FLHTH Session 13 - Campaign Story: Tándir

Our Time in Tyyst Continues With Vengeance Delivered

Threesday, Second Hand of Wealsun, EE238

Tándir of Great Harbor

Southport, The Monarchy of Tyyst

Saafiyah's hand tightened in mine. Ninety feet ahead the large double doors to the Uhaishara swung open, Camyder Cavalcanti stepping out with a woman six inches taller than his five foot four height. She hung from his arm, adorn in the clothing of a noblewoman. I saw Camyder glance at us and dismuss us, seeing only a father walking hand-in-hand with his daughter. The merchant prince had chosen to pay his visit to the Uhaishara late in the evening, once most other people had turned in for the night, a fact that Saafiyah's slave contact had told her was to hide just how stingy the merchant's alms actually were compared to his relative wealth.

Two beefy bodyguards followed him out dressed in House Cavalcanti's colors of yellow and blue, their small eyes assessing Saafiyah and I with the same accuracy that Camyder had; no imminent threat.

At the bottom of the Uhaishara's steps sat a coach drawn by two finely regaled heavy horses, a third man sitting atop the coach bench. The odds were long. I had tried to leave Saafiyah behind but she had insisted. We'd had a ferocious argument. She'd glared at me, olive-green eyes flaring as she argued, even threatening to blow the whole thing if I would not take her with. She had skin in the game, she said, since her life had been turned upside down by Camyder's two attempts on my life. It was just as much an attack on her, she reasoned, as it had been on me. "Besides," she said, "if I'm with you he won't suspect anything." I found her logic flawed but her threat of derailing tonight's retribution quite likely, and so she held my hand as we made our approach.

Camyder himself opened to door of the over-decorated coach, and the tall noblewoman slipped in. We drew close.

Our argument had been so heated. She had been right, of course. Thieves and assassins often utilized children as diversions, as lookouts, or even as props in their masquerades to remain undetected. She'd also been wrong. I did not want her to be seen at an assassination. And then she'd accused me of being an idiot. I'd politely told her she was twelve cycles old and couldn't possibly understand. That had been a mistake. Reminding me of the fact that I was still alive because of her she had spat on the floor, glared at me and growled "Krugrapi" at me, the orcish equivalent of asshole. I tried to recover by explaining that it would be dangerous, that she could be hurt, and that that wasn't a risk that I was willing to take. In turn she reminded me that she considered me and idiot and threatened to shoot me with my own crossbow. Her expression had suggested she might actually be serious.

Her hand tightened in might briefly, a subtle squeeze, conveying she was ready. Twenty feet away the dagger concealed in the sleeve of my long sleeve embroidered silk shirt felt right, as did the weight of the short sword hanging from it's scabbard at my side. I hoped for the best but the odds were not good.

I struck first, the finely crafted dagger slipping into the palm of my hand easily as we passed the two bodyguards. I caught him flat-footed and there was a cry of anguish as my blade slipped easily through the bodyguard's side, a mortal wound that had him stumbling away from us and to the ground before the second bodyguard's instincts kicked in and he began to turn to face us. His hand was on his short sword when Saafiyah sprung forward, slashing at his sword arm with her own dagger. Flesh separated and blood ran freely, but it was by no means a killing wound and the man did not immediately fall. The short sword at his side cleared its scabbard just as the stryghumine that had coated Saafiyah's dagger took effect, the bodyguard's eyes going suddenly glossy before they rolled back and the man tumbled to the ground, out of the fight at least temporarily.

The coach driver letp down in an effort to put himself between me and Camyder but Saafiyah moved quickly to intercept him. That left the merchant to me. He drew a dagger from a sheath at the front of his belt and took up a defensive position but did not move to attack.

For several long moments no one moved.

"I am Tándir of Great--"

Camyder screamed before I could introduce myself and lunged, the little dagger slashing. His remaining bodyguard pushed his way past the much smaller Saafiyah, wincing as she struck out with her own dagger as he brushed her aside and advanced on me. I brushed aside Camyder's dagger and drew my shortsword, slicing upwards through the colorful silk shirt he wore, cutting even through the padded armor beneath. He stepped back, shock on his face, likely never have been seriously threatened in his life. I turned to the side just in time to avoid the coach driver's short sword thrusting at me even as Saafiyah flicked her dagger across the man's back once again. Camyder took the opportunity presented when I turned to lunge froward again to try and sink the dagger into my chest, but found only empty air.

Realizing that the small dagger-wielding child was more of a threat than he had anticipated the coach driver grunted in pain and turned to face Saafiyah, his back bloody from her flashing blade, saving his own life suddenly taking priority over protecting his employer. I heard the grunts of exertion as he swung his sword wildly at the nimble girl, cursing at her when she leapt well out of the way of his blade only to dart right back in and thrust her dagger once more into his body. Camyder attempted the same, only to find my short sword parrying his thrust and turning it into a wound that opened across his forearm. A groaning beside me alerted me to the effects of the stryghumine wearing off on the bodyguard Saafiyah had felled.

The body of the coach driver fell heavily back against the ornate coach, rocking it on its wheels, a trail of blood following his corpse to the ground. The glint of Saafiyah's dagger was visible where it was thrust up through the bottom of the man's jaw. It was a gruesome sight, distracting enough to leave me open for several seconds too many and Camyder managed to open a shallow cut across the bottom of my cloak's sleeve. The warmth of blood was only a trickle, thankfully and I responded in kind, pressing him back against the side of the coach.

