With the former Constable of Dür hanged and no longer a threat, the Hand of Fortune left Kolosür the next day, joining Ser Alakor, his ten new yeomen, and the newly refreshed Hand of Vengeance for the journey to Dor Dür. Both Drake and his brother would have left as soon as the trial was over, nine days ago, but were convinced by friends and advisors that such an abrupt departure, after the bestowing of such great rewards, would be… impolitic, at best. But both felt an urgent need to return to their childhood home to be sure their vile uncle didn’t escape justice.
To that end Drake talked Alakor into letting Vulk and Devrik open a Nitaran Vortex just a few hours ride from Kolosür. The mercenaries, however, were leery of such an arcane mode of travel and threatened to mutiny when informed of it. Eventually Alakor, Marik and Vulk were able to calm their fears long enough to get the whole cavalcade of 40 people, 60 horses, and three mules through the portal, though it strained the energies of both Vulk and Devrik to do so.
They arrived atop a low mounded hill at the center of a large clearing surrounded by thick woods. The only break in the trees was to the southwest, where they opened onto a vista of meadow and rolling cropland.
“Ah,” said Drake and Alakor in unison. “The Elvenwood!”
“This is the Elf’s Mound we’re on,” Drake continued to his friends as their horses ambled down the gentle slope. “It lies in the heart of the Elvenwood, a dense wood that lies just south of Dor Dür. It is believed to be an ancient Telnori site, and full of Telnori magic. The children of the village would dare each other to spend a night in here on a clear, moonless night – that’s when the ghostly spirits of the Star Folk are said to rise out of the mound and hold a feast in the clearing. And they just might take any mortal who saw them back to the Other Side!”
Once everyone was through the portal, the cavalcade moved out of the woods and onto the narrow dirt road that led north a short distance, into the small village that gathered at the foot of the bluff on which rose the tower of Dor Dür. The village, however, was strangely silent, and almost deserted… the few women or children they glimpsed were soon vanished behind slammed doors or hurriedly shuttered windows. It was with a growing sense of unease that the party approached the main gate in the curtain wall that stretched across the foot of the bluff.
Gathered outside the open gate was a cluster of perhaps forty men, peasant farmers and rustic tradesmen by their dress and crude weapons – pitchforks, scythes and pole hooks. Muttering and staring up at the dark gray, eight-sided tower, with its verdigris green copper roof, it took a moment before they noticed the large party of horsemen approaching. When they did, they whirled about in sudden alarm, weapons brandished inexpertly but forcefully, eyes white-rimmed and panicked.
“Halt!” squeaked one man, more-or-less thrust forward by his fellows. He was better dressed than most, if still in muted homespun browns and greens, and was clearly viewed as their leader. But before the man could say more, Alakor rode forward, signaling his followers to stop, and announced himself.
“I am Ser Alakor Bartyne, the newly appointed Constable of Dür, by judgement of His Grace, the Earl Burnan. Who are you to block my entrance into that which is now mine to hold ?”
“Oh, I, umm… we didn’t know,” sputtered the man, seeming both relieved and confused. “I am Roderog Hullman, the Reeve of Dür village, milord; these are the good men of the, er, the militia…” he looked embarrassed, whether due to the pathetic nature of his “militia” or because of his next question.
“You’ll understand, milord, I do hope, er, I wonder… that is… um, you have some proof of your claim…?”
Alakor blinked in surprise, but gave no other indication of what he thought of this presumption. He motioned to Vulk, who had been acting as his temporary Herald the past tenday, who rode forward and handed him a packet of papers. Drake, Mariala, Devrik and Erol rode forward with him, and now sat their horses a few paces behind, watching with interest as the little drama unfolded before them.
“You can read, I assume?” asked Alakor dryly as he pulled out a document from the bundle and motioned the man forward.
“Um, yes milord, I have my letters… I have to, to deal with the business–”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Alakor cut him off, handing down the document. “This is my commission from the Earl, commanding me to take possession of his keep here and to rule this fief in his name. Does this satisfy?”
Reeve Roderog made a show of examining the heavy parchment, with it’s beautifully calligraphed lines and thick seals… more for the benefit of his men than any understanding of the formal Court language. After a moment he handed it respectfully back to Ser Alakor, nodding solemnly.
“Yes, milord, this all looks quite in order… quite proper… er, I–”
Again Alakor cut him off, this time a bit less patiently.
“What is going on here, Reeve Roderog,” he asked. “Why is the… militia… gathered at my gates? Where is the squadron His Majesty sent ahead to seize Danyes Bernan’s co-conspirators and secure the keep?”
“It’s not our fault milord!” the Reeve cried, turning suddenly paler, and stepping back an involuntary foot. The crowd behind him suddenly started muttering again, and nervously hefting their weapons. Alakor took in the situation, and having no desire to begin his new post with a massacre of his own peasants, he motioned Cantor Ser Vulk forward.
