Vero followed Pentarch up the inner wall, and then up an exterior stone staircase into the highest levels of the donjon. The top of the tower contained a watch post for the guard, as well as an observatory for astrological studies.
She did spend some time at the observatory, a total eclipse coming a few months after the new year, but she was familiar with the middle levels of the tower only liminally. They were quiet away from the main stairwell. Pentarch took her to a nondescript, but sturdy looking, wooden door, with an extraordinary lock.
The lock was fashioned from brass, and covered in expertly crafted runes rendered with miniscule precision. The work was magnificent, and Vero would have needed days of unrestricted access to force her way through such an elaborate set of warding spells. She had only seen the like before on the treasure vaults of great lords or at a temple bank.
Pentarch took out a large brass key- which he kept on a ring at his belt, along with a few other companions. He inserted it into the lock. She saw no glyphs or marks on the key itself, so she presumed that it must have been forged at the same time and with the same brass as the lock, to bind a sympathetic connection between them.
Vero memorized the look of the key before he returned it to the others on his belt.
“This is your treasure vault?” she asked.
Pentarch opened the door for them and it swung easily. “This is our special armory. We have no treasure. And our true vault is designed such that anything placed inside of it can never be removed again.”
“What if you should later need something which you’ve placed in a vault like that?”
“The things we placed in our vault, no one shall ever wish to see again.”
Vero waited for Pentarch to enter first, then followed him. “In the south we refer to such a place as an oubliette.”
“Oubliettes are for living prisoners. But I agree that the term does capture the intention.”
There was a larger armory located in the underground tunnels, along with a smithy. The weapons and armor in this small room appeared exotic and specialized, not to mention much more expensive. All the pieces were well maintained.
Vero could not name every type of weapon on display, although she could offer educated guesses at all their uses. She took notice of many pieces which bore the characteristic wave-like mottling that suggested they were crafted with Oasis steel. Others were plated in purified silver It made her wonder where they found all the money.
He led them past everything to a long-lacquered box on a table. The box was made of fine maple wood, and its fastenings were silver. There was a small silver lock and Vero saw no wards on it, though they may have been hidden on the reverse side, or even along the internal tumblers- although that would risk grinding down the spell runes over time.
Pentarch held a small unadorned silver key to match it, and again, Vero committed it’s look to her memory. He used it to open the box.
Inside was her sword. It was a hand-and-a-half weapon with a well-worn leather grip and sheath.
All along the interior of the box were symbols in a clearly arcane orientation, although Vero could not recognize their purpose. They did not seem to be wards directed outwards. Whatever they were doing was manipulating unknown emanations inwards.
“What’s the purpose of this box?”
“It is an attempt…” Pentarch said, as he took ahold of the hilt with both hands. “…to restore-” He lifted the weapon with a grunt of effort. “-the damage.” He just managed to get the sword out of the box before letting the far end fall to the stone floor with a heavy clang.
“May I?” Vero attempted to take the sword from him and he gave it to her.
She lifted it easily with a single hand, only the sheath and hilt had any weight. She had been watching him lift it, and his effort was genuine.
Pentarch nodded as though he expected as much. “They believe they’ll eventually be able to break the affinity the artifact seems to have developed with you. But who can know for sure?”
“Perhaps it can only be wielded by those pure of heart? But no- I can heft it without difficulty, so the explanation must be otherwise.”
Pentarch gave her the smile he used when he wanted to avoid a more obvious display of humor. “Whatever the reason for the sword’s behavior- it’s almost certainly why the Curia can’t find enough consensus to order you killed at once, no matter what I might have to say about it. I will tell you that I've watched men I know are younger and stronger than I attempt to lift this thing and fail completely, while I was able to shift it at least slightly. Make of that what you will.”
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“Why go to all this trouble? Mine isn’t the only enchanted weapon in the world.”
“Take out the sword.”
Vero did as she was told. Beneath the leather sheath, the blade was forged of adamant and it held a vorpal edge. Arcane signs ran along both sides of the blade, etched in silver.
“The sigils, have you ever tried to translate them?” Pentarch asked.
“I’ve tried, but there are thousands of variations in Sylvan script and this one is very obscure. It’s almost impossible-”
“The signs aren’t elven.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said that they are not elven. They’re trollish.”
“Trolls have been extinct for…”
“Yes?” Pentarch waited for her to finish.
“...for a long time.”
