The following day was dark and
gloomy, the air smelling sweet with the coming of an evening storm. Cyrus had gone
over the events of the battle as best as he could with the city council. All
remember hearing the explosive noise created by the lightning that seemed to
change the course of the battle, but none could be sure where it came from.
Most had assumed Veronica or Balifore had unleashed a spell that had been the
turning point in the battle, but the two mages were just as unaware as everyone
else about the mystery bolt. Cyrus had been the only survivor of those that
were close to the event, but he remembered little about the battle. During his
battle rage, the big warrior admitted to losing control of his animal instincts
now and then, consciously blacking out and allowing his rage to take over. It
was a common occurrence with his people; his friends proving his words by
stating times that Cyrus had nearly attacked them during some of these
emotional blackouts. The council convened quickly, allowing all present to
attend the funeral of Raem, which was to be held within the hour.
The burial was held in an
immense graveyard on the north edge of town. The neatly trimmed grasses on the
fence-enclosed grounds were shaded gloomily, several large trees scattered
throughout the cemetery allowing little light to enter the shadowy grounds. The
bodies of the eleven dead soldiers were lying in an orderly row near deep
cavities dug into the earth. The graves were sheltered with a wide tarp to keep
the chilling drizzle now falling from the sky off of those who were gathering
around. Each body had been draped in the Metier standard with the exception of
Raem, who was draped in a standard of the gray dragon that was present on the
medallion Cyrus had received from him. Those that attended the funeral gathered
around slowly, heads bowed in grief. Eileia stood within a ring formed by
Cyrus' friends, clutching her blue cloak around her. Cyrus stood beside her,
arm around her waist to support her. The bishop presiding over the fallen
soldiers began speaking loudly to be heard over the distant thunder rolling
from the mountains to the east. When he finished his sermon, everyone stepped
away to allow the gathering elite guard to approach in precision formation.
Avengard, his armor gleaming brightly, stood beside ten of the guards at the
head of each open casket. They each bore the sword of their fallen comrades,
Avengard holding the now polished falchion of Raem across his forearms. At the
knight's command, each man raised the weapon parallel with his bodies, a salute
normally performed at the burial of a Peacekeeper. Each weapon was then placed
across the bodies, blade down. As the remaining soldiers slowly lowered the
cadavers into the ground, Avengard looked to the horizon. Cyrus held Eileia
closer, her body quivering with grief as she buried her face in his shoulder.
As Cyrus and Eileia headed back
for the tavern, they were hailed by one of the officers in Raem's elite guards,
closely followed by a contingent of six other men wearing similar uniforms,
Cyrus recognizing the three that had saluted him after the battle. Cyrus held
his ground as the men approached, curious as to what they wanted. Maybe one of
them knew what the strange medallion meant to Raem, he thought. As the men
stopped before them, the lead officer cleared his throat and began to speak.
“My name is Rialin, sir. I have
been told of your bravery during the battle. I wanted to thank you for your
help and also to offer my condolences to Raem’s niece.” The young man began. He
couldn't have been any older than Cyrus was; his dark eyes sunk in their
sockets from lack of sleep. The young man seemed almost ready to fall at the
warrior's feet in exhaustion.
“He was a great man.” Cyrus
said solemnly. “He will be sorely missed.”
The young man turned briefly to
his companions, his face matching theirs, then back to Cyrus. “I have also been
told you are the new heir to Raem's holdings.” He stated, pointing at the
medallion Cyrus wore around his neck.
“What does this mean?” He
asked. “Raem was never able to tell me.”
“It means,” one of the others,
an older man, started. “That you are now in command of the Solen’Da.”
Cyrus shot a quick glance at
Eileia, but she didn't meet his gaze. Her thoughts were elsewhere, a vacant
stare filling her beautiful green eyes. Her only means of support at that time
seemed to be in Cyrus strong embrace. The clansman felt her pain and sorrow.
“I’ve heard of your people.
Solen’Da were the information gatherers that lived under the Shadow Dragon
banner, but were unable to become Aspects. Perfect agents, according to the
clans, because you didn’t carry the Mark of the Clan. You had become nomads
once the clan was wiped out, waiting out the Seer’s prophecy.” Cyrus shook his
head. More questions needed to be answered now. Raem was a Solen’Da! That would
mean that Eileia, by blood, was one too.
