Path of the Traitors

by Charles E Yallowitz

  The flicker of an illusion appears between Nimby and Altia, the Lich’s original form vanishing in the sunlight. “Shame that message didn’t work. This is why I like you, Nimby. I revel in your distrust and honesty, which makes you such a curiosity. You are a daily challenge that makes me stronger and I believe I will miss you when you die. I would keep you as an undead servant in a different body, but you would have earned an eternal rest at that point. You do have many years ahead of you if I have anything to say about it.”

  “You almost sound like friends,” the elf interjects before flopping onto her back. She watches the clouds and traces their patterns with her finger, which leaves a shimmering trail in its wake. “So, what are we going to do while the others head into Gods’ Voice? We’re not even allowed to leave the camp. I understand keeping you out of sight, but it isn’t like anybody would connect me with any of you.”

  “Probably because Trinity knows I took something and wants you to help with my investigation,” the halfling says as he pulls the diary out of his shirt. Handing the book to his companion, Nimby takes a seat next to her and yawns. “I stole it when she napped, but that woman has been checking the diary every few hours since we got it. All she has to show for it is a message about a portrait. What do you think about us looking for information on Ashkeep and how to get into the city?”

  