masterghandalf

Chapter 11: Unwelcome Discoveries

The sound of knocking roused Thyra from a state halfway between slumber and waking. Sitting up in her bed, she glanced over to see Havaktri sitting upright with her legs crossed and eyes closed – whether sleeping or meditating, she couldn’t say – and then turned her attention to the door. “I’m awake!” she called.

The door opened and Len stuck her head in. “It’s about an hour until dawn,” the captain said. “Get your things together and meet me out in the hall as soon as you can.”

“Understood,” Thyra replied; Len nodded once and pulled the door shut. Thyra stood and turned to Havaktri, but the kalashtar’s eyes were already open and were regarding her steadily.

“I heard,” she said. Gathering the few possessions they had with them into their travelling bags, the two young women soon exited the room and found Len and the other members of her team waiting for them outside.

“I trust there’s a very good reason you got us up at this ungodly hour,” Rinnean said, leaning against the wall; his dark hair looked significantly less sleek than usual.

“Why do you care?” Harsk asked, elbowing him in the side. “You’re probably used to skulking at all hours of the night. Besides, elves don’t even sleep, and it doesn’t look like it bothered Yhani at all.” Indeed, the priestess looked as composed as ever in her white robes and was regarding her fellow elf with a coolly disapproving expression.

Rinnean threw up his hands. “Fine, so I don’t technically sleep,” he said. “I still need rest, and my question still stands. Why couldn’t we wait to leave until morning like respectable people? I prefer to stay out late rather than wake up early, if you take my meaning.”

“If you’re through complaining,” Len said through gritted teeth, “we’re here because I wanted to make sure we weren’t being watched while we left. I snuck out a bit ago and saw Thyra’s sister sitting on a bench on the other side of the street, still watching the inn. That woman has commitment, I’ll give her that. But apparently even the holy warriors of the Silver Flame don’t have infinite patience, and she was looking pretty worn out. So I hit her with a spell to make her sleep. Doubt it would have worked on her while she was paying attention – she struck me as the type with a pretty strong will – but when she was half asleep already, well…” the captain’s words trailed off.

“And you want us to leave while she’s still out,” Ghazaan said, nodding. “Makes sense. What about the other one, the half-elf. Was he with her?”

“Didn’t see him” Len said, shaking her head. “Bet they were watching us in shifts, and he was back at their inn. He didn’t really strike me as the sneaking around in alleyways after dark type, either. “

“He’s not,” Thyra volunteered. “Val and Pitar trained at the same monastery, and he’s one of her closest friends; I knew him fairly well before… what happened. He’s a paladin, and fighting fair is important to him. I think I can be reasonably certain he’s not waiting in an alley to ambush us.”

“Good to know,” Len said. “Still, let’s not all leave up once; go a few at a time, and I’ll go last and leave money and a note on the host’s desk. We’ll meet up at the south gate and head from there down to ir’Sarrin’s manor. If we’re lucky, we’ll lose our Flameite friends in the bargain, or at least buy some time. Clear?”

After a chorus of “yes”, Len gestured for Ghazaan and Harsk, who nodded and headed down the hall towards the common room. As they began to head down the stairs, Thyra turned back to Len, a question gnawing at her mind. “Val’s an inquisitor; she’s trained to notice things,” she said. “Are you absolutely sure she didn’t see or recognize you before you put the spell on her? If she did, she’ll probably put two and two together and decide you’re her enemy.”

“I’m positive,” Len said with conviction in her voice that brooked no further argument. “Now, you get going next, with Havaktri. See you in a bit.”

“All right,” Thyra said, nodding. Together, she and Havaktri made their way through the hall, down the stairs, and out of the inn. Thyra took a moment as they stepped outside to look across the street, where she saw Val slumped on a bench; a part of her wanted to run over to her, shake her awake, and explain everything, but the stronger part of her feared where that would lead. I’m sorry, big sister, she thought. Someday, I hope I can make you understand. Just not today.

An hour later, as the sun’s first light crept over Korth, six mercenaries and one young woman from Thrane departed the city, heading south towards what Thyra hoped would be the final stage of their journey.

