Chapter 3
Rival Merchants and Dragon Sympathizers
Khaska entered the Knights’ chapterhouse with some trepidation. He had moved with the others that morning to a new inn, one closer to Master Hiddel’s place so Amara’s morning journey would not be as long each day. He had spent a few hours alone in his room in meditation and prayer before she had walked with him to the chapterhouse. He would need all the strength of the ancestors for the tasks that lay ahead of him.
He asked to see Dragonrider Reitman, and the young Knight he spoke to lead him to another courtyard in the complex of buildings, though with a warning that the Dragonrider was quite busy.
“I will be as brief as I can, but my message is one of great importance for a task Dragonrider Reitman and I have charged ourselves with.”
Reitman was practicing swords with another Knight. The two of them were stripped down to their breeches in the afternoon heat, sweat running down their bodies. Khaska found the whole affair slightly distasteful, but there were no female Knights around at the time. He waited patiently as the two of them sparred, their wooden practice swords moving in practiced forms as they attacked, defended, pushed, and whacked each other. Even through the entire session, Reitman kept the Orb of Dragonkind around his neck, the clear crystal bauble bouncing at the end of its chain. It was the first time Khaska had really been able to get a good look at it, juxtaposed by the nakedness of Reitman’s skin. A leather cover kept the chain from chafing his neck, and the chain connected to the facsimile of a dragon’s claw in which was held the orb itself.
After some time, Reitman succeeded in cleanly disarming the man. A solid thwack sounded as he hit the man in the stomach, a killing blow, had the sword been metal. As it was the man winced a little, but Reitman was quick to reach out, pull the man up, and mutter a quick healing spell. The man returned the favor, and some of the bruises and cuts that Reitman had obtained vanished as the divine magic mended the minor wounds. After retrieving his sword, the two of them gave a formal salute, signaling the end of their sparring session. Reitman came over to where his shirt was lying on a nearby bench. Khaska was standing nearby.
“Well met, Khaska of the Maha’i!” Reitman extended his hand. Khaska took it, still unsure of this foreign custom and feeling stilted in having to conform to it, even after this time among the other races.
“Greetings, Sir Dragonrider.”
“Sir Ing tells me you did not appear yesterday. Have you given up your search?”
“No,” Khaska quickly replied, but then paused and measured his words. “But it is of that search that I would like to speak with you. Could we go to a place with fewer ears about?”
Reitman grew serious, his smile and the rush of training leaving him. “Yes. Come to my quarters. We may speak privately there.” He beckoned the cleric on, and they entered the nearby building, apparently the quarters of the Knights from this chapter.
In his sparse private quarters, there was a washbasin and a towel set out for Reitman. He soaked one end of the towel and began to clean the sweat off of his body. “Have you found what you were looking for? Evidence of this Tawru?”
“Yes, I have.” Khaska was solemn.
“So, the stories of your people are true, then. He was a Knight of this chapter?”
“Yes, he was, and more; in fact, he was second-in-command to a Likran Treewind, and during his time did suffer the prejudices we believed he did.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Sometimes, we do not live up to the Code of the Good Dragons as we ought to.”
“You are not alone in that.”
“True. But we should be the beacons of goodwill and honor to the peoples of our moon. Markus would ask no less of us.”
He had finished cleaning the sweat and grime off of himself and moved over to a dressing screen.
“Did you know that the Code was once changed?”
Reitman frowned. “I did not. What was the change?”
“A dwarf named Refrun Skaggi, upon his ascension to the office of Dragonrider, petitioned to change the virtue of the golden dragons to honor instead of loyalty; and thus it stands to this day, to my understanding.”
“I know of Refrun. He served in this very chapter, the only grandmaster to come from our ranks here in Hammerdine.”
“Indeed, and he brought about that change because he knew the truth of Tawru's end, which I did not myself know until the day before yesterday.”
Reitman emerged from behind the screen, wearing better clothes, now full dressed. “Please, sit my friend.” He sat down on his bed and began to pull his boots on.
Khaska looked at the chair for a moment, then sat down, uncomfortably self-conscious of himself. “This is a story I never imagined to tell, that I was never supposed to know; but I know it, and must tell it, and I feel you should hear it.”
Reitman stopped lacing his boots up and gave the cleric his full attention. “Tell me this story, Khaska. The gold dragons would council us to tell the truth always.”
“I will not lie, even though the truth does not serve me in this case.”Khaska paused for a moment, then continued. “The story of Tawru that I told you before is true; it is true, that is, until he left Hammerdine against the will of the Order to free the slaves at Laishtek. And the truth from then forward is terrible.”
“For Tawru truly did leave, and he did free the slaves, as all the Maha'i agree and know, but the Grandmaster of the Knights, upon discovering Tawru's heroic insolence, dared to expel him from the order and leave him powerless.”
“Excommunication. That is a rare offense among the Knights.” Reitman’s tone had a slight edge to it.
“Rarer since the change in the Code.”
“And Grandmaster Skaggi knew of this excommunication? That is why he had the code changed?”
“Yes, the earlier Grandmaster disdained Tawru's disloyalty to his commands, but Tawru would not give up his purpose despite excommunication.”
“And he did free the slaves. Such an act is in keeping with the Code. Though disloyalty is not. I cannot blame the Grandmaster for his decision.” He paused, then continued, the edge in his voice now gone. “Though I cannot say I would have done the same, either.”
It was a long while before Khaska could continue his tale. “Well . . . “ He paused again. “Tawru kept with that portion of the Code, and never changed his devotion to it; however . . . what he did was terrible. He could not use good for his good ends . . .” Khaska was decidedly not looking at Reitman, staring at the floor, as if looking at the man would be too painful. Then, with a deep breath, he looked up, caught the Dragonrider’s eye, and finished. “. . . so he turned to evil. Reitman inhaled sharply through his teeth. “And by the power of evil did he free the slaves of Laishtek.”
“Evil? What do you mean?” There was a genuine sense of alarm in Reitman's voice. He leaned forward, raptly paying attention.
