“I do remember him cursing up a fine streak at all the idiots who built those things, McMikal,” Oswald the Green Hunter admitted dryly. “All that effort for something they couldn’t hold onto, only make a Portal to their little trading outlets, as if it were some grand and good thing to waste all the time and effort on fortifications with no purpose, just so random fools could trade for their wares.” He shook his head at such foolishness. “The olthoi can bore right through dimensions, and not giving them permission to use the Portals didn’t stop them at all… and naturally their little hidey-holes all got crammed back into reality with all the other dungeons forced to reappear.”
“Och, so sorry I feel for ‘em.” The Mick spat eloquently off to the side. Aye, spitting in disdain was an art, too, and he had it down pretty good. “I gather they’re a mite uppity, and an old-schooler like grand-uncle has had t’ put a few in their place, likely with a yard of steel in their guts?”
“You know the type well, McMikal,” Oswald replied mildly. “I, of course, don’t need to take control of his little pile of stones. If I bring a keg of beer, MacDugal will do anything I tell him to.”
The Mick just guffawed. “Aye, that’d be about right, Master Oswald!” Given his dead uncle was the same way, that came as no surprise. “Now, have ye an answer for us, me elder throat-cutting teacher, or do ye actually need time t’ think on it?”
His green eyes flashed. “I would like to say I do, just for the sake of appearances, but I doubt that would fool any of us. Aye, McMikal, I’lll take Borelean at his word, and the grace of his mother. I’ve no true love for Seliana and what she’s done, while she’s been trying to pressure me into joining her or bending to her, threatening the wrath of her paymasters in subtle ways.” He sighed in regret. “Aye, it’s finally time. She never wised up at all, only threw herself deeper into the Guild mindset with the years.”
“Will you need help in this matter?” Kris stated plainly. “Lord Mick indicated you had been teaching your own apprentices and proteges, but we want them gone, and if they go to ground and rebuild, this entire effort is a joke.”
“Selaina has been keeping track of me and mine and what we’ve been doing in the North, but she has no idea of how much I’ve been moving around and keeping track of her and hers in return,” Master Oswald responded calmly. “Although I won’t turn down help in getting free of the price on my head if I deem it suitable for the occasion. I can contact you with any requests for proper muscle.”
“Just use the Aun,” Kris stated firmly. “Them being relieved of their vow of silence will take some pressure off them, and keep their gratitude towards you intact. I’ve no doubt they’d help in your hunt, and naturally using them to get word to us should be simplicity.”
He eyed her again, once again having to re-evaluate who was actually in control here.
“He’s trying to Assess ye, lass,” the Mick said offhandedly. “Why don’t ye let ‘im see what he’s dealing with.”
Princess Kristie tossed her hair slightly, raven locks moving away from her Cursemark, which seemed to throb to hungry life as it was fully revealed. She reached back, pulled out Quaver, and with a very distinct ding! ting! set of notes drove her Sword directly into the stone of the mountain like it was wet cheese.
Lost Light flowed up and down the Blade in spirals of Holy Force Radiant energy, blue tints played at the guard and hilt, and a deep electrum-red glow lit within the runnel of the blue-black metal, highlighting the crackling white about the Blackfire Diamonds mounted there, while the whole of the meter-length of steel was limned by a dense Golden light that was probably harder than the metal it emanated from.
“This is Quaver,” she stated in no uncertain terms, “and I forged her myself. Show me the Knife Briggs made for you, Master Oswald.”
He eyed the hue of her Blade, and then the Mick casually slipped out Bunita, grew her to full length, and also buried the Claymore’s point readily in the stone, Orange-Yellow light throbbing with force and power upon it as Lost Light also ran up and down it, somehow woven with resolute anger and sadness all in one. “This be Bunita,” the Mick said, only the slightest catch in his voice as he said the name, but the narrowing of Oswald’s eyes showed he recognized it.
A blade of Electrum force emerged from Crown, and his eyes shifted over to study it in only mild surprise. “My Staff is Named Crown,” I informed him mildly, and he inclined his head just so.
He didn’t draw the Knife. It was suddenly in his hand, that was all. It had about eight inches of blade, a hunter and killer’s one-sided straight weapon. The metal was also blue-black, heavy and sure despite its size, and limning it, making it almost the size of a shortsword, was a crystalline-hard Emerald field of Soulfire.
“This is Regrets,” he introduced the Knife gently, staring at it with both fondness and resignation. “Lucky is the man who can live without such things.”
There was almost a challenge in his gaze as he looked back at Kristie, and then color flowed down Quaver.
Deep, rich Ruby, the assassination-boosting Enhancement covered the blue-black steel and slowly beating flames inside, dark and pure as fresh blood.
He stared at it, clearly knowing what it meant, and with a flick of his wrist, Regrets spun once in nimble fingers.
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Bloody Ruby crimson also covered his Knife, where only metal had shown before.
A Rune gleamed on Quaver, and the Ruby washed away as if it had never been there. A flick of his fingers, and Soulfire and Ruby washed away on Regrets as well, leaving only a length of blue-black metal gleaming sharply there with a deadly promise, seemingly more an extension of the man who held it than a Weapon in its own right.
It was his own regrets given form, after all...
