Interesting. These men seem intrigued by the late Arcalian’s hobbies. They know of Morgulan and they know of his sceptre; they have not, however, drawn a definite connection with the wizard. At the moment, it is an oddity to them. I wonder what their reaction would be if they were informed of the dreaded Sceptre’s powers. It would be a wonder to observe.
In any event, I am now posed with a quandary. Should I kill them, or should I let them be? If I kill them now, I display my hand. I could try another fire, but that might look suspicious. Besides, I think the other fire may be the very reason these men are here. So perhaps I should let them live. At the moment, they pose no threat; they know too little. However, they could learn more, and that could prove troublesome; I thought Arcalian unimportant until he learned my secrets. Patience may be called for here. I know of them, but they know not of me, so the advantage is clearly mine. I will just keep an open ear for these men and observe their activities.
The blue-cloaked man leaves his cot. He walks across the room to the desk where the other sits. Their friend still seems entranced by stars. They make an odd trio.
“And what of the map?” the one called Galladrin asks.
Map? My interest deepens.
“As we suspected, it does appear to be of the local surroundings. See, this dot is labeled ‘Drisdak’—”
“I can read.”
“Well, what do you make of this?” the man asks, pointing to a sheaf of paper laid out before him.
“It’s a small dot circled on the map ... So?”
“It’s labeled ‘Rahmin Muirdra.’”
“I know very little of the old tongue.”
“I know only a smattering, but it is enough to understand the name. Roughly, it means Fortress Nightguard, although it is a darker connotation of ‘night,’ one which emphasizes its connection with darkness and death.”
How irritating. I can see where this is going. I suppose preparations for a visit should be made. Actually, this might work out nicely. They will be much easier to kill at home than here, and there will be no need to mask the murders.
“This is supposed to be important?”
The man called Coragan seems on the verge of an angry reply, but he keeps his tongue in check through gritted teeth. “It is circled, Galladrin. And if you took the time to look at the map you could note where the fortress is located. It’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and mountains. The only feasible access to it is along this small river, here. It would be the perfect spot for a wizard to seclude himself if he wished to seek some quiet solitude.”
“Coragan, you’re an idiot. We haven’t the slightest clue why Arcalian is gone or even if he had anything to do with his own disappearance. If he did sequester himself in some abandoned castle, don’t you think he’d at least inform the other members of the guild? For all we know he took a nightly stroll and was taken down by alley thieves. Don’t you think it’s about time we did some real work?”
It seems the two men are losing their tempers. The tension is cracking like dried autumn twigs.
“Well, to Hell with you too, Galladrin! I don’t have to sit here and take this from you.”
The one called Galladrin is quick in response. His face is flushed a deep red and his voice carries a nasty edge.
“Don’t worry. As soon as I’m done, I’m gone. But first, I have a couple things to say. I wanted to make sure I told you how sick I am of listening to you with your ‘novel’ ideas and your edicts of self-appointed command. You wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t dragged you into this—”
“Now, wait a minute—”
“No, you wait a minute! I’m sick of your orders. I’m sick of your decisions. And I’m sick of your two-faced lies—”
“Two-faced lies?” The one called Coragan seems genuinely confused.
“Yes, you and your two-faced lies. What do I hear from you day in day out? Oh, all the horrors of nobles and wizards. How—”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Shut up, and let me finish! You go on and on about nobles and mages all the time; how it’s their fault that there is so much injustice in the world; how they take their position and their powers and use them to their own ends rather than that of the rest of the world. Fine. I’ll just ignore the fact that everyone does that anyway and just go straight to my point. After I listen to you ramble on about the evils of the powers that be, what happens? Regecon comes up and its ‘Oh, yes, Mage Regecon, this is what we found ... and we did this and that and I’m your little dog who licks your boots. Woof. Woof.’ Sometimes you just make me sick. With the sole exception of that episode with Jacindra today, which was poorly timed, by the way, you have yet to honestly tell Regecon or any other mage what you think of them. Now, with Jacindra you had a golden opportunity to tell Regecon what you really think, but failed to say anything substantive. All you succeeded in doing was insulting them.” Having finished his spiel, the blue-cloaked man heads for the door.
“Go to Hell, Galladrin. Straight to the bottom of Hell.”
The man called Galladrin stops, holding the door open with one hand. “Maybe. But first I’m heading to the taverns to relax a bit. It wouldn’t do, not to greet Lubrochius with a smile. Tell you what, if I think of it, I’ll even ask around about Arcalian. Somebody has to do some real work.” With that the blue-cloaked man slams the door. I can hear his retreating footsteps as he goes striding down the hall.
“Do you believe that rogue, Borak? I can’t believe he spoke to me like that.” The man called Coragan looks to the monstrous man by the window, apparently expecting some support. The behemoth shrugs, his massive chest stretching the animal hide that covers it. He does not seem overly concerned.
As interesting as these men are, I believe it is time to leave. They are not mages and I have my second goal to achieve tonight. Turning, I scurry back down my little tunnel, leaving the two men to their enlightening talk.
I encounter three more sigils in my search and make certain they are destroyed. I am having difficulties though, tonight the mages are traveling in twos; there are no straggling sheep for the wolf to snare. Perhaps I should just depart, Clarissa should not be long. I shall make one more try and then leave; I can always return at a later time. After all, I have completed half of what I set out to do.
I follow a gently sloping tunnel carved through rock and earth. A dim light flows from the mouth ahead and carefully I crawl up to cast an earnest look inside. My nose twists in dismay; a sigil glows on the stone before me. If I crush it, I may draw notice. Not insurmountable, but still a bother. Proceeding as far as I can in my current form, I cock my head to listen, but all I hear is silence.
I scan the room.
There. At last! A solitary mage deep in slumber. It is time to renew old Arcalian’s plan.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 16