“More than a hundred thousand years, if elven oral traditions are to be believed. They lived deep in the earth, deeper than even the farthest dwarven outpost. There they developed many spells, advanced forms of architecture, and metal working techniques we have long since lost. One of these secrets is the means of forging adamant, the unbreakable metal. Trolls lived during the time of the First Men, before the breaking of the races. Perhaps even before Luna set her daughters apart from the First Men to create womankind. Gods, daemons, and other spirits still walked the material world then, and it wasn't uncommon to trap these forces- to bind them, into tools or weapons. They’re all long since dead now, their power slowly leaked away over the course of centuries through the minutest imperfections in the craftsmanship. Mind you, that doesn’t stop wizards from laying out huge sums of money for them.”
“I’ve seen depleted fetishes on display at the Imperial acropolis,” said Vero. “And at the High Basilica of Reason in Vermillion.”
“Trollish works are different, however,” replied Pentarch. “Adamant is perfect and unbreakable. The spirits within these objects are bound for all eternity.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”
“I’m not surprised. Trollish weapons are rare, very rare. I’m sure most wizards presume they’re a myth all together, but they are real. You brought one here. Besides this one I know of only eight others in existence for certain. Two are owned by the oldest and noblest families in the Imperium. One is owned by the King of Lusitan. And another by the dictator of Golden-Fields on the Southern Continent. At least three are owned by elven khans, but rumor suggests perhaps there are more to be found in the Alfsteppe. And finally, the last is an object of study in the University of Whitegate.”
“And there’s mine.”
“And there’s yours,” Pentarch agreed. “Return the artifact to the box, please.”
Vero hesitated. Pentarch was watching her.
The only way for her to leave at that moment would be to kill him. His hand was not even on the hilt of his sword, but he must have known that it would not have mattered while Vero held the weapon she now possessed once more. He could not scream loud enough to be heard from where they were. She could lock the body inside the armory to give herself plenty of time to collect her rations and escape from the fortress while she had darkness to cover her escape.
The course of events flowed together very easily. He was not even reaching for his weapon.
“If this sword is so special. How did it ever get lost so badly for me to find it?” she asked.
Pentarch was silent for a while before finally admitting, “I don’t know.”
“I almost believe you’re being honest for once.”
“I am. The Curia claims this sword belongs to the Order, but that it was stolen a long time ago. The thing is… they’ve known your master and all his predecessors carried this thing for years- so why is it that this year it suddenly becomes urgent to collect it? I don’t know what the Curia is planning, I only know that I don’t trust them.”
“Aren’t they your leaders?”
“The Curia have been locked up in their tower for centuries before I was ever born. They may have been great slayers once, but they’ve lost anything that made them like us a long time ago. That doesn’t change the fact that the rules of our order values seniority and experience. And while they remain in seclusion, they will always control the council of master slayers. We must move carefully. But please believe me Vero, I want to help you. I keep secrets because that is how we survive. I’m sorry if that makes it difficult for you to trust me.”
She was hesitating because she did not wish to kill him- and he knew it.
Damn him.
Vero put the sword away as he had asked. “Well, I don’t trust the Curia either. I’m not opposed to helping you. I’d just like to know what your goal is exactly.”
“You’ve spoken to the Curia, that’s more than Richard or any of his minions have ever done. What was your impression of them?”
“I think it’s unnatural for anything, even an elf, to live as long as they have. Some were less twisted than the others, but I think there were a great many more of them than those that spoke to me. I presume those were too afflicted by their madness even for speech.”
“Hm, I think there is still some method left in all the members of the Curia. But in broad terms I agree with your appraisal. Twisted is an excellent word to use, they are all being twisted by something. It may be the Fiend, the one under the mountain, or perhaps it’s some other force… but it is clear that some are more far gone than others. I won’t disguise the plain fact that I intend to use you as bait. The Curia are not a monolith. I’m sure that the one’s responsible for this twisting will try to attack you discreetly if we can prove your worth to the others. If we can draw out the source of the corruption and destroy it, perhaps the others need not be lost.”
“And what if the entire Curia is too corrupt to be saved?”
“Then I believe I would benefit by having you, and that sword, by my side.”
Bait was usually the most vital component of any trap. Vero was not happy to be in the position herself, but it did not offend her either. She simply could not imagine why those madmen in the tower would even want to kill her in the first place.
“It seems as though our only goal at the moment is to keep me alive. If that is the case, I won’t do anything to impede you. For the time being.”
“Gracious, my Lady.” Pentarch allowed the sardonicism to drip from his words as he led them back out.