Chapter 2

"Where is the human?" The orc approached Seroin from behind. His steps bore witness to his massive muscles and a creeping hint of red wine characterised his breath. He stood not a hand's breadth behind Seroin's chair and stared down at her skull.

But the young woman only propped herself and the chair further up in the orc's stomach. "And that's your business, because? We've known each other too long for your grunting! You'd better give me another drink before Shiverlip takes away our good wine." She pinched his arm and playfully pulled him towards the table.

The orc chuckled and dropped onto one of the fine wooden chairs. He quickly took a sip from the bottle in front of them on the elegantly decorated steel table. "Just came in. A very fine drop. Supposedly from the Erna Ir, the sea elves."

Seroin raised a brow and snatched the bottle from his hand. "Whatever numbing powder you take, keep it away from me. Sea elves and good wine. Aren't they extinct?"

The orc shrugged his shoulders and played around with the thin spit in his mouth. After a strong gurgle, he swallowed once, smacking his lips. "Could be, who cares. We've been hearing a lot of strange things from the rest of the continent lately."

Seroin took another sip and reached for a jug of water. She carefully added it to the red wine so that the bottle looked equally full. "Our continent of Auervam is large, the growth always tells us that. Large and empty. Can you imagine that, Roscha? Such a large area without noise, screaming, shouting and yelling?"

The orc called Roscha grinned broadly. "No. Not in any dreams. But you and I aren't growth either, are we Seroin? They tell me the orcs out there are a savage race. Dressed in leather and dirt, they hunt and hump like animals. Axe in hand at all times and their tusks mould rough and unpolished."

Seroin scrutinised him once from head to toe. As an orc, Roscha was stockier than most, his skin shining dark green to dark brown. But he was a good head shorter than she was. His black hair, which was normally wild and wispy for orcs, was tied back in a single tight braid. His kind usually wore a coarse face, but his was smoothed with the finest creams.

Seroin pursed his lips. "And the difference with you is?"

Roscha cackled and stroked his clothes. "You little dragon turd! I can't imagine it, leather and dirt. I wouldn't know how to survive a day without my robes of Hopa's tailoring and my little tusker file." His burgundy robes, venerable for a nobleman, swung as he turned and he felt for the smoothness of his two broad tusks on his lower jaw. Then he chuckled cheekily again. "Just humping like an animal, ai, are there any other ways?"

Seroin shook her head, rolling her eyes, and got up from her chair.

The hall in which the two of them lingered alone was high and filled with a light darkness. A number of heavy steel tables and fine chairs were scattered around, with individual buckets of water between them. Preparations for the night's festivities were still underway.

The hall only had a single window front, the glass stretching upwards like a tree. Nevertheless, it was impossible to see anything through it, the panes were so grey and dull.

Seroin stared blankly through the wide window pane. "The tower here is in the middle of the Sagvi quarter, you could see half the city. But Shiverlip is having frosted panes installed. Cheeky."

The orc whistled. "You know it's better that no one sees what crooked business goes on here. And Shiverlip´s guests appreciate the discretion."

"Business that allows you robes from Hopas Tailoring. How many A.M.I.s were there?"

Roscha smoothed his fine fabric and made a swinging movement like a dancer. "Nothing. On the boss's house."

"Shiverlip just gives something away like that? You're doing well, really." Seroin was just weighing up how much the robe on the orc's body might be worth when the wide double doors to the hall swung open.

With leisurely steps, a thin, tall man entered the room, his hair glowing red and his features long.

Roscha immediately jumped to an upright position and nodded to the human, who just smiled gently and pointed to the double doors behind him. "I don't think I need personal security for the good Seroin, thank you Roscha. There are new papers outside, witness reports. Nobility from the land is visiting, Lady Olva from the Wooden Surf. Study the papers, especially for clues to things of value. No one reads as carefully as you, my good man."

Hearing the order, the orc scurried wordlessly out of the hall.

"Business never rests. In the last few weeks, half the continent of Auervam seems to want to come to Badazan. But now for this. Seroin, joy." The man hugged her with only one arm and the weakness of a plague sufferer. "Quick work, I must say. You sneak and steal like a wood elf. Sure you're so sure of your human nature?"

Seroin briefly fought the shudder in her body as she endured the foul embrace, yet she pulled out her best smile. "Mr Shiverlip. Thank you for meeting me so quickly, it's not a given. And yes, I am. My ears are round and pink. What do the elves say? They were the first and they were cheeky, so their ears were pulled long? Well, I was never cheeky. At least not as the first."