“I don’t think I can do this. I
have too much that needs to be done now. You’ll need to find someone else to
lead you.”
“I don't think you understand.”
The younger man whispered. “The Solen’Da took up the banner as Metier Elite
seven years ago. Raem had ceased our search briefly to take care of Eileia, but
we were preparing to continue our search until his death. He was one of the
last Keen’Ha, our chieftain. We thought he was the last, but we found out about
another not long ago, the last member of his cell. We know he produced
offspring, but he had lost hope and had refused to teach his children of The
Return. He wouldn’t even tell us their names.” The young man stopped. “Raem’s
faith in the prophecy was strong. He was the last of those that refused to give
up on what he believed in. We go where Raem would go. Now we go where you go.”
“What of this other you found?
Couldn’t he lead you better than I could? I know just as much about the Seer’s
prophecy as any other in my clan, but I wouldn’t know as much as the Solen’Da
would.”
Rialin shook his head. “The
Solen’Da always worked in two groups, a precaution during the Clan Wars. We
still hold to that ideal even now. Although he is the last of the true Keen’Ha,
his belief is gone.”
“Please don't dishonor Raem’s
memory by refusing.” Another guard, his face reminding the big man of Avengard,
pleaded. “We now follow your command, as he wished. You are now our Keen’Ha.”
Cyrus peered at Rialin,
confusion showing on his face. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing,
he thought. Why is everything hitting me so fast? A thousand questions begged
to be answered, but he didn’t even know where to start.
“What exactly do you mean for
me to do?” The warrior asked.
All of the men looked to
Rialin, who cleared his throat before speaking. “We are following clues left
behind by the Shadow Dragon Seer five hundred years ago. We were to seek out a
man named Eldd Athtor in the City of Shadow. He would have more information
that would help us continue the search.” Rialin paused briefly, Cyrus noticing
his gaze falling to the warrior's Black Griffon tattoo. Cyrus felt the tattoo
burn again. He gritted his teeth as he fought the temptation to scratch the
symbol of his people.
“Raem mentioned Eldd Athtor to
me as well. Look, I know of the story of the Seer. I am of the Black Griffon
clan and my people were there when the Shadow Dragons and the Psions wiped each
other out over five hundred years ago. Not a single person from either clan
could possibly be alive today.”
“Raem explained that to me.”
Eileia piped in, surprising Cyrus. “He started teaching me what he said I
needed to know about the lore of that clan, but I thought he was just telling
me stories. Does that mean that this prophecy is real?”
“The prophecy foretold of the
rebirth of Drac Ton’Kele, the leader of the Shadow Dragons that sacrificed
himself in an effort to save his people.” Cyrus answered. “Some see it as a
fairy tale while others see it as the coming of something life-changing for all
of the clans.”
Rialin looked into Cyrus' eyes,
the irritation he felt blazing in his eyes. “You don't believe the legend to be
true? You of all people should know that the time for The Return is very close
at hand.”
“I find it hard to believe
sometimes. This resurrected king would be over five hundred years old by now.
Everyone who knows the story remembers the plague that wiped out every man,
woman and child from the Shadow Dragons and the Psions. Those clans no longer
exist. You've been searching for someone based on rumors and false hopes all
these years.”
“If you give us a chance, we
can let you know what we've seen. That may prove our quest is not a search in
vain.” Rialin and the other men of the guard knelt to one knee and bowed their
heads to honor their new Keen’Ha. “Please take this with an open mind and at
least help us finish what we’ve started.”
Cyrus thought for long moments,
finally heaving a sigh. “All right. I need to take care of my business first.
You will need to stay here.” He raised his hands as they began to volunteer
their help. “I must do this with my friends. I will return as soon as possible.
Who is second in command?”
“Rialin is.” An older warrior
stated.
Cyrus looked to Rialin and
nodded. “You are in command until I return. Be prepared to leave for the City of
Shadow by then. I promised to find this man when I was given the medallion and
that's just what I intend to do. I’ll come to your headquarters tonight to
finalize our plans.”
