"Make way," the irritated voice clamored, the accent a lilting brogue that bespoke time amongst a certain race of prevalent Primes. It would not have been wise to say such a thing as that to the speaker, but the indications were there all the same.

"Make way! Make way fer the Lord of..."

The voice was lost in the hubbub of the street. An unusual, sweltering heat wafted between the close buildings of either side of the cobblestoned path. The many, varied people filling the intervening space did little to improve matters. The buzzing din of the crowd was as varied as the populace, with snatches of speech drifting past in tongues altered by many dialects and even languages. A murky haze hid what lay above and even the end of the street was concealed in the mask of smog. The heat compounded the scent of the smog into something worse, brackish and coppery, like an overused ironworks opened up to the light of day.

It was noon in Sigil and everyone seemed to be trying to get everywhere. To the woman striding purposely through the crowd, it looked as though all the entrances to the City of Doors had opened to the vast lines of petitioners of the outer planes. Men, women, and things of all imaginable walks of life filtered past. A rare Rillmani woman moved in the opposite direction, seeming to keep between the confident woman and the two Vrock Tanar'ri that stood almost as if guarding something on the far side of the street. A human man wearing the heavy red armor of a Mercykiller stumped past, glaring at everyone but not quite courageous enough to challenge anyone on his own. Up ahead, two women walked slowly, holding hands and laughing at this and that. They looked enough alike to be sisters and frequently hugged as though having not seen each other for a long time. On the corner a young elven boy proclaimed the services of Athenong the Tout in a clear but high voice.

Monesa was glad of her skimpy attire as she forced her way through the throng. It was not that she relished such intimate contact with all the other bashers on the street. Not in the slightest. Rather, the thin, revealing garments kept little heat. It wasn't enough to make her feel cool and comfortable yet it was better than a full tunic and heavy leather trousers.

Concentrating on where she was going, Monesa didn't notice the plethora of expressions at her appearance. She was wearing only two small scraps of cloth, sometimes called a bikini top, over her breasts. Her groin was covered with a thin, almost-gauze loincloth that didn't hang very low at all. Though there was more clothing beneath the loincloth, no one else knew that. Smooth segments of light velour covered the lower regions of her hips and her inner thighs. She looked more ready for swimming or for an exotic tavern dance than for roaming the street. That part of her appearance drew a mixture of lustful stares and bulging eyes from those who thought she wore far too little.

Across her left hip were two matched longswords, each crafted neatly but sturdily, designed for rough wear rather than with the delicate designs of a nobleman or courtier. A slender dagger rose from the rim of each boot, the boots themselves rising to just above her graceful knees. A bastard sword was slung across her back, the baldric drawing a wide band of sweat across her skin. Finally, a narrow but heavy mace hung from a cord on her left hip, beneath the swords. One might have thought that left side weighted down but she walked smoothly and balanced, one accustomed to the weight, both physical and emotional, of her tools. For this, she received a different mix of expressions. Some were shocked that such a slender body could hold so many large and heavy weapons. A few were frightened at her calm, non-perturbed demeanor. More faces held a trace of hautiness; surely no mere woman, slight as she was, could be worth anything in a fight, less than a challenge despite her cool attitude.

And then there were her own features. Her brown hair, marked with streaks of deep red here and there, whisked about her as though in a breeze, though none quite clearly stirred on the street. Light blue, like the skies of many Prime worlds and some regions of the outer planes, tinged her skin like some otherworldly tan, darker on shoulders, back, arms, and the tops of her thighs but lighter along her stomach, beneath her arms, and along her neck. Her eyes were a very light blue, almost starkly pale, and cast about her with a sort of supremacy that she could never expel no matter how purely submissive or neutral her thoughts. As an air genasi, she was above the other races on the street. For that, she received a healthy dose of indignant glares and a surprising number of private smiles at those who applauded her self-confidence. Most people hated any and all genasi from personal experience. A few lucky souls could count one as an ally or friend.