“I know nothing more than that he turned to something evil to gain his powers anew. Likran Treewind knew no more than that, for within minutes of their meeting once more, Tawru was dead.”
“So you discovered this story from Sir Treewind?”
“He wrote the story for the Knights to remember it, never to forget the wrongs he felt they committed against Tawru. It was never supposed to reach my people.”
Reitman brought his hand to his face, rubbing his chin and mouth, looking slightly down. “A fallen paladin turning to evil. Excommunicated.” He looked up. “He was a blackguard?”
“That is what the record said. Tawru admitted it to Treewind with regret.”
Reitman stood, clearly in shock. He began to pace, limping slightly because only one boot was fully on, his feet not quite even on the ground.
“This is a tale of woe indeed.” He looked at Khaska. “Where did you find it in the library?”
“It was in the annals of a monastery, founded by Treewind and dedicated to Tawru's memory; it has lain abandoned many years now.”
“But it is here. The story, I mean. Treewind’s confession.”
“The record is here. I left it behind a row of books, registries from the monastery. But I do not lie. I would not lie about things that tear at my heart.”
“I do not doubt your account, but this troubles me greatly. I would like to read it myself.” He began to put his second boot on and lace it up. “Or would you feel offended?”
“I would not. After all, I have told you the story already. But might we speak before you seek to read it?”
Reitman smiled. “We are already doing that, but yes, we can finish here.”
Khaska nodded in gratitude. “This is very heavy for me, very heavy; I believe it. My people would not; I cannot tell them now. They would not listen, and I do not know what I would say to them.”
“What would you have me do, Khaska of the Maha'i? You have told a tale of woe, but becoming a blackguard is a serious sin. It is not a pact entered into lightly. This Tawru . . . I know not what to think of him.”
“It is no easier for me. There were too many wrongs on too many sides.” He sat silently. “I hope, however, that perhaps we can do something right, together.”
Reitman pauses for a moment. “I hope this too. So where do we go from here?”
“No matter the truth of Tawru, it is from him that our people broke from yours, and healing needs to start from him. It is his horn that hangs above the throne of the High Queen, after all.”
“You want to find some way to redeem a blackguard who has been dead for centuries? I feel that may be a fool's errand.”
“I know not about his redemption. But we can attempt to heal the wounds in our living hearts.” A pause. “If you demonstrate your goodwill and friendship toward my people in a way that to them would be indisputable, they would have a greater chance of respecting you.” Another pause. “And if I demonstrated my loyalty and faithfulness, they would trust me enough to listen when the time came.” Another pause. “I believe there is a way to do both.”
“I will listen to your wisdom. How may we accomplish this fool's errand?” It was clear from the way he said it that, thought the way may be impossible, the quest was one he would get behind. Khaska knew the Dragonrider wanted to help as he could.
“It is Tawru's horn that hangs above the throne of the High Queen, as I said; it reminds them evermore, it is said, of the treachery of the other races, for, it is said, they stole the other as a prize.”
“However . . . Its finding would be a day of great joy for my people, and those who found it would be given great honor. If the Knights helped in this endeavor, my people would be forced to reconsider the old prejudices we have held for centuries. And if one of my people were to bring it back to Jevereshk, they would believe him in what he said. Would you help me find Tawru's Horn?”
Reitman was serious, his next words not spoken in sarcasm, yet still admitting the challenge of what Khaska had just asked. “So we need to find the horn of a Maha'i who has been dead for hundreds of years? I must admit, helping you in this would require little effort on my part, for I have no idea where would even start.”
“I used to believe that it was somewhere here, in this building, but the scroll I found made it clear that it had been lost before Tawru's final battle—it was lost in Laishtek. I also admit that I do not know, but I will seek it out.”
“What, specifically, would you like from me then? We cannot spare manpower for such a quest at this time, especially such a vague one. The Dark Times are upon us, and we are diligently preparing for them.”
“There are ways of helping that do not require men, no?” Khaska asked, one eyebrow raised.
“There are many. What do you ask of me, my friend? I will do what I can.”
“I am a foreigner, and I would be a stranger in these lands; but to the Knights no lands are strange. You could send me with your blessing, so they let me pass and leave me undisturbed. Perhaps you could notify the other Knights of my mission, so they are prepared when I come.”
“Perhaps a personal missive from me. The Knights are all Paladins, and sometimes we have others that work with us because of their unique skills. Quilleh, for example, can do things that we with our magic cannot. Would you be willing to work as a subsidiary of the Knights in this manner?”
“It is difficult, but if I were working for the Knights my people would not accept me.”
“So just a personal missive from me. Stamped with my personal seal, it would grant you the same privileges as working for us, but would not burden your reputation with your people.”
“That would be best, and I would give you my sincerest gratitude.”
“I would still like to read this document myself.”
“I can show you where it is.” A pause. “And once you do read it, I have something I must ask of you.”
The Dragonrider was amused. “More?” Then he grew serious again. “Anything, my friend.”
“Likran wanted the Knights to know the truth about Tawru, and I respect his wish. But I beg of you, do not speak of it with anyone in whom you do not have the utmost trust, for there are people who would speak of such terrible things not as secrets, or who could overhear and misuse them.”
He nodded solemnly. “This I will do for you.”
“I thank you, most deeply. It is your example that has shown me that I was wrong about your people and your Order, and it is a great relief to leave distrust behind for friendship.”
Reitman was buckling his sword around his hip. “If this story is true, that distrust was not unearned. You would still be wise to be cautious of this, however.”
“I do not think you express friendship the way we do, nor do we do it often; but it is a good thing. How do you do it?”
“How do we express friendship?” Reitman was slightly confused.
“Yes. What do you do to express friendship?”
The Knight thinks for a moment. “There is nothing specific, I think. We just . . . are friends. It is a level of trust and camaraderie that is earned over time.” He rises from his chair. “But there is an expression of devotion and solidarity. You have seen us shake hands. That is a traditional greeting for almost anybody. A hug is to express such devotion and solidarity, but it is also seen as an intimate gesture at times. I fear we may not have the expression you desire, but you have brought me terrible news that is costing you a great deal of pain. A paladin's blessing is the least I can do for you now. Unless you want a hug, I suppose.” He smiled at that.