Cyrus left the soldiers shortly
after, seeing Eileia needed rest after the last few agonizing days. He met with
them briefly later that night, organizing his new followers for the trip they
would all soon take. The Solen’Da ranks were larger than Cyrus expected,
numbering nearly fifty in all. Rialin had a number of tomes that revealed what
had been discovered by Raem, as well as detailed accounts from previous
Keen’Has, but Cyrus explained he would learn more when the time came. Rialin
began to relax more around Cyrus as they spent many hours organizing their
trip. He hoped he could earn each man's trust in the coming months. Eileia
seemed in better spirits when Cyrus returned to the inn around midnight. Her
thoughts still drifted to her uncle now and then, but the returning sparkle in
her eyes let him know she was moving on.
Three days later, Cyrus walked
into a small tavern close to the southern gate of the city. The tavern was
quite small, in relative comparison to most, and outwardly showed signs of age
as rotting wood flaked from the walls. A small covered porch stretched out most
of the length of the building itself, faint smears of blood spattered across
the fading planks. A sign was hanging by one ring to a rusted arm, the words The Brimming Mug fading from the
weathered, old emblem. The inside of the tavern was, surprisingly, well
cleaned. The flooring looked freshly waxed. The tables and chairs, although
showing some signs of wear and tear, appeared freshly polished. There were
tables and booths scattered orderly around the room. It appeared as if he had
just caught them at opening time, apparently, because there were only three men
in the entire tavern sipping ale casually out of steel mugs and conversing
quietly. The bar sat just to the left of the entrance and stretched for a short
length, ending at a canvas doorway that was probably the entrance to the tavern
stockroom. A short, stout dwarf exited the back room through the canvas
doorway, then walked up a short few steps onto a ramp that Cyrus had not
noticed before, hidden by the bar itself. He wore a white cotton shirt with the
sleeves cut off, his bright, red beard hanging in braids nearly to his waist.
His flaming red hair, or what was left of it, was combed over a large bald
spot. His arms were a little fleshy, but his hard eyes told Cyrus that this man
had seen more troubles than even he had.
“Afternoon. What kin I do for
ye?” He barked in a deep, throaty voice.
“A mug of ale, my friend.”
Cyrus replied, fingering the dragon medallion around his neck.
The dwarf left for the other
side of the bar and returned moments later with a brimming mug of a light
colored liquid with a frothy layer of tiny bubbles floating on the top.
“What's this?” Cyrus asked, as
he looked curiously at the contents of the mug.
“Don't rightly know.” The dwarf
said with a smile, “Brewed it myself by accident. Hadn't givin' it a name yet.
Let's say you try it an' give me an idear o' what I should call it.”
Cyrus sniffed the concoction
curiously. It had a unique, moldy smell to it as if it had been sitting in a
vat for too long. He raised the mug to his lips and sipped with a little
caution.
“Well? What do ya think?”
Cyrus shrugged. “Not bad. Kind
of weak compared to what I'm used to drinking.” He thought for a moment. “I
don't know. I can't really think of anything appropriate to call it.”
The dwarf sighed. “Don’t worry.
You're not the first person who couldn't think of anything.” He extended his
hand to Cyrus. “Name's Regar. Arms merchant and part time bartender.”
Cyrus grabbed the dwarf's
forearm firmly. “Cyrus Redblade. A pleasure to meet you, Regar.”
“So what brings ye t’ Metier,
Cyrus?”
“Just passing through on my way
to Forge's Den. I'm looking for somebody actually. Maybe you’ve seen him.”
Cyrus gave the old dwarf the description of Zolaar.
The old dwarf thought for a few
moments. “Can't say that I've seen 'im, friend. You should try Eileia's place,
in the mid o' town. She gets more business there.”
Cyrus nodded. “Thank you
anyway. I'm staying at Eileia's as a matter of fact. If you happened to see him
would you send someone there to let me know?”
“I'll do what I can. I work
this place alone so's I might hafe'ta send one of the patrons who hop from
tavern t' tavern t' let ya know.”
Cyrus nodded in thanks and
looked around the room inquisitively. “So if you're an arms merchant, what are
you doing running a dive like this?” he joked.
The dwarf smiled a wicked grin.
“I won this place in a game o' stones. I got a friend o' mine that runs the
arms business for me. Only time I leave 'ere is when a big sale goes down.”
“Think this friend of yours may
know something of the man I seek.”