“Clearly your mother raised you right, Your Highness,” he half-smiled, managing a smooth approximation of a courtier’s bow without much effort. Regrets vanished as he did so, and we all flicked off or returned our Weapons to their scabbards respectively.
“She did indeed. You can inform Briggs that we’ll be there to greet him shortly, which won’t surprise him at all when you tell him there’s a full Magos with me,” Kris replied.
He glanced at me sharply before asking, “You are going to attempt a run to Stonehold?” he asked quickly. “The way is still very dangerous…”
Kris just smiled again, eight canines and Cursemark combining with the way her pale violet eyes lit up softly to make a truly intimidating sight. “While that is very tempting, no. Our way will be much faster,” she purred in a voice laden with battle-hunger. “Teleporting about as readily as you do will come later, Master Oswald.”
He glanced at me, I just raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled softly. “I see,” he said, only somewhat ruefully. “So, the defenses Briggs has installed about Stonehold do indeed have deeper meanings…”
“The undead certainly have methods of tracking those who use Portal magic, and your Teleporting about is simply an unconfined version of the same thing, Master Oswald. You’ve been quite circumspect about it, but there is little doubt the elite among the undead know what you can do. It simply hasn’t impressed them enough to do anything about it,” I informed him quietly.
“I see. And their ability to see from afar, as well as curtailing any ability of the virindi to fly, seems to have had some effect in recent days, as well,” he remarked thoughtfully.
“That Amulet you are wearing is not going to block the scrying efforts of the most powerful undead, but it is capable of stopping minor attempts at the same thing. I would guess that you have kept a low enough profile to not attract their more pressing attention from whatever schemes and faction politics they are embroiled in.”
He gave me another careful look, his statement probing what I knew clearly indicating I didn’t think much of his question, and he really didn’t know what was going on at the magical level… which was only appropriate. He had other areas of expertise.
“I will make plans to… improve my privacy situation, then, Magos,” he nodded slowly. “If our matters are done here, then?”
“For your information, it is incredibly easy to trace the destination of a Teleportation from the spot is is initiated from, and then replicate the Teleport itself with minimal effort and absolute success,” I deigned to inform him, and he flinched slightly. “Yes. If you’ve done this in a combat situation, it is entirely likely that the undead can now follow right along to wherever you Teleported to, and simply have been waiting for an appropriate time to surprise you with that fact.”
He actually clenched his teeth, and a muscle ticced in his jaw. “It appears I am going to have to have Master Briggs expand the Wards he put up to some other locations, and quickly!” he said grimly, favoring me with another look. “Thank you for that information, Lady Magos. I had no idea of such a clear vulnerability.”
“Perhaps you might like to sit down and talk about the limits and capabilities of the tricks you’ve discovered. I imagine knowing their limits and how to leverage their strengths would be extremely useful for you.”
“Ah.” He wasn’t used to generosity directed at him, that was plain. “I… will consider that, and perhaps set a lunch date at some time in the future.”
“As the Master wishes.” I waved it off absently, and could almost feel his internal sigh. He was indeed supremely skilled at his chosen trade, but that trade only touched on magic for the gifts to enhance it, it did not truly include more than the mildest understanding of it.
I knew far, far more about his capabilities than he did about mine, and my versatility grew every day I could Cast Exemplar Surge and add a new spell to my library.
With a flourish both contrived and natural, his green cloak billowed, swept around him, and appeared to settle in and draw tight about itself, darkening and dissipating into the night and shadows all around. Master Osawald, the Green Hunter, the most feared hunter of men and assassin in Dereth, was gone.
I lifted my head to survey his path, noting it led northwest along very close to the proper angle to take it back to Stonehold.
“He likely has a compound nearby and outside the city,” I judged, studying it. “About a mile to the northeast of it, judging by the angle, or he’s simply recalled himself to a spot nearby to shake the casual divination of his destination,” I informed Lord Mick and Princess Kristie.
“He’s never been a slow learner, that one,” the Mick agreed. “Clever enough to actually mentor Borelean after trying to kill the King’s own mother, aye, Master Oswald’s not lacking in the cunning department, lass.”
“As long as he directs that cunning to getting rid of those who think cleverness excuses all moral failings, I will applaud his ingenuity. That’s probably the hardest Emerald I’ve ever seen,” Kris observed.
“Rare, that,” I agreed. “He’s gone beyond money for killing, realizing where it was taking him, and pushed himself beyond it. An Emerald Aura is not something anyone stumbles into.”
“It’s not just an evolution of Brown?” The Mick arched his eyebrow in some surprise. Brown was everywhere, especially among the tribal races and civilians who didn’t want to go out and fight.
“No, Emerald takes the formation of a personal philosophy that eschews the major forces and attempts to stand apart from them. Some say it represents the idealization of a sapient’s attempt to grow beyond the Alignments and act in accord with Nature and existence itself.” I just shrugged. “It’s taking a stand to not take a stand, in the end. Free Will leads to weird areas. Nature is not the Alignments, it’s the result of them pushing and pulling at one another, and goes out of balance fairly easily, all things told.
“Let’s get out of here, Tou-Tou is waiting.”
My Teleporting wasn’t as neat and artful as his, but I could do it more times per day, if needed…