“That is, I think, what I mean . . . and the closest thing to our expressions that you have.”
Reitman extended his arms outward. “Then I will hug you, to express my best wishes in your quest, my friend.”
“Thank you.” Khaska awkwardly accepted and reciprocated the gesture. The Knight’s embrace was tight, the man genuinely touched by this tale, this gesture of goodwill sincere.
“Now, I want to read this account myself, and write my personal letter for you,” the Dragonrider said. “You will, of course, help me write it. I want it to say the right things.”
“Certainly.”
“Please, show me in the library where I may find the account.”
The two of them exited Sir Reitman’s private quarters. Everywhere they went Knights stopped and smartly saluted the Dragonrider.
They made their way to the library, and Khaska, leading Reitman to the dusty, cobwebbed corner where the manuscript was found, handed over the scroll with a shudder. “There is the record.”
Khaska studied his companion carefully as he read the scroll. At times Reitman’s eyes grew wide, at others he grimaced. Towards the end he cried a little. When he finished, he was quiet for a long while. Then he rolled the scroll up.
“I would like to make a copy of this. I will make it myself. Then you can have the original to take with you on your journeys.” He held the scroll up. “This is a terrible tale. A tale that has many lessons. Not the least of which that evil can be found in the most unexpected of places.”
Khaska was confused. Reitman was trying to convey something, that he could tell. But the Dragonrider was deliberately being obtuse.
“I do not understand your meaning by saying that.”
Reitman was quick to answer. “Just that you should always be on your guard. Even among friends. Likran Treewind and Tawru were friends, and that friendship caused them both great heartache.” He slapped the Maha’i on the back. “But come, let us get the copy made and the letter written!”
“Certainly.”
Some while later, as Reitman finished scribing the new version of the story, he looked up from the desk at Khaska. “Will you tell your friends?”
“I will tell them that I seek Tawru's horn—and his sword—but I do not wish to tell the tale of Tawru again, so soon, unless it is unavoidably necessary. It is too painful, and I do not know how to heal it yet.”
“That is your decision. But your friends are good people. I am grateful that you have taken me into your confidence. I am sure they would be equally as grateful.”
“Will you seek the sword at this monastery?” Now the Knight was sprinkling sand on the last part of the scroll to capture the extra ink. “Sir Ing would be able to tell you where it was located better than I. But you are aware that we have not operated it for some time now. Chasing the sword may also be a difficult quest.”
“I understand, but I will see what information there is about the fate of Likran Treewind; he was the last to have the sword, to my knowledge, and it is unlikely that other Knights would assign it so great of value.”
“Sir Ing would be the man to talk go, but I'm sure you know that.” The Dragonrider began to roll up the two scrolls. “I have offered you the original, but you may want the copy. The scroll is definitely less worn.”
“Yes, it is better.” Khaska accepted the newer scroll, but he hesitated before touching it. “Though even having the story near me seems to hurt; but they say the price of love is grief, and Tawru was well-loved.”
“It is an interesting tale, too, of serving good ends by bad means. For what it's worth, I hope he is enjoying the rest of Markus in the afterlife. I'm sure if it were known there would be fierce debates among the more scholarly minded of our brethren.” He tucked the old scroll in his desk. “But if the price of love is grief, it is a price we should all gladly pay.”
“So it is. Thank you.”
“May the gods speed you on your journey, my friend. I hope the bring you success in your quest, for the sake of you and your people, and of our moon.”
Khaska gave a small smile and laughed. “I would show you how we show our friendship in farewell, but your noses are far too small.”
“Oh? I am intrigued.”
“You shall have to visit our lands again, when I return and can show you. And by that time, your visits will no longer be regarded with wariness, but with open arms.”
“I look forward to that day.”
“In the meantime, let us use your handshake.” Khaska extended his hand.
Reitman took it and shook vigorously.
“Fare you well, and Markus watch your steps.”
“Markus be with you as well.”
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The group immediately noticed that Khaska was more back to his own self upon his return to their new inn. He and Rynn left quite quickly. “Let us move with all haste. The boy Zeke, his life may be in danger,” the cleric said upon coming down from his room.
Hartwin was busy and could not receive them for a while, but the two of them stayed in a room in the Faatin Merchant House’s headquarters, waiting for the guild leader. They were ushered in quickly a few hours later. Hartwin stood when they entered, but did not offer them a chair, and did not sit himself.
“I apologize for the wait,” the elf said. “What can I do for the two of you?” He smiled. “Are you reconsidering my offer?”
“Partially,” Khaska said. “There have been disturbing events surrounding us of late.”
“And these events have made you reconsider working for us?” The elf frowned. “If you are looking to get quickly out of town for personal reasons, revisiting our arrangement might not hold the same draw for me that it once did.”
“Nothing like that,” Rynn said, full well taking the merchant’s meaning. He then launched into the events of the past few days.
Hartwin’s face grew more serious as the tale went on, and when Rynn was finished, the merchant asked them to sit, and did so himself. He sat in silence, fingers clasped in front of his face, for several minutes.
“So,” Rynn finished, “the Sendylus guild is behind the abduction and the spying on us. We don’t know much about them, but they have explicitly said they are your enemies. We thought it best to come to you. We thought perhaps with your wealth we could scry for the boy.”
Hartwin nodded. “The Sendylus guild,” he began by word of explanation, “is a rival merchant guild. We have a virtual monopoly on trade between Hammerdine and Tidewater City, where our headquarters actually reside. We do occasional trading with Laishtek, as well. But the Sendylus guild has extensive contacts among the rest of Hammerdine’s holdings and in the Tlerian Empire. They are a much bigger guild than we are.” He paused. “The fact that Jonathan of the Wastes was employed by them is an interesting fact.” Then he smiled. “They may have tipped their hand. They have been trying to expand their influence into trading with Tidewater City, but we are so entrenched it has been difficult for them. As time has gone on, they have resorted to more and more extreme measures, obviously.” He leaned slightly forward, bringing his hands down. “This might be the opportunity we have sought.” Now he leaned completely forward, placing his hands splayed out on the ornate desk in front of him. “You feel an obligation to this boy and his family. I am not immune to sympathy for their plight, but am not sure we can do anything overt at this point. Here is my proposal.”
