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Alixander Fey -> RE: The Oath (3/5/2009 22:08:09)
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Agrathan set his eighth mug down when the girl with the red hair left the tavern. The only pub open at this time of day, the Dreadful Dragon attracted a quieter clientele than most. Which was good, because his query wasn’t nearly as wild as her hair suggested. He swept his cape back, lowered his cowl, and donned a nice smile. He wouldn’t want her to think he was some kind of rapist.
Red Hair interacted well with her friends, but her demeanor practically screamed “naďve.” He trailed her for several minutes undetected; she carried no weapons, took too many deserted streets, and never looked behind her. Naďve, indeed. Practically a target for the scum and filth that infested Aduil.
When he materialized on her front porch, she screamed and dropped her basket of bread. He made no motion to retrieve the bread, but he did offer her a friendly hand. “I’m Agrathan Thoulurd. And you have beautiful hair.”
Shock haunted her face as she bent to reassemble her grocery basket. Red Hair tried her hardest not to look alarmed, but failed. “It’s good to meet you, Agrathan. May I ask why you decided to scare me instead of introducing yourself like a normal man would?”
He smiled. Naďve, but she had a backbone. “I’m pretty new to this town, but I have a drinking buddy who has a friend who knows this guy, and I’m told your mother was Della SouthFlame.”
This time her anger flared as red as her hair. “Yes, she was. And why would that be important? She died when I was very young.”
He nodded. “I noticed. Someone dug up her grave. Do you know why?”
Her stiff head rotated left, then right, then left again; a forced expression of “no.” “I… I heard someone was robbing the graves. I don’t know why they would.”
Agrathan leaned closer, flashing a rogue smile. “I heard it has something to do with… a curse, fourteen years ago. Ever heard a rumor about that?”
Her gaze turned to steel. Red Hair spun on her heels and stormed into her house. Before she managed to slam the door, the ranger wedged his foot into the crack. “Ms. SouthFlame, where is your father buried?”
She said nothing, but her fleeting glance northward gave him all the answer he needed.
Tara stood alone in the center of the graveyard, listening. He heard… silence. An echo so empty it felt like a scream inside his heard. Although all around him he could feel the tiny, bright souls of birds, insects, and rodents, none of them made a sound.
He stamped his feet against the dirt. Nothing.
He tried against, this time striking stone. Still nothing.
He clapped his hands. Then he summoned magic and clapped again. The spell, a sonic shockwave, whispered over the grass as silent as the wind. He hadn’t heard his spell-words, either.
The last time he and Agrathan had been to the graveyard, they had spoken to each other. And now he could not hear a spell designed to stun with loud noise. Curious indeed.
Beret stepped into the abandoned alley as soon as he knew Thomas was alone. The young man had taken this crowded shortcut home from the town’s small dock, leaving his friends with a few hearty slaps on the back. His face darkened as soon as he saw the bartender approach.
“Beret…” His voice was low, barely a whisper. “Beret, I can’t tell you anything. Please, don’t make me do this.”
The bartender raised a hand. “Hold on, young man. I’m not making you do anything. This isn’t a threat. This is approaching you while your mother’s not breathing down your neck.”
Thomas smiled. “Thanks for that. You nearly got me cooked. But still… I’m sorry I said anything to your daughter. I thought she was one of us, you know? I didn’t think you’d call in a mage and a ranger. What did you want to do, arrest us?” The boy gained confidence as he spoke, drawing strength from a misguided conviction that he had to hide the truth from Beret. The bartender could see it in the way he puffed out his chest.
“Have you done anything that needs arresting? I just want to find out why the graves are being robbed. Are you and your friends behind it?”
“Are you crazy? You think we want to mess with the dead?” The boy backed away, fists raised.
“No, I really think you’re smarter then that. You wanna tell me what’s up, then? Surely you’ve heard something about the grave robbings. There has to be a rumor going around somewhere.”
A hint of fear wavered across the boy’s face, disappearing as fast as it had come. “Look, there are rumors about a curse that happened a few years back. And then there’s these grave robbings. But they have nothing to do with each other. They can’t.”
“You sure about that?”
Thomas nodded his head, all traces of fear purged.