Regar shook his head. “I doubt
it. Keeps to himself mostly, 'less there's a good fight to be had. Ya see, he's
a Minotaur. Big fella. Can't pronounce 'is name so me friends all called him
Meat.”
Cyrus grinned. “Meat, huh? I
think I've heard of him. Didn't he win the hand-to-hand tournament in
Winterfury a few years back?”
Regar puffed out his chest
proudly. “One in tha' same. He's a good cow. Won me nearly three thousand gold
in tha' tourney.” The dwarf leaned closer to Cyrus. “Even won Lord Garr a bit
o' money if I'm rememberin'. Fine man that Lord Garr.”
The warrior was surprised. Lord
Garr wasn’t exactly someone well known. He just happened to be in the right
place at the right time during some historical events. Any other time, he
locked himself in his castle and was rarely seen.
“You know Lord Garr, too? He
helped me out of a tight spot about two years ago.”
Regar nodded. “That sounds like
Garr all right. Always seems to be ‘round when somebody needs ‘im. If I didn’t
know better, I’d say he was a god in human clothes.”
Cyrus chuckled. “Don’t know
that I’d go that far.”
Cyrus finished his drink and
spoke with the old dwarf for a bit longer. It seemed Regar did in fact know Lord
Garr very well. Cyrus told the dwarf about Malkar's plan to kill Lord Garr and
asked him to pass down the warning. He paid Regar, leaving a sizable tip for
the old dwarf, and headed back up towards The Trades Inn and Tavern.
He checked every store and tavern along the way, hoping to catch a glimpse of
this vile priest that he wanted to find so badly. When he reached The Trades Inn and Tavern, he marched
immediately upstairs to the companion’s gathering room, hoping that one of his
friends had good news on Zolaar’s whereabouts. The anticipation was killing
him.
As Cyrus walked through the
entranceway of the small gathering room, Eileia greeted him by jumping into his
arms and planting a kiss on him. Everyone was accounted for with the exception
of Thordex. Surprised at Eileia’s show of affection, Cyrus gazed curiously into
her eyes.
“How did your day go, sir?” She
beamed brightly.
“Just fine I suppose.” Cyrus
responded, “As good as it can go when you're waiting for someone that you feel
won’t be showing up at all.”
“Well the waiting is over.”
Talric called from across the room. He, Balifore and Avengard had been going
over what looked to be a map of the city. “I heard from my elven friend that
Zolaar is on his way now. He should be arriving through the north gate by
sundown.”
“Good. I can't wait to meet
him. “Cyrus said wearing a wicked grin.
“I'm going to head down the
hall and check on Veronica. She was feeling a little tired and decided to lie
down for a while. Let us know when you're ready to go.” With that, he walked
quickly out the front door.
Eileia watched him as he left;
her arms still around Cyrus' neck.
“He loves her you know.”
Cyrus stared at her with a
puzzling squint. “How would you know something like that?”
She shrugged. “Woman's
instinct, I guess. I could see it in his eyes the moment I met him.” She turned
to look at Cyrus firmly. “But you, sir, are a mystery.”
Cyrus smirked. “Must be the
patch.”
Eileia giggled innocently then
kissed him again before hurrying out the door.
“She seems a bit more cheery
than I expected.” Cyrus stated after Eileia had left.
“I believe she’s coping in her
own way.” McGowan reasoned. “She doesn’t want to dwell on the loss of her uncle
so she doesn’t think about it. We each have our own way of dealing with the
pain of loss.”
Cyrus nodded and noticed the
priest staring at him oddly. Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, the warrior
decided to quickly change the subject.
“Where’s Thordex?” Cyrus asked.
Balifore, standing near the
window, continued peering outside. “He said he had a plan and needed to take a
walk to scope out the area around us.”
“If you ask me,” Avengard
interrupted, “His plan has faults. I don’t see how we can possibly catch the
dark cleric if we’re all so blatantly out in the open, so to speak.”
McGowan frowned at the
Peacekeeper. “I see no faults. We know what the man looks like, but he can’t
readily identify us. Besides, most of us will be disguised anyway.”
Balifore sneered. “I think the
knight just doesn’t want to degrade himself by posing as a beggar.”
“Watch your tongue, wizard.”
Avengard snarled as he began to stalk towards Balifore. “I’ll do what needs to
be done. Don’t ever question my loyalties.”
