Wind whistled through the rafters of the shadowy lumber mill. The room was filled with that warm smell of recently sawed wood, courtesy of the stacks of pine and teak planks that lined the walls. At the heart of the mill stood a massive band saw, but a few other mechanical contraptions could also be seen hidden in the corners alongside the carpentry stations.
Gears of green copper, rods of bronze and steel – much of the equipment looked to have been cobbled together from salvaged dwarven machinery. The brands and runes of a dozen clans and a thousand artisans painted a map of the dwarven world. They were bits and pieces – taken by trade or force – and much like their once proud creators they now served a purpose most utilitarian and crude – as cogs in the machines of war or the economies that fueled them.
Amidst the stores of resting lumber and sleeping machinery a man was hard at work under the red glow of a lantern’s light. Wearing a fine silk shirt that he had left unbuttoned, the man paced around the carpentry table bare footed as he leveraged the chisel against the wood. His black velvet pants were covered in sawdust and showed signs of recent abuse by the rough surfaces of the workstation. The man clearly did not care for destroying his expensive clothing as he went about his feverish carpentry.
The chisel in his hand etched shapes into the soft wood to the rhythmic thumping of the mallet as it struck. Lost in his work he failed to notice when a woman covered in a dark red cape slid her way into the workshop. Walking ever so softly across the worn out floorboards she moved to position herself at the man’s back in an effort to hide her approach.
The floorboards creaked slightly as they gave way under the weight of the man as he paced around his table, yet the crimson woman made no sound as she walked across the same foundation. Weighed down by heavy armor her steel clad feet slid across the ground in eerie silence. The sharp shadow of her form walked ahead of her while all the other shadows in the room obeyed the red lantern’s light and lingered in the background.
Having finally sensed her presence the man ceased his frantic chiseling. His grip tightened around the mallet in his hand – a show of anxiousness. Perhaps it was a sign of fear. His heavy tool remained raised for the swing as he examined the armored woman from the corner of his eye.
The strange shadow shifted beneath the woman’s feet and took its place behind her, where it remained dancing to the flicker of the lantern’s light.
Realizing that she had been noticed the woman gave up on her clandestine effort and stepped half way out into the open. She graced the man with a sad smile as the lantern’s light now fully revealed her armored shape. The left half of her body remained hidden under the veil of her crimson cloak.
The man’s face warped in a kindred expression of sad joy as if the realization was unwelcome but expected. “It’s been a while since your last visit, Diana,” he said without turning to face her. Alistair carried on with his woodwork while conversing with the woman standing in both the shadow and the light. “If I had let my guard down you could have gotten within an arm’s reach.”
“Always weary of assassins, are you?” Diana asked. Her raven black hair rose and fell around the edges of her armored collar as she tilted her head. “Have you that many enemies, Lord Wayland?” she asked.
Alistair changed out his tools for a piece of sandpaper and set to smoothing out the edges of his carving. “The first hundred years or so were the most hectic,” he said, “Sometimes the last man…” He paused and gave her a second look, “Or woman, was still swinging from the gallows when a new noose had to be measured.
I knew a hangman in every village back then. By then name even, if you can believe it. And in spite of what common folk might think of them, the executioners do make for better company than the priests. Honest the lot of them. Don’t fear death either.”
“So, what changed?” Diana asked, “Did the Dread Lords learn to leave you alone?”
“No,” the man replied and chuckled. “By the end of the century there were none left. None from before the Fall, that is. The ones that rose to power after their passing… they just couldn’t measure up to the Damned generation.”
“You are talking about merciless mages past their expiration date,” Diana said. “If anything, in un-death they have become more dangerous.”
“Yes,” Lord Wayland admitted, “But they are too sluggish, too paranoid to exercise the true extent of their power. With all the infighting, I sometimes wonder how they have managed to last this long, or why the rest of the world fears them so.”
“Sometimes it’s enough to be feared,” Diana suggested. “Earn a reputation for savagery and problems – meaning people – will avoid you like the plague. That much you yourself have established, I reckon.”
Diana’s face warped in a sly grin. “Oh, how they talk of you and the curse you carry. The black dragoon, the red dragoon… the red baron, I think was the latest.”
Alistair nodded. “I prefer the last one, yes. The name looks good on the bottles of wine that I ship out to Harn’Ador. The dwarves certainly don’t seem to care for how I got it as long as the red keeps flowing.”
