The carriage bearing the trunk rolled into Yaal in the early morning hours. The driver went straight to the mage’s tower at the center of town, waiting impatiently for the gate to be opened.
At last, he was admitted to the flowery garden that led up to the tower’s entrance. He waited again at the front door for one of the mages to greet him.
The door cracked open and a weathered face peered out, eyes creased at the corner as he looked over the carriage with interest. Slowly, he drew the door open and stepped outside.
“Vasileios?” He asked, shaggy white brows drawing together.
The driver shook his head solemnly. “I looked everywhere for him. When he was nowhere to be found, I decided to come straight here.”
The old man chewed his lip, taking ambling steps forward until he could lean on the carriage and just see over its edge to the heavy trunk. There wasn’t much to see. They’d purposefully chosen an unassuming design, having it magically imbued for the purpose of containing the magical weapons.
“All right then,” the old man said at length. “Bring it inside. They’ll have questions, you know.”
The driver nodded, hopping down from his bench and going around to the back. He found the trunk surprisingly light as he pulled it from the carriage, following the elder inside the tower. Behind him, the doors were closed and barred, and he was led to a circular room with a single table in the middle.
He placed the trunk on the table as other mages began to filter into the room around him. Soon, the space with cramped with robed bodies pressing in, eager to see the contents of the trunk.
The driver stepped aside, making room for the old mage as he came forward. Looking around, he silenced the excited whispers coursing around the room. Then, he whispered a single word and placed his hand upon the trunk’s lock. There was a barely audible click as the lock was released, and he lifted the lid.
Another wave of whispers and gasps flowed through the gathered mages as a soft golden light filled the room.
The head mage leaned forward, examining the contents for a moment before lifting his head and turning to the driver, his face set with anger.
“Where are the others?” He demanded.
A hush fell over the room and the driver’s eyes went wide.
“I- I do not know,” he stammered, flattening himself against the wall.
All eyes were upon him, many of them narrowed with suspicion as the head mage closed in on him.
“Did that snake Vasileios take them? Hm? Sell them off somewhere along the way?”
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The driver shook his head vehemently. “I do not know, but I think not. We didn’t stop anywhere but Gullyhaven, and that was abandoned. And then, he vanished. But he did not open the trunk a single time after we left Torg Uyen, and it was in my sight at all times.”
The mage glowered at him, considering his answer. The man could not be lying. For one thing, there were only a handful of people who could have opened the trunk once it was sealed at Torg Uyen. But then, where were the other artifacts?
He turned back to the trunk, counting them once more. His eyes scanned over the contents. Three missing artifacts: the sword, the divining rods, and the mace. So far as he knew, they did not have anything in particular in common, other than their magical attributes. He supposed it was possible that Geor had not possessed all of them in the first place, although the mages had searched all of Andrysfal and come up empty in recent years.
Considering this, he turned back to the driver, giving him an apologetic smile. “We thank you for your service. Now, if you wouldn’t mind joining us down the hall, we’ve prepared a feast of celebration, and we would hear of your journey.”
The driver visibly relaxed, following the mages as they moved into a larger room and took seats at long tables laden with food.
“Tell me of Gullyhaven,” the mage said, heaping food onto his plate and gesturing for the driver to serve himself.
With a wave of his hand, the mage drew the attention of a young acolyte, bending his head to whisper something into the boy’s ear before sending him away again.
“It was… haunted,” the driver said. “Vasileios insisted on stopping to water the horse and have a look around. I waited a long time for him, afraid to wander too far away from the carriage, but when he didn’t return, I rode through the streets calling out his name. He was nowhere. Everything was all locked up, and then the weather turned bad. There was this dark fog covering everything. Couldn’t hardly see for it all.”
“Mm. Anything else?”
The driver chewed on a hunk of bread, thinking for a while. The acolyte returned, setting down two goblets of wine before slipping away silently again. Taking a sip of the wine, the driver nodded.
“There was this fountain. Strange thing. I don’t remember ever seeing it before. I haven’t been around Gullyhaven much, but I think I’d remember something like that. Anyway, it was enormous, dozens of spouts coming from all kinds of creatures. They looked almost real, too. Not like statues at all. Whoever carved them like that, he was a real artist. Not sure why he’d waste his time in that little town, though. Anyway, the water was crystal clear. It made you want to sit there all day long, staring into its depths. I wouldn’t mind visiting that place again someday. You know, once the people return and things. Maybe I’d even take my lady to see it. She’d like that.”
He smiled wistfully at the thought, and the old mage nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. All around him, conversation burbled, nearly all of it full of conjecture about the missing artifacts. Of course, he would have to find those, too. But if this story about the fountain was true, he had to get to Gullyhaven immediately. Before the gateway closed once more.
He was mulling this over, wondering how quickly he could put together a travel party, when the driver made a sound. The man coughed, his eyes going wide. His hand came up to clutch at his throat and he made a wheezing noise, struggling for breath. The mage watched impassively, tearing another chunk of bread away and placing it on his tongue.
The driver’s skin turned a shade of red and then blue, and finally, he slumped forward onto the table, spilling a trencher of gravy in the process.
The mage finished chewing, frowning down at the back of the man’s head.
“Again, we thank you for your service,” he muttered, lifting the man by the hair out of the plate of food with a disgusted look and gesturing for the acolytes to come forward and carry the body away.