///

Valyria awoke to the feel of something being pressed into her hands. Opening her eyes blearily, she saw that it was a cup of some steaming, dark liquid, and raising her gaze from it she met the eyes of Pitar, who was looking at her with some concern. “Are you all right?” the paladin asked. “I found you asleep like this a little bit ago. I got the drink from a merchant stand nearby; it’s supposed to help you wake up.”

Valyria took a long sip of the hot drink, taking a moment to adjust to the strong and unfamiliar taste, but she realized with a start that it was making her feel more alert. Glancing around, she saw that it was morning and that people had already begun to fill the streets. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she muttered angrily, more to herself than Pitar. “By the Flame, it’s a miracle I wasn’t robbed!”

“I’ll say this for the Karrn government,” Pitar said as Valyria took another long drink, “they run a well-ordered capital. There probably aren’t too many people willing to risk Kaius’s dungeons just for a few crowns.”

“You’re probably right,” said Valyria, “but Karrnath’s law enforcement aren’t the real problem here. I have no idea how long I was asleep, or what I might have missed. Thyra could very well have given us the slip again.”

“I know,” Pitar said. “Neither the captain nor any of her people came to see me at the Scroll, which makes me think they either ended up not believing us, or Thyra – the rakshsasa – has them under some sort of control.”

Valyria swore under her breath. Quickly finishing her drink, she stood and began to stride across the street, Pitar following close behind. When she came to the inn, she thrust the doors open and marched inside, stopping at the desk where the host – a motherly-looking Halfling woman – was seated on a tall stool.

“Can I help you, young lady?” she asked, regarding the inquisitor with blue eyes made larger by the outsized spectacles she wore.

Valyria pulled out her picture of Thyra and placed it on the desk. “This girl and her friends were staying here yesterday. I want to know if they’re still here. The matter is urgent.” When the Halfling woman looked uncomprehending, she added, “family business.”

The hostess leaned over the picture and regarded it intently through her spectacles, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “but the person you’re looking for left early this morning, even before I was up; they left the pay for their rooms and meals on my desk and a very polite note, but I have no idea where they went. I can’t help you.”

“Dammit!” Valyria swore, snatching the picture back; the Halfling looked scandalized. Pitar shot her an apologetic look as Valyria spun on her heel and began to march back towards the door. Before she reached it, however, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Spinning, she saw that it belonged to a rather rough-looking human who she’d previously noticed out of the corner of her eye eating breakfast at one of the tables.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re looking for someone who left earlier. I think I might be able to help you.”

“Really?” Valyria asked, her tone dubious. “How?”

“Well,” he said, “I was up early, using the, er, necessary when I heard some people talking in the hall outside my room. It sounded like they were interested in getting out before dawn and giving someone the slip. I think that’s probably the same people you’re after.”

Valyria grabbed the man by both shoulders and pulled his face within inches of her own; his eyes widened in shock. “Where did they go?” she hissed. “Did they say where they were going?”

“I’m not sure,” the man said, looking nervous. “But I definitely heard a woman’s voice say that they were going south, and something about Lord ir’Sarrin.”

“Ir’Sarrin,” Valyria mused, “I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t place it.”

“Some bigshot nobleman, war hero or the like,” the man said. “I think his family’s got some old manor a day or two south of the city. But I don’t know what your friends want with him, I promise! It’s not my business.”

“Well, you’ve been a great help to us anyway,” Valyria said; she let the man go and pulled a couple of galifars from her pouch, then thrust them into his hand. “The Church of the Silver Flame is generous. Pitar, come on! We’re heading south to see a local lord.”

///

The sound of clashing swords echoed through the courtyard at Sarrin. A number of the fortress’s guards and servants stood in a loose circle on the cobblestones, watching the two figures who circled each other in the center with their weapons at the ready. One of them was Lord ir’Sarrin himself, stripped to the waist to reveal a torso that was still fit and heavily muscled despite the fact that he had entered late middle age; the warlord was not one to let the fact that he had left his youth behind years ago slow him down in the slightest. Opposite him was an officer of his guard who had served him through the Last War and after; now the two men were sparring, blades clashing in a fierce contest of skill.