“I’m sure that the Dread Lords can’t be placated with a dink,” Diana said, “No matter how… exotic is namesake.”
“No,” Alistair admitted, “But they are not a threat to me or the Temple at the moment. Not unless they band together their armies for a new march south – which they won’t.”
“They might,” Diana suggested. “The pilgrims have lost two fortresses in the last month alone. With the paltry support they have gotten for this season of campaigning I wouldn’t be surprised to see their retreat turn into full blow rout.”
“And what if does?” Alistair asked. “Pilgrimages have ended in disaster before, but no matter how strong the Dread Lords might seem when facing an outside threat, I have never seen them pursue a common goal without imminent threat looming over their dried up heads.
They are but children playing in the ash: squabbling over the coals of what once was; hoarding the ambers of what little remains. Mere shadows of the monsters that came before,” He said and gave Diana a weary look. “Not like you. Not real monsters. Not to be feared.”
“Is that what I am to you?” Diana asked, “A monster?”
Alistair let go of the worn out strip of sandpaper letting it fall to the ground where it settled among the sawdust. “We both are,” he said and looked her in the eyes. “Is that what why you have come – to remind me of it?”
“I have come to remind you of your duty to our master,” Diana said. “If you want to remain in his good graces then I suggest you start delivering what was promised.”
“Alright,” Alistair said and snapped his fingers, “Might as well show you the fruits of my labor.”
From the corner of the dark room emerged a hulking black armor clad warrior. The floor boards creaked in pain as the creature lumbered its way to Alistair’s side. As the black knight took its place next to his master the creature’s un-dead state was revealed in its face – a bone-bare expression glared at Diana in silent anticipation. Its head was the one part of the body that wasn’t covered by the heavy plates of armor and only a dark red cowl shielded it from the elements.
“I could let you spar with it,” Alistair suggested, “But I would rather do it elsewhere. I am sure you wouldn’t want to make a mess of this place.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Diana said. “I trust that your death knight knows how to fight, but I see that it still shares the common weaknesses of its ilk.”
“Does it now?” Alistair said. He picked up the chisel from the table and threw it over to Diana. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
The red priestess flipped the chisel in her right hand and grabbed it by the sharp end. Then she threw it at the knight’s head. The weapon carried true and looked like it would hit the undead warrior between the eyes when a dark aura flashed into existence around the knight’s head. The chisel veered off from its target and flew past the skull, piercing the cloth of its cowl and embedding itself into the wall at the back of the room with a loud thud.
Alistair winced in disappointment. “I would have preferred for the aura to deflect it completely, but, then again, it was you throwing it. As you might imagine, no mere mortal can expect to land an easy hit on one of my death knights.”
“I wasn’t even using my strong arm,” Diana remarked.
She walked up to the death knight and examined it. “How many do you have?”
“Too few to make a difference, for now,” Alistair answered. “Even one is excessively expensive to produce, but I am sure that I can streamline the process in the future. The bones need to be of top quality, as does the armor. Once I have assembled the physical body, however, shortages of soul essence and arcanite are my biggest concern.”
“I will see what I can do about it,” Diana said.
She slid her fingers into the gaps of the knight’s armor and tested how much the joints gave way when pressured. “There is too much space between the plates,” she noted. “I could drive my sword up into it,” she said and pointed to a weak spot at the bottom of the chest plate, “And if I could leverage myself against one of the legs, I don’t think the arcane bindings of the bones would hold.”
“Blunt trauma and physical tearing is still an issue,” Alistair admitted, “But I don’t have the forge facilities or craftsmen to carry out full body casting. For now we will have to make do with the traditional methods.”
“Hold back on full production,” Diana advised him. “If it means inferior warriors, then we shouldn’t be wasting resources while we are not sure that we even need an army assembled.
You should focus on the procurement of soul essence instead. As for arcanite, I will look into the matter myself.”
“So I take it that you are satisfied,” Alistair asked.
Diana nodded. “Your work in the field of necromancy is what will bring this world out of its dark age. Undead labor and sentries, however, won’t be to everyone’s liking. There is still a war to be won and we need all the assets we can get.”
Alistair waved at Diana’s concealed left arm. “Come on,” he said, “I showed you mine, now show me yours.”
Diana slowly pulled away the cape revealing a twisted and uneven shoulder pad and then the rest of the disfigured arm. Upon closer inspection in became clear that the armor she wore actually ended at the shoulder and the crude, gray and black thing that sprouted forth from it was a part of her body. Hard like stone and bulky, the uneven mass appeared to have fused with her flesh.
