"Battleguard Ruze?" Nuhab called when she rounded the corner of the temple and saw the man reclining in the garden amidst the tall spiky plants there.
Ruze took another sip from his flagon on plinkberry juice and turned his black eyes on her.
"Yes, Nuhab?" he said, using her name, and by doing offering her more respect than her initiate status usually afforded her with the full-fledged Battleguards.
The girl caught the complement and blushed slightly. Her training taught her not to show her emotions, but Ruze thought he saw just the barest bit of a smile touching the corners of her mouth.
"Nasser-Ubeen hast bade me fetch thee," she said with a slight bow. "He awaits thy arrival in the rectory."
Without a word, Ruze hopped to his feet, moving with much grace for someone carrying more than a few extra pounds on his belly.
The High Priest was not alone in the hall. He sat upright in a backless chair, facing a man in red. As Ruze approached, he recognized the odor of a Kossuthian priest. As 'keepers of the sacred flame' many priests of the Laboring God disdained all forms of water - even to bathe. From the smell of him, this man had been a priest of Kossuth for some time...
"Ah, Battleguard Ruze," Nasser-Ubeen said. "I would have thee meet Artificer Morfran, faithful of Kossuth."
The man rose from his seat and bowed to Ruze before offering his sooty hand in greeting. The Battleguard accepted the man's hand - to do otherwise might have caused difficulties between the two clergies, and auguries indicated that Shaharizod had recently taken Kossuth as a consort.
"It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance," Morfran said. His accent hinted at a birthplace in the Desert of Desolation. "Even under such unfortunate circumstances."
"What does he mean, High Cleric?" Ruze asked.
"A series of disappearances hast plagued the faithful of Kossuth of late," Nasser-Ubeen explained. "Mayhap Artificer Morfran might explain more clearly."
The high priest gestured at the fire cleric and Morfran nodded.
"As Nasser-Ubeen has said, there have been a series of disappearances," the man explained. He pulled a hobbit pipe from inside his red robe and, indicating it, asked, "Do you mind if I smoke?"
Nasser-Ubeen shook his head. "Do as thou wilt," he said.
The Artificer made a popping gesture with his thumb against the forefinger of his left hand and a small blue flame danced wondrously atop his thumb. He used it to light the bowl of his pipe and a pleasant herbal odor soon masked the smell of the man himself. Ruze was glad of the change.
Once the pipe was going well, Morfran shook his hand, extinguishing the blue flame and continued with his story.
"As the God of Craft and Labor, Kossuth has many followers amongst the guilds: artisans, craftsmen, smithies, engineers and the like," he explained from within his hazy nimbus. "Recently, however, three of these have gone missing without a trace. Thaddeus Cooper, a barrel maker, Quinn Wyesinger, a carpenter, and Jared Howzell, a cartwright, have all vanished in Barnacus in the last moonsdance. There have been no clues as to what has happened to them, and we have been unable to divine their whereabouts with the usual means."
He blew a frustrated column of smoke toward the high ceiling and shook his head.
"We flame-keepers are engineers and builders," Morfran went on. "We have little experience with dangerous matters of this sort. So I have come here - to our sister temple - to seek aid."
"I would have thee direct thy attention to this matter, Battleguard Ruze," Nasser-Ubeen commanded. "As above, so below. A matter that dost impact the followers of Kossuth dost too impact the followers of Shaharizod."
"Have you asked for aid from the Watch or the Janissaries?" Ruze asked the Artificer.
"Indeed," Morfran responded. "The Watch is overworked, however. The matter has been officially recorded, but unofficially, we have been told to expect little aid from the constabulary. And the Janissaries, it seems, are currently dealing with a military crisis on The Borderlands. I have been told - again, unofficially - that the King has sought outside agents to investigate this matter, but I have heard nothing of their progress."
"That, Battleguard Ruze, is to our advantage," Nasser-Ubeen explained. "For I know these 'outside agents' of whom Artificer Morfran doth speak. Even now they comest to us with news most grave. When they doth arrive, I will bid thee join their ranks. Betwixt thee and they mayhap some progress will come of this and the missing men might be returned."
Ruze nodded obediently to Nasser-Ubeen before addressing the Artificer.
"Yes, I am unsurprised by the fact that you received little help from the Janissaries," the Battleguard told the smoke-enshrouded man. "They seem to be busy amassing troops at Castle Rechthafen. Having just come from the Borderlands, I had to explain that I was not one to be conscripted into Deputy Janissary service - that I was summoned by Queen to report to this Temple. Therefore, my hammer is your hammer, my shield your shield, brother Morfran"
The flame priest smiled.
"I thank you, brother Ruze," he said. "I have but one further bit of disturbing news to impart. Kakadiador, the holy day of Cyr will be upon us in one week's time - on Earthday, the 1st of Wealsun. Just as Kossuth draws his faithful from skilled craftsmen, so too does Cyr find hers amongst the laborers who aid them. If these artisans are not found by the start of Kakadiador, then surely news of their disappearance will spread amongst the clergy of Cyr and onward to their allies amongst the churches of Merrika and Azril. Kossuth will soon be diminished in the eyes of the common man."
