Asherons Call: Rollout Article

These two had been having the same conversation about the troubles of the realm of Viamont for over twenty years, on both Auberean and Ispar. The incidents for concern were always different, but the tenor of the conversation remained the same: Bruno complaining about the instability of their King, whether it was about Varicci I in the Bull's Head Tavern in Corcosa or about Varicci II here in the capital-in-exile of Sanamar. The fact that Bruno had been right about the inadvisability of entering that portal back on Ispar gave him enough satisfaction to keep complaining for another twenty years.

"Yes, you were right about the portals," Merro admitted for the thousandth time. He took a long quaff of ale and stole a glance across the bar at the tradesman Rand, wondering if the good brewmaster could brew a beer strong enough to blunt his friend's complaints. "So what was the news you heard this morning?"

"I hear tell the Boy King has sent some of his most valuable soldiers and scholars into some old Empyrean vault -"

"But he's been doing that since we got to this blighted land!" Merro protested.

Bruno sniffed. "Can I finish my story?" Without waiting for a further word from Merro, he pressed on. "This one is different. You know how some of them Aluvians who came through here talked about Asheron?"

"I remember the story. This is the old Empyrean who was responsible for those portals showing up on Ispar?"

"The very same. Well, suffice it to say that instead of opening dusty tombs and stealing headstones to furnish his castle, the Boy King is poking around in this Asheron's personal business! Not wise to anger a big muckety-muck sorcerer, especially when he's committed so many troops to Glenden Wood, and a hundred other follies& Plus, I've heard that this sorcerer is the Aluvian queen's lover!"

"I really wish you'd stop calling him the Boy King," Merro said. "He's our King, and even a gormless old fool like you needs to watch how you speak of him."

Bruno drained his mug. "Bah. He's got bigger fish to fry than me. And I will continue to call him the Boy King. He& His father& He's just not& Not&"

"Not as old as his father? Sons rarely are," Merro quipped. "Maybe you ought to forgive him for waiting until he was a greybeard to call himself King." He finished off his own mug.

Bruno's reply was drowned out by an explosion outside the tavern. The old man jumped in his seat and, with agility that was remarkable for one of his age, dove under the table.

"I knew it, I knew it! The Royal Thaumaturges are coming for me, aren't they?" he wailed.

A dense cloud of smoke wafted into the tavern from outside. Striding through the noxious fumes came a Viamontian noble in stained and torn clothes. He carried a barrel on his shoulder.

"Duke Raoul," muttered Merro, groaning. The Black Fist of Viamont, Duke Raoul Lascera, was well known for causing scandals and uproar wherever he went. It was said that his traveling companion, Apothecary Zongo, was a witch doctor of Souia-Vey who dabbled in poisons and dangerous distillations.

Zongo was nowhere in evidence today, which Merro counted as good fortune. Raoul was scanning the room through bloodshot eyes, when he saw Rand.

"Rand! There you are! Ye gods, I've found it!" Raoul's voice was a guttural, staccato bark. It was a voice that compelled men to obey - if they could understand what he was saying. With that, he stepped toward a table and slung the barrel off his shoulder.

Merro took a good look at the barrel. The tap on top identified it as a keg. The black fist emblazoned on the side indicated that it had been brewed by Duke Raoul. Merro and Bruno looked at each other, and came to the same decision.

Both of the old men stood - Merro from his seat, and Bruno crawling out from under the table.

"I say there, m'lord&" Bruno said. "What's that you've got there, and can my friend and I trouble you for a taste?"