Memories

Shadows danced on the rock, the flickering flames from the campfire tossing firelight too and fro in time worn tradition. El Sid sat near it with the rest of the group, facing the fire and huddling under a blanket, thinking bleak thoughts about life in general. Even with Krinn's temperature control spell, it was chilly. Not as bad as when the Grettle worm had been introduced to him. A memory came to him; a stone room, carved into the warrens that lay behind the giant skull the assassins called the face of death. A narrow strip of rock leading from the doorway, sitting in a pool of water that rippled and gurgled from eddies in an underground stream. At the end, a plain stone platform perhaps a foot off the water, and suspended from the ceiling by a pulley a rope with a harness at the end. The pulley was placed out over the water by a couple of feet. Four other people with him, all assassins already; they never initiated more than one person at a time, as he and the Don had found out when they asked to be initiated together.

The room was cold; he spotted a Cold Rune like the one in Borgia Hold's food pantry, but actually carved into the rock. The water was so black it looked like oil, although scooping out a bit revealed it to be plain, clear water. "Don't do that again" suggested one of the assassins, a female who he vaguely remembered was named Merrin. "It looks dark because it is deep, and the water runs under the walls." El Sid looked more carefully, and realized that indeed the walls ended at the waterline and curved under somewhere.

He was naked, and there was very little talk, which made him feel vulnerable. But he was also excited, because if the hints he had picked up were true, this was the final step in a very long journey. He knew better than to ask what was about to happen; one lesson drilled in early in his apprenticeship had been blind obedience to his teachers. About half way through his training, they had lined him and eleven other acolytes up in front of a chasm in another room. It was a twenty foot drop to broken stones underneath. The assassin teacher had walked up a staircase that projected from one of the walls to stand about ten feet above them. They hadn't been told what it was all about, which had been pretty much par for the course. The teacher turned to them, looked them over, and suddenly said in a low but distinct voice, "jump." El Sid, without hesitation, made the leap. In the minute or so it had taken them to line up, he had taken a guess at what was about to happen. If he was wrong... but he hadn't been. Invisible fingers had grabbed him as he hurtled toward the bottom, and when he hit ground the "broken rocks" compressed under him like a mattress. Above, he heard a second "jump," then a loud roar. He bounced to his feet and tried to look around while making it appear he was just waiting for further instructions. Ten people were picking themselves up around him, including the Don. From above, smoke and the scent of charred meat wafted down to him. The teacher himself had jumped from the platform and landed reasonably gently on his feet. He took them out a hidden door, up a staircase, and then gone on to the next lesson, correctly assuming that he did not need to elaborate on what they had learned.

The two that had presumably died on that test were not the first or last to do so, but they had been the only ones that had died simply to make a point. Of the fourteen people he had started with, only six were left at this point, and there was no way to leave the program prematurely except in a coffin.

In this case, he had, at least, been given minimal instructions. He walked over and the assassins put the harness on him, belting it securely just under his arms. Two of them took the other end of the rope, pulled him up off his feet, and then with the other two guiding him as he swung out over the pool, lowered him gently into the water. He involuntarily gasped when his feet hit; the water must have been just above freezing. They lowered him until the harness was at the water line, then stopped. El Sid tried to stop his teeth from chattering, but couldn't. One of the two assassins that was not holding the rope took a paddle and started slapping the water with it; the other had a long pole.

Time slowed to a crawl; it seemed like each paddle stroke was minutes apart, although he knew it was seconds. He groaned, the chill biting into him, past flesh and muscle and right to the bone.

"Here comes one" said the assassin with the pole, and El Sid tried to turn in the direction the man was looking, but he had lost control of most of his body at this point, and could only twist his head slightly and move his eyes. Under the water, something moved, wriggled slowly through the water. A sickly yellow in color, perhaps a foot long and an half inch in diameter; it was hard to tell in the rippling water. It approached slowly.

"Come on... come on... " said the poleman. He moved the pole to intercept the thing. "Ok, ok, a bit higher... got it!" he cried. El Sid felt a twinge in his side, but was so numb from the cold water that it disappeared almost immediately. "Perfect, right on the abdomen. Pull him."