Mr Zitterlippe started to laugh artificially when his features suddenly began to deform like warm wax in the midday sun. A wave of convulsions passed over his face and when his body calmed down, Seroin's own features looked back at her. He wore her appearance like a sheltered jacket. "It's been a long time. But I remember. This tension in my body. And always listening. Comes from your old life, doesn't it?" He grinned sharply at her with her own lips. "But it doesn't feel elven."

Seroin kept her composure; she had already had to suffer this trick too often. "Exactly. I don't think we're sitting here together to talk about my blood, are we?"

Shiverlip nodded and again his appearance moulded itself into shape, this time Seroin sat opposite the image of her former companion, the human called Polbin. "So. I sent you and him off here. Off to the Growth Authority, right in the heart of the Ieswibe quarter." He scrutinised the closed file on the fine steel table. "You'll come back with the promised loot. And the good Polbin? Has he got what he was looking for?"

"He's buried by now. Or drowned in one of the city canals. Before you reproach me, Shiverlip." Seroin bent down and looked into the face of a dead man. "Few words, yes. Secrets, yes. I prefer my work that way. But as soon as I do anything for you and it has anything to do with the Sandevis or any of the other two extended families of Badazan, I demand a warning. And four times the payment."

Shiverlip raised his hands in mock defence. "You're alive and sitting in front of me, what more do you want?"

"It could well have been that an inspector would have turned up there, worse still, G.M.E.s. Something like that requires planning!" Seroin straightened and pierced him with her gaze. "And take off that skin. The man was an idiot like no other."

Shiverlip shook himself once and now wore the appearance of the red-haired man again. "Witnesses?"

Seroin shook his head. "The fool stabbed at it. Especially after I used an Iwika spell, one of the expensive ones. A paralysing spell wasted and then something so unnecessary. I shot him down and left his remains as a gift of honour. Hoping the Sandevis see this as enough for their honour. Probably some of the guards will claim they killed him, simply to preserve pride."

Shiverlip nodded absently and picked up the file. With the skilful eyes of an academic, he rolled through the lines. "Excellent. Really. It's a start." He rolled up the papers, tucked them into his inside pocket and moulded his exterior into a broad, curvy blonde woman with a round, youthful face. "The Sandevis don't just put up with this sort of thing, no, certainly not. But that's why I exist. Firstly, good work. You can pick up your A.M.I.s on the way out. Promised sum."

"Polbin promised me the remaining half after the work was done. But I assume you have little access to his A.M.I.s."

"True. Lost luck. I'll have his tavern room searched anyway, perhaps he was foolish enough to hide them behind some floorboard. Growth usually thinks so simply. But new luck awaits you, Seroin, new luck. Your next opportunity is just around the corner."

Seroin leaned back in her chair again and placed her dirty boots on the steel table. "Careful Shiverlip. After something like this, careful. A lot has been escaping your memory lately, especially when it comes to my orders. Besides, dont you have your whole street gang under you? Or are they all already flutter sick?"

The blonde figure smiled falsely and stood up from the table. "No. But these are my people and my name. And I don't want to leave any trace of myself in such delicate matters. Just as I don't want to draw too many eyes to such an opportunity."

With the gentleness of a mother, he pulled Seroin's feet off the table and placed them back on the floor. "My people are set on all the upcoming landed gentry. There's a lot to survey, a lot to blackmail. There are relationships to build even outside the city. And I know that underneath your street dog skin there is a bright core. You don't indulge in numbing powder, nor do you drink yourself to death or inject yourself with A.M.I.s without end."

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He pointed at the table and her boots and wagged a finger admonishingly. His look almost invited Seroin to repeat her cheekiness.

But she was smarter to tease him too much. "Honoured. What's it about?"

He twitched again and took on the form of an old, well-groomed man. "Excellent, very nice. Let me freshen up for a moment." He skilfully conjured up a small fork, the tines of which were sharpened. He then unwrapped a round wooden box, opened it and stirred around in it with the fork. With the tines of the fork soaked in a strange-smelling powder, he stabbed himself in the forearm

"Joy?" Seroin scrutinised the whole thing indifferently.

"Vigilance. It's been a long night and tea and sugar haven't helped for a long time. And this form of numbing powder really appeals to me. Likewise?"

Seroin shook his head in thanks. "I know my varieties. I prefer to perceive less of the world and no more of it through numbing powder."

Shiverlip laughed and slapped the table, his movements already markedly more jerky. "Badazan through and through. That's exactly why I need you." He dug out the same file again and slid it open in front of Seroin. "It's about a necklace, an amulet to be precise. Not magical or special-looking as far as I know. But the steel seems to have a certain value to those in the know. And the request for it came from towers higher than mine."

Seroin nodded and inspected the file. "There's talk of a woman here. Growth to Badazan. An elf from the region of the Cold Belly. She has this necklace?"

Shiverlip raised his shoulders. "Not as far as I know. But she arrived in Badazan with the amulet."