It took a few moments of the cantor’s calming rhetoric and soothing words, but eventually the mob calmed again, and the story of the last several days began to come out. The Reeve mainly told the tale, but was supplemented with additions and corrections from the crowd, as they grew more comfortable with the idea that these armed men were actually here to help them.
It seemed that the Kings Troop had indeed arrived, three days earlier, swooping into the village with no warning, and seizing the keep with no real resistance. They had also seized half-a-dozen or more men of the town, taking them from their homes to be held at the Keep. The general consensus seemed to be that they’d all deserved it – none of those arrested appeared to have been popular with their fellows, having been thick with the Constable and his bully-boys.
“That’s why the militia isn’t, um, quite up to standards, ser,” the Reeve pointed out. “Ser Danyes didn’t like any but his… um, enforcers… to be armed or well trained in arms…”
“Yes, I don’t doubt it,” Alakor sighed. “Now get on with it. Why is the Troop Commander not here to greet me?”
Things had gone well enough for two days, it seemed. The common folk were cautious at first, but when they were convinced that their hated overlord had been convicted of treason and other high crimes, stripped of his titles, and sentenced to hang, they were clearly overjoyed. Perhaps a new era would begin, with a better Constable in charge…
Then, last night, something terrible had happened. In the middle of the night screams were heard echoing from the tower, and those brave enough to go out and look, or peer out their windows, saw flashes of green light flaring in windows up and down the tower. In less than ten minutes, most estimated, the screams and the lights ended. No one slept much the rest of the night, but nothing else happened, and nothing came from the Keep into the town.
At first light the Reeve, shaking and fearful, but knowing his duty, gathered those he could to investigate. Scaling the outer wall was no trouble, and once the gate was opened they made their way cautiously up the gentle slope to the top of the bluff where the tower itself perched on the cliffs overlooking the river. It took longer to get the main doors open, as they were barred from within, but eventually they succeeded, growing ever more fearful, but driven on by the Reeve’s will.
Once inside, however, even he wished they hadn’t succeeded. The entrance hall, with it’s high ceiling and beautiful stained glass window that looked into the inner courtyard, was strewn with the bodies of five of the King’s soldiers, hacked to pieces. But what caused the trembling villagers to finally break and run, was what they found further in… more bodies, but unbloodied, apparently strangled, and other burned and contorted. This clearly uncanny massacre was too much for these simple folk, and even the Reeve didn’t object to a very sudden withdrawal into the morning light.
The doors were closed, the men retreated beyond the outer gate, and there they had been dithering for the last five hours. Prepared to fight for their homes and families if whatever had caused this should come out, but praying to all the Immortals that it wouldn’t. The Reeve had dispatched boys to ride to the shire moot and the Sheriff, but hadn’t expected any help for at least a day. He was more than happy to turn it all over to the proper authorities, however unexpected their advent!
As they all sat digesting this grisly tale, Drake rode forward and addressed the Reeve.
“You said several men of the town were arrested and taken to the keep,” he leaned down urgently. “Did you find their bodies in there?”
“No, milord,” the man replied, surprised. “They’d be in the dungeons, I suppose, and we never made it that far…”
“Was Querdon Bartyne among those taken?” Drake demanded.
“Oh, no Ser… that’s another odd thing, really. He certainly should have been, we all know he was thick as thieves – er, that is, he was close to the Constable, and I’m sure deep into whatever mischief was being done. But six, no seven, days ago he just up and disappeared.
“That was the same night some folk claim they saw flashes of blue light up in the Keep… not that such things were unheard of these past ten years… but the next morning men came from the Keep to Querdon’s shop, and were quite angry to find him gone, along with his elder boy… what was his name…”
“Kimbar,” Drake snorted in annoyance, wheeling his horse around and heading back toward the village. “Alakor, I’m going to see what I can find at the shop!”
Alakor, already arranging his men in preparation for entering the abattoir his new home had apparently become, waved his brother on. Vulk and Mariala wheeled their own horses to follow Drake, while Devrik and Erol had already dismounted and drawn their weapons to follow Alakor.
♦♦♦
Drake arrived at the well-remembered and much hated door of his uncle’s apothecary shop in a spray of dust and gravel, pulling hard on his horse’s reins and leaping from the saddle. Mariala and Vulk arrived at a more seemly pace, and dismounted to find him already inside. Standing before him, looking dumbfounded and holding a broom, was a young man of about the same age.
“Danyes, my younger cousin,” Drake explained to his friends as they entered. The young man just goggled at Drake, apparently unsure if he was seeing a ghost or his living cousin… and which he should be more afraid of.
“We thought you were dead Draik!” he finally managed to blurt out.
“Well I’m not, no thanks to your father… or his friend the ex-Constable. Whom I’ve seen hanged, by the way; and I intend to see my uncle meet the same end.” Danyes didn’t seem particularly upset by this pronouncement, to Vulk and Mariala’s mild surprise. Drake turned to examine the shop, shaking his head in disgust.