Cyrus stepped between the two.
“Stop this. We’re all on the same side here. Let’s just go over the plan and
we’ll revise anything that may need to be changed.”
Avengard steeled his eyes,
nodding curtly. Balifore sat back down in his chair, drawing his hood further
to shade his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the window. When all was
settled and Thordex returned, they again went over their plans, explaining
later to Eileia what they wanted her to do. When the planning was over, it was
nearing dusk. The companions took their places and awaited the mysterious
Zolaar.
At nightfall, the lights all around
town flickered on, the windows appearing as yellow eyes staring into the dark
streets. Zolaar checked his surroundings fearfully. He found it strange that
the guards had asked him so many questions at the gate. His travels as of late
had taken him to and from the city several times, but he had never been
questioned with as much suspicion as tonight. Zolaar clutched his red cloak
tightly around his throat and pulled his cowl up over his head, cutting away
some of the slight chills that hung over the town like a moist blanket. He
licked his lips and readjusted his hand underneath his cloak, longing to
relieve the pain. This wretched town was beginning to unnerve him. The guard's
had explained that orcs had been raiding the town lately, accounting for tighter
security. A quick nudge into the soldier’s mind had assured him that the
explanation was a lie, and Zolaar knew there was something odd going on. He
peered around to make sure he wasn't being followed, and headed to the Trades Inn and Tavern to tell his men of
Lord Malkar's plan. His hand began to burn again, like it always has since he
had fled Lockenwood. Every time his blood began to rush his hand would burn,
the agony overcoming him momentarily until he was able to block out the pain.
It had been he who pulled Malkar out of the blast radius of the fireball that
had nearly ended his life in Lockenwood, and he soon realized his sacrifice was
in vain. The fire had been hot enough to peel the skin from his bones. He had
done as much as he could to heal the wound, but it never seemed enough. Malkar
had given no thanks, his only thought being on the mysterious item that he had
seen in a vision. He hated that foul mage and plotted, even now, how he could
kill him once he had this artifact, if it did indeed exist. Zolaar smiled then
glided up the path leading to the tavern.
Zolaar had been so lost in
thought, he failed to notice a small cat, darting shadow to shadow, watching
his every move. The feline stopped behind a large barrel and waited for a few
moments before dropping to its stomach. The cat suddenly began to grow, its
form becoming vaguely humanoid. When the transformation was over, a small
halfling rogue crouched where the cat had been moments before. Thordex winced
slightly as he stooped in the shadow of the oaken barrel. His stomach wound
from the orc battle was still not quite healed and would burn when he used his
feline form. He waited until Zolaar was inside the tavern, then slipped out of
the dirty alleyway unnoticed, walking casually towards the entrance, hoping
everything would go just as planned. A quick grin crossed his face as he
approached Avengard, dressed in rags as he begged by the door. Thordex removed
his handkerchief from his belt and patted it gently in an oozing pile of refuse
at the corner of the alley. Nodding to the paladin and receiving a nod in
return, he ignored the stench as he placed the handkerchief over his nose and
mouth and began walking towards the entrance to the tavern. He knew his part of
the plan would go off without a hitch.
Cyrus, sitting at the foot of
the stairs, watched as a man fitting Zolaar’s description walked into the
tavern, removing his hood as he entered. For a brief moment, Cyrus saw the
bloodied bandage covering the man’s hand. So that’s the man that we’ve been
waiting days for, Cyrus thought, a bit disappointed at the sight. Zolaar sat in
a booth on the far side of the room and waited, peering nervously around as if
waiting for someone. Cyrus continued his scan around the tavern, winking at
Eileia briefly then settling on Balifore. The Talisman had his cowl down low
over his face and was motioning Cyrus over. As the warrior approached, Balifore
lowered his head, further covering his face in obscurity, and sipped casually
from his tankard.
Cyrus sat with his back to
Zolaar, placing himself in between the line of sight of Balifore and the
cultist.
“What’s wrong?” the warrior
asked.
“I have seen that man before.
He was with Malkar when he was casting his final spell in Lockenwood. It never
occurred to me that he could be alive as well. He knows my face and may ruin
our plans if he sees me.”