"We understand, Artificer Morfran," Nasser-Ubeen assured the man. "Duty to the gods must ever take precedence in our minds. I am confident in Battleguard Ruze's abilities. Once he hast availed himself of the knowledge possessed by the King's investigators the whereabouts of thy god's followers will soon be known to thee."
"Again, you have my thanks," Morfran said, but this time he stood up as he said it. "I am to bless the ground-breaking of a new granary on Hasding Island. It would not do to keep the King waiting."
Nasser-Ubeen raised his hand in benediction.
"May the Queen's blessings shine upon thee," the high priest intoned. "May Her light guide thy steps in darkness."
"May your flame burn true," the Artificer said in reply.
Once Morfran had left the hall, Nasser-Ubeen rose from his chair.
"Collect thy belongings, Battleguard Ruze," he said. "And make haste, they who would be thy allies approach as we speak, and I would have thee meet them fully prepared."
The day dawned pleasantly, and although it remained overcast, it didn't rain on the Companions as they journeyed the last few hours' march to Barnacus. They were dry by the time they passed through the Westgate into the north quarter of New City, and with their weapons peacebonded, they crossed the east bridge over the Twain River into Old City. It was a circuitous route that took them from the docks to Barter Street to Arrow Lane and Plaza South to Shop Street and finally Crescent Street so it was nearing noon by the time they reached its end and the Temple of Shaharizod.
There were a few sick and injured commoners amassed outside the Temple's outer gates, but a muscular man and woman barred them from entering. Upon catching sight of the Companions, however, the man opened the small door set into the larger gate.
"Make way!" the woman growled at the peasants as she pushed through the crowd toward the three. To Finian she said, "Nasser-Ubeen hast been expecting thee."
They were ushered through the gate and into the courtyard beyond. As they followed the pathway of gray and white stones toward the Temple proper, they passed a man dressed in red and orange robes and puffing on a hobbit pipe. The strong smell of the smoke wasn't enough to mask the strong stench of body odor that surrounded him like a cloud. He eyed them each, paying particular attention to Kirnoth - so much so in fact that he stumbled off the path as he turned to gawk. He nearly fell flat on his face, but managed to right himself before any damage was done.
The same two children that they had previously encountered at the Temple opened the great mirrored doors as they mounted the front steps.
"Nasser-Ubeen hast been expecting thee," the boy said.
"I bid thee follow us to the receiving hall," the girl said.
Neither of them asked where Soriah was.
Nasser-Ubeen was an imposing man. He seemed every bit as powerful as he had the last time Finian had encountered him. He sat in a backless chair dressed in a heavy robe, his great, full beard carefully waxed and curled into two points. At his side stood a swarthy man dressed all in black.
The high priest raised his thick hand as they entered, and the two children bowed deeply and backed out of the room, closing the doors behind them.
"I know already why thou hast returned thus with mine own good sister no longer amongst thee," he said. "What hast occurred I know from mine own communion with the Queen. But not how such tragedy came to pass. Neither how nor why."
He lowered his head a little until his beard rested on his broad chest, the fork in it flanking the immense silver holy symbol that hung about his neck. And with his head lowered thus, he glared at them piercingly through his bushy eyebrows.
"Neither how nor why is known to me," he said, his rich baritone voice echoing about the chamber. "I bid thee speak now. What hast befallen mine own good sister, Chosen of Shaharizod?"
"Soriah died when we tried to turn some undead," Finian said quickly and the high priest's face hardened.
"They were the former prisoners that the fu-" the Archer caught himself as Nasser-Ubeen sucked in his breath. The expletive danced behind Finian's lips, very nearly finding its way out of his mouth. He was able to swallow it down before continuing, "That the orcs had in their cave. Fighting with them caused her death."
The High Priest scowled.
"I prithee speak plainly, woodsman," he grumbled. "Thy tale seems full of riddles and half-spoken truths."
Ledare cleared her throat, laying a hand on Finian's shoulder.
"By your leave, High Priest, perhaps I may explain," the Janissary said, falling into well-established routines of etiquette.
Nasser-Ubeen made a 'get on with it' gesture and Ledare bowed her head in acknowledgement.
"I do not believe the knowledge of why this tragedy has come to pass is ours to consider," she said. "We are servants of the greater good, and somehow we have been... chosen to follow its purpose, by whatever means we have. We were four brought together and now we are three."
"Thou dost speak truly, Janissary," the High Priest agreed. "None save Othmus knows what Umba hast penned for us in the Great Book. Not until the final page is turned can we see our own ends. But as it is written, so it shall be done."
Ledare bowed her head again.
