Vedek

Vedek stood adjacent to Juan and Alfonso Barcel. All three held there bows taught, prepared to fire. The door to the basement was narrow, not allowing for decent sight lines. If Vedek had not heard the telltale sound of crossbows loading inside, their forces would have breached the door into a killing field.

To solve this problem, the minotaurs were carrying a coatlmade diquis into position. The weapon was similar to the Mercin ballista, but smaller and fired bolts tipped with heavy, spherical heads. Vedek gave the signal and the thick bowstring of the diquis snapped forward. Only one shot was needed to shatter the door. Wooden shrapnel expelled into the hall with all the force of a prize fighter’s fist. It was a fine way of disorienting the prison guards on the other side. Quick like lightning, Vedek and the Barcel brothers entered the hall and unleashed their arrows on their first sighted targets.

The tactic worked. Three human guards jerked back from the arrows’ strike. Vedek stepped aside to allow their melee fighters to rush inward to take the rest. Frost led this contingent. Not because he ranked higher, but because he was the most eager.

The ensuing melee was brief. It matched their initial assault of the prison, where only a skeleton crew of guards halted them from breaking the main gate. It could also be that their forces were overwhelming to begin with. Thezzus wanted to defeat the Order soundly and sent an intentional overestimation of soldiers. Looking at their minimal losses, it was difficult to argue with the results.

Cole approached Vedek’s left shoulder. He was holding a damp rag to his forehead. When they demolished the main gates a stray piece of rubble had struck the boy and rendered him briefly unconscious. It had been a comedic moment and a reminder that, despite his stellar performance in the Emperor’s Clash, Cole was still inexperienced.

“The, uh, storage shed is clear.” Cole mumbled. That had been his assignment once they secured the courtyard.

“Your eyes say it wasn’t easy.” Vedek remarked. Cole had a sunken look on his face that hadn’t been there since their reunion in Spiral City.

“No. It...It was.” Cole pulled the rag away from his head. The bloody mark was clearing up. “It was just...full of severed horns. Diablan horns, I guess. Did you know those bleed as they crumble to dust? I do now.”

Vedek grimaced. It was difficult to comprehend cruelty with fresh eyes. In his four-hundred years, Vedek had heard many stories of similar acts of barbarism, and had even witnessed a handful. Their conversation was broken by Pallet forcing his way through. He plucked a coin from the air to occupy himself with as he surveyed the connecting rooms.

“Barracks. This is where the soldiers soldier.” He seemed disappointed. “The cells must be below. Second Era records say the bulk of the prison is underground.”

The door at the end of the hall creaked open. Pallet spun. The coin in his hand flew like a missile, striking hard on the forehead of the diablan entering the room. The strike had come as such a shock that the diablan lost their grip on the wall and collapsed to a sitting position.

“Vato hole!” The diablan cursed in a strained voice. “Who throws a coin? Wait, I know who throws a coin!”

Fern opened his eyes. Pallet had to do a double-take. He looked like he might hug his returned comrade, but instead he snatched up the coin on the ground.

“Well you can’t blame me for having a nervous hand here…” He scolded Fern. After a moment he tossed the coin to Fern and said: “It’s good to see you alive.”

“It’s good to be alive.” Fern laughed until a strangling cough overtook him.

Cole and Pallet rushed to Fern’s side. Cole put his hands to Fern’s vocal chords and inspected the inside of his throat.

“You’ve shredded your main instrument.” Cole quipped. He pointed to the shattered door to the outside. “Dirk’s with us. You met him, right? He might—he should—be able to help you.”

Fern set his hand on Pallet’s head, using him as support while the pair shuffled to the courtyard. Cole breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Fern go.

A shadow fell over Vedek. In the commotion of the moment he had missed the other two who had arrived with Fern. A minotaur broader than any he had seen prior, wrapped in chains as if they were armor, and a young diablan who looked starved and cautious.

Cole’s eyes were drawn to the diablan. “I know you. The Pavilion of Scrolls. Legion, right?”

The diablan’s fear melted to relief. “And you are Cole.”

“Hello again.” Azeroth said, coolly waving with two fingers.

“Burn me alive...Azeroth?” Legion’s surprise doubled. “You two know each other?”

“You two know each other?” Cole echoed. He gaped at Azeroth.

The boys decided it was best if Legion was escorted to the surface as well. Anticipating the rescue of prisoners Thezzus’ army brought excess provisions. Legion practically fainted at the prospect of filling his belly and seeing the sunlight again. Vedek expected the older minotaur to go with them, but he remained.

“Unfortunately, I think we might be the only prisoners you rescue today. It’s a slaughterhouse below.”

“Tamil-Ki!”