“I will have one of our wizards cast Scry to help locate Zeke. But, as payment, you will escort a caravan of ours out of the city, headed south. We will send our best guards with you. In short, we will spring their trap. If we can capture one of the men, or even several of them, our chances of getting one of them to turn on their employers. That would give us the leverage we need to finally launch a full investigation. I would also like to employ you again to at least escort a single caravan on a genuine journey. We can still get your ‘hero status’ to work for our benefit, but it will not be as intense a commitment as my previous offer.”
“What do you think of this? Go, speak to your friends, and consider my offer. We will scry for the boy if you will help us spring the trap.”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Khaska and Rynn looked at each other. “And what would we do with the information we find about his location?” Rynn asked.
“I would leave that to you. Do keep in mind,” the elf warned, “that the Sendylus guild is not happy with your having ‘dealt’ with Jonathan of the Wastes. They may try to kill you in any event, just out of spite. Best to have allies when they attempt to do so.
“We could be those allies.”
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Amara went to the Lavender Willow late that same evening, having given excuses to the others that seemed to be well taken. Not that she had been spending much time with them anyway of late, with her studies with Master Hiddel. After dropping Khaska off at the chapterhouse, it had taken her all day to properly prepare to follow this next step given her by the beggar spy. Some discrete inquiries had her realize that this combination restaurant and hotel was no slum tavern. She would need to look the part, and so had found a dress shop and jewlers to help her do so, spending lavishly of her earned money. She had even arranged for a coach to take her there, not wanting to walk several miles in her nice new shoes. But now the moment of truth was upon her as the carriage trundled down the last few streets to the restaurant. She smoothed her dress nervously one more time, the fine cloth a dark shade of red bordering on black, with gold trim and a gold sash matching her earrings and necklace and the gold comb in her hair keeping it up in a conservative style. Kirza hopped around the seat near her, the nervousness of the sorceress manifesting itself in the bird’s behavior, but a stern look stopped that, and the bird grew still as the carriage slowed to a stop.
The coachman hopped down and came around to her door, pulling down the stairs from their tucked away position, and then opening the door with a flourish.
“My lady,” he said, bowing.
All of her time and effort to look the part had worked. She knew well the trappings of nobility, despite her family’s lower-rank in the military city of Eskele, they were still nobles, and her mother’s many lessons in proper etiquette and manners and style were, at least on this occasion, paying off. Sneaking around to find an organization of those with draconic heritage seeking to free the chromatics from the Knights was probably not what her mother and all those tutors had in mind, and the thought made the sorceress smile as she stepped from the carriage. She did have a purse on her, large enough to keep a dagger and her small crossbow in it, another purchase to help her maintain the fiction of coming from money, since her traveling backpack would not do in such an establishment as this.
“Thank you,” she said, and, spine ram-rod straight and nose turned up, she entered the Lavender Willow.
The restaurant on the first floor did not disappoint. The inside was exquisitely furnished, the tables and chairs all of the highest quality. The staff were all in fine black clothing, servant’s clothing, but still well-kept and uniform, bustling about to serve their clientele. Amara approached the front desk, and the maître d looked at her.
“Yes, my lady, how can I help you?”
“I have a reservation,” she replied. “Just for me, but I was told not to leave Hammerdine without trying your breaded peacock.”
The maître d gave a small start at this, but recovered so quickly the sorceress didn’t know if she would have even noticed had she not been observing closely.
“An excellent choice,” he said. “I will make sure to alert your server, but,” he looked over something on the desk in front of him, “I’m afraid to say that with your familiar, you will be in the back of the restaurant, Ms . . .”
“Palladia.”
“Yes, Ms. Palladia.” He reached down to grab a quill and scratch a line through her name on the reservation list, and then looked over at a nearby server, who came promptly over. The maître d whispered something in the young half-elf woman’s ear, and she nodded.
“If you’ll come with me, please,” she said.
“Enjoy your time with us, Ms. Palladia,” the maître d said.
Amara didn’t answer him, but followed the young half-elf as the server led her to the back of the establishment. Amara was watching this woman closely to see her reactions to anything, but she just seemed like a waitress, performing her job. She led Amara through the bustling restaurant itself, but then opened a door into a hallway and beckoned her guest in. Amara followed into a well-lit hallway with thick carpeting and tapestries hung on the walls between various doors, clearly the part of the establishment for more private dinner affairs. As the door shut behind the waitress, the sound from the common room died to a low murmur, barely audible.
Her server took her to the room furthest down the hall to the right. Amara was listening to see if there were any hint of goings-on around her, but the rug and the tapestries all but muted the sounds from the main room and any coming from the private dining rooms, though she did hear a burst of loud laughter from one as she walked by, only able to do so because of its clearly boisterous nature. The waitress opened the door and beckoned her in, and, seeing nothing in the room, the sorceress followed.
The room was furnished like any private dining room would be, with a large wooden table set with fine china and well-crafted silver dining utensils. Several everburning torches gave off light, but no heat and no smoke. Her server walked to one of the sconces and pulled it down.
A decorative chest of drawers slid aside with a slight dragging sound. “The answers you seek are down these stairs, Miss Paladilla. But I must be about my duties back in the main room. I will know to return for you when you are finished.”
With that, she left, shutting the door behind her, leaving Amara and Kirza alone with the fine dining set and the staircase that curved around and vanished downwards. Amara was no fool—she sent the white raven down first, her empathic connection allowing her to feel the familiar’s emotions.
“Come down, Amara. You have nothing to fear from me,” she heard a voice wafting up the stairs, female in origin, slightly croaky-sounding. Maybe an old woman.
