Across from the church, two small
figures prowled the shadows. Waiting to see if they would again
glimpse their quarry before sunrise.
“Glop, glop, glop, cruck.”
“What are you doing?” The older
watcher screeched, his irritation forcing his voice up high enough to
embarrass himself.
“Chwingg...glop, glop” The younger
watcher spewed out unabashedly.
“Chewing what?” Asked the older
one.
The younger of the two bared his prize through clenched teeth.
“You swiped her eyeball?!” The
eldest was shocked at seeing the wench's orb held between his
companions teeth like a sweet candy. Even now he marveled at how
vividly blue their victim's eye had been. The youngest simply shrugged and
grinned, “Oh, her memories are SO sweet.”
The eldest began to
chastise his bratty ward's behavior, both for making such a rash
decision and because he was angry he hadn't thought of it first, but the
wind shifted and when he caught the scent he froze before ranting.
As he looked to his left to warn the younger one, he realized they'd
both smelled Her by the look of fright on his companion's face.
Their mission had brought them into
the Gibbous Queen's territory and they were trespassing. If she
caught them, she would have the right to punish them and there would
be no way for the Crescent King to interfere on their behalf. Not
that he would, he had refused to ask her permission in the first
place and put them both in this jeopardy by asking them to spy on
the knight.
“We have to go!” The oldest hissed
frantically, only now realizing that his younger partner had already
begun squeezing down the rat hole they'd used to enter this alley,
the wench's eyeball long forgotten, having dropped to the ground and
rolled next to the alley wall. The older looked longingly at it and
then began squirming down the hole, deciding it wasn't worth the
risk.
She read through his poetry
again and wept, sobbing, knowing that the young boy who had written
his love for the world in these verses was gone forever. She knew
her sadness was compounded by the fact that he had been truly lost to
her for almost seven years before his actual demise...no not death, murder!
He had been murdered and she would find out by whom and she would
have her revenge. Yes, an eye for an eye.
The anger almost hid her
sadness, at least for a moment, but then she cursed herself. His
downfall had begun when he'd joined that....that....cult. The
beautiful young poet, the little brother with eyes full of light,
had disappeared fully then. She knew his grief at their mother's
death had caused it. In many ways he'd died that day, as well as her. And
now she was all that was left, gone were her mother, father, uncle,
two sisters and now her third and last brother. All cruelly leaving
her here, so she could rot each and every moment her fetid breath
escaped her lungs.
She should have fought that
cult's grip on him. She should have pulled him back to her. Shame
made her remember that he'd look so much like their beloved mother,
that it hurt to see him. To look upon his face and see their own
mother. The sobbing overwhelmed her.
No, grief would not guide
her. Vengeance would, first with the cult and then with his
murderer. And maybe, just maybe, she would be blessed enough to join
them all in the hereafter, sooner rather than later.
Deep under the earth, he
stood in front of the double doors to the inner chamber. Their stone
faces etched in the language of the Wind Swords. He read their grave
warnings, but they held no fear for him, his destiny was nearly at
hand.
He looked to the last three
members of his party. They had started with nine, and this was all
that was left. He had worked with most of them for over a decade and
each had known and accepted the risks. They were, after all, professionals.
He would honor them all later, but now was not the time for
nostalgia. Not here. Their requiem would not be in this dank tomb,
but at a wake in the light of the sun.
He looked at Rutger, the
trap expert and motioned with his head to get started. He watched
his oldest comrade inhale deeply and make a sign to the pagan god,
Krysis. Then Rutger went to to work on the doors. He joined the
rest who were all listening tensely for more denizens of this deep, dark hole
shuffling toward them in the blackness. His senses took in the
dampness of the cavern's walls and ceiling; the foul air that
wrapped through the stone and his lungs; the elaborate stone tiling
with it's symmetrical pattern that made up the floor. Finally, hen
he heard the soft click of the door's mechanism and a small whirring
as the ancient doors parted easily.
He had requested that no
one follow him into the the small chamber and none of them challenged
it. The fleece was the only thing in the room, not even dust
gathered here. It hung on the far wall on a small peg. It's wool as
fine as the day it had been shaved.
He removed it and began to
study the words on the skin. The secret had been entrusted to the
dwarves, hidden deep within the Jarl's Freehold. Such a remarkably odd choice, but the dwarves had owed the Monks at least that much.
To protect the secret, to protect the world.
He sighed and brought the
fleece out to his waiting party. They had the practiced ease of tomb
raiders, but he could see they were hopeful this quest was finally
over.
He shook his head and fished into his sack for the Scroll he'd
purchased and handed it to Wessely. “The Scroll will easily
teleport us from this hole, read it quickly, please. And then we go
to Jarlsburg where we will finish this.”
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