It was her nature as a child of Air to be hot and sultry within the confines of Sigil. While most people said the Cage was cold and dreary, to her, it was hot. She was accustomed to strong winds on the Plane of Air, cities on clouds where the temperature was often cool enough to freeze water. She liked it that way, and wished Sigil was even colder than it was. Today, in a rather strange way, the Cage was so hot as to make others, even dour, stinking humans, sweat. Monesa was drenched.

She nodded to herself at the sight of discolored bricks on the wall beside her and turned into the tavern, the portal carrying her to her destination in the space of a single step. Before she was completely through, her pointed ears caught the sound of startled gasps as she disappeared from the street. Most people didn't even know about the portal. Of the ones who did, most didn't have the key to make it work. Too bad for them. It saved a long trip across the Upper Ward to get to the same place.

Thelon Irlundar was the name on her lips as she entered the first room of the Ubiquitous Wayfarer. Thelon. It reminded her of, "felon." Yet, by the chant all across the Cage by those with the dark, this man was anything but. Thelon Irlundar was the man to find treasure or secret troves of magical loot or maps to strange places were knowledge was more valuable than gold. His reputation as a fair man, though hard to deal with, was what had drawn her to him. She had left word of her desire to speak with him and had later received a message that he felt so inclined and would meet her in the Ubiquitous Wayfarer. Monesa was looking for a large man, heavily muscled but not tall. A human. His hair was light but not blonde. He would be well-armed.

In more ways than one.

"Can I help you, missy," a man at a nearby table called to her. She felt the vague twist to his words, like something making her almost dizzy, that told her to ignore him completely. An incubus in disguise was not the companion she sought for her bed. Not even close.

"Monesa," the soft voice called, pulling her eyes to one side. At a table by himself sat a man who fit the description of Thelon Irlundar rather well. His face was open and friendly and his brown eyes gleamed with intelligence. Where his heavy black coat was parted, it revealed a massive, double-bladed battle axe that gleamed brightly in the light of the candelabras overhead. It had to be him. At his nod she strode over. He rose cordially and extended a hand. He shook her hand firmly but not at all too hard. Some men might have scoffed at her strength but she had the feeling that this Irlundar fellow could have squeezed even her strong hands hard enough to hurt.

"I am Monesa. Are you Thelon Irlundar?" Her voice breathed against her own ears, hollow and howling like the strong winds she sometimes missed. To others her breath was soft and breathy, almost sibilant. To her, however, it was the raging winds of the Plane of Air.

"I am he. Your acquaintance is my pleasure. May I buy you anything to drink?" Still polite, his voice was as open as his mind. Could he really be that good? Or was his apparent innocence merely a guise. Her contacts had labeled him as a hard trader. She liked even more that his dialect wasn't full of the off-words everyone around here seemed so full of. If she heard the word "barmy," one more time, she was going to have to behead someone.

She shook her head.

"Then, please, have a seat. I even had the barmaid clean the chair for you."

She felt one of her eyebrows rise most curiously. "Why thank you, Thelon."

He smiled warmly, rather surprising from someone not genasi. "That, too, was my pleasure." After she was seated, he dropped on a bench and faced her directly. "All right, then, what do you want?"

"So brusque suddenly," she murmured, "and after being so polite."

He grinned in an offhand manner. "I like to get to the point. We aren't here for socializing, are we?"

Monesa nodded her agreement. "My employer is paying rather handsomely for the efficiency of time." She paused and allowed herself a moment to summarize her thoughts. "I would like to hire your help. You would get forty percent of my handsome stipend, and, I might add, my gratitude."

"May I first hear the nature of the job?"

"I want you to help me pillage the Temple of Swords."

Thelon coolly met the eyes of a barbazu Tanar'ri who leaned closer at her mention of the Temple. The fiend glared at him for a long moment, fingering a sword hilt with its gnarled, scaly hand, before turning away again. Monesa met his eyes.

"Do you think we should find some place more...private?"

He shook his head and his hair flowed around him. It was not long hair, precisely, but it wasn't really short either, the way many warriors kept it.