Kirza appeared from around the bend in the stairs, seeming fine. So Amara descended. The spiral staircase was carved out of rock and Amara kept going down about what she felt was the equivalent of maybe one floor, maybe two. At the bottom was a sitting room, with a nice chair atop a rug. Sitting on the chair was indeed an old human woman, her gnarled hands folded politely in her lap. The woman was dressed nicely, though nothing like the clientele of the restaurant above, a simple dress, and a single ring on one of her fingers. The room held nothing else except a portcullis in the back.
As Amara stepped over the threshold of the carpet, a bell sound rang out, small, pealing quietly. The woman nodded.
“We’re not sure if we can trust you, Amara Paladilla. I’m going to cast Detect Magic on you. To make sure you are who you say you are, and that you don’t have any hidden tricks.”
“I understand your reservations; I share them myself. I trust you will allow me the same privilege?”
“You can cast Detect Magic on me if you like, but once past the portcullis, if you even begin to cast a spell, we will kill you.”
“As you will.” Amara began to cast Detect Magic, as the woman did the same. There was only a moderate aura around the woman’s forearms, likely bracers of armor. Fairly standard for wizards or sorceresses.
Both women satisfied, they released their spells.
“I do have mundane weapons in my purse,” Amara said. “Is that going to be a problem?”
The old woman turned and said, “open,” in draconic. The portcullis opened, and she walked through, beckoning Amara to follow. Obviously it was not going to be a problem.
The white-haired sorceress followed, Kirza flapping up to perch on her shoulder. They walked slowly down a long hallway with various unadorned alcoves on either side. Kirza noticed a man emerging from the shadows of one of the alcoves, a large sword slung across his back. He noted that Kirza had spotted him, the familiar mentioning this in Amara’s ear quietly. The man did not react to his discovery and just continued quietly following a few paces back.
They came to a fork, and the woman turned, pulling a rag from a pouch. “You go blindfolded from here on in. You understand.” She nodded to Kirza. “The bird too.”
Amara cringed visibly at the sight of the rag, and untied the sash from around her waist, offering it to the woman instead. The woman smiled and took it, examining it cursorily and then tying it around Amara’s eyes. She loosely wrapped the rag she had produced around Kirza’s head. Then she took Amara by the hand to guide her along. They walked for some time, taking many twists and turns, until the woman guided Amara into a chair.
Amara held still, awaiting the next development. Kirza flapped her wings a little, more antsy, reflecting the interior emotional state of her mistress, but with less outward control.
There came a new voice. A deeper one. Raspy. “Why have you sought us out, Amara Paladilla?”
“At the behest of another, for our mutual benefit. With whom am I speaking?”
“All will be revealed shortly. How did you know to contact our man by the Knights Chapter? Who is this other you speak of?”
“The same authority who sent me to you would not thank me for revealing his or her identity without further proof of yours.”
At this, her blindfold was removed by the old woman, who stepped back behind the chair, out of Amara’s sight, for the sorceress had eyes only for the figure in front of her. Sitting atop an ornate chair, almost a throne, was a dragon-looking humanoid, with gold scales, male, dressed in ornate robes. From her studies she knew that this was probably a half-dragon, perhaps the result of draconic magic growing until it affected the very flesh of the caster.
He spoke once more. “I will ask you again, for my patience grows thin. How did you know to contact us?”
“I was directed to your contact by the great Ziranethsrana and Keldarian.”
“You spoke with Ziranethsrana and Keldarian? When?” This half-dragon seemed genuinely surprised.
“Over a week ago. Ziranethsrana I encountered previously, as well.”
“And why would Ziranethsrana and Keldarian send you to us. What have you done to earn their trust?”
“I could ask the same of you. Do you question their judgement?”
He stood, clearly furious, and began to yell. “I don’t think you appreciate your position here. You have contacted us, you insignificant little human. I will not have our work jeapordized by you.” He advanced towards her, his voice growing louder, its echoes resounding through the stone room. “Why do they trust you and why would they have sent you to us?” He grew deathly still, now about ten feet from her. Quietly, he spoke again. “Why should I trust you?"
Amara met his gaze steadily, unwilling to flinch. “You should trust me because they do,” she replied calmly. “Lady Ziranethsrana did not explain the particulars of her decision to me; presumably, she feels I would be of use in your pursuits. I am well trusted by senior members of multiple powerful organizations within the city, including the Knights themselves; such ought to prove useful in the future, I would imagine.”
“Are we to play this game all night? You have clearly been sent to us. That Ziranethsrana trusts you I do not doubt, but she is not here, and does not understand the particulars of what we are doing here. The fact that you are so cozy with the Knights, the enslavers of our forefathers, does not bring me to trust you.”
“What would? You ask vague questions and then are angered when I do not divine the response you desire.”
“I will ask again, since you did not seem to understand the question the first time. What actions have you taken that would engender trust in you from two of the enslaved dragons? Why do they trust you?” He was pacing now, still glaring at the calm sorceress.
“That I do not know with any certainty. I am pursuing sorcerous studies at present and was granted the favor of conversing with Ziranethsrana at length due to an earlier encounter with the lady and her rider. Our conversation turned to the possibility of my aiding her in whatever manner she saw fit. This was her response.” Amara gestured to her present surroundings.
“Tell me of this earlier encounter.”
Amara explained the circumstances of their first meeting in the Niktean Wastes over a month ago, how Ziranesthrana and Rider Reitman had been in pursuit of the rogue sorcerer Elial and had come upon the site of the goblin raid.
He stopped pacing and did not respond to this new information for several moments. The old woman who had brought her here shifted, as did the man with the sword. Amara heard their quiet movements in the quiet of the room, but remained focused on this half-dragon, made of sterner stuff than the other two.
“So you approached Ziranethsrana of your own free will, to inquire of her how to develop yourself.” He sighed. “That would make her trust you.” He went to sit back on his throne-like chair. “But, one experience does not earn complete trust. What do you hope to accomplish by contacting us, now that you know more of our secrets?”
“Assuming, of course, that it proves to be mutually beneficial—and I think it could—I hope to find ways to further the ambitions of Ziranethsrana, likely through your organization here.”
“What do you hope to get out of our mutually beneficial arrangement?”