Saafiyah moved swiftly, passing behind me and scooping up the recovering bodyguard's short sword, turning it in her hand and driving it through the boiled leather cuirass proctecting his chest. Given her age and limited strength, the penetration of the sword wasn't sufficient for a killing blow, but she immediately yanked it free and and drove the point back down again, finishing the job. I thrust at Camyder, but he managed to move, the point of the short sword sinking an inch or two into the hardwood siding of the coach and giving him time to slash the dagger across my chest. Had I not been wearing the lamellar cuirass beneath my linen shirt, it likely would have been a much worse blow.

Saafiyah sprung forward at the embattled merchant as well, the bloodied short sword skewering him through his exposed side. His eyes grew wide and he began to stumble. He was already dead and simply did not realize it yet. To leave no doubt I thrust one last time with my own short sword, it's tip penetrating his neck and pinning him to the coach behind him, a fountain of blood issuing forth from the mortal wound.

I stepped back. His eyes were already turning glossy in the last brief moments of his life.

"I am Tándir of Great Harbor, and I have now given you my regards," I told the dying man, though I doubted the meaning of my words even registered in Camyder's mind. Having said that, I freed my blade from his throat and let his corpse fall to the cobblestone street.

We left the hysterical noble woman screaming in shock and fear. "Krugrapi," Saafiyah said in the direction of Camyder, spitting once on his body as she retrieved her dagger from the coach driver's corpse. The street was still deserted, no city watch running to investigate the disturbance. We sheathed our weapons and headed for the shadows. There was blood on both of our hands, warm and sticky when she reached out and took my hand in hers. "What shall we do tomorrow, father?" she asked, looking up at me with a grin as we turned into an alley.

There was a Hand of Mourning announced the day following Camyder Cavalcanti's assassination. Southport ground to a halt as the merchant nobility publicly grieved the death of one of their own. In studies and sitting rooms across the city, however, those same nobles plotted and schemed on how best to take advantage of the not-so-tragic demise of one of their own. The market was effectively shut down during the mourning period. It was, after all, in bad taste for business transactions to take place while Camyder Cavalcanti laid in state in the Uhaishara, not more than a hundred feet from where he had been struck down.

Life in Southport returned to a degree of normalcy following the end of the Mourning Hand, the merchants of the market doing brisk business after having been shuttered for so long. I returned to my stall along with the rest of the merchants in the city, maintaining my cover so as not to attract unwanted attention. Saafiyah, of course, had been under no such restrictions and had ventured out each and every day, running down leads and making contacts, a mere child that most people would never suspect to be such a formidable threat. Although it had been Camyder who had commissioned both attacks on me in Wistor, they were funded and sanctioned by House Cavalcanti, and as long as the Cavalcanti family remained alive I doubted the safety of Saafiyah or myself. The merchant nobility of Tyyst were infamous in the grudges they held, some lasting for generations.

House Cavalcanti reinforced their retinue of guards in the days following Camyder's death and limited their public appearances. Getting access to any of them would be much more difficult from that point out but as long as the veil of Saafiyah and I's masquerade remained in place I could be patient. It was a talent I had learned long ago, back in Great Harbour, during my youth. The hands flew by as summer gradually eased into fall. Trelbar had sent word, and some of his own goods, on one of the regular cargo galleys that ran a regular route between Folkestone's Landing and Southport, letting me know that all was well and that in lieu of coins for the goods I had sent him he intended to send me goods in return, which I could convert into coins that I might actually have immediate need of. By fall, he had informed me that he had also discovered the identity of the two men who had been responsible for Bastion's torture and murder, two thugs living right there in Folkestone's Landing.

I would deal with them later, of course, on behalf of my old friend.

In late fall we had an opportunity to strike at House Cavalcanti once again and Saafiyah took it upon herself to follow through on that opportunity. We had secured her a provisional mercatile license as an apprentice to me, her father, and she had taken up a wooden crate with a neck strap and begun hawking fresh fruits in the market. It gave her a reason to stop and talk to people, to make new contacts, to seek new information in casual conversations with her customers. Her smiles and her personality made her many a fast friend and she milked those friends for as much information as she possibly could.

A patrol of the city watch rushed past my stall one afternoon in response to a disturbance several streets away. Within minutes the market was abuzz with rumors and gossip. A slave had turned on her master and killed him. A man had been mugged, then murdered when he refused to give up his coin purse. Saafiyah walked up to my stall and set down her crate of snaniums, an orange fruit that could be eaten plain or pulped into a juice. She grinned at me with one of those enigmatic smiles that still managed to aggravate me and I knew immediately that she had played a part in whatever happened to have caused such a stir.

"What have you done, girl?" I asked her.

"Nothing, father," she said, her grin not faltering a bit.

"Saafiyah," I said sternly.

"I've done nothing, father. I've only been out selling the snaniums."

If I didn't know her so well, I would have believed her myself.

The Mourning Hand for Remme Cavalcanti began the following day. Remme, brother of Camyder, had met an unfortunate end when he had been found dead in an alley of the market district, having choked on a snanium. Saafiyah would later tell me that he had, in fact, died of poison, but she thought it prudent to stuff a bit of the fruit down his throat for good measure. "Besides," she said, completely straight faced, "he was a bit of a glutton and it was fitting."