The two on the rope pulled El Sid out of the water quickly and, between the four of them, they laid him out on the slab of rock. He was completely incapable of movement. He could feel something pulling on his side, and could pretty much guess what it was. The four assassins clustered around his side. "Ok, it's taking blood... ready... ready... disattached, get it back in the water". There was a splash. "Bye, baby. Man, that was a good one." The man talking looked at El Sid. "Count yourself lucky." He turned back to the others. "How many larvae?"

"Three... " replied one of the others. El Sid felt a pull on his side. The man grunted. "Two. Damn, they're burrowing fast... get that other sucker..." El Sid felt a hard pull at his side, and actually felt pain for the first time. "One and done. It's in deep already. Imprint it" continued the man. The two assassins that had been silent leaned over El Sid, planted their open hands on his side, closed their eyes, and concentrated. He was getting some feeling back in this extremities, and the pins and needles were intense enough that he wished he hadn't. The two finished whatever they were doing.

"Done."

They stood him up. One of them used a spell from a ring and El Sid, regaining enough motor control to lift his head and look, could see the blood gushing out of his side trickle to a stop. Another slapped a bandage on the wound, and a third put a blanket around him. The forth held a bucket under his chin. "Welcome to the brotherhood. Go ahead and puke. Everyone does."

El Sid said between chattering teeth "I don't."

The man looked at him and shrugged. "Sorry about the cold. Too warm, and those things would be in you to fast too pull the extras out, and more than one means death." They told him about the Grettle worm then, and what it meant, and later, in the barracks, when even the Don was asleep, he had gone into the bathroom and spewed his guts out for half an hour.

There was a buzzing in his head, breaking the thought, which was for the best, because El Sid hated introspection and the past few minutes had felt like just that. It was Corbel on the comm amulet.

"Come in... hello El Sid... come in please."

"Roger Wilco."

"Roger? Roger who? What the hell are you doing on this frequency? I was trying..."

"It's me, Corbel. El Sid."

"Oh. Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"I.... Forget it. What's up?"

Silence. El Sid stiffened. Bad news. "I have something for you. Something from Bradford hold."

His blood froze. "You've sold me out."

"El Sid, calm down. I've done no such thing."

"Ya, that's right, I left a forwarding address with the Bradfords, courtesy of you. How silly of me to forget."

"El Sid, I know generally where you are. That's it. Do you think this is what I would do if I was cooperating with the Bradfords?"

El Sid paused. "I'm listening."

"I'm going to give you some news that has leaked back from Kethem. Not from Bryant Hold, by the way. Bryant hold information is, of course, somewhat confidential. Nereta Hold, which if you remember is our Great Hold, has run into a little problem. It appears that some artifacts found in a excavation of some new ruins outside Kuseme, funded by pooled hold funds, managed to 'disappear' prior to being officially registered as part of the dig... "

"Fascinating, I'm sure, to someone that cares."

"Well, the interesting thing is that Bolton hold, the most likely successor to Nereta, has also, by coincidence, been found guilty in a slightly smaller scam." He paused.

El Sid immediately saw where this was going. "Let me guess. Bryant hold is next in line for the Great Hold."

"In fact, that is exactly the case. It looks like there will be a vote of no-confidence for Nereta hold within the week; selection of a new Great Hold is required within a month in accordance with the Bylaws of the High Council."

"Bryant traded the information on the scrying device for Bradford hold's support in becoming a great hold."

"If I believed in conspiracy theories, I would guess a little beyond that, actually. There are some rumblings about the High Council representative for our providence..."

El Sid thought about that for a while. "Damn. Didn't think that one through, I guess. Next question. Why are you telling me this?"

Corbel paused. "I just thought you would be interested. Of course, the conclusions you have drawn as to some potentially... unethical behavior by Bryant hold are your own. As an aside, I did not tell my Lord Gustaven about you or your group. I would guess Bradford knows where his security leak is, and passed this along as a result of that guess. I don't think Gustaven would tell Bradford about my... arrangement with him either, so I doubt Bradford knows where his little message ended up. Gustaven is a bit paranoid about visiting Salta, for some reason. I've had... friends... look over the device, a ring. It appears to be a message, using an illusion spell to create a likeness of Lord Bradford, and nothing more. No offensive spells, no homing beacons or the like. I can look at it myself and give you the gist of it, or I can try to send it on. What would you like me to do?"