"Why is an answer for the gods," she said. "But the how of this matter we can address. As Finian began to tell you, we were in a battle with undead creatures. We believed them to be former slaves in a trade ring of some kind. It was an attempt a rescue of a friend. Where this friend is now, I do not know. Soriah had been very insistent that we try to find him."
"Hmm," Nasser-Ubeen intoned, nodding his head. "The Golden Temptress' Holy Slayer. His fate was deeply entwined with Soriah's own. But it is not his destiny that doth concern me, but rather my sister's. You say she wast laid low by one who doth walk beyond life?"
Ledare took a deep breath, steeling herself. She heard Kirnoth let out a little sniff behind her and decided she needed to speak quickly before the elf did.
"We fought these undead," the Janissary reiterated. "In the course of this fight Soriah was inadvertently hit with magic. I think this may have caused her physical demise."
"These creatures from beyond the pale didst wield magic?" the High Priest asked, alarm rising in his voice. "Truly none save the most potent amongst the legions of the damned are able to tap the Weave after death."
"No sir," Kirnoth spoke up. "It wasn't the undead that slew Soriah with magic."
"Who didst?" he asked. "Was't these orcs of whom the woodsman spoke? Answer now, oh giant elf. Thy group's air of mystery doth begin to chaff upon me."
Kirnoth nodded and sniffed. He wiped at the tear running down his cheek and began to speak.
"Your sister was brave and served the Goddess well," the mage began. "She initiated the decision to risk our lives in an effort to save the souls of the undead. She fought valiantly."
Nasser-Ubeen nodded his head in agreement.
"She had a noble heart," he said. "A warrior's heart."
"I am no warrior sir, but merely a mage of the second circle," the elf went on. "In the heat of the battle, I attempted to assist with magical powers, and they went awry. I am not sure what went wrong with my magicks in that cave, but I vow not to use them again until I can figure that out."
"So 'twas thee who laid her low?" the High Priest asked, his voice soft and a little confused.
"I never meant to hurt Soriah, but the pain of her death, and my responsibility for it, will haunt me through my entire life. I am sorry, sir," the elf said and another tear rolled down his smooth cheek. "And I pray Soriah and the Goddess can forgive me."
"If Kirnoth had not acted, we might all have been killed," Finian quickly put in. "He slew two of the undead single-handedly."
Nasser-Ubeen was scowling and twisting the point on the left fork in his beard.
"None may go to the afterlife but that it is the will of the gods. The mage's actions will be judged when he doth stand twice-dead before the Great Balance," the High Priest said at last. "Until then, if he doth suffer with Alesso whispering in his ear, his punishment will be far worse than any meted out by me."
The elf hung his head.
"What became of Soriah's remains?" the High Priest asked.
"We buried her," Finian told him. "We were going to bring her body back, but I have heard that a spirit may rise if they are killed by undead. We gave her last rites as best we could and gave her a proper burial. We could tell you where the grave is if you like."
"Nay," Nasser-Ubeen said, raising his hand. "To disturb the body once interred is to tread upon the province of Myrkul. And while the Lady of Graves is no friend to the Silver Queen, to mock her risks damnation for Soriah."
"We pray that you will do whatever you can for her soul now," Ledare spoke up. "If truly your goddess does see all things, then I know that she will see Soriah for what she was: the keeper of a pure heart... rare and honorable. That alone is deserving of a peaceful rest."
"Well spoken, Janissary," the High Priest said. "I too think that Soriah will find her place at the feast of Gorliana where she may recount her great deeds to the other heroes who hath gone before."
There was a moment of silence during which time everyone hoped that Soriah was at peace. At last, Nasser-Ubeen spoke.
"There are other matters that doth concern us here today," he said. "I am told that thou dost serve the King as investigators."
Ledare's face paled.
"You must know, High Priest, that I am bound to keep private my dealings with the King," she said.
"Then mayhaps thou shouldst not have held thy meeting with Soriah within these very walls, good Janissary." He smiled at her. "These are the Queen's walls and I am her ears within them."
"So if you know of our position, you must also know what we are investigating," Ledare replied. She was obviously unhappy to have the King's confidences revealed in such a manner.
"Indeed. And the King is not the only one worried about this situation," he told her. "Art thou familiar with the priesthood of the god Kossuth?"
"He's the god of fire, isn't he?" Finian asked, remembering Soriah's story about Fir Flinderkin.
"Indeed. Fire but also the god of invention and craft," the High Priest responded. "The Fire Keepers are gravely concerned about the disappearances of the same three artisans that concern the King. His Majesty sought your aid, the Kossuthians sought ours."
He leaned forward on his chair and motioned over his shoulder. The human in black who had been standing behind the chair stepped forward.
"I have appointed Battleguard Ruze to solve this mystery," Nasser-Ubeen told them. "I suggest you and he cooperate on this so as to find Kussoth's missing faithful before Kakadiador."