“I see your father and brother made a mess of things before they fled… do you have any idea why they fled, cousin?”
“Not really,” Danyes replied, looking down at the pile of broken crockery he’d been sweeping up. “I’ve never been told much – just ‘do this’ or ‘do that, you stupid sod.’ Kimbar was the one who Father liked… and once you and Alakor were gone, he started training Kimbar more closely, and taking him off on his gathering trips and such. Things just got worse for me… you know how it was… and when Kimbar started treating me like a servant –”
Drake felt a twinge of reluctant sympathy for his cousin. It was true, Querdon hadn’t treated his sons much better than his unwanted nephews, and with his ire concentrated on two, rather than four, it could certainly have gotten worse. Drake firmly repressed the twinge.
“I ran away,” he said bluntly. “So could you have done, if it was so bad.”
“Right,” Danyes snorted, showing a sudden spark of anger. “I got no particular skills, I’m not very strong, or smart, I know that… where would I go? Just run off and starve to death, or get killed on the roads, or et by bears?”
“Well, I won’t argue your choices,” Drake shrugged. “But you have no idea why your father was in such a hurry to abandon his home and livelihood?”
“No, it was the night of the 13th… I saw some flashes of blue light up at the keep while I was out fetching water. When I told Father he rushed out to see for himself, and when he came back in he seemed… I dunno, even more pinched and angry than usual. He pulled Kimbar into the back while I fixed supper, as usual… it was strange, afterwards… Kimbar said he’d clean up – he never did that – and Father insisted I have another cup of wine, unwatered this time.
“I think he drugged me, because I got very sleepy after that… I don’t even remember going to bed. The next thing I knew the Constable’s men were pounding on the door, calling for Father to come out. I went to open the door, and saw that the shop looked like a tornado had blown through it… they didn’t believe me, that I didn’t know nothing about where they’d gone, and they took me up to the Keep…”
At this point he seemed reluctant to go on, however hard Drake pressed him, until Mariala stepped forward and made an effort to sooth him. Under her expert handling he calmed down, and with Vulk’s help she got the full story from him. Vulk’s subtle ritual of Truth Sensing didn’t go unnoticed, so she was able to concentrate on keeping the lad talking. He truly didn’t seem to recall much of what happened in the keep, but Mariala used her skill with hypnosis to pull back the veil of mental fog…
Danyes had been taken to the subterranean Great Hall of the keep, where a man he’d never seen before was sitting in the Constable’s chair on the dais. Under Mariala’s hypnotic coaching he was able to recall much about the man – he was not particularly tall, of medium build, with dark brown hair and piercing green eyes. Very pale of skin, his face was rather flat, with a squashed, wide nose that gave him an odd, frightening look. He was dressed in dark green and brown robes, with an emerald green vest cloak over them. He had rings on several fingers and chain of what looks like wooden beads around his neck, with a carved wooden pendant.
After several minutes of questioning by the man, which frightened the youth so deeply that no amount of hypnosis could recall the memory, he was released in disgust, and allowed to make his way home. Since then he had been sunk in a lethargic depression, making only occasional, half-hearted attempts to clean up the shop.
While this information was being extracted from his cousin, Drake had been taking a quick inventory of the shop. Much of the mundane herbs, ointments and potions remained, if in disarray, but all the valuable and esoteric items seemed to have been taken. The only exception were two vials of Heal-All, which seemed to have rolled behind a large jar of horse urine and been missed in his uncle’s haste to decamp. Drake pocketed them, and returned to the main room as Danyes finished his tale.
Under the watchful gaze of his friends, Drake eventually gave in to his cousin’s pathetic pleas to be allowed to stay on as his assistant. As they left the shop to return to the keep, leaving Danyes to clean up with renewed hope and energy, Drake considered that it might be just as well… he’d be needing a test subject for some of his ideas…
♦♦♦
Meanwhile, back at the keep, Alakor, Erol and Devrik had lead a squad of Hand of Vengeance mercenaries into the fortress. As the Reeve had reported, bodies were scattered throughout, including the places the villagers had failed to explore in their panic. From the ground floor to the fourth-floor solar, they found the entire Royal Troop, and its commander, stabbed, hacked, strangled or burned – some with weapons drawn, others seemingly taken by surprise.
Vulk, Drake and Mariala arrived back just as Erol and Devrik were preparing to head down the grand staircase to the underground Great Hall and the kitchens and cellars. While Alakor and Marik organized their men into body retrieval parties, the five friends gathered two mercenaries for torch-bearers, and started down the wide stone steps.
The Great Hall had only two bodies apparent, one on the dais, the other in the doorway to the kitchen. Taking the torches, Vulk sent the mercs back to arrange for body removal, and the group spread out exploring the level – the library, the Presence Room behind the dais and the two offices attached to it, the kitchen, and the pantry. It was in the pantry that they found the first of the arrested townsmen, strangled, at the top of the stairs that most likely led down into the cellars.