Some lords would expect that their station gave them the right to always win at everything they did and would order their sparring partners to throw the match; Irinali, who was leaning against the battlements atop the outer wall as she watched ir’Sarrin spar, knew that was not the case here. Kharvin was not one to expect his servants to give less than their all purely to pander to his ego; he expected perfection from them, and from himself. If that meant he lost a duel, so be it; it would teach him lessons to apply to future conflicts.

Something in the sky caught Irinali’s attention; she glanced up, away from the match, and saw a small shape descending towards her. Her eyes widened as it resolved into a large, ragged bird – one of the undead hawks she and her apprentices kept for communications that were too important to trust to living couriers or an outsider’s magic. The necromancer raised her right arm and the hawk landed on her gloved wrist, sitting with a stillness that no living creature could match; a small scroll case was tied to one of its legs.

Carefully, Irinali opened the case and removed the scroll from inside. She recognized the handwriting of one of her two apprentices – Ashlinn, the girl she’d sent with the expedition to the Mournland, rather than Dal, the young man who remained here at the fortress. Unrolling the scroll, she read:

Mistress Irinali,

It is my pleasure to inform you that the map was accurate. We reached the location marked on it with minimal difficulty – though I am thankful we didn’t have to go any deeper into this awful place – and with the help of the skeleton workers you provided, we were able to quickly begin excavation. It didn’t take long before we were able to cut through the soil and rock, and found the door to the sepulcher underneath. It was all very easy – too easy, I realized.

There is a reason this vault has remained undisturbed throughout the millennia, Mistress, and it isn’t because it’s difficult to find. The doors are made of some metal I can’t identify, and they are sealed shut by an ancient and powerful magic. They bear no latch or keyhole, and only a thin line down the center proves that they are anything more than a solid wall. Neither the strength of our skeletons or of our lord’s soldiers proved capable of so much as scratching the metal; the spells I tried to cast on it proved equally ineffective.

The fact that this place is so well secured only makes me more certain that something valuable is contained within. However, I find myself at a loss how to reach it. Perhaps your greater skills my serve where mine have failed, or either you or our lord possess some knowledge of how the doors may be opened. I will await your future instructions, Mistress, and I hope to receive your reply soon.

Long live Karrnath.

Ashlinn

Irinali read the message twice over, a scowl growing on her features. Finally she swept from the wall and entered the courtyard, parting the crowd and approaching the combatants. Ir’Sarrin, it appeared, had won, as he was standing to the side of the ring and drinking water from a glass a servant had brought him while his opponent stood on the other side, nursing an aching hand. Irinali passed him the letter quietly; ir’Sarrin’s expression grew darker as he read through it, and when he was done he snarled and threw it aside.

“Dammit!” he snarled, and the servants all took a few steps back; ir’Sarrin didn’t lose his temper often, but when he did it was usually best to keep a distance. “The treasure of the Age of Demons is at our fingertips, and now we find that when we’re within striking distance of the prize we can’t get it! Damn whoever made that vault to the depths of Dolurrh!”

Kharvin’s anger, Irinali knew, wasn’t only because he’d failed in sight of his goal, though that surely rankled him. But the Queen of Death had entrusted this mission to him, and she was mercurial and had little tolerance for servants who failed to deliver. And if word somehow got out that he had sent an expedition into the Mournland for no apparent gain, he might find himself forced to answer some very awkward questions in court. Kaius had sent that fool earlier as a warning; his next would be rather more severe.

Irinali watched ir’Sarrin simmer for a few minutes before she approached. “My lord,” she said, “this isn’t necessarily the end. Ashlinn is a talented apprentice, but I’m much more skilled and experienced than she is. I will search my library here and I will find a way to penetrate the sepulchure, even if it means we have to blast it apart. All it will take is a little more patience.”

“Patience, yes,” Kharvin muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists. He turned to Irinali with dark eyes. “But you had better be able to deliver, my good necromancer. Work as if your life depends on it. Because if you fail, it will very likely be both our heads on the line.”

///

Not a whole lot to say here. The pieces of our plot are slowly moving together, though I estimate we’re about halfway through the fic. Everyone has had to deal with some setbacks in their plans, and all three of our main factions – Thyra and the mercenaries, Valyria and Pitar, and ir’Sarrin and his people – are going to converge sooner rather than later.

-MasterGhandalf