“Well that explains the burn
then. He never got a look at us in Lockenwood so he shouldn't recognize anyone
else. Veronica, maybe, but she won’t even be here for this. Just keep out of
sight and maybe he won't see you.”
Cyrus looked towards the door
just as Thordex entered. A handkerchief was thrown across his face, held in
place by one hand. He was hacking and coughing wildly, his body staggering and
convulsing as he tried to make his way towards a table full of dwarves. As he
moved to sit at the table, everyone within a ten-foot radius either left or
moved to another corner of the tavern, avoiding the apparently plague-ridden
halfling. Cyrus turned his attention back to Balifore and the two began to
snicker quietly.
“He’s one fine little actor,
eh? May as well put the plan in motion.” The Talisman said, trying to regain
his composure.
Cyrus motioned across his
shoulder and bellowed loudly. “Wench!” He turned back to Balifore with a grin.
Eileia walked quickly to their
table, beet red. “I know someone who's going to sleep with the horses tonight
if he doesn't watch his mouth.” She muttered to Cyrus, a swift kick to the shin
telling him she meant it.
“Just staying in character,
dear. Don't want to frighten off our friend there. I think he's waiting for
Spearzor and the others. “ Cyrus told her. “You might want to give him his
drink now. Charm him a little and let him relax his guard. The drugs take
affect faster that way, especially the fear enducing one.”
He waved his arm towards the
bar and yelled, “Now, fetch!” She looked at him smartly and walked back towards
the bar, receiving a slap on the behind for her swiftness. Balifore started
snickering again, keeping his cowl pulled low over his face. Cyrus then turned
back to Thordex. The little rogue was still hacking and his area of desolation
was getting bigger. People started filing out of the tavern, pushing each other
to quicken their escape.
“Is there anything I can get
for you, handsome?” Eileia asked Zolaar.
“Just hot tea. I am in no mood
for ale tonight.” He covered his bandaged hand and glanced around the room
nervously.
Eileia glanced at him in mock
curiosity. “You've been here a few times before with a few others, haven't you?
I could recognize that charming face anywhere. Is anything the matter? You look
like you've seen a banshee.”
Zolaar tapped the index finger
of his good hand on the table. “The men I usually come in here with. Have you
seen them?”
She shrugged convincingly.
“They were here last night, but not tonight. If they do show up, call me. The
tall one with the growth on his face still owes me for the ales he drank last
night. He was so drunk he had to be carried out of here.”
The dark cleric looked at her
and forced a smile. “I will tell him. Now about that tea...”
Eileia flashed her most
seductive smile and giggled. “Coming right up, handsome.”
As she passed Cyrus on her way
to the supply room, she made a face to Cyrus that emphasized the disgust she
felt for flirting with Zolaar. He smiled and nodded, a silent prayer for hope
that this plan worked. They only had one chance and didn't want to blow it. If
Zolaar was a high priest it meant he could be a very powerful dark cleric.
After witnessing some of the miracles performed by McGowan, Cyrus was hesitant
at attacking someone who could use a power like that to hurt someone. He was
afraid of no man, but to be assaulted with the energies of magic was something
all together different.
Eileia made her way back to Zolaar's
table, the cup of hot tea steaming on her tray. She placed the cup on the table
and sat down across from him, facing Balifore and Cyrus.
“So what brings you back to our
fair town?” she asked the cleric, leaning back in her chair.
“I am merely a holy man,
traveling the frontier spreading the word of my god.”
She looked at him with a smile.
“What god might that be?”
Zolaar sat quietly for a
moment, sipping his tea. “Uh, Lilliana, Goddess of Love.” He lied.
“Ah. So you don't follow a vow of
abstinence?” she asked, blushing noticeably.
A surprised look fell across
his face. “Look, I know you mean well, but I don't have time for idle chatter.
I just want to be left alone.”
Eileia looked at him in shock.
“I'm just trying to be friendly. I get so lonely here sometimes it's good to
see someone who doesn't look like they've murdered somebody.” Zolaar quit
sipping and looked at her. “I'll just go about my duties and leave you alone.
Call me if you need anything else.” She stood up and quickly walked away.