“Then how come the only bodies that are being stolen died in the past fourteen years ago? How come it’s only the bodies affected by that curse of yours?”
Fear returned, twisting the boy’s face into a mask of uncertainty. “It must be… just a coincidence. They can’t have anything to do with each other. It’s not possible.” Lowering his shoulder, the boy charged towards him. Before Beret could move to stop him, Thomas batted the older man aside and dashed into the open street.
The flavor was off.
Tara hid in the back room of a small grocer, using magic to hide from unwanted eyes. Lost in a sort of meditation, he stretched his presence forward, wrapping it around the house just one door down. He could feel the magic of Gamiel’s shop, not weak, but not strong. His original assessment had been exact; Gamiel stood no chance against his power. The wizard had just barely reached the nineteenth tier, if that. Not that he was doing poorly; a mage was considered accomplished if he reached the twenty-seventh tier in his lifetime. And Gamiel had at least twenty years more to live, if he kept his body healthy.
But it ruled him out as the necromancer controlling the undead. Although a skilled mage and a competent wizard, Gamiel had never touched sorcery. And without sorcery, necromancy was impossible.
Besides, the flavor was off.
Every soul had a fingerprint, a tinge of their own unique presence. It could not be forged, stolen, or changed. Mages trained in certain arts could track a man just by following the fingerprint of his spirit. Tara had never received such training, but he could taste the hint of Gamiel’s soul in the magic surrounding his shop. And it was different than the fingerprint left on the silence spell in the graveyard.
Thus, the flavor was off. Gamiel couldn’t be the necromancer. They had another enemy, one as yet unseen. And Tara had to find him before the monster could finish looting the corpses. Whatever this necromancer had in mind, RiverFord needed his help.
They gathered just before dusk, in time for Beret to open the tavern. Tara and Agrathan shifted to their usual table in the back corner, while the bartender shined the last set of mugs. Erika sat at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for them to talk about the day’s business. He doubted Beret knew about her subterfuge, but Tara could feel the magic of his silver ring, hanging just around the corner. He decided to stay silent about the girl’s presence.
“So, who’s going to start?” This from Agrathan, impatient as always. Tara didn’t mind; it meant the ranger brought good news.
“I’ll go,” Beret said with a sigh. “I got nothing from Thomas. And I asked around a few more times. No one is talking about whatever happened fourteen years ago. But…” He paused for a moment. “Thomas seemed very sure that the curse and these grave robbings weren’t related. He said they couldn’t be.”
“That’s impossible,” Agrathan said. “This is too much to be a coincidence.”
Beret shrugged. “Are you sure? If this has something to do with… I don’t know, whatever happened when Thomas was five, why did the grave robber wait until now to start digging up corpses? Fourteen years is a long time to wait for anything. Besides, there was the Famine too. Maybe it’s about the Famine.”
Tara nodded. “True enough. We’ll need to continue questioning Thomas. Perhaps I’ll try again in a few days. For my part, I didn’t speak with Gamiel. But I am certain that he’s not our necromancer. For one, he’s not strong enough. And I did a little digging and found evidence of another magicker at work. You have any other mages in RiverFord?” The bartender shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Well, then what I detected must have been the necromancer. So at the very least we know Gamiel has a master.”
“You still think he’s involved?”
“I do. He knew too much when we spoke to him.”
Agrathan chuckled and took another sip from his mug. “Well, it looks like I’m the only one with good news, then. I did a little thinking. You notice we didn’t get a lot of repeat names in our search? Like, we found Mrs. SouthFlame, but no Mr. SouthFlame? Well, I tracked down Ms. SouthFlame junior, a beautiful little red-head on the west side of town. And I asked her where her father is buried. She didn’t say anything, but…”
“Let me guess,” Tara said. “North?”
The ranger nodded, smiling. “You might remember that we didn’t find a lot of bodies buried in the last fourteen years. Funny, when you remember the Famine. I mentioned it earlier, because it bugged me a lot. Well, I think I know the answer. There must be a third graveyard, one separate from the two flanking the town.”
A grin creased across Tara’s cowled face. “Good work, Agrathan. How about we go do some more exploring?”