“A gift from the Night Father,” Diana said and clenched her talon like fingers to show Alistair that they worked as intended. “A crude tool – to be sure – but a necessary one.”
Alistair shook his head in disappointment. “And what was the price? How much exactly have you given up to bear this power?”
“No more than you paid for your curse,” she replied.
“Fair enough,” Alistair agreed.
“So, what is it that brings you to my little corner of the world?” he asked. “I trust it isn’t the great wine and excellent company.”
“I’m headed down south to Harn’Ador,” Diana said. “From what I have gathered the city holds quite the collection of Titan artifacts. Some even say that it is one of the original dwarven holds. And if that is true, then there should be a gateway hidden at its core.”
“You think that the gate might still be functional?” Alistair asked.
Diana shrugged. “What have you heard of it?”
Alistair picked up a fresh strip of sandpaper and carried on with his work as he spoke. “Wild rumors, mostly. But from time to time I have been getting reliable reports of unusual arcane activity in the upper districts.
The funny thing is – the reports always coincide with the death of a high king. So that’s, uh, roughly every forty years or so that the slave markets get flooded with requests for merchandise gifted in magic. And that’s just about the only time that traders bother bringing elven slaves to the Golden City to sell.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Diana asked. “Dwarves purchasing elven slaves? And potentially dangerous ones at that...”
“Dangerous if kept alive,” Alistair said, “But the thing about the slaves that get shipped to Harn’Ador around the time of the king’s passing is that none ever seem to leave the city.
And then there is the issue of the dwarven nobles going missing. I have lost contact with one too many business associates over the centuries following these ‘funeral processions’. Whole families, in fact, have simply disappeared in the wake of one. Their slaves, retainers and household guard all get erased from the official ledgers. Census data gets altered too.
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Now, if this was happening in any human kingdom I would have written these disappearances off as the new ruler cleaning house. You know, getting rid of old competitors and the disloyal members of the court. But this is Harn’Ador and it has only one ruling family. They have no opposition, no internal strife and political ambitions to curb.
So, I am left to consider two possibilities: either the cream of the dwarven society in Harn’Ador gets purged – for whatever reason – after a high king dies, or–”
“–They follow him into the afterlife,” Diana said. “And the need for blood sacrifices to power the arcane engines in the bowels of the Harn’Ador hold is what triggers the fluctuations in magic during the funeral procession. The gate requires a lot of souls to be opened.”
Alistair nodded. “I haven’t been able to keep a reliable informant inside the upper city for centuries now. It’s all webs of lies to the outsiders and unwavering loyalty to the clans on the inside.
But things are slowly changing. I could probably learn a lot more if got access to the High King’s court, but they have been very careful to limit my interaction with the nobles directly.
“All this time and they still haven’t given you access to the dwarven quarters of the city?” Diana asked.
“They know what I am,” Alistair said, “They still fear me ‘corrupting’ their society. As if knowledge of the necromantic arts was some disease that could be passed on by mere proximity. The bloody thing takes study and a good deal of luck not to end up a hollow lich by your own hand. Not that the purists would even consider it.
“Yet they still trade with you,” Diana noted.
“Trade with me?” Alistair scoffed. “They can’t get enough of my wines. And the mythril dust that I produce in my moon gardens is the standard that they hold all other merchants to.
If you see a dwarven noble walking around in that accursed moon metal jewelry then you can bet I had a hand it making it. And they spend half of their days drunk so I have my hand in that business too.”
“And yet we are considered beneath them,” Diana noted with irony.
“No,” Alistair raised his hand, “When they look down they see our shadows and think that they can tread on them with impunity. But in realty we loom so great and dangerous over them that they have yet to realize their insignificance in the grand scheme of things.”
“Yes, it’s always a surprise when a shadow kills you.”
Diana’s ear perked up as she overheard soft footsteps coming from the entrance behind her. Her shadow once more shifted in a way contrary to the light falling over the room. Having covered up her disfigured left arm with the cape she gave Alistair a serious look. “I think our time is up,” Diana said.
Alistair nodded. “You look good,” he said. “All things considered.”
Diana smiled. “Time certainly has spared you its heavy hand.”