Ledare recognized the word. Kakadiador was the holy day of Cyr, goddess of strength, and it occurred each year on the 1st of Wealsun. The day was marked by feats of strength and martial ability within the arena. She had watched the contests many times while growing up in Barnacus, but had never been strong enough to compete.
"That's only a week away," the Janissary said.
"Eight days, to be precise," Nasser-Ubeen corrected. "Which is why we shouldst avail ourselves of one another's aid. Thou wilt find Battleguard Ruze to be a fine and competent warrior and I trust that he wilt find similar qualities within each of thee."
"I go where my Queen wills it," Ruze said and Ledare thought she caught a hint of a Restenford accent. To Kirnoth it sounded similar to the accents he'd heard in Shiningwater.
The man stood only about an inch taller than Finian, but he outweighed the half-elf by at least fifty pounds. Much of the extra weight wasn't muscle either. His arms were thick and his shoulders broad, but so too was his belly. His skin was darker than any of the three Companions; his eyes and ponytail were jet black. He looked to have seen about thirty seasons. He wore a scalemail hauberk over a black leather jerkin, black trousers and black boots. A round, wooden shield was strapped to his back and a warhammer hung from his girdle.
"I can leave at any time," the Battleguard told them and grinned.
"Then go now," Nasser-Ubeen commanded. "Such is my will and the will of the Silver Queen."
They left the audience chamber and the two acolytes, Nuhab and Haytham, closed the massive doors behind them. They stood for a moment in the antechamber, unsure of how to proceed.
"Let's go to the sitting chamber to discuss where we are at," Ruze suggested but Ledare shook her head.
"If you are to aid us in this then we will need to make you familiar with Grey House," she said. "Let's retire there and discuss our situation."
"As you wish," the Battleguard said with a slight bow. "I have only just been made aware of this situation, so I will defer to your experience."
"Yes," Finian added, casting a sideways glance at the newcomer as he turned and headed for the Temple's main doors. "Let us return to Grey House and inform the Company of Soriah's death."
The throng of commoners was still gathered at the Temple gates, but the guards stationed there made a path for the four as they left. Several of the peasants clutched at Ruze's cloak as he passed, recognizing him as a member of the clergy. He spared those who did so a pitying glance, but kept up his pace so not to lose the others as they headed down Crescent Street and turned south on Livermore Avenue.
Finian and Ledare favored Romero Selejian's walled compound with a suspicious glance as they passed. The Battleguard caught their expression and looked at the human-face gargoyles and the large double doors with a confused look on his face. Seeing it, Kirnoth cleared his throat.
"Ruze," he began. "I am not sure of your feelings for me, given my responsibility for Soriah. But I now consider you a member of our team, and will act accordingly by putting my trust in you and getting you up to date with the information we have thus far about the missing artisans. I hope we can count on you to reciprocate with any information you have."
"I bear you no ill will," the man answered. "We live and die in the service of our Queen. I mourn the loss of Soriah as a sister, but I did not know her and don't blame you or anyone else for her death."
"Thank you," Kirnoth said with a wan smile that made it clear that no matter what anyone else thought, a great deal of guilt still lived in the mage's heart.
"As for sharing information with you, I cannot," he admitted. "I returned only recently to Barnacus and only just learned of the matter a short time before you came to the Temple. You can rest assured that I will share with you anything that I learn about the missing men from this point onward."
"Fair enough," Ledare said. "Tell him what we know, Kirnoth. But keep your voice down; we don't need to spread our limited knowledge around. It may be the only advantage that we've got in all this."
"We first discovered artisans were going missing when the King assigned us this mission," the elf began. "This much I believe you already knew."
Ruze nodded.
"Nasser-Ubeen said as much," he told them.
"What he probably didn't mention was that quite some time ago, two nurses disappeared from the Crescent Street Hospital. We believe there is a connection between those disappearances and the murder of the wizard Poppof," Kirnoth said and the Battleguard's brow knitted up.
"Poppof?" he asked. "How does a wizard figure into the disappearances of artisans?"
"Well, when the first two artisans - the barrel maker, Thadeus Cooper, and the carpenter, Quinn Wyesinger - went missing, the king suggested a connection with the nurses and asked us to investigate," Kirnoth went on. "We went first to Sergeant Rumboyle, who informed us there had actually been more than two disappearances. He reported there had been at least 20 recent disappearances, but that most were sailors and beggars."
"None of which would concern the Kossuthians," Ruze said. "There is little love between the Firebringers and men who ply the sea and only The Broken One cares for beggars. I am unsurprised that they mentioned only that three had gone missing."
"The King, too, puts more weight on the recovery of the craftsmen," Ledare admitted, somewhat ashamedly. "There is little motivation to protect the lowest of the low."
"The Sergeant also confirmed that a bloody nurse's uniform found at Poppof's house belonged to one of the dead nurses," Kirnoth continued. "He also explained that Poppof's killer likely entered his home from the sewers. We have seen some creepy creatures in the sewers, as well as graffiti reading 'Rejoice for she is coming.'"