Amara shrugged. “As little as I know of your plans, I can hardly be expected to know what to expect. For now, at least, I value Ziranethsrana’s favor and seek to learn more of draconic power and heritage. I suppose that is all I can be certain of at the moment—though I would imagine it goes without saying that I also seek material and influential gains wherever they might be found.”
“Very well. What will you give us in return? We are not going to merely give you material and influential gains just because of your pretty face.”
At that Amara snorted, though an arrogant snort, one perfected at many a dinner with idiot nobleman seeking to court her back in Eskele. “If that was all I desired, there are far less dangerous ways to obtain it.”
He laughed, rows of sharp teeth glinting in the torchlight. “You speak truth.”
“As for what I can give, I offer my services in furthering your work—and possibly the services of my companions as well, if the tasks can be adequately disguised in purpose. What precisely that means depends, of course, on what it is that you wish to accomplish.”
“Just like that, you pledge yourself to our cause, with no knowledge of it? My, you are a brave one. Foolhardy, even, I venture.”
Amara’s eyes narrowed. “You asked what I am willing to give, and that I stated. I have not sworn myself to anything, nor will I without further knowledge.” She then smiled thinly. “I fear I am not quite as foolish as you would believe.”
“You offered your services in furthering our work. You did not ask what that work was.”
At this point, a newcomer came into the room from a side door, walking up to the half-dragon and whispering something in his ear. The half-dragon smiled and laughed. “Bring him in.” He turned to Amara as the newcomer left. “But perhaps the opportunity has presented itself that you may prove yourself to us.”
Amara raised an eyebrow but said nothing. A few moments later a man was brought in through the same side door, tied and gagged, but not blindfolded.
The golden half-dragon pointed a clawed finger towards this new figure. “This man was caught following you. He came into the inn and inquired about you. We were able to capture him relatively quietly. But, as you are probably aware, only those who are invited may come to the inn to seek us out. That he knows you came here is a liability we cannot afford.”
Amara studied the reactions of both this half-dragon and the prisoner. The prisoner was genuinely freaking out, and the half-dragon had become even more serious, if slightly more amused at the same time.
“So, this man has been following you. We do not know why. We also do not care. We have no plans in place for holding prisoners. No infrastructure for such developments.” He looked at Amara. “So you have two options. You can either watch me kill him," and at this the guy really began to struggled against his bonds, “or you can kill him yourself. Though, I must ask, do you have any idea why he would be following you?”
Amara glared coldly at the gagged man. “There have been servants of a merchant guild following myself and some of my companions because of our association with one of their rivals. One would think, however, that they would be cleverer than to ask so boldly about their quarry. Fools.”
“What is your association with their rivals?”
“The goblin raid we have spoken of took place at a waystation of the Faatin Merchant House. For our efforts to save their post and their people, we have been rewarded.”
“And now this man is following you because he works for a rival guild?”
“Such is what we have gathered. In addition to the tails we’ve found periodically, they attempted to coerce servants in our inn to pass information about our doings.”
The golden half-dragon stood to walk closer to the man, who practically screamed through his gag, trying to back away. The half-dragon smiled and pat the man’s face, hard. “Not your lucky day. Stumbling into something bigger and more dangerous than you imagined. And all because of some inconsequential merchant guilds squabbling over paltry amounts of money. The Dark Times are upon us, the most noble beings on the planet are enslaved, and you bicker over such trivial matters.”
He turned to Amara. “So, will you kill him, or will you watch me kill him? There was nobody else following, my servants assure me. His death will be a mystery to his friends, either way. Doing the deed yourself would do much to earn our trust.”
“He forfeited his life when he dared pry into matters that were not his own.” Amara drew a bolt from her pack and began to load her crossbow.
“You will not use your power?” He smiled bemusedly. “Such an uncouth way for one with dragon blood to kill. Embrace your power. It is the only way to learn. Do not shy away from it.”
Amara was wary. She had been warned against using magic here. “Quite apart from the death threat this woman,” she pointed to the old woman who was still standing, head down, all the way in the back of the room, “said I was under were I to use spells past the portcullis, I prefer to reserve my power for times of necessity. At the moment, this seems significantly more efficient. Moreover, I doubt you want the rest of the room set on fire.”
“The floor is mostly stone, and I am more interested in seeing you use your power you than preserving the furniture in a pristine state. I give you permission to use your magic. Don’t worry about the mess.” He smiled, walking away from the struggling man to sit down again on the ornate chair, his hands in front of him, fingers lightly touching.
“Very well.” Amara stood up, put her purse down, walked over, and chanted in the arcane language of magic to cast Burning Hands at the gagged man. The spell was not overly powerful, but when concentrated directly in someone’s face it was more than sufficient to kill the man. His shriek echoed through the stone room before cutting off. His charred head went limp and hit the ground with a muffled thump.
“Excellent Amara Paladilla. You are indeed what we had hoped.”
Amara smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
The man who had tailed her to this location and the one that had brought in the poor Sendylus fool took the corpse away.
The golden half-dragon stretched to his full height. “I am Adokul. I was once a sorcerer like yourself, but my draconic heritage manifested itself as I grew in power. I was recruited into the Cult of Skynnryn when my transformation became too obvious to hide. And now, I welcome you into the Cult of Skynnryn.” He removed a ring from one of his fingers and handed it to Amara, who inspected the ring.
“Skynnryn?”
“The last free dragon. There were not enough Dragon Orbs, so he was, ‘put down,’ shall we say. But not before founding the cult in secret while he was hunted by the Knights all those centuries ago. We work to free our ancient kin, and for now, that is all you need know.” He pointed to the ring. “That ring I have given you has the symbol in draconic for ‘worship.’ It is how we distinguish other members of the cult. I’m quite certain my finger is larger than yours, but any competent jeweler will be able to resize it. I will replace it with another.” With that, the man with the large sword came in, but Adokul waved him away and the man bowed and left the room. Amara was happy to see this, obviously a measure of trust had been earned. But Adokul continued. “Now that you generally know of us and our plans, wear the ring when you are out and about in major cities. Is there anything else you feel like you should ask of us before we let you go back, unblindfolded this time.” He smiled at her, a smile, near as she could tell with the half-dragon physiology, that seemed genuine.