“Not yet,” Beret said as he opened the tavern doors. “Because right now, I’ve got a bar to run. We’ll go tonight, and I’m coming with you.”
They found the north gate abandoned. Nothing about the landscape changed, but Tara noted that none of the villagers milled near the outer palisade. Guards patrolled the town’s other two gates; here, only a large padlock sealed the portal from the outside. Beret tapped the iron working with his spiked mace. “It’s locked,” he muttered.
Tara raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was for decoration.”
The bartender shot him an annoyed glare. “Can you open it?”
Reaching up a gloved hand, he caressed the thick iron. Laying his staff against the door, he poked a finger into the large keyhole. “Obviously, this lock is meant to keep everyone out. I wonder why?” He flexed his fingers, preparing to cast a spell, when a sharp voice from behind broke his conversation.
“Hey, what are you doing there?”
The three companions turned to see a tall man in a soldier’s uniform. “Dang, we got militiamen up here,” Beret whispered. The larger man raised his mace, making his threat clear. Tara waved him aside.
Agrathan stepped forward, sweeping his cloak forward to hide his sword. “Friend, why are the gates locked in a free land like RiverFord?”
The militiaman placed on hand on his sword. “By order of the people, that gate is forbidden!”
Tara stepped forward. “So then, by order of the people, you should open the gate.” He touched the man’s mind, looking for cracks in his resolve. He found many. This guard was a weak-minded fool.
The man shook his head. “No. We are forbidden to use the north gate.”
“Why?” Questioned, the man tried to wrap his mind around the answer. Tara slipped into his weakened mind, sifting through his memories like a noble choosing from a menu. He started with the guard’s first sighting of them, moved on to their faces, their voices, and their appearances. Clutching the thoughts, Tara ripped them from the fools head. In the gap left by the lost memories, he inserted the image of the abandoned gate. Then, he sent the man stumbling away.
When he turned back to break the lock, he saw Agrathan and Beret gazing at him open-mouthed. Tara chanted a short word to break the iron lock and ushered them through the gate.
Three hundred paces north of the town, they found a small opening in the jagged rocks of the DragonTeeth Mountains. The narrow fissure led to a third graveyard, enclosed within a gothic iron fence. Even from outside the closed cemetery, Tara could see that all the gravestones were waist-high obelisks.
By now, night had forced the daystar into retreat, plunging the entire valley into darkness. The idea of investigating a cemetery this late unsettled both Agrathan and Beret; they turned to Tara to voice their discontent.
Agrathan moved his mouth, but no sound came. Tara raised his eyebrows. The silence spell? Clapping his hands, he cursed. Nothing. Beret and Agrathan shot glances back and forth, worried as well.
Raising a hand, Tara cast spells that scrolled his words into the air. This is a powerful silence spell. I believe it’s centered on this graveyard. We should try to break it.
Both men nodded and looked towards the cemetery. For the first time, Tara noticed a large crypt framed in the midst of the gravestones. Let’s try there— Before he could say more, harsh light exploded behind them. Covering his eyes, Tara spun towards RiverFord. A column of fire leapt from the center of the town—leapt from Beret’s tavern.
Agrathan and Tara came to the same conclusion. Tara followed the men as they sprinted back towards the town, chest heaving with their silent breaths. By the time they reached the north gate, the sound spell had dissipated and he could hear their footfalls above the crackling flame. They twisted through the tangle streets of the city until they came to the street were Beret’s ruined tavern sat. A small crowd had gather, gawkers dressed in nightclothes and tavern-goers from the neighboring bars. Agrathan rushed ahead, pushing the crowd aside as they sped towards the flame. Beret followed, unleashing a string of curses that threw people back as fast as the ranger’s shoves.
“My daughter!” The bartender rushed forward, ready to leap into the flames, but Agrathan stopped him. Beret cursed again, fighting the ranger’s grasp. Agrathan shot a pleading glance towards the sorcerer, and Tara replied with a nod.
Instead of trying to douse the flames, the sorcerer drained their elemental power. The tongues of fire flickered and died, leaving the tavern a burnt husk, edges glowing with the heat of the flame. He released the magic in a magical burst of icy wind that froze the remaining embers.