"I saw similar graffiti on what used to be the Hospital on Crescent Street," Ruze put in. "But I don't know what it could mean."
"We later learned that some of those creatures we saw in the sewers at the Five Elements Inn had been seen dragging people down there, and that a number of people had recently developed bloodrot, a condition developed in the sewers" the elf said. "We also found what may have been the site of a murder in the sewer and some text which read: the witch has the... once you've finished... to Magnus in the temple... book is irrelevant... it's the map... wizard has outlived... and meet us in..."
"So you believe that the artisans are in the sewer?" Ruze hypothesized.
"Not exactly," Ledare told him. "We're unsure how the sewers fit into all this, but they are obviously involved."
The Battleguard nodded and gestured for Kirnoth to continue.
"We also found a woman's slipper dotted with dried blood, a backpack, a man's traveling clothes, a peasant woman's gown, and a knight's hose and velvet jerkin, along with some wax-sealed rations, four steel flasks of unknown liquid, the grille and scrap of parchment, a brass lantern, four sealed vials, a oil of rope, a canteen, a metal rod, metal tube, and a metal flask," he counted off items on his fingers, doing a remarkable mental inventory of their subterranean discoveries. "In an effort to find out if anyone knew whose clothes we had found, we wore them to a party we agreed to provide protection for. No one commented. But the party was for a sculptor. His name was Selejian and he had created the most beautiful and life-like statues of artisans."
"That's the place back on Livermore and Crescent that you were looking at so strangely," the man said, making at least one connection.
"Correct," the Janissary told him.
"The thing was, we learned he had not always been quite so talented, and had only recently come into the public eye," the elf cautioned. "That got us concerned that there may have been a magical element to his statues. We wondered if perhaps he was kidnapping people and turning them into stone. We also learned he had some debts to pay off."
"An interesting theory," Ruze said with a nod.
"Ledare went to Guildsman Cooper's workshop and discovered a scrap of paper with the message "The Ogre's Eye 4-23." We then learned that the cartwright, Jared Howzell also had an appointment at the Ogre's Eye," Kirnoth went on. "We eventually went to the Ogre's Eye brewery, which has since shut down. We found a cart there with a brand-new wheel. Guildsman Howzell could have made it. There was also a work bench, half-finished with some project which looked to have been halted abruptly and left unfinished."
"Which could have been the work of Guildsman Wyesinger," Ruze offered and Kirnoth nodded.
"And there were barrels that could have been made by Guildsman Cooper," the elf added. "We also found tiny footprints matching ones we had seen belonging to the creepy little creatures who lived in the sewers and dragged off people at the Five Elements Inn. There was also an entrance to the sewer in that brewery and all the tracks seemed to lead to it."
"But why kidnap artisans?" Ledare mused. "We're missing several pieces of this puzzle."
"We've seen barrels before which appeared to be used for slave trading," the mage reminded. "That's when we found Soriah and she explained about a man with a tattoo on his back and suggested we go with her to attempt to save Nirlar."
"Nirlar is the Holy-Slayer, Nasser-Ubeen mentioned?" Ruze asked and Ledare nodded.
"We went with her and found a cave where orcs and undead and a creature called The Gnasher were," Kirnoth concluded. "There were more barrels, but the orcs had cleared out. We think this is all connected somehow and involves that graffiti we found."
"So what is to be your next move?" Ruze asked. "And how might I help?"
They had reached the corner of Festival and Carter Street and Finian stopped, turning his eyes toward the sound of the Marketplace to the east.
"My next move is to pick something up for Gwaedry as a thank-you for watching Curly," the Archer spoke for the first time since leaving the Temple. "And I don't think I need your help for that."
"Should I know who-?" Ruze started to ask Ledare and the Janissary raised her hand to silence him.
"I'll explain on the way to Grey House," she said with a shake of her head. "We'll get you settled in there and then I must meet with the King to tell him of our progress - or lack of."
"I'll meet you all there," Finian told them. "I shouldn't return empty-handed."
"Wait, Finian," Kirnoth stopped him. "I'd like to speak with Alenthe Thurgudmen, and I believe you know where he works."
"So we will decide on our next move in all this tonight over dinner?" Ledare asked as they readied themselves to part ways.
"Agreed," Finian said and Kirnoth nodded. They both headed off eastwards along Carter Street passed the narrow storefront of Quinn Wyesinger's carpentry shop.
Ruze sighed and looked questioningly at Ledare.
"I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot with Finian," he said.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Ledare told him. "It's been a stressful few days for us. Now come on and I'll see that Abernathy sets you up with a room."
"Who?" Ruze asked as they headed southwards toward Grey House.