"Not really. Talking here is suspicious. Talking here and leaving together will attract more attention than either of us desire. Why don't we just agree to meet later, when we can get in touch again."

She sighed. "Have you any idea when that might be?"

"No. Later this evening or tomorrow. I'm sorry but we can't talk about this here and I would feel bad if harm befell you because you left with me."

Though his words were stirring, it was the look in his eyes, the genuine concern, that startled her. Monesa nodded and rose. "Then I shall meet with you again later."

He grinned. "I'll most certainly be in touch."

The streets were just as busy an hour later as Thelon made his way to the shop. Though the dimness of night was fading in, the traders and shoppers remained on the streets, selling and buying as though, somehow, the increased heat made things worth more. It made little sense to Thelon, though he did enjoy the heat. It reminded him of his youth on Athas, a world of deserts and blowing sand, where the sun could kill as quickly as any Tanar'ri assassin. Only, even this steaming, quagmire of heat didn't compare to the dry baking furnace of Athas. Yet, Thelon drifted back in time to the small cottage. He had trained his body and mind there, under the tutelage of the old master. It was a setting old and cliché, but the world revolved around the old giving knowledge to the young. There was little other way. Most people could not create from their own limited experiences the transcendence of the aged and wise. It had to come with help, with guidance, and with perseverance.

Thelon did not have that mysterious serenity his teacher had borne. The old man, bald, wrinkled, and sore from nearly crippling arthritis, had seen the world through crystalline eyes, the eyes of the mind. And those were the eyes he had taught Thelon to use.

"For every opportunity, there is a trap," the big warrior muttered, his voice soft in comparison to the throng surrounding him. A cutter or two gazed at him curiously. Most people speaking were talking to someone. Thelon ignored their interest and moved on, forcing his way through the crowd were people would not part willingly. Several men glared at him sharply, but none dared the challenge in Thelon's eyes. Or, was it the challenge of the axe? With his cloak parted, the massive weapon was clearly visible.

Opportunity. Entrapment. It was a dual risk, a duel of chance. He could risk the trap to fulfill the opportunity. Or, he could find himself short of cash, or worse. Should he take the gamble or move on?

He paused in his inner debate when his feet stopped at the doorstep of the aging building. Withered with the acid rains of Sigil, the eaves and shutters looked a little worse than they might have. The yellow-wash on the walls was cracked and faded, looking more cream-colored than it should have. The big warrior raised his meaty hand to knock twice in the center of a peculiar glyph burned into the heavy oak of the door. Moments later, the knobless door swung inward, granting him access into the cool, darkened interior.

Within was shadow and mystery. At first glance, the room was a lounge, with several small dining tables, with chairs, and a long, narrow bar on one end. However, the opposite end began to intrigue the eye. At one juncture a stairway that lead up to a long balcony across the back wall. Shadows cast upon the wall where the stairs began made the steps appear both to recede into the wall and to spring forth from it, like some optical illusion. Tall indoor trees shrouded the inner walls of the lounge, though beneath the droopy limbs of one particular plant, an arched doorway led into yet another room, this one looking like a library. Aside from Thelon, the room was unoccupied.

Slipping his cloak around his shoulders to conceal his form a little more, Thelon stepped through the dim light from a brazier over the door and into the deeper shadows near the tables. He sat down at one off to the side and settled in, relaxing as though for a long wait. Within moments, a woman in a dark blue cloak entered from the direction of the library, bearing a platter with three tall glasses. He watched her closely but her features, including her race, were concealed beneath a matching blue veil. Only the vague details of her form revealed that she was a woman at all.

Setting the platter on the table, the woman bowed and addressed Thelon. "My lord, will you pick from our finest wines? We have red, green, and blue for your tasting pleasure."

Thelon leaned forward slowly, peering up at her.

"I'm afraid I'm not inclined to partake. May I wait here instead?"

She bowed again. Certainly. Please, may I take your cloak?"