"You want me to find her?"

"The amulet. She doesn't matter. It's about the steel." Shiverlip flicked a small slip of paper from between his fingers and handed it over to Seroin.

She scrutinised the name suspiciously. "Tomga Balf. Also sounds like an elf, but more masculine."

Shiverlip chuckled and now transformed into an old orc with knee-length grey curls. "You and your knowledge of names. Right. Good Mr Balf is the brother of our little elf. She's here somewhere in Badazan. And he'll be arriving soon to take his little sister away again quickly. Which is what I need you for, Seroin, explicitly."

Now she raised her eyebrows and shook her head questioningly. "So we don't care about the sister, but he's looking for her. Why do we need the man?"

"Tomga knows about the amulet's exterior. Perhaps even more about its nature. We need his knowledge to find it in any case."

Seroin sharpened her eyes, a little reproach in them. "The sister wore the amulet. She arrived here with it and now she doesn't have it, or so you say. Why not just ask her? Why do we need it? Or is she already ..."

Shiverlip moulded himself into a completely pale and hairless woman and gave her the same look back. "The sister is no longer to be asked. If I had found out about this amulet sooner, perhaps she still would be. But that's all you're interested in, understand? As far as you are concerned, she could have already died."

"I thought so. I don't even want to know." Seroin stared at the name on the small piece of paper again. "Tomga Balf. He has a lineage name. Balf. Heard you only get them out there for special deeds."

"The good elf fought diligently in the Daumaje and even survived the whole thing. He was probably given the name by his commander, a woman called Arabara."

"Daumaje? Second great war of creation?" Seroin scratched his chin. "Elv, he's got enough years under his belt. The war was almost 110 years ago, so he's at least 150 years old. Are you sure you can trick someone like that? Arabara ... the Daumaje was the war between all the powers of Being Diersa itself. And all the forces of nothingness Defala. This commander. Arabara. Am I right to assume she was ..."

Shiverlip nodded. "A child of ideas, demigod? Correct. Arabara the judge, firstborn of the idea of will itself. To my knowledge, not was, but is. She probably still lingers in this world."

"An elven war hero looking for his sister, you want me to divert and redirect him to the search for an amulet. Someone who has well over 100 years of experience and served under a true demigoddess?"

Now Shiverlip pulled herself up and took the form of an older, fatter human woman. "Easy, Seroin, easy." He swung behind her and began massaging her shoulders. "Nothing out there has any value, any use. It all remains growth. And what's to threaten you? The Daumaje is over, famously ended when Diersa and Defala as well as all other ideas left this world, most of their children are with them. The divine race is dying out. Their time has passed. What does the good Bema Sandevi always say? We are the new gods. This elf, he's old iron. Especially here in Badazan."

Seroin enjoyed and loathed the precise pinches of his massage, hastily shaking off his fingers, fresh disgust in her belly. "My price is not cheap for such work, really not cheap. I'm not a child minder, especially not with such war heroes and idea fanatics. We're talking about A.M.I.s in the high three-figure range here."

"So shall it be. With the free choice to get off at any time, agreed?" Shiverlip looked down at her and Seroin looked into the face of a grandmother.

"Understood. What if he asks about his sister when he's not interested in the amulet?"

He reshaped himself again, this time into a chubby dwarf with a pink beard. "Where should he ask? The Growth Authority no longer has her file, you just brought it to me. Only I know the sister's fate. He remains at your mercy. You're looking for the amulet as the only clue to his sister. You'll manage somehow, calmly. You'll show an old elf around Badazan, do a bit of guiding and come back as soon as the amulet is found. After that, you can get rid of the good guy for all I care. The amulet is the most important thing."

Seroin slipped the file to Shiverlip and pocketed the note with the name. "Good, when does he arrive?"

"This afternoon. That's why I allowed you to meet so quickly."

Seroin nodded her head and peered towards the double doors. "The usual I think? Not a word to any of them?"

Shiverlip swung the bottle of red wine around vigorously, the bright red drop spinning wildly in its glass prison. "Of course. Especially here. If word of the amulet gets to any of the other gangs, be it the Ibis, the Curlybeards or that new brute, the Young Harvest, I'll consider our deal blown apart."

"That important?! Very well." Seroin tried to scrutinise the shifter's features. "The Young Harvest continues to give us a hard time, doesn't it? That woman at the top, that Gardener. She's..."

"Different, yes. Clearly. A street gang made only of Growth and someone cold in front. Not my Badazan as I know it."

Seroin lifted his lips. "Growth. Can disappear just as quickly."

"Let's hope so." Shiverlip put the bottle down and twitched into a new form again, this time an elegant and tall elf.