Alenthe Thurgudmen's stand was where Finian had said it would be, in the Marketplace at the end of Carter Street, against the wharf wall just north of the Tradesmen's Gate. It was a tiny affair sandwiched between a woman selling candles and a booth offering "Incense for Every Occasion". The sign on Alenthe's shop proclaimed: "Questions Answered - One Gold Noble".
As Kirnoth wove his way through the crowd of shoppers, he witnessed a shabbily dressed peasant approach Thurgudmen's stand and place a handful of coins on the counter set into the open window. The elf paused when he clearly heard Alenthe's voice coming from inside the tiny hut.
"You've a question you want answered, my good friend?" the old man asked.
"I do," the commoner responded with a nod and the elf saw the old man's hand sweep up the pile of coins.
"Then ask away," Thurgudmen said. "You've paid the price."
"You can really answer any question?" the peasant asked.
"Yes," Alenthe replied curtly. "Thank you for your patronage. Good day."
The peasant looked confused.
"Goo'day? But I ain't asked me question yet," he replied.
"Yes you have," Alenthe countered. "Asked and answered. Just like the sign says."
The confused expression on the peasant's face was deepening.
"Wha?" he moaned.
"The sign says: 'Questions Answered - One Gold Noble'. You paid one gold noble - or rather one electrum eagle, three silver crowns, and twenty copper commons - and asked one question: 'you can really answer any question'. Then I answered: 'yes'." Kirnoth could almost hear the grin spreading across Alenthe's withered face inside his shadowy booth. "Everything's working just as it should. Good day."
"Th-that ain't fair," the peasant began to sputter and Thurgudmen let out a sigh.
"Alright," he said and Kirnoth saw his hand appear briefly in the window of his stall. It made a soothing gesture and withdrew. "Since you paid the fee but clearly didn't understand the process, I'll give you one more chance."
"Really?" the peasant asked.
"Yes," Alenthe answered again. "Thank you for your patronage. Good day."
"But I still ain't asked me -" the peasant's face twisted uncomfortably as realization fought for unfamiliar territory within his mind. "You tricked me! 'Really?" ain't me question!"
"That *really* ain't me problem," Alenthe replied imitating the peasant's speech pattern and accent with near flawlessness. He started to close the shutters to his stall but the commoner stopped him.
"Took me the better part of a season to save up enough free coin to come to you in the first place," he growled. "And now you try to cheat me!?"
"I've cheated no one! I gave you two chances, you great dunderhead, and you spoiled both of them," Alenthe hissed back. "The rules are quite simple: one question for one gold noble. You received twice that. Now good day!"
But the peasant wasn't going to let the shutters close.
"I want me money back, you great cheat!" he growled.
"Mirath!" Alenthe cried out and a burly warrior rushed out from where he'd been hiding behind the old man's stand. Kirnoth recognized him as one of the intercessors Thurgudmen had with him at the duel. He didn't have a sword this time, but wore a great mail cestus on his right hand that looked capable of splitting the peasant's head. At his appearance, the peasant released the shutters and began backing away from the stall.
"Please escort this... person away and see to it that he knows better next time," Alenthe said to the bodyguard and the younger man smiled meanly.
Kirnoth reached into his belt pouch and grabbed a handful of coins. He cleared his throat as he approached.
Alenthe looked up at the elf and his face paled, his expression wavering between gladness and abject fear.
"K-Kirnoth," he stammered. "You've grown! I mean: how wonderful to see you again. I felt quite certain that you wouldn't want to abide my countenance again. To what do I owe this honor?"
Mirath stopped in his tracks and glared at the mage. He'd obviously recognized Kirnoth from the duel and didn't much care for his sudden reappearance.
The peasant used the distraction to flee into the crowded marketplace.
"I've a question for you," the moon elf said holding up a single gold noble between his thumb and index finger. "Or two. Or three."
As he counted upwards, he flicked his wrist expertly and the coins seemed to multiply in his hand. It was a basic street illusion, but it made Alenthe grin nonetheless.
"Would it have anything to do with your unnatural size?" the old man asked.
"Not directly," the elf replied.
"Did you quaff a potion of embigulation?" Alenthe pressed. "You're clearly larger than the last time I laid eyes on you. I mean, just look at your clothes for pity's sake."
He indicated the split seams in the faerie elf's tunic and Kirnoth scowled.
"I did not come here to discuss my size," he said. "I have questions."
"Ask away," Thurgudmen said with a smile. He held out his hand and Kirnoth placed a single coin in his creased palm.
"Do you know any wizards aligned with good?" Kirnoth asked.
Alenthe's face looked suddenly as if he'd just taken a bite of an overly sour bitterfruit.
"If by that you mean Guilders, then the answer is: no. They are a self-involved, self-important lot and I'd not be surprised to find not a single goodly soul amongst them," he said and spat on the ground. "But if you mean those who struggle to learn magic without benefit of the proper schooling, then the answer is: yes."
Kirnoth nodded and placed another coin into the old man's hand.
"Who?"