Examining the ligature carefully, Vulk was able to determine that the man was strangled by a vine of some sort – plant fibers and sap remained caught in the raw wound. Torches flickering before them, the group descended into the cellars, where they found the rest of townsmen’s bodies, scattered amongst the barrels, sacks and crates of the keep’s stores. All of them strangled, all apparently by vines.
“I don’t think there’s any doubt that we’re looking at the work of that same Torazin mage we met in Shalara,” said Vulk as they headed back up to the Great Hall. “The description we got from Drake’s cousin, and the evidence of murder by animated plants… it all adds up to Doriath.”
“True,” agreed Devrik, “But was he alone? Not all the murders were by plant, clearly… does he wield other magics, then, or did he have help?”
Unable to answer that question yet, the group split up again and decided to perform a more thorough examination of the level.
“This is a Khundari-built structure, after all,” Drake pointed out as he examined the wall corresponding to the one near the cellar stairs in the pantry. “Most of it would be underground, so there must be hidden access somewhere…”
In what looked to have been the Constable’s private office, though it was stripped bare of anything useful, and many papers had been burned, Mariala eventually found a trigger near the desk. A large section of floor and wall in the far corner of the small room suddenly dropped a few inches and then slid over to reveal a narrow flight of stairs dropping down into darkness.
The rest of the group quickly joined her, and led by Devrik, with Vulk holding one of the torches right behind him, they descended single-file into the gloom. Except for Drake. The staircase was narrow, steep and long, and as he set foot on the first step a wave of claustrophobic panic overwhelmed him. As the others descended, he retreated back into the room with the second torch, and began fumbling in his scrip.
Below, his friends had discovered that the stairs ended in a wider corridor that stretched away to both left and right. It was at this point they noticed Drake was missing, and Erol and Vulk headed back up the stairs to see what had happened, leaving an annoyed Devrik and Mariala in the dark.
Stepping back in the room they found Drake just lighting a small pipe and taking a deep lungful of smoke.
“If you can drag me down into the damn sewers,” Vulk said in exasperation, “then you can make it down this tunnel Drake. Now man up, and let’s go!”
“Claustrophobia,” Drake replied to his angry friend. “A toke or two of hero’s heart, and I’ll be fine…”
He offered the pipe to his friends, who looked at each other, shrugged, and said “why not?” Erol took the first hit, then handed the clay pipe to Vulk. All three quickly felt the tingling skin that meant the drug was working. In just a few moments Drake began to feel the rush of euphoria and loss of inhibition that would allow him to descend those stairs. Erol felt he was stronger, braver and keener of senses. Vulk mainly felt the euphoria and heightened senses.
But time was pressing, and Erol lead the way back down the stairs, murmuring soothing words of encouragement to Drake, who followed with a hand on his shoulder… and eyes shut. Devrik and Mariala, impatient and annoyed, sniffed suspiciously at their friends, but accepted Drake’s explanation that he had just needed a moment to calm his claustrophobia. The relaxing effect of the drug fully kicked in, and Drake was able to focus on his surroundings, while Vulk closely examined the stonework with a lazy smile…
“This is clearly an older Khundari style,” he offered, “but still in good condition, despite the all those centuries…”
Ignoring this bit of information, the reunited group decided to take the left-hand passage. They were soon forced to turn left again, then descend another, shorter flight of stairs. Another left turn and they found themselves in an even older section of corridor – but despite its obviously greater age, these passages appeared in even better shape, the work of the great Dwarven masters of the Age of the Codominon.
After another 150 feet or so, the corridor dropped down a short flight of steps, into a higher ceilinged hall. Immediately to the left was a corridor, and a second one, on the right, could be dimly made out 30 feet further down the hall, beyond which it looked like another flight of stairs going back up. With the well-oiled precision that came from months of exploring dark places together, the group decided to check out the first branching corridor, to the left.
It opened in to an L-shaped area of three prison cells, all empty except the center one. There they found a man, naked except for his grimy trews, chained to the back wall. His form was incased in the faint bluish nimbus of light that indicated a stasis field. As Drake started to pull out his lock-picking tools, Devrik simply stepped back and then kicked it in, sending splinters from the around the twisted mechanism flying.
Inside the cell, which stank of stale sweat, and other, less pleasant odors, they found a small ceramic vial amongst the filthy rushes on the floor near the prisoner’s feet. Mariala picked it up, sniffing at the slight black residue within. She wrinkled her nose and passed the vial to Drake.
“Smells nasty,” she grimaced. “Any ideas on what it might be?”
“Dolshiva,” Drake replied after a few seconds. “It is nasty stuff, used mainly to make rat poison, but perfectly able to kill a strong man, with a dose this size. And painfully…”
“Why would anyone go to the trouble of killing someone,” Vulk wondered, examining the chained body more closely, “and then performing a ritual of preservation? Or casting a spell of stasis, possibly,” he added , before Mariala or Devrik could correct him.