She returned the smile. “I do have two questions—well, one question and one favor.”
“Ask.”
“I am more than happy to serve the Cult of Skynnryn in the capacities that you see fit. Nevertheless, I am concerned by some of the possible . . . repercussions. In particular, I often work closely with clerics and paladins. I know that there are ways to conceal one’s thoughts and intents from magical inquiries, yet I am not capable of such feats on my own, and neither do I have the resources to acquire a ring that serves the same purpose. If procuring such an item were within your abilities, it would greatly free my opportunities to act in Skynnryn’s service.”
“I’m afraid that there we cannot help you. But, know that there are many in our order that are evil, and some that are good, and some that are neither. Also, there are many people in the world that are evil. The clerics and paladins do not simply run around smiting and killing all evil people. The Knights do not walk around casting their Detect Evil spell and simply smiting all who register. I would not be overly concerned about that. Now, doing evil actions themselves, that is where you must be careful.” He looked down at the smudge of blood on the ground and the crispy black outline of the man whose face she had fried. “Today is an exception to that general rule. Now, what was your other question?”
“I assume that I will be contacted when you or another has a task for me to accomplish; have you any idea what the timing of this might be?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
Amara nodded. “I have no other concerns at the moment.”
“Then be on your way, my sister.”
The old woman shambled up to Amara. “It is polite to bow in obeisance to the leaders of the cult when leaving their presence. Especially the half-dragons among us.” She bowed deeply, then moved backwards out of the room, still facing Adokul.
Amara smiled, and curtsied to the half-dragon. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.”
He frowned, but did not say anything. Amara turned and left.
----------------------------------------
Hartwin swept into the room where the party was waiting, followed by a slightly older human woman and a dwarf wearing plate. The woman was dressed in a simple robe tied at the waist. She walked with a slight limp, and her hair was graying around her temples. “This is Nadine Greystoke, a wizard sometimes employed by the merchant guild. We’ve done her favors in the past and basically called them in. Plus, as a decent kind of person, she’s appalled at what has happened to Zeke and wants to help. Hardal Stromgarde is the head of security for our operations here in Hammerdine, and wanted to be present. They are the only ones that I have shared the information with, so here we are.”
He pointed at a large mirror on one of the walls, and Nadine walked over, began to concentrate, and then move her hands and speak in the arcane language of magic. Orensland was flipping a coin through his fingers. Since he had begun his performances, he had picked it up as a kind of nervous tick, and now that he was nervous, he was beginning to show it. The party had quickly agreed to take Hartwin up on his deal, though Jenika was a bit unhappy about it, and had come over early the next morning. Hartwin wanted to try to scry on the boy just before the sun came up, and everybody was present now. Amara had made it clear that she would have to leave to get to Master Hiddel’s in about an hour, but everybody else could stay to discuss things with the guild master.
The spell only took a few seconds to complete, and the image on the mirror changed. Instead of looking at a reflection of themselves, they were looking at pure blackness. “He must not have any light where he is,” Nadine said. Hartwin frowned, then ordered the torches out of the room. Servants scurried in and took them away, plunging the room into darkness save for a sliver of light from under the door.
Without the light from the torches, nobody could see anything, but then Hardal spoke up. “I can see a sliver of light in the mirror. He’s there. I can see the boy. He’s lying on a bunch of straw. I’m sure when your eyes adjust . . .”
“I can see him,” said Orensland. “Just wait, you’ll all be able to see him in a moment.”
Nadine stepped forward, and then smiled. “I can see him. Now I can cast my other spell?”
“Other spell?” Amara said. She was surprised. How on earth was another spell going to work now . . . that’s when she realized that this wasn’t just a regular Scrying spell. Nadine had cast Greater Scrying.
Hartwin was serious about this.
Nadine began to cast her next spell, pointing one of her long fingers at the figure of the small boy lying on a dirty bed, rapidly becoming visible to all of them as their eyes adjusted. It looked like his room also had just the barest amount of light in it. She finished. Message had been cast. They could now communicate through the mirror.
“Zeke?” she whispered. The boy sat up quickly. “Don’t be afraid, I’m a friend. We’ve cast a magic spell so that we can see you. I’m here with Orensland and some of his friends. He used to do coin tricks for you at the inn where your mother works.”
“Where are you? I can’t see you!”
“In a building far away from where you are in the city, at least we think. We’re not sure exactly where you are.”
“Is my mother okay?”
“She’s fine. But Zeke, we need you to whisper so that the men guarding you don’t hear you or us.”
“Okay.” A whisper, from the boy.
“We’re trying to find where you are. Can you tell us anything about where the men took you?”
“We walked for a while. It was further than I’ve ever really been in the city.”
“What kind of building are you in?”
“It’s a storage building, I think. Maybe a stable. There were lots of crates and different carts and animals. But yesterday night they moved everything else out.”
“The Sendylus’ guild did send out a caravan yesterday,” said Hardal. Hartwin nodded.
“Zeke, can you move around the room, staying by the walls. We can use the magic to see a little bit around the outside of where you are if you do.”
Zeke complied, and though it wasn’t very light yet as the sun was barely rising, they could tell that he was, indeed, in a clay building. The limitations of the magic didn’t allow them to see much more beyond the walls. He was in a cell with four clay walls and a locked gate at one end. It looked like there were other rooms or cells similar to the one Zeke was in, but they appeared to be empty. The side of the room opposite the gate, however, was to the outside of the building he was in. The group were all able to get a good look at it. The outside of the building was by a large brick wall. There was about 5 feet of space between the wall and the clay building Zeke was in.
“Yup,” said Hardal. “That’s the Sendylus’ area, alright. I’ve even been in there.”
“You do business with your enemies?” asked Rynn.
“Sometimes people have a multi-contract route to get their goods from Tidewater City to the Tlerian empire. And the Sendylus guild wasn’t always so cutthroat about their policies.”
“Yes,” said Hartwin, “this is a newer development for them. Just the past few years. But I think we should concentrate on the matter at hand.”