"Well, there's you, of course. And myself. And one or two others," Alenthe replied. "Tell me why you ask and my answer will be more to the point."
"You didn't offer such an option to that poor man who was here before me," the mage said, looking briefly into the crowd for some sign of the peasant.
"Bah," the old man said with a wave of his hand. "No amount of prompting would have gotten that one to the point. I've little patience for stupidity and he seemed to take pride in his."
Alenthe seemed to notice Mirath for the first time and he cocked his head toward the back of the stall.
"Come on now, boy," he said. "Back to your studies."
Mirath's shoulders slumped and he slipped off the cestus.
"Yes, father," he said as he skulked away behind the booth.
The old man tugged nervously on his left earlobe and turned his wizened face to Kirnoth.
"Now why do you need a wizard aligned with good?" he asked again.
"I'll explain," Kirnoth answered. "But not here. Meet me tonight at Grey House and I'll tell you what I can."
Thurgudmen pondered the elf's request, shaking the two gold nobles loosely within his gnarled fist, his thin lips pressed tightly together.
"Agreed," he said at last. "I will meet you after sundown and we can discuss this matter with more depth. I trust that you're not entertaining any notions of vengeance?"
"Of course not," Kirnoth said with a scowl. "I know you and I are not friends, but I do not know any wizards whom I can trust. And for whatever reason, I feel that I might trust you."
The old man's face brightened at that and he smiled broadly.
"And I assure you that trust will not be misplaced!" he said with confidence. "Until tonight then, mighty Kirnoth, I leave you with this:
Before Kirnoth could answer, Thurgudmen reached out and slammed closed the shutters on his stand, leaving the elf standing alone in the crowded marketplace.
Ledare stood on the prow of the ferry and, shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun, cast her gaze back toward shore. Through the tangle of merchant ships clogging the harbor she could clearly see the busy docks and the Wharf Wall beyond. The rooftops of Barnacus were visible beyond that, marching westward up the gentle hill toward the heart of the Realms.
She smiled and turned back to face front.
They were approaching Hasding Island, and the King's many-spired castle dominated her field of vision, lit warmly by the late rays of Orin's shield. Curtain walls of ancient stone rose up around the keep itself and among the battlements the Janissary could see guardsmen manning the ballistae. Numerous maroon pennants bearing the symbol of the Realms fluttered in the stiff breeze blowing in off the Tyredemia. At the King's private pier was moored a light merchant ship with its sail carefully furled. Several dark-skinned sailors milled about the vessel, tending expertly to the ship's rigging.
It was a rare thing to see a merchant ship docked on Hasding Island and Ledare wondered absently what cargo could be so precious that the King would allow them mooring.
At the dock she thanked the oarsmen, stepped off the ferry, and made her way up toward the bronzewood doors of the outer gate.
"I'm terribly sorry, Janissary Ledare," Seneschal Eliile said, adjusting his thick golden braid. "I regret the inconvenience this has caused you, but the King is unlikely to have the time to meet with you today. While he is very interested in hearing from you, he has been unavoidably detained by matters of state."
She looked at the half-elf. She thought he seemed about twice her age which likely meant that he was four times that old. In any event, he had been operating within the courtly beaurocracy for longer than she'd been alive. There was little chance of her talking her way passed him.
She sighed deeply and nodded.
"You will tell his Highness that I came to report on our progress," she said.
"I will," Eliile agreed. "It has been duly noted and I will notify the King at the first available opportunity."
"Thank you, Seneschal," Ledare said. "Good day to you."
"Good day to you, Janissary Ledare," he replied. "And again, I am sorry for any inconvenience this situation has caused you."
She nodded and headed back toward the main gate, already thinking about one of Alyllyra's hot meals and what would be their next move to find the missing Artisans. Perhaps they could succeed before the King summoned her to give her report of their progress.
Ruze circled the automaton looking for an opportunity to strike. One of its padded arms swung suddenly about, obliging him to duck. As the arm circled back around to the ready position, the Battleguard struck outward with his left fist and landed a solid blow. The construct shuddered but seemed otherwise unaffected.
This thing was a marvel of engineering the likes of which Ruze had never seen. It was built around a pole set into holes in the floor and ceiling with arms of various lengths at various heights along it. It seemed to be powered by a leather belt that ran along the ceiling and disappeared into a slot in the Training Room wall. What went on behind the wall he could only guess, but Abernathy had shown him how to activate the contraption by turning an hourglass built into the wall beneath the slot through which the belt ran.
One of the machine's arms came in at just below knee level and Ruze jumped upward to avoid it. His right fist darted in quickly then and landed a blow on the hide armor covering the central column.
As he practiced, dodging blows and giving them in return, his mind turned over what the elf had told him whilst they walked from the Temple to Grey House. There was much more involved in this affair than just a sew missing craftsmen, it seemed. Slaves, nurses, orcs, beggars, a sculptor, an evil Outsider, and a dead wizard each held some sort of importance in all of this. But what their roles might be Ruze had no idea. He had hoped that this assignment would end quickly and easily; his family still had much to atone for in the church. But as the dwarves were so fond of saying, 'You don't find gold by licking the rock'.