“I suppose the only way to find out is to dispel the stasis and try to revive him,” Mariala replied. “Of course without an antidote to the poison, we might just get a repeat of that horror show with Ser Andro…” She shuddered at the memory.
“Actually,” said Drake quickly, overriding Vulk’s indignant retort, ” I happen to have some Heal-All with me. It was one of the few things of value left in my uncle’s – in MY shop.” He pulled one of the vials from his scrip.
“Are you willing to try a resurrection?” he asked his best friend.
“Give me a few minutes to prepare the ritual and calm my mind,” Vulk answered. “And I suspect it may take Mariala a few minutes to focus her energies on breaking the stasis.”
“You realize this might well be a trap?” Devrik asked, somewhat resignedly. He knew them too well to know they’d be swayed by common sense in something like this. “We should just leave him, and finish our search. Maybe take him with us afterward…”
This sparked a debate, but as he had suspected he might be, Devrik was outvoted. But even he was surprised at what happened next.
When she and Vulk were both ready, Mariala had successfully dispelled the stasis field; but before the Cantor could even begin his healing ritual it proved unnecessary. As the blue glow faded and Vulk made to lay hands on him, the man suddenly gasped raggedly, and his face twisted in a sudden spasm of pain.
“Poisoned!” he gasped. “Help!”
Drake rushed forward and forced the man’s clenched jaw open, pouring the entire contents of the healing potion down his throat. After several shuddering moments, his breathing began to slow, and his face relaxed its pained grimace.
“Thank you,” he managed at last, in a voice close to normal. “Whoever you are, thank you… I was sure I was going to die…”
“Who poisoned you?” Vulk asked, moving in to closely examine the recovering but still chained man. “And who put you into stasis?”
“As to the the poisoner, I heard him referred to by his men as Lord Vendal… but I know no more of him. I was taken in the night, from my inn in the the town, and he questioned me, harshly, about my travels and my reason for being in Dür… but I learned nothing from him, he was very cold… very efficient… he came… what day is it?”
“Late afternoon on the 20th,” Vulk answered. “Of Kilta.”
“Ah, only two days then,” the man sighed. “My captor came to me two evenings ago, if I can judge the time of day by the meager bread they served me…and no water… he came to me and forced the contents of a small vial down my throat, laughing.
” ‘This will leave them a pretty puzzle,’ he said… I knew at once that it was poison… I could feel it taking effect…”
“So who cast the stasis on you?” Vulk interrupted impatiently. “It surely wasn’t the man who forced the poison on you…”
The chained man hesitated a moment before continuing. “No, after he had left I realized I had only one chance… there’s no point in trying to hide it… I am T’ara Kul, of the Avikor convocation, and I decided to try the almost impossible… praying to the Lady of Luck, I cast the spell of stasis on myself… it was my only hope…”
Mariala, Devrik and Vulk all looked shocked at this revelation, while Erol and Drake just shrugged.
“What’s the big deal?” Erol asked as his friends continued to stare at the man in amazement.
“Only a handful of people have ever succeeded in doing what he claims,” replied Devrik, eying the chained mage suspiciously. “Talorin Silvereye, for one… a few saints… actually, a very small handful…”
“Yes,” agreed Vulk. “Stasis, whether granted by ritual or cast by spell, can only be used on the dead… at best, a person in a deep coma might be successfully preserved. But i t is virtually impossible to force stasis on a conscious mind, even a willing one!”
“I knew the odds were against me,” the stranger shrugged, rattling his chains. “But I was desperate, there was no other way out… they’d taken my focus, kept me weak and far from my element… it was a hail Kasira shot, but it seemed to have worked…”
Mariala seemed willing to accept this amazing story, since she had been subtly using her Truth Sense on the man, and Vulk followed her lead, if skeptically, but Devrik remained suspicious. Questioning the man further, they elicited a story of passing through Dür on his way to Dürkon, the Khundari principality on the northwestern shore of Lake Everbrite, where he sought to gain a position as tutor to the children of Prince Rhoghûn.
“He’s lying,” Devrik snorted. “This whole thing stinks of a trap. How likely is any of this?”
While Mariala agreed that he was lying about his reason for being in Dür, or at least not being completely truthful, she also sensed that the man was fundamentally honest. While the argument raged on about what to do next, Erol wandered down the hall to the large, bronze-gated chamber at the end of the cell block. Pushing open the gate, he found a forge/fireplace, coals still glowing in a banked slumber, and a large semicircular stone basin of water, along with a great many implements of torture. What had once clearly been a Khundari smithy was now equally obviously an interrogation chamber. And hanging on the wall, across form the pile of stacked wood, was an iron ring of keys.
Taking the keys, he returned to the cell where the others continued to debate what to do with their unwillingly gained prisoner. Ignoring the chatter, he simply walked up to the chained man, found the correct key, and unlocked the iron fetters that held him to the wall. With a groan of relief the fellow collapsed into his arms, before staggering upright.