Beret screamed and shoved past Agrathan; with a glance at the doused flames, the ranger let him go. He charged into the ruins of the bar, stomping through the ashes, screaming his daughters name. “Erika! Erika!” Dropping to his knees, he shifted through the ruble where the stairs had been. “Erika!”
Tara’s heart cracked open again as he thought of the man’s beautiful daughter. Without thinking, he fingered the silver ring on his right pinkie finger. He could still feel the thrumming of the twin ring, the one he had given Erika. He closed his eyes, ignoring Beret’s desperate cries, and followed the magic of the ring. He could feel it flowing, northward, far beyond the ruined building. His eyes shot open. “She’s not dead!”
Beret whirled towards him, eyes ablaze with grief. “How can you tell?”
Tara dropped his hand. “I gave your daughter magic ring before we left. I can still sense the ring, and it’s not in the ruins of your bar. She wasn’t inside when the tavern burned.”
Beret’s shoulder’s heaved, but he relaxed visibly. “How in Lihova’s thrice-cursed name did this fire start? I doused every flame before we left!”
Agrathan glanced at Tara. “We saw the flash from the north graveyard. This wasn’t a fire; it was an explosion.” He nodded towards the sorcerer. “Magic?”
“I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug. “Without seeing the fire start, it’s hard to tell. But I think so.” Turning towards Gamiel’s house, Tara nodded. “And we both know where to start looking for wizard’s fire.”
Beret’s eyes flared again. “Gamiel, that goddess-loving fool!” Before either Tara or Agrathan could stop him, he sprinted towards the wizard’s shop.
The door cracked in two as Beret burst into the wizard’s parlor. His face twisted in rage, the bartender crashed over the plush sofa and tackled Gamiel. Caught off guard, the elder mage flailed beneath Beret’s blows. He flexed his fingers, hurling the man across the room with magic.
Agrathan rushed into the parlor just in time to catch Beret. He wrapped his arms around the man’s torso. “Calm down!” the ranger spat as he dragged the bartender to his feet. “Calm down. We don’t know anything yet.”
Beret ignored his friend’s warning. “What did you do with my daughter, you son of the Dark Goddess? What did you do?”
Tara joined Agrathan at the doorstep, placing a gloved hand on Beret’s shoulder. “Sleep,” he commanded. Echoing the command in draconic, he flooded power into the man’s body. Beret slumped to his knees, snoring.
Tara met Gamiel’s panicked eyes. “I’m sorry. We tried to stop him.”
The wizard pulled himself to his feet and dusted his battered robes. “What’s all that about, then?”
Agrathan dropped Beret and stepped forward. “Beret’s bar was just burned down. Wizard’s fire.”
Gamiel’s eyes widened in genuine surprise—Tara could feel the shock echoed in his magic aura. He staggered backwards, glancing from the sleeping man to the smoke curling outside his window. “And his daughter? Is she safe?”
Tara’s black hood shook. “She has a magical item of mine; I can feel it north of here. We need to find her.” He leaned against his staff and stepped forward. “But not tonight. I don’t sense any pain or fear from her. If she was kidnapped, she’ll keep till morning.”
The wizard stepped back. “You think I had something to do with this?”
Agrathan’s hand fell to his sword. “We never said that. But now we have no where to stay.”
“I can’t house you,” he stammered as he backed away. “I don’t have room.”
The ranger glanced towards his black-cowled companion. “He’s forty-first tier. You have no choice but to help him. It’s law.”
Gamiel’s neck clenched. “You don’t understand. I would help you if I could, but—”
“Let me make myself clear.” Tara brandished his staff in a clear threat to the older wizard. “I am going upstairs to find a room for the night. In the morning, I’m going to come downstairs and find that man’s daughter, and I’m going kill anyone who gets in my way.”
“If you’re so worried about her, why don’t you leave now?”
Tara smiled as he guided Agrathan towards the steps. “If she’s being held for ransom, we can’t do anything until her kidnapper contacts us. If not, she’s dead and haste will help nothing.” He helped Agrathan hoist the sleeping bartender onto his shoulders. “And I’m giving you the night to decide whose side you’re on; mine, or my enemies.”
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