***
Vivian passed the two human sentries standing guard at the entrance of the lumber mill and went inside. Leaving the sunlit world behind her, she delved into the shadowy realm in search of her master.
“Lord Wayland,” she called out to him while navigating her way towards the red lantern’s light. “The witnesses have arrived and the prisoners have been–” Vivian trailed off as she noted the presence of the crimson woman and the death knight standing guard at her master’s side.
“–prepared…
Is everything alright, My Lord?” she asked. Her hand instinctively reached for the dagger on her belt.
“Its fine,” Alistair replied. “She is an old friend. I should probably introduce you,” he said and gestured at the red priestess, “Vivian, this is Diana–”
“Albrecht,” Diana said and bowed her head. “I am sure you have already met my little brother, Lucius.
Please tell me that he has not left the cart unsupervised. ”
Vivian looked confounded by her implication. “The white haired Temple priest? I saw him arrive a little while ago, but… you weren’t in the cart with him.”
“You probably just weren’t paying attention,” Diana suggested.
Vivian’s gaze narrowed in response to the implied negligence on her behalf. “You weren’t in the cart,” she said with confidence.
“I said that you didn’t see me,” Diana corrected her, “Not that I wasn’t there.”
“Ladies,” Alistair intervened, “Let tend to more pressing matters.
Thank you for notifying me, Vivian. Please, let the servants know that I will be having my breakfast now.”
He turned to Diana. “Would you care to join me? There are some matters that we can still discuss freely.”
“I would be delighted, My Lord,” Diana said and followed Alistair outside. They were met with frantic scurrying of well dressed servants as they went about preparing the breakfast table on a grassy hillock next to the lumber mill. The spot they had chosen had a good view of both the compound and the dirt road leading through it. The seats were also set high enough that the prisoners could be seen at their posts further down below.
By now a few interesting figures had gathered inside the compound alongside the Baron’s guards and servants. There was the overstocked cart that Diana had arrived in. A band of wood elves had taken up place beside it. They looked like they were arguing over something. Then there was a lone elven woman standing on the opposite side of the road from the rest of her kind. She had a bow slung over one shoulder and a backpack over the other.
While Diana and Alistair took their seats at the table, Vivian went down to get Lucius to join them. She soon returned with the white haired youth in tow and showed him to his seat next to the priestess. Vivian then took her place standing at her master’s back. The mute man, Oscar, remained near the elven visitors watching over them.
“You must be Lucius,” Alistair noted and leaned forward to shake the man’s hand.
“Lucius Albrecht,” the youth confirmed and accepted the greeting. “Pardon me, Lord Wayland, but I will start by apologizing on Diana’s behalf. She can sometimes be a little tactless.”
“Yes, your… sister– she can be very direct. But that is not a bad trait have for a servant of the faith.
Speaking of the Temple, what is your current relationship with the clergy? Are you still an acolyte, or are you on a pilgrimage? The white hair – I believe it was a side effect of your upbringing?”
“Arcanite has flowed through my body from a very young age,” Lucius explained. “I am sure you have seen its effect on mages and priests before.”
“Yes, but it takes them years to ruin their bodies with the stuff,” Alistair said. “A man of your youth shouldn’t be exhibiting such symptoms. I feel sorry for your health. The Temple does call for sacrifices from its followers, I suppose.”
“Don’t be,” Lucius said, “I haven’t suffered any ill effects from my training. I am sure that there are others who would have paid the price gladly, if it was for the betterment of mankind.”
Alistair smiled. “No ill effects, you say...”
“I counted fifteen prisoners when I arrived,” Diana said shifting the conversation. “Have you been saving up or is this a special occasion?”
“A coincidence, really,” Alistair answered and waved for one of the servants to bring forth wine. “I believe some were brought in for fighting in the streets of one of the harbor towns. The others caused some trouble with one of my wood elf vassals. They were running a smuggling operation through their forest.”
Diana burst out in laughter. “Are they nuts? Who would risk breaking your laws? What did they expect would happen?”
Alistair waved at Vivian beckoning his servant to elaborate. He then took out a glass vial and poured a spoonful of bright purple dust into his wine cup.
“A pilgrim ship came into the harbor about a week ago,” Vivian explained while Alistair was busy stirring his drink. “They had suffered damage in a storm on their way to the Golden City. We arranged to help them with the repairs, as per our treaty with the Temple. Unfortunately, the pilgrims decided to assault another traveler in the town during that time.”