At his point Devrik threw up his arms, shook his head in disgust, and walked away. He knew a lost argument, having lived months now with both his friends and Raven; but he’d be keeping an eye on their new “friend” just the same. The others gathered around the man, offering water, first aid, and introductions.
“Thank you, my friends,” he said, after guzzling from Vulk’s water skin. “My name is Korwin Seaborn, of Kelic Isle, in Oceania.”
“I thought you had an Imperial accent,” Mariala said. “What can we do to help, Korwin… you probably need food, and a proper physician…”
“What I need most is to recover my possessions, especially my focus and my… well, I sense that you, at least, understand the importance of a focus to one in our line of work, lady.”
Despite Devrik’s continued grumblings, the group agreed to seek out Korwin’s possessions – his psionic link to his focus led him to believe that they were not far. And indeed, with Drake keeping a careful eye on him, he led the group out of the cell block, and back into the larger, sunken hallway. From there he went quickly down the hall and turned into the corridor opening on the right.
This proved to lead into a barracks room, with five sets of bunk beds filling the space; and on each bed, the flickering torch light revealed a dead soldier, every one with his throat cut from ear to ear. Korwin barely glance at the corpses as he passed through the small room to the door at the far side, so intent was he on tracking his focus. Even as Drake called out a caution that the door might be booby trapped, he pushed it open and stepped through.
The room on the other side of the door proved to be a small bed chamber, no doubt for the captain of the soldiers who had bunked in the outer room. No corpse on this bed, however, and Korwin dove for the large wardrobe on the far wall. Flinging it open, he gave a glad cry and pulled out his stolen possessions. The first thing he did was put the silver chain, from which depended a crystal vial of clear water, around his neck with a sigh of great relief. The next thing he did was put on a simple silver ring, set with coral.
As he slid the ring onto his finger, several things happened at once – the finger began to tingle, the ring-bearing fingers of the member of the Hand of Fortune also began to tingle, and the corpses on the bunks began to rise. At the gasps of his friends, Drake, who had been standing in the doorway watching Korwin, whirled barely in time to block the grasping hands of the first of two undead zamoraz reaching for him.
Shambling and relatively slow moving the zamoraz might be, but in the close confines of the barracks room, their numbers made up for any lack of real fighting skill. Two grasped at Mariala, who drew her Khundari-forged dagger once she realized her usual tactic of casting Fire Nerves would be useless against the already-dead,while Vulk and Devrik each faced one; but it was Erol who appeared in the most trouble, backed into a corner with four of the undead clawing at him. With little room to maneuver his trident to it’s full effect, he shortened his grip up towards the head, and as he laid into them he felt time shift, and slow to a crawl…
Vulk, who had suffered the effects of the Shadow once before at the hands of a gülmora, had no desire to repeat the horrific experience. But even as he drew his sword a claw-like hand tore at the leather cowl around his neck and made contact with his skin – once again, he felt the numbing cold of the Void as he mentally fought to keep his life force from being drained away, and failed. He staggered back into the hallway, bringing his sword down and severing the arm that clutched at him, but the white-eyed horror shambled forward after him.
The respite was enough, however, and Vulk quickly chanted the invocation to Kasira for protection – in an instant he sensed the powerful golden glow of her armor surrounding him, and he laid into the undead monstrosity in a fury of fear and anger. Though it clawed and grasped in single-minded pursuit of his life essence, the zamora never landed another touch, and in a moment Vulk had dispatched it to the final death.
Devrik, meanwhile had been more or less absent-mindedly parrying the attacks of the creature trying to kill him, focusing instead on helping his friends, especially Mariala. This was her first physical fight using steel instead of magic, and she appeared somewhat panicked at first. One of the creatures landed a blow to her head, but she was able to fight off the assault on her mind by the Shadow. This seemed to give her renewed confidence, and with Devrik’s surprisingly calm encouragement she wielded her dagger with such skill that she severed the creature’s spine, sending it to dust with a single blow!
Marial new confidence, as her second opponent moved in, allowed Devrik to turn his attention to Drake – he was doing very well, actually, but there was an opening and Devrik tried to take it, thinking to aim a fireball at the wall behind one of the zamoraz. But in the close confines of the room, his fear of hurting his friends overwhelmed his skill, and the moment passed. With an annoyed curse, he returned his full attention to his own opponent, dispatching it in two quick blows to the torso, essentially cutting it in half.
While the others focused on their own battles, Erol had been systematically dispatching the four undead shuffling around him as they “looked” for openings. To his friends, when they had a moment to notice, he seemed to move at blurring speed. Only a single zamora managed to land a blow, but the armor on his thigh turned the raking nails away without it touching his flesh. By the time Drake had dispatched the first of his own attackers, and begun on the second, Erol was pulling his gory trident from the skull of his last zamora. As Drake severed the arm of his last zamora, Erol hurled his trident across the room, piercing the creature’s spine and putting it down for good.