Seroin stood up and stretched her limbs. "Then I'll leave you to your nightlife again. I suppose it's fully booked as well today. And again. You know that bothers me, the constant changing. One face per meeting is enough for me."

"And you know I like to remind my friends and foes alike that every face, every ear here in Badazan, could be mine." He moulded himself back into the exterior of Seroin and smiled back at her with her own lips.

"I swear I'll never give you a reason to get on your unattractive side." She turned and walked towards the door, but couldn't escape his last words.

"Seroin, next time ..." With a splutter, he poured out the wine bottle on the floor beside him. "Better drink the whole bottle instead of spoiling it so disgustingly. Better good wine in other people's stomachs than bad in your own."

"Too quiet." Seroin tried to lean against the smooth wall, but its calmness also made her jump. "Why is it always so quiet out here?" She rubbed her chin and stared out into the empty, green expanse.

The land outside the town of Badazan was vast and hilly, blessed with wide expanses of grass. Every breeze could be recognised like a fish in clear water as soon as the breezes made the expanses of grass dance. The first stony hills of the next mountain range only began miles away.

Seroin never bothered to learn what these green spaces or the mountains were called. Almost by reflex, she reached for the wall at her back again, like a child for its mother's hand. This time she held it there and looked up. The city walls of Badazan were so imposing that they could have been the end of the world. The sounds of the city only came through the thick stone to her in the tiniest form, but it was enough for her. She turned towards the wall and rested her forehead against it. "Where is the damn elf?"

It seemed like hours, the sun stretched along the horizon and Seroin lost patience with every step of her walk. The slender woman only stood up again when she heard something behind her, the creaking of wood and the grunting of horses.

Seroin recognised a rotten vehicle not too far away, slowly making its way towards the town. Two tired horses were pulling a cart, on which several figures could be seen. This small, dragging group looked like a plough trying in vain to pull itself through stone.

But only one person descended from it, not swiftly like a young knight leaping from his steed, but deliberately and calmly, like an old veteran. The man had long, blond hair, with two pointed elven ears poking out of the strands to the right and left. Between these lay a round and soft face. The many different scars on it looked almost like hand-picked decorations. His dark blue eyes shone with friendly features that showed the wrinkles of both laughter and tears.

With a limp, the man dragged himself over to Seroin, wearing somewhat dented but shiny armour, a broad, heavy sword waiting at his hip. Once in front of her, his absurdly warm smile lit up and he extended his hand to her. "By Diersa, I greet you, Badazanian. I am Tomga Balf from the Cold Belly, icy and barren steppe east of here. Can you help me, I need to find someone in your village. A man named Shiverlip, very pleasant pen pal, he told me he would help me with my burden." At the last words, he peered up the mighty city wall and made no secret of his enthusiasm.

"I think you're looking for me first, aren't you, Mr Balf? Seroin is my name. Shiverlip is our mutual friend. He sends his apologies." She kept her face smooth and expressionless, her features those of a mask. Something about this elf before her caught her eye, but what, she did not know.

"Yes, what a pleasure! Thank you Mrs Seroin, thank you very much." Tomga turned to the cart with a limp and raised his hand in farewell. He twirled his fingers and a small, bright red flame shot out of them.

The figures in the cart cheered once more, especially the many children, whom Seroin only now noticed. Words of farewell were spoken to them in all kinds of languages. She didn't understand any of it, she could only feel their honesty.

But Seroin was far less interested in this at the moment. The elf was a mage and, judging by his composure after using magic, not a bad one. Helpful, but even better, lucrative.

Seroin dared to approach his side. "You don't have a stick. Shall I carry you Mr Balf, you seem..."

"Oh no. And please, you and I, Tomga and Seroin, formalities are not necessary in a warm homeland." Tomga tapped his limping leg symbolically. "Gift from the Daumaje. If only my knee was as thick as my skull, ha!"

Seroin could not join in his hearty laughter, but tried to support him roughly. The sight of what felt like such an old man with such a youthful face disturbed her a little, even more so the marks and scars on his body. "I was told you ... you were in the war. And a hero at that. It's an honour ..."

"Rubbish. Thanks to Diersa, her ideas and her children, they kept Defala and his vile servants away." Tomga tried to take two or three steps on his own, but then took Seroin's hand and let himself be led. His gaze did not fall on the woman at his side, but rather on the contents behind the wide, open city gates.

Seroin realised from the few steps alone that the man had a muscular body. But his mind didn't seem as toned, which was a good thing for her. When she saw his shining eyes and the anticipation in his features, the young Badazan woman actually had to smile as well, conjuring up gentle wrinkles on her otherwise smooth face. The first sight of the city was an unrivalled experience for most people.

She gripped him tighter and helped him through the gate. "Welcome to Badazan Tomga."