Vedek and the minotaur both cocked their heads at a nearby warrior. It was one of the minotaur militiamen. The soldier bowed his head while grasping the points of his horns.

The elder minotaur waived the gesture. “Stand down. No need for such formality when I’ve just been pulled from the dark.”

The younger soldier relaxed, but he still had an awestruck expression. It was a look that many of the minotaurs were mimicking.

“I take it Tamil-Ki is your name?” Vedek asked.

“Tamil-Ki is a rank. It means ‘Unconquered.’ Call me by my real name: Nosib Karnataka.”

Vedek looked at the minotaur with new eyes. “I know an Onakie Karnataka. We’ve fought many battles toghether.”

Nosib’s eyes lit and he exhaled mightily. “She is my daughter. My only child.”

Vedek was pushed aside so that Frost may greet the father of Onakie. Azeroth came in his own time, sizing the man up as he did.

“If you’re Onakie’s father, then there’s probably a few things you need to hear.”

Azeroth’s words gave Nosib pause, but he listened to the three’s brief summary of how the world had changed since his incarceration. Lyn arrived, rushing down the stairs and ignoring a bruise on the left side of her face. She was eager to join the party searching the lower levels for survivors. Evidently Fern had no clue as to what had happened to Trub following their incarceration. As that group departed, Vedek and his companions remained.

“I’m not surprised by the encroaching genocide, but that there is already such a strong opposition to it is...comforting.” Nosib cricked his neck after remaining still for so long. “I trusted Thezzus to lead in my stead. That he has the Order on the defensive shows that there may be a rainbow at the end of this storm.”

“He didn’t do it alone.” Azeroth muttered into his shoulder.

Cole descended the stairs with Legion beside him. The two were laughing at the punchline to an unheard joke. The young diablan looked relieved to be laughing at all. He carried two lukewarm tamales mashed between his bound hands.

“Any of you know how to get these off?” Cole pointed to Legion’s magebinders.

“You’re the lock picker.” Azeroth raised an eyebrow.

“They’re not locked though, they’re screwed in place, and the slot is unique.” Cole tilted Legion’s wrists so that they may observe the star shaped screw head.

“Fern thought the warden’s office was on this level.” Nosib took one of the tamales from Legion and shoved half the length into his mouth.

Azeroth and Frost had not noticed such a room when they were clearing the floor. Vedek’s eyes turned down. He could not say why, but he was drawn to a detail on the floor. A trail of bloody boot prints leading to the stairway Lyn’s party just took. It was not the same print as the guards or Thezzus’ soldiers. Wordlessly, Vedek traced the prints to a weapons rack. Not strange in of itself, but the prints led away from the rack with none leading to, or even lingering there. The rack itself was bare. Vedek knocked on one of the back panels. The sound reverberated.

Azeroth had been watching Vedek’s investigation and, not needing an explanation, nudged Vedek aside so that he may kick the rack in. His foot sank through the wood, revealing the secret room behind it. Cole cursed with wonder. Perhaps this seemed something out a story. To Vedek, the notion of concealed rooms and passages wasn’t all that astounding, not when the fae were so fond of them.

Combining their strength, Frost and Azeroth were able to dismantle the door. Not the intended method for entry, but effective nonetheless. The room was not large, but it was well furnished. A well-padded bed was slotted into the corner adjacent to a trio of desks littered with papers and shelves of miscellanea.

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Cole moved past Vedek to a series of hooks on the wall that held different tools. One was surely the screwdriver needed to relieve Legion’s fingers. He stumbled in place when he noticed the severed head of a human on the ground. The source of the blood Vedek had trailed. The head was familiar, and Vedek swore it was the farmer they had encountered on the outskirts of Spiral City. Legion ignored the head and instead scooped up something adjacent to it: A black wand nearly as long as his forearm. He seemed astounded to see the item.

“Death’s End!” He exclaimed. When the others looked at him questioningly, he explained that it was “his wand.”

While Cole freed Legion the rest cautiously explored the room. The papers on the desks were written in so many languages, often shifting between each other like some form of codex. Legion groaned at having his hands relieved. He massaged his fingers to push blood back into them. Cole turned his attention to the nearest desk, brushing aside the papers until he found an automata board.

“This is the exact board from the Pavilion of Scrolls.” He said incredulously.