Devrik turned back to Mariala, who was holding her own against her own second undead warrior, but again Devrik saw an opening – and this time he succeeded. A spark of flame leapt from his hand and flew past the zamora to hit the wall behind it, erupting into a fireball that engulfed the creature while barely singeing Mariala’s hair. The zamora went up like a pitch torch, and in a few seconds had crumbled to ash and dust.
The battle was over, and only Vulk had taken serious damage – he was cold and shaken, and clearly very weak, but he insisted he could go on. Korwin stumbled from the chamber beyond, clutching his clothes and apologizing for not being of any help. He had tried, but he was weak, dehydrated, and much too far from an open water source …
“But I realize now that we may have more to talk about,” he added, casually letting Matriala see his ring, which was now open to reveal the sigil of the Star Council.
“Yes,” she replied, sheathing her dagger and showing her own ring. “We all sensed it a moment after you entered that room – I assume you put on your own ring at that point?”
“That’s right,” Korwin replied, as he pulled his clothes on. “Right after I regained my focus. But are you all associates of the Council then?”
Between them, the group gave him a brief recounting of their relationship with the Star Council, and he filled them in on his own short relationship with it.
“I had left the Empire last year,” he said, “and had made my way, by a twisting route, to the Sydoran League. It was in the city-state of Goleath, as I searched for a ship that might take me on as a sea-mage, that I met an older man who offered to help. I was suspicious at first, but when he secured me a berth aboard a merchant ship leaving for Arushal the next morning, I unbent enough to ask how I could repay him.
“He just smiled, and said there might be a ‘task or two’ I could help him with in Arushal. I had assumed, then, that he would be sailing with us, but it was not the case. You can imagine my surprise when he met the ship on the dock at Devok, and invited me to lodge with him at his nearby home –”
“Wait,” interrupted Mariala suddenly. “What was the name of this helpful older gentleman?”
“Kiril Vetaris… but why–”
There was a bit of a hubbub as the others explained that Master Vetaris was one of their own contact’s with the Star Council, and they all pondered what it might mean. Coincidence, or part of a larger plan? Who could tell, at this point? But several minds were made up then, to speak to the Gray Mage about it when next they met.
Vetaris had sent Korwin on several minor fact-finding trips north, sometimes into the Republic, other times into the wilds of the Savage Mountains. He always returned with apparently satisfactory results, and about a month ago his new mentor had finally told him about the Star Council and his own relationship to it. Korwin had accepted the offer of associate status, and the ring that went with it.
His most recent mission had been to try and track down what Vetaris believed to be a possible renegade mage, operating in the North. He had been seen most recently near the western shores of Lake Everbrite, in the company of barbarians, and it was there that Korwin had caught his trail. It had lead him to Dür, and then had gone cold. Learning from local rumors that the Constable was up to his eyeballs in dirty deeds, he had made a foray into the keep in search of further information on his quarry. What he had learned so far was little more that the man’s given name, Lorkad, and the hint that he was a Tykizu T’ara Kul.
It was while searching through the papers in the Constable’s private office, behind his Presence Chamber, that he had been surprised and captured by Doriath. Korwin had claimed to be a common thief, taking advantage of the Constable’s absence to pilfer what he could, but there was no hiding his arcane talents from a fellow mage. Fortunately, his mental defenses had been strong enough to keep the other man out of his deepest thoughts, and he was certain his connection to the Council remained hidden.
Vulk and Mariala then took turns explaining their own business in Dür, and the part they had played in the downfall of its former Constable. Devrik remained somewhat skeptical, but could hardly argue with the evidence of the rings. At least until he had a private moment to speak to Master Vetaris… When Korwin learned that they were searching for evidence of Danyes Bernan’s connection to a mysterious group who had been backing him, he recalled something he had seen just before being captured.
“It was an odd reference in what looked to be a draft of a letter… the phrasing caught my eye. Something to the effect that his ‘insurance should they turn on me’ was protected ‘deep, by fire and water.’ I barely had time to ponder it before I was attacked. I was dazed, as they dragged me from the room, but I saw this Doriath fellow stuffing all the papers into a brazier…”
On hearing the odd phrasing Drake had a sudden epiphany, and he quickly lead the others back down to the cell block, and the former smithy-cum-torture chamber Erol had first entered, where the fire still burned in the forge, across from the water basin. They hadn’t really thought about it before, but how was a fire still burning? It had been at least two days since anyone could have tended to it, and there were only cold hearths everywhere else they’d looked…
The group spread out to search the chamber, looking for any hidden doors, compartments or panels. Devrik stood before the forge, examining it closely and eyeing the suspiciously burning embers, while Mariala and Kowrin examined the stone basin of water. It was an amazingly fortuitous configuration, for just as Mariala detected a cunningly hidden latch on the lip of the basin, and released it, the fire in the forge suddenly flared to roaring life and a great gout of flame erupted from it!