“Zeke, do they move you around anywhere else?”
“No. I just stay here. I’ve been here since they took me.”
“Alright, well, help is on the way,” Nadine looked at Orensland, who nodded, but was grinning wolfishly. “Now we have a good idea of where you are.”
“You’re going to rescue me?”
“We’re not sure yet.”
“Shh. Someone’s coming.”
The boy sat down on the straw as if he had just woken up. The group could hear the gate open, and the man Orensland had followed came into view of the spell. “We’ll be returning you to your mother soon,” he said. “Probably just a few more days.” Then he placed a bowl of steaming porridge on the ground. “Eat up!” The gate could be heard closing after he moved away from Zeke.
Orensland had stopped flipping the coin. Now he was gripping his sword, his knuckles turning white.
“Anything else you want to tell him?” Nadine asked.
“Tell him that we’re going to get him out of there. I swear it,” the rogue said.
Nadine conveyed the message, and Zeke seemed excited as he began to eat the food provided. She said goodbye, and then ended the spell.
“Well,” said Hartwin. “I have provided you with a chance to see the boy through scrying. You now owe me a trip as caravan guards.”
“You are profiting from this boy’s misfortune,” Jenika growled at him. The elf looked slightly shocked.
“I am a businessman, it’s true,” he said. “But in this case I believe I am both looking out for my business and doing the right thing. If the Sendylus guild is moving into kidnapping and extortion as means of expanding their trade influence, then not only does it benefit me financially to bring them down, it will, in the long run, be better for the city at well.” He looked around at the group. “You now have this information. I believe that Hardal can help you know exactly where this boy is being held in the Sendylus guild’s complex. You may do what you wish with what you have learned.” He grew more serious. “But I do expect you to live up to your end of the bargain.”
“That was a very expensive spell,” Amara said.
“If we can prevent further loss of goods, life, and show the city officials that our rivals have begun to use less than legal means of expanding their trade influence, it will have been worth it,” Hartwin said. “We have a caravan that is set to leave in two days headed south to Tidewater City. Hardal and I have agreed that we will use it as a decoy as we previously discussed.”
“So it is not to be a full caravan?”
“No need to risk more goods than necessary,” Hardal said.
“If the caravan looks too well guarded, that could be a problem,” the ranger interjected. “May I suggest a regular guard, but instead of transporting goods you can secretly place guards in the wagons instead?”
“Yes,” said Jenika. “Especially if we think they will attack soon after we leave the city.”
Hardal put a hand to his chin. “That is a good idea,” he said. He looked at Hartwin.
“I defer to you in such matters,” the elf said. “I just keep the books nice and tidy. You keep the merchandise safe.”
“Aye,” the dwarf said. “I will consider your suggestion, Mister Fowler.”
“We should speak of the boy now,” Khaska said. “He is our priority for the moment.”
“Well, I leave that to you,” Hartwin said. “But the caravan will be leaving in the morning, two days from today. So act quickly. I am going to have the rumors started that the group responsible for bringing in the head of Jonathan of the Wastes will be escorting our caravan leaving on Wednesday.” With that, the elf left, followed by his wizard friend who wished them luck. Hardal stayed.
Based on what he had seen, Hardal was able to pinpoint that the building the boy was in was on the northeast corner of the complex. “It’s one of their storage buildings, but one of the older ones. I bet it’s rarely used these days.”
“Is anything nearby flammable?”
Hardal looked queerly at Orensland. Jenika was looking at him with the same expression.
“What? We’re going to need a distraction.”
“There’s a difference between trespassing and arson,” Jenika said. “I want to rescue the boy too.”
“Also,” Orensland said, “though I am loathe to bring it up, I think we might succeed better if we decide to split up?”
“What do you mean?” asked Rynn.
“If you, Khaska, and Amara go with the caravan, they will definitely not be expecting Jenika and myself to sneak into their guild at night and rescue the boy.”
Rynn frowned, and then opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. He pursed his lips. “The idea has merit,” he said. “If they’re committing a group to an ambush, they might not have as many guards left at their headquarters.” He looked at Hardal.
“Their guards and their caravan guards all come from a small privately funded group. They rarely contract out that I’m aware of. Your assessment is likely right. If they are going to ambush us, there will be less guards at their headquarters here in town.”
“There’s also the problem of what to do with the boy when he’s been rescued. If he just mysteriously shows up with his mother, they will have no protection.”
“The monks of the Hawkfeather Monastery, near where the boy and his family live, have offered to take them in for a time,” Jenika said. “They knew no information that could help, but can help in other ways.”
“That is a most gracious offer,” Khaska said. “Will they be safe there?”
“In the monastery? Yes,” Jenika replied, smirking. The thought of some thugs trying to take hostages from the well-trained monks amused her.
“I doubt the Sendylus guild will be very forgiving. It may be that Amy and her children would be better off leaving the city,” said Rynn. “I would suggest that we rescue Zeke the night before our caravan is to leave. That way there will be less guards, if they have left to ambush us.”
“How about splitting up?” asked Orensland.
Amara frowned. “How do you mean?”
“We don’t all need to tromp around the Sendylus guild’s headquarters. Fewer people means fewer chances of being spotted.”
They all paused to contemplate that. Khaska turned to Hardal. “Would that violate the terms of our agreement?”
“No,” the dwarf stated succinctly. “If you all choose to split up in such a way to save the boy, you invite the risks. There will be less of you at the ambush.”
“I’m staying with Orensland,” Jenika said flatly. Her tone brokered no argument. Khaska raised an eyebrow, but did not comment.
“So, the three of us heading to help out, then,” said Rynn. He grinned. “Springing traps is getting to be a habit with this group.”
“Let us hope we are as successful with this trap as we were with Nathan’s,” said Amara.
“For Zeke’s sake, as well,” said Orensland.
The group continued to talk, but it was clear in a few minutes that they were going to take Orensland’s suggestion. He and Jenika would remain and sneak in to rescue Zeke in the early morning two days hence. The rest of the group would be leaving with a caravan that same morning, guards stationed in the wagons to bolster their forces.