“You mean the werewolf?” Diana asked.
Vivian winced as the priestess interrupted her. “The very same,” she said. “We allow trade with Skand raiders in our ports. In return they give our lands and shipping a wide birth.”
“I doubt that the pilgrims attacked him because they took him for a pirate,” Alistair suggested and took a drink from his cup. “Passionate the holy warriors are, but it often causes them to lose sense.”
He looked to Lucius. “I hope I am not offending you?” he asked. “Temple’s servants tend be touch on the subject of stray dogs from their pack.”
“Not at all,” Lucius replied. “The Temple is big and its people are countless in number. Overzealous fools are plentiful among us, unfortunately.”
“The pilgrims attacked the beast in broad daylight,” Vivian continued. “The Skand killed eight on the spot, four we later had to harvest on account of them being mortally wounded. The eight that you saw next to him are what was left of the crew.”
“The Temple is sure to take an issue with this,” Diana suggested. “I don’t think they will appreciate you sentencing pilgrims to death without a senior Temple official at hand to defend them.”
“I don’t really care,” Alistair said. “They have no power here. What little respect they have garnered with the peasants over the centuries can all be lost in an instant, if I so desire. These are my people and my lands.”
“Alright,” Diana moved on, “The pilgrims broke the truce and they get to die for their trouble. Fair is fair, but what about the werewolf? Wasn’t he the offended party?”
“Are you arguing for the life of a beast?” Alistair asked.
“The life of a monster,” Diana corrected him. “I am curious, is all.”
“The beast wounded two of our guards before the mages arrived and restrained him,” Vivian explained. “That also constitutes him breaking the law.”
“It is simply such a waste,” Diana said. “I could really use a heavy handed brute like him in Harn’Ador.”
“You still haven’t told me what you were planning to do,” Alistair said.
Diana leaned forward and tore off half a loaf of bread. “I think I am going to open up a bakery,” she said and gave Vivian a questioning look. “I am sure your people could supply me with some grain to get me started. Or, better yet, a wagon of flour so that I don’t need to worry about the outrageous prices in Harn’Ador’s markets.”
“Alright,” Alistair said and leaned back in his chair. “Amuse me.”
Diana nodded. “I am an outsider, so I will probably start off my business in the wrong side of town. Shady Shore, probably. A fishing port is out of sight and out of mind, after all.
–Can’t take over one of the trade harbors what with all the crime and corruption in human districts. Not yet, at least.”
“You’re going to have that beast baking bread in Shady Shore?” Vivian scoffed. “Seems a bit reckless when dealing with an animal, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t know what sort of work he is going to do yet,” Diana said. “All I know is that he could be more useful alive than dead.”
“Why not,” Alistair said. “You have my permission to take him.
Do you want any of the other prisoners as well?”
“No,” Diana replied, “They bore me.
But I would like to have your assassin with me,” she said. “I am sure I could find a use for her and her silent companion.”
Vivian’s gaze narrowed in disgust.
“I must refuse,” Alistair said. “She has served me well and I would loathe to ever part with her.”
In response to her Lord statement Vivian dawned a self-satisfied smirk that only the guests could see.
“However,” Alistair continued, “I believe I could loan her to you. Some things still require her attention, but Vivian should be able to handle them handily.”
Vivian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “My Lord,” she objected, “Are you sure–”
Alistair raised his finger to silence her. “Lady Albrecht and I are about to embark on a very peculiar business relationship. Surely you wouldn’t mind being my eyes and ears in Harn’Ador?
This is not a punishment, my dear. You might not realize it, but being around Lady Diana can be very rewarding for an individual. If anything, it would help you improve– I don’t mean to say that you are lacking in anything particular, but growth must be embraced. And the best way to do it is through challenge.
Take it from a man who has led many lives. Don’t pass up this responsibility I am offering you.”
“I just don’t see what I could possibly learn from overseeing this mad scheme,” Vivian said. She gave Diana a look filled with contempt. “She’s a Temple priestess. What does she know of the shadows?”
Diana gently brushed her right hand over the crimson cloak covering her left side. “You will find out soon enough,” she said.
“What about that girl?” Lucius asked. He pointed to the lone she-elf standing on the side of the road. “Maybe we could bring her along?”
“Probably,” Alistair shrugged. “She has become a bit of burden, actually. I was wonder on how to deal with her.”
He turned to Vivian. “Bring her to us, please.