Devrik, standing directly in the path, reacted instinctively – his inborn affinity for fire flared in response, and he threw his hands up as the flames engulfed him. But they didn’t burn him; instead, his mind seized the fire, wrapped it around himself, and hurled it back into the forge where it sputtered and quickly died down. Everyone else in the room stood stunned for a moment, the vision of Devrik wreathed in flame like one of the Fire Gods etched into their minds.
“Devrik, you saved my life!” Mariala cried as he turned toward her. “if you hadn’t been there, that blast would have roasted me. And maybe Korwin, too!”
Devrik shrugged,and said only, “Kasira must have been smiling today.” Then he gestured at the basin. ‘I think you found it…”
The water had drained from the great stone basin, and a close examination of the now-exposed bottom soon revealed a hidden compartment. Inside were two items: an oilskin-wrapped book and an oilskin bag full of coins and gemstones. Once unwrapped, the book proved to be a well-crafted volume of thick parchment pages, about half of which were filled with a coarse, blocky handwriting.
Vulk hefted the bag of coins and gems. “No doubt a part of the former-Constable’s insurance – enough cash to flee in comfort, should he need to, along with that book that just might reveal more about the Vortex than they would wish!”
“Unfortunately, it’s in some sort of cypher,” Mariala said as she scrutinized the pages. “I don’t recognize it right off, I’m sorry to say… but this is just the sort of thing we Xavor’na excel at… I think I can break this, in time…”
After safely securing book and bag about Mariala’s and Vulk’s persons, respectively, the group decided to continue on with their search, at Vulk’s insistence that he was fine. His wobbly knees belied that, but the others pretended not to notice, and they forged ahead. The next chamber they encountered was clearly an ancient Khundari entrance hall, with a set of great double doors at one end. These opened into a narrow cavern passage, perhaps part of the original mine complex Dür was built over.
They traveled down the more-or-less straight series of tunnels for about a quarter mile, ignoring the many side branches and treading warily at the signs of Devrik’s favorite underground dwellers, the taloxta. The last stretch of tunnel opened up into the late afternoon sunlight through a crumbling stone arch, covered in tangled vines and large shrubs. Stepping through, they found themselves in the heart of the Elvenwood, with the high shoulder of the Elf’s Mound visible through the trees to their left.
Rather than return to the Keep by the underground road (everyone was very aware of the spoor they’d seen of the Eaters of Eyes, and why ask for trouble?), they decided to go overland, through the village. Alakor and Marik were at the gate, arranging guard duties for the night, and looked somewhat surprised as they approached.
“I thought we’d left you exploring the basements,” he laughed. “Apparently I’ve got other routes in and out of my fortress to guard!”
♦♦♦
Ove the next several days things began to get back to normal at Dür. The bodies of the slain were burned in a special ritual performed by Vulk, the cantor of the local Eldari temple having been one of those arrested and then murdered, and the keep itself was cleaned and exorcised. Gradually the people began to settle down as Ser Alakor proved himself to be a fair and reasonable lord.
Dame Mariala rode out, with Devrik as escort, to take possession of the manor she had gained along with her title. About a half day’s easy ride from Dür, Tinion Manor was a pleasant fief of rolling fields and wooded slopes in the foothills of the mountains. It seemed well managed, and the current bailiff was more than pleased to continue on in that roll, “at least until milady makes other arrangements.” Mariala sensed that the man really hoped that he would be confirmed in his position, but as she also sensed an innate honesty in him, she was inclined to leave things as they were.
Vulk and Erol also visited the manor that had been bestowed on the cantor by the Earl of Kinen, which was a long day’s ride north. Delince Manor was also a decent piece of land, in a narrow valley with a moderate-sized stream running through it. But the bailiff there was not at all happy to see a new lord of the manor, and was doubly displeased when he learned said lord was a foreigner. Vulk was forced to leave the man in charge, being as yet unfamiliar with any suitable replacements, but when he and Erol departed the next morning he was quite certain there would be no problems, at least for the short term. Between the menace of Erol and the power of Abon’s Authority, the bailiff was quite cowed…
Drake spent much of this time sorting through his new shop, making arrangements for new stock to be acquired, and finding that his cousin was actually a decent assistant, eager and willing. He had little interest in visiting his other possession just yet, though he had been pleased to learn that Tarich Manor sat in an isolated valley deep in the foothills of Mt. Eigarstal. It seemed likely to be an excellent base for herb-gathering forays in the days to come…
Which brought him to his plan for the fifth night after their arrival in Dür. Drake called all his friends together for a dinner at his house/shop, including his brother, Raven, Black Hawk and Cris. After the meal, as he poured a decent brandy that had survived his uncle’s hurried departure, and Brann and Erol’s ferret curled up together near the fire, he cleared his throat for their attention.
“My friends, I’v got something I need to tell you all…”