He shook his head and returned to his relaxed position. "No, thank you. That will be quite all right."

The mysterious woman bowed once more before turning and departing.

He waited. Time passed, the minutes elapsing growing into an hour. Finally, someone else arrived, appearing from where the servant had vanished. The fellow was short for a human, with a balding head fringed in long streaks of white hair and a subtle but distinctive paunch to his lower abdomen that belied his age even if his hair hadn't. Wrinkled skin covered his face, though the blue eyes were bright with enthusiasm and his mouth, firm and crooked, grinned somewhat.

"Thelon, old friend," the man said. He wore a long brown habit, much like the monks of some religions, which he adjusted when he sat across from the big warrior. Thelon grinned back at him.

"It's been a long time, Adwon," he said. "How have you been?"

"Oh, you know how the studies go. It's all long hours and sweaty tedium in the vaults. What secretive information have you come for this time?"

Thelon leaned back in the chair a little farther. "This may come as a shock, my friend, but don't be alarmed. I've come because the Temple of Swords has reappeared."

Sitting deep in the large chair next to the long, oval table, Raecci sighed, enjoying the luxurious heat that had radiated the Cage all day. This was the first day since his arrival that he had really felt warm, though the heat would have been nothing on his home world. He grinned with amusement at the people in the Ubiquitous Wayfarer as they sweated and complained of the warmth. He understood that this unnatural temperature was extremely rare in Sigil. Some said that perhaps the Lady was upset.

He took note of the departure of the strange woman with some interest. He had seen her arrive, only moments earlier, and sit with the large man. The fellow had been exceedingly polite to her and Raecci thought he heard traces of his own accent in the big man's voice. Though their conversation had been limited, he had watched them with interest, finding himself attracted to her smooth, blue skin and otherworldly eyes. She was a vision of beauty, though he thought most of his attraction was physical.

"Mind if join you?"

Calm as he was, his thoughts blurring in and out of the Will like a rock skimming over sand, failed to react with any surprise at the dark-clad man who pulled up a chair without waiting for a reply. Raecci watched the woman disappear through a portal before glancing at the newcomer.

Mostly human, with enough slant to his eyes and point to his ears to belie elven blood, the man had silvery blonde hair and a cool, arrogant attitude. He apparently carried no weapons, for Raecci saw none that were visible, but his arrogance was partly a self-confident notion of his own lethality. There was just that sway to his walk, the gleam of shadow and light in his eyes, that told Raecci that the man was dangerous.

"I am Raecci," he told the fellow. "And the chair is not mine, so you may certainly take it."

Nodding, the man waved to the serving girl. "I'm Rademon," he said after ordering a drink. He offered to get Raecci one, but the Athasian declined.

Not long after the woman was gone, the big man stood, slowly gazing around the tavern as though searching for someone he knew. After his eyes settled on Raecci and this Rademon, the huge man strolled over to the table. Raecci nodded to him. Rademon ignored him.

"My name is Thelon Irlundar," the fellow said. "I'm looking for a couple of well-intentioned mercenaries to cover my back. I am a dealer in antiquities and lost knowledge. My work takes me into rare and hidden places and requires, on occasion, the need for combat. The pay will be good, I assure you, which I will split with the pair of you equally. If you're interested, meet me at the Paths of Enlightenment side of Bloodgem Park tomorrow at first light."

Raecci leaned forwards to speak but the fellow turned and left, moving through the hustle of the tavern with surprising agility and speed.

Rademon raised an eyebrow, then gazed at Raecci. "Normally, I don't bother signing up for things like that but, you know, this intrigues me."

Leaning back again, Raecci took a calm breath, slipping back to his semi-focused thoughts, sliding above the Will as though at any instant he was prepared to embrace the Way. "Yes, that was definitely strange. Do you think we'll qualify as, 'well-intentioned?'"

Laughing, Rademon sipped at the drink the girl brought him. "I'm a businessman. I guess it depends on the nature of the deal."

Raecci rose. "Then perhaps I will see you again in the morning."