Oh, and let the elders know that we will start executing the prisoners soon. Our honorable guests shouldn’t be kept waiting much longer.”
Vivian nodded and left her Lord’s side. She soon returned with the elven woman.
Aela was a tall woman of humble stock. She carried her long straw yellow hair in a single braid over her shoulder. As a wood elf of low birth she likely had spent most of her life as a hunter or a ranger for her tribe. The long time spent in the wilderness had weathered her skin and her hands looked like they were accustomed to hard work.
As she was brought before her Lord, Aela kneeled before Alistair and presented her bow in a manner similar to a knight presenting his sword in fealty. She bowed her head as she spoke, “Lord Wayland, I offer my bow in service to your house. I am Aela Weisoth. I am daughter of Lidian and I swear to carry out any task given to me. If you accept, then I will fight and die in your name.”
Having said her peace, the she-elf remained kneeling as she awaited her Lord’s reply. Her hands were lightly trembling, but it was not because of the weight of the bow.
“She’s terrible at this,” Diana noted.
“Rise, daughter of Lidian,” Alistair ordered. He nodded at the group of elves that were now heading for the execution grounds. “I understand that you have been banished from your tribe in light of your transgressions?”
“I– have…” Aela replied and bowed deeply. It was a stiff gesture – she probably wasn’t used to graveling before nobility.
“You already failed your people,” Alistair said. “Helping smugglers isn’t something I look on favorably either. Or am I wrong? Did you or did you not commit this felony?”
“I did,” Aela answered, “But I only did it to–”
Alistair coughed in his hand to silence her. “Whatever the justification, I don’t care. You committed a crime and punishment is rightfully due. And now you expect me to take you under my roof? You could be the best archer in the whole of the land, for all that I care, and it still would smell foul to the other tribes.”
Aela bowed her head. “I understand.”
“You should be thankful to your tribe’s elders for all that they have done to spare you,” Alistair continued. “The only reason why your human accomplices are being executed and you are not is that you are not an outsider. But my protection will only extend so far. Break my laws and my benevolence no longer applies.”
Aela jumped at the opportunity to explain herself once again before her lord. “I know that smuggling was wrong, but–”
“It’s not wrong!” Alistair shouted over her. “It’s a pretty damned good way of making something of yourself, if you can pull it off. But you couldn’t. You took the wrong path at the wrong time of day and as a result I am obliged by law to kill six poor sods that got caught because of you.
Daughter of Lidian, you do not disappoint me because you broke a law that forbade the trade of whatever silly thing they caught you with. I didn’t make those laws; the merchant guilds have forced them on me as much as the rest of the living world. Whatever your actions were, they probably caused no real harm to my people, anyway.
No, you disappoint me because you were negligent. How long have you been doing this?”
“About a year, My Lord,” Aela replied.
“Now that was a lie,” Alistair said. “Don’t lie to me. I can sense your guilt.”
He looked to Vivian. “How long has she been doing this?”
Vivian shrugged. “The smugglers changed with every trip. We couldn’t get much information out of the men we captured.”
Alistair looked to Diana.
“Two and a half years,” the red priestess proclaimed.
Both Aela and Vivian were taken aback by the accusation of the stranger. And at least one of them knew for certain that the red priestess was speaking the truth.
“How much money did you make over the years?” Diana asked. “What did you do with it? And why would you risk it in the first place?
Unfortunately for you, that matters not right now. Maybe someday you can unburden yourself of the guilt, but it is not this day.”
Diana turned to Alistair. “Lord Wayland, I sense that this girl had no malicious intent, but I agree that her crimes should be punished. Would you mind if I made her work them off?”
“Fine by me,” Alistair said and waived for the elven woman to leave. “You can take her, the werewolf and one of the carts from the guards. That should give you enough assets to get started in Harn’Ador. I will send Vivian and Oscar down to the Golden City when I can.
I expect this to make for a fine distraction.”
“Is there anything that you would like for me to arrange once I have established myself?” Diana asked.
“Well, if I could finally get to see the dwarven quarters with my own eyes, I would consider it to have been worth my while,” Alistair said.
“If you can keep me supplied, I will have you standing before the High King himself,” Diana said.
“That would be very kind of you,” Alistair grinned, “I have always wanted to pull a dwarven king by the beard – see if the damn thing comes off!
Now, if you will excuse me, I have people to kill.” Lord Wayland finished his wine and left to carry out the executions.