anyway."

"I could have, anytime!" Now he was starting to get excited, also a big deal from a guy that big. "Just bring 'em on! That sewer monster won't come out at all anymore with Greiz's guards all over. If he can't come here and fight me, to hell with him!"

With a wild punch through the air, he launched himself off his chair and landed face-down on the floor. I wasn't too worried, his gut probably broke his fall. Sure enough, in a minute, he was snoring. Atma hadn't come back. Everyone was helping themselves to the ale cask, but they all left money on the bar. Even with a mind full of vengeance and sorrow, Atma was obviously respected. Getting her gratitude might be more important than gaining the sultan's favor. Yes... I think I know what my next "good deed for the day" will be.