Vedek didn’t know what to think of that. He stooped to inspect a crate concealed beneath one of the desks. He nearly gasped when he saw the Griffin of Vadalis looking back at him. The Griffin’s image was captured on the sleeve of a green silk shirt. After checking that none were paying close attention, Vedek shakily opened the crate wider to see what else it contained. His mouth grew as small as his eyes did wide. These were his stolen belongings. A portion of what was lost when the barbatus took him. The silk shirt was part of his traveling clothes. He had worn it for three days straight following his escape from Fae’Riam. There were electrum bands intended for his wrists and hair. An arrowhead on a chain that belonged to his great-uncle. A crimson blanket that still held the smell of his room back home. Vedek found himself short of breath. He had considered these items forfeit and now he could easily reclaim them. All he needed was to concoct an explanation for why he should take them that did not reveal his identity.

Easier thought of than done.

There was a hollow thud. Frost had suddenly recoiled into a wall. A blue vase fell from the shelf he had been inspecting. It spilled a bile colored liquid on the floor.

“I know that smell.” Frost spat and covered his nose. “That was the smell of death the night of the feast.”

“You’re certain?” Cole asked. He poked the liquid with a quill pen.

“As certain I am that the stars are alive.” Frost retched into a corner. “I thought nothing of the smell at the feast, took it for some foul Athshin beverage, but now that I know it was poison in those cups I can never forget it.”

Vedek momentarily forgot his belongings in the crate. He gazed at the shelf. The vase that fell was not the only one. There had to be at least six more, each at least two-gallons in volume.

“Why would the Order have so much of the poison that killed their own?” Cole cupped his chin.

“Because they’re not adverse to poisoning their own.” Nosib answered firmly. He strode to the spilled poison and ingested a finger dabbing of the liquid. “In Finis there was an infirmary run by the Order for victims of the rebellion. One morning, every patient, attendant, and guard was found dead. Poison in their water supply. The same poison that’s here.”

He smashed the vase under his hoof. “Molochans were blamed for it, but I never accepted it. Poison isn’t in our tactics.”

“The diablans weren’t to blame?” Legion wondered aloud. Vedek wondered if the boy had consigned himself that they had.

“Whoever held this office can answer that.” Vedek looked back to the severed head. “They went to the basement before we broke through. I could follow their trail.”

Azeroth cracked his knuckles and neck. “Let’s do that. I have a few thoughts for how we could get the answers from them.”

“I’m going with you.” Legion said firmly. He brandished the black wand like the warden was in the room with them.

“You will too, right?” He looked to Nosib.

Nosib sighed. His eyes fixed on the vases of poison. “A large old oaf like me will slow you down. You calfs follow the trail, I’ll bring attention to this room.”

It was all the confirmation needed. Azeroth, Frost, Cole and Legion left the room quickly. Vedek started, then froze partway to the door. The box with his stolen belongings called to him.

“What’s in the box elden-man?” Nosib grunted. When Vedek shot him a nervous look Nosib nodded to the crate. “Your eyes may be better, but mine are bigger. I don’t have to be looking at you to see you, and whatever you saw inside that box shook you up inside.”

Vedek bit his lip. It would take only moments until the others realized he wasn’t following. “We just met, but can I have your word for a promise...as a Tamil-Ki?”

Nosib craned his thick neck back. He looked down at Vedek with half-lidded eyes. The expression made Vedek’s hair stand on end through invisible static.

“You can.” Nosib said flatly.

“Take that box. Hide it, guard it, I don’t care. Just ensure no one else looks in it until I return.” Vedek spoke urgently. He had to convince Nosib with his words rather than his tone. “Please. It's important to me that you do this.”

After a brief moment’s consideration Nosib nodded small and slow. “You have my word as a Tamil-Ki, provided I am given an eventual explanation.”

He extended his hand to Vedek. Vedek’s own hand twitched. He swallowed audibly. Frost’s heavy footsteps could be heard growing closer outside. He seized Nosib’s hand like it was his lifeline to the world. “I give my word in turn.”

Nosib nodded hard this time. As if the exchange hadn’t occurred he stomped by Vedek to inspect the papers on the desks. Before Frost could poke his head in to see what was holding him, Vedek had already strode into the hall. He felt strange inside. Relief that ebbed into worry that waned into confidence and back again. He couldn’t second-guess trusting Nosib. It was his only option for the circumstance. An eventual explanation. Yes. There were many people who were owed that by this point. When that explanation would come, Vedek could not begin to guess.

The trail of the single bloody boot print became harder to track once they descended to the second basement. Nosib had referenced there being a massacre, but the actual breadth of the slaughter to both prisoner and Order guard was chilling. The Barcel brothers passed them, each carrying the body of someone just barely alive. At the end of the hall they found Lyn, sobbing and collapsed over Trub’s body.

“C-company.” Trub muttered. He was gently stroking Lyn’s hair.

Lyn pulled away, revealing the trifecta of gore wounds across Trub’s chest. It was hard for any of them to look at, especially with how the sight was affecting Lyn.