Zolaar continued sipping his
tea, then suddenly stopped. He rubbed his weary eyes with his good hand,
noticing how they trembled. He felt so sleepy now for some reason. He figured
his nerves were getting the best of him and, making a mental note to drop by
and check for Spearzor later, stood to walk out of the tavern. He blacked out
before he even left his chair. Seeing him slumped over his table, Eileia walked
back over to him. She shook him momentarily and, seeing he was out like a
candle, laid his head on his arms, telling curious customers how he had drunk
so much and needed his sleep.
It took no time to clear out
the remaining patrons in the tavern. Thordex merely had to walk to each taken
table, coughing and hacking loudly, and ask for a few copper pieces for a sick
halfling. In no time at all, the tavern was completely empty. The halfling had
made quite a bit of money as well, one elven couple even going so far as to
give him three gold pieces if he would let them leave. Zolaar, head down on the
table, was snoring quietly. Cyrus motioned to the others, remembering to step
outside and retrieve Avengard, who assured them Zolaar was not being followed.
As they all crowded around him, the nimble rogue removed any hidden weapons
from his body. Thordex shoved his vile smelling rag under Zolaar's nose. The
tall cultist started from his slumber and, with weary eyes, gazed around the
tavern curiously. When he finally noticed the people standing around him he
jumped. His eyes bulged as he met the gaze of Balifore, remembering the face of
the man who had broken Malkar’s spell, causing the fireball to rage out of
control those many weeks ago.
“We'd like to ask you a few
questions, if you don't mind?” Cyrus asked casually. He sat down by Zolaar and
put his arm around the man roughly, pulling him back to a seated position.
“I-I don't k-know how I could
h-help you.” He stammered. He attempted to cast a spell to destroy these
infidels, but the cloudy thoughts he conjured kept him from doing so. I’ve been
drugged! I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.
“I had a friend that lived not
far from here, near the mountains.” Talric growled at him, as he tossed the
Brotherhood of Darkness ring to the table. “We found this outside of his home.
It came off of a body by his house, where he lay murdered. This ring matches
the one you wear.”
“I didn't kill any one. “Zolaar
answered back quickly. Under the table, he cautiously moved his hand to his
forearm, reaching for his dagger. If he were going to die, he would take one or
two of these people with him.
“Don't bother, friend. I took
the liberty of borrowing your daggers before I woke you.” Thordex chided in,
holding the point of a gleaming blade between two fingers. “Now what would a
cleric be doing carrying daggers. Isn't it against your religion?”
Zolaar rubbed his eyes, the
drug he had been given still making him weary. He glared at the bar angrily.
Eileia had been standing by one of the stools and, seeing the rage on his face,
made her way to the back room. A sudden overwhelming sense of fear and panic
struck him then, the blood racing through his body. Beads of sweat formed on
his upper lip.
Cyrus hugged him tighter,
knowing the fear enducing drug had finally taken effect. “Now why would the
Brotherhood of Darkness kill a lonely man in the woods and why would they leave
lackeys to watch this town?”
“It wasn't me. Malkar ordered
his soldiers to kill that man. He knew the location of something Malkar was
looking for. I had nothing to do with it. I had nothing to do with it!” The man
screamed in hysterics as he sank back into his booth, covering his face.
“Good. That clears that up.”
Cyrus said with a mock smile on his face, “Now why are there men watching this
town?” He thought for a moment, “Malkar left here in a big hurry from what
we've been told. What is he looking for?”
The man looked at Cyrus,
swallowing hard as sweat beaded on his brow. “My men were supposed to keep you
from following him. I was sent to find you and bring your rune mage back for
questioning. Supposedly he knows the location of a valuable item he seeks. He
was heading to Tiermane for a clue that could lead him to his final
destination. That's all I know.” A sudden thought occurred to him, “Now that
I've helped you, will you let me go?”
Cyrus looked to Talric, then to
the ever-silent Avengard, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don't remember
saying anything about letting you go.”
Zolaar sighed. “I thought you
might say that.” With that, he pushed himself free of Cyrus' grasp and, placing
his hand on his arm bracer, muttered a few words under his breath. Where he had
been moments ago, there was now nothing but a filmy haze. The haze darted, with
lightning speed, out the front door and down the street, disappearing in the
near impenetrable darkness.
Cyrus, Avengard, and Talric
looked to the empty doorway, then glared at Thordex.
“Guess I should have taken the
bracers off, too. Sorry.” He shrugged meekly.