He would simply need to apply himself more-
"Battleguard Ruze?" a voice asked from behind him and he turned...
...just as one of the padded arms swung around. It struck him full in the chest and sent him staggering into the wall. He slid to the floor, struggling to force air back into his lungs.
Abernathy walked over to him and turned the hourglass set into the wall. The automaton creaked and shuddered to a stop and the manservant handed Ruze a clean white towel.
"My wife has prepared a light snack," he told the Battleguard. "If you are interested, you'll find it in the Dining Room."
The manservant turned to exit the Training Room and Ruze got quickly to his feet.
"Wait!" he said bashfully. "I-I don't know where the Dining Room is."
Abernathy sighed expansively.
"Follow me," he said.
Finian stepped through the front gates of Grey House with a bouquet of wildflowers in hand. The building itself looked largely as he remembered it. Abernathy was doing a fine job of keeping the grass trimmed and the trees groomed. The half-elf was about to mount the steps up to the porch when he heard a distinctive peal of laughter emanating from the side yard.
Smiling, he shrugged off his backpack and trotted in that direction.
"You'd better not move, father!" he heard Gwaedry giggle as he rounded the north corner of the house and saw the girl, his dog, and Abernathy there. The wiry manservant was standing inside a circle made from a small scrap of rope and Curly was circling it and eyeing the man menacingly.
"This is undignified, young lady!" Abernathy scolded. "Call off this beast at once or-"
Curly caught sight then of the Archer standing at the cornet of the house and, barking loudly, came rushing toward him. Too late, Finian thrust the bouquet behind his back.
Following the dog's charge, Gwaedry and Abernathy both looked up at Finian. Their expressions were equal but opposite extremes.
"Good sir Finian!" the girl cried happily and made to follow Curly's example and charge toward the half-elf. Abernathy's hand shot out, however, and grabbed the girl by the wrist before she'd taken half a step.
Without slowing, the black dog jumped up and planted its forepaws on Finian's midsection. Its tongue desperately sought the Archer's face, its body lurching and twitching with excitement. The animal seemed to have grown in the few days that Finian had been away and he had only to bend slightly to receive Curly's slobbery affection.
"Good boy!" Finian chuckled. "Good Curly! Good dog!"
"He's ever so smart, good sir!" Gwaedry called. "You won't believe how much he's learned whilst you were away!"
"I'm sure, fair maiden," the Archer replied, doing his best to avoid receiving Curly's tongue directly in his mouth. "It is due entirely to your expert teachings."
"Oh yes," Abernathy groaned sarcastically. "He hasn't soiled the carpet since Starday. I'd say he's ready to be enrolled at Mageholm."
Gwaedry looked hurt.
"Father," she intoned, gently peeling his fingers off her arm. "I thought that I was doing well."
Abernathy looked at her and his face softened.
"You are," he began in an apologetic tone. "It's just that-"
"Are those flowers?!" the girl cried, rushing toward the Archer once more.
"Y-yes," he replied, drawing them from behind his back. "I got them for you." He looked at Abernathy's angry face and added, "As... a thank you for all your hard work with Curly."
Gwaedry took the bouquet and buried her face in it.
"They smell WONDERFUL!" she beamed. "Thank you ever so much, good sir!"
She made ready to plant a thank you kiss on the Archer's face, but Abernathy stopped her.
"You'd best put those in some water, daughter," he told her. "You know how briefly some things last."
"Yes, father," she said, inhaling the flower's fragrance again. "I'll be back directly."
Once she'd trotted off toward the tradesmen's entrance at the back of the house, Abernathy scowled at Finian.
"Whatever your intentions are toward my daughter, I suggest you forget about them now," he said firmly. "I'll not have her getting involved with one such as you."
Finian gritted his teeth and wiped the dog's saliva off his chin.
"What's wrong with a man such as me?" he asked. "I've been nothing but civil to you and to her."
"I know how men of action are," the manservant told him. "I was young once, you know. You should save your coin, for no amount of gifts are likely to win you her hand."
"You said yourself that she had done well with Curly's training," the half-elf countered. "The flowers were but a sign of my gratitude for all she's done."
Abernathy scowled in such a way that made it clear he didn't believe the Archer one bit.
"As you say," he conceded with a nod. "But my daughter is quite naive. She may perceive your intentions differently and I've no wish to see her hurt. Understood?"
Finian nodded and thought it best to postpone this conversation with Abernathy.
"Have any of the Grey Lords returned?" he changed the subject.
"No," the manservant said with an even deeper scowl. "And the petitions before the Company are mounting almost daily."
"Damn," Finian cursed. "I've some sad news to report to them about Soriah..."