Trub swallowed. “I s-saw them.”

Vedek took a knee opposite Lyn. He made a show of examining Trub’s wounds, but it was obvious he only had moments.

“Speak in your native tongue.” Vedek said. “I know it’s easier.”

Trub nodded. When he spoke New Quetzal, it was clear and without stutter. “Tohl Bahn. He’s an elf whiter than any I’ve seen. He’s working with the Order. This prison is his. The woman with him…she did this. All of this.”

Fern and Vedek translated as Trub spoke. Vedek asked if he saw where they went. Trub limply pointed to an empty cell a few down from his. Vedek wanted to ask more, but his eyes fell upon Lyn sitting in silence.

“We should leave them.” Vedek said to the others in Common. “It’s a private moment.”

The group left for the cell Trub had pointed to. Though he wished he could ignore it, Vedek heard every word of Trub and Lyn’s painful goodbyes to each other.

Azeroth arrived at the cell first. Following how they had found the warden’s office, he began breaking every object in the room. Vedek had to halt him so that he could properly inspect the scene. If their quarry had crossed through a bloody hallway to get here, then their footprints should be renewed. There were small tracks all over the cell, but they lingered and vanished at the northwest corner. Two indents in the stone floor matched where the legs of a ladder might fall. He brushed the ceiling above these marks and found it was not stone, but a wood tile expertly painted to blend with its surroundings. In trying to find a means to open it he leaned on the wall and pressed in a diamond shaped rock. The tile slid aside and Vedek had to sidestep the ladder that collapsed out of it.

“Place is full of surprises.” Cole remarked, he kept casting glances back to Lyn and Trub. “This wouldn’t have been here when this place was an active prison.”

Vedek agreed. “Whoever we’re tailing had these secrets installed for themselves alone.”

Unprompted, Frost took to the ladder first. He paused to sniff. “Fresh air up there.”

One by one, they ascended the ladder. Frost opened the trapdoor it led to, spilling loose sediment on their heads. They surfaced outside of Underdune. Fifty-five meters from the eastern walls by Vedek’s estimate. Underdune was flanked by low hills of coatlmade ruins and overgrowth. Where they stood now was once a separate building, perhaps a stable, but now it was concealed by trees with wiry branches.

“I smell horse.” Frost followed his nose to a collection of apple-sized droppings. A feedbag nearby confirmed that horses had once been tethered here. If Tohl and his bodyguard left on horseback, then it was unlikely they could be caught on foot. Vedek offered to ascend the closest hill and see if he could still spot them on the flatland beyond. The others were eager enough to follow him. Legion had not yet put away his wand.

From the hill one could see areas new to them. It was decided to attack the western side of Underdune because it was those walls that were in the most disrepair. To the east the ground dipped into a crater where the remains of an Imperial lumber camp crumbled inwards. The stumps surrounding it were petrified, standing like grave markers to the ancients.

There was a camp set amidst those stumps. It was small and had no horses, but there was someone there arranging a campfire for the night.

Cole pressed them to descend into the crater. He believed that the stranger must have seen something. Vedek noticed that the boy kept retrieving a small clutch of parchment to jot notes on. These were all beats in a story to him.

It didn’t take much proximity before Vedek began to recognize the stranger. Their blue cloak concealed much, but he still saw a flash of red scales on the hand as they gripped a spear to greet the approaching wanderers with.

“You did come.” Vedek said to Rerume.

Rerume’s coarse lips shifted like bubbling tar. “I did. It was on my path.”

“Too late, I’m afraid. The battle is done.” Frost grinned small. None had expected to meet Rerume again. Not in this way, and not after how he had left.

“Pity.” Rerume broke a clutch of branches on his knee.

He pulled back his hood. His feathers were low and wilted. A symptom of stress for coatlmade. Rerume looked to each of them, but found there was nothing to say. He returned to preparing his camp.

“I’m sorry.” Cole let the words slip from his mouth. He clenched the papers he had been scribbling on. “For how our last meeting went.”

Azeroth audibly scoffed, but kept it hidden from Rerume’s orange eyes.

“Apology accepted.” Rerume said after a moment’s consideration.

He said it as a formality. It was clear to any paying attention that he did not forgive Cole for his actions. Cole recognized this and diverted his attention to smoothing out the paper he had crushed. Vedek felt sorry for the boy, especially after how long Cole had agonized over what had happened.

While turned away from Rerume, Cole frowned. Not at his notes, but at Legion. Vedek followed his gaze and soon had the same frown. The diablan was taught as a board. He was focused on Rerume with a visible intensity. The tip of his wand quivered.

Something hateful was building in his eyes.

“Legion...What’s wrong?”