Sid had Corbel put the device in a lead-lined, magic-proof containment device for further consideration. He wasn't going to get near the damn thing in case there was a hidden booby trap or some such, even if it contained a hidden message or offer from the Bradfords. While Sid would like to know what the hidden component might be, just to see how desperate the Bradford's were (they might offer Borgia a deal like they were forced to make with the Bryant's, for instance), he didn't trust them for spit. He'd let them hang for a while.

Also, he was not crazed on letting them know that he *was* the source of the leak. They couldn't know *for sure*. Could be somebody high up in their organization, after all. Did they spy on each other with the box? Likely. A symptom of an insidious, ultimately self-destructive, paranoia. They could never really be sure that one in their midst hadn't found a way to 'beat' the box and had cut a side deal with the Bryants and... who else? An internal Bradford purge, of all the wrong people, wouldn't hurt at all. And would itself cause questions to be asked as to the purge's reason in various quarters. All very, very good. The Sid would operate like a cat in the night: Silent. Unseen. Gone...

Sid hung up the telephone and leaped into the air with a big whoop. He came down grinning and pounded backs all around. Glorm, used to a more taciturn Sid, arched his left eyebrow in puzzlement.

Sid beamed. Bryant had taken the bait! They had cut a deal with the Bradfords! Now any leak that Sid laid (and be assured that there would be plenty more coming) could be equally blamed on the Bryants rather than on Borgia. And when the next and the next organizations showed up demanding a deal with the Bradfords, they'd have to cave in to them as well. Pretty soon the Bradford's 'secret' would become so well known as to be useless. And when the beans were spilled generally (as was inevitable now that the cat was out of the bag), there were going to be an awful lot of pissed people who had not had their share of the Bradford's 'benefits' sharpening their knives, the KNI not excluded.

Sid still wasn't sure if he should have told them at Bethalen Station. Said he learned about the Station with Bradford's help. Would have pissed them off royally. He figured he tell them after the next four or five shills, assuming that they didn't find out before then from all the new leaks that would inevitably spring up. Sid figured after he told the K'rack Heads and a few more organizational heads (the Hassassins, a few Pranan nobles, the Post Office, etc.) that the Bradford's Box was as good as common property.

In fact, he figured the demands for specific knowlege to assist the new 'clients' would so monopolize the Bradfords 'box time' that Borgia surveillance would soon be pushed to the bottom of the list and he could slip through a request for aid: been in the field a while, sure could use some new silk underwear and a decent chardonnay. Yep, he thought, a few more Great Holds and High Council members promoted with his (indirect) assistance and he'd have some serious favors owed to Borgia (indirectly, of course). Then the newbies would probably turn on Bradford of their own accord to bury any hint of scandal and threats of blackmail. Who'd end up with 'The Box' ultimately? Who knew. Might even get lost in the confusion of dead and dying Bradfords.

In his mind's eye, Sid could see a stone coffin gathering dust in some abandoned Saltan waterfront warehouse, several dog-eaten Bradford skeletons scattered in the alley out back, a victim of overethusiastic, bureaucratic secrecy. But *everyone* would be aware it was around someplace. And hound the Bradford survivors to their last ratholes and beyond. Pity that. Sid grinned broadly again. Things were finally going well. It had been a long time since the die had rolled his way. Let Corbel think he might owe Sid a 'moral favor' because his Hold had 'double-dealed' the Sid (what had Corbel *thought* the Bryant's would do? Of *course* they would try to blackmail the Bradfords! What else?).

He'd have to watch this deal to exploit Valen's Point with the Bryant's carefully, but he'd always known that. He didn't trust Corbel or the Bryant's farther than he could throw them. Not prudent. But at least he now knew the level of duplicity that the Bryant's dealt on: straightforward and unimaginative. Excellent. He could work with that. Ah, Salta! Where a secret wasn't a secret unless only one person knew it and usually not even then. Ghods, he loved his job... Sid stared up into clouds, no longer cold. After a few more minutes, he picked the comm unit back up. He tripped the connection with a mental command. Static cleared. "Ah, Corbie, old chap, what can you tell me about a quaint group of clerics and their charismatic leader, collectively called the "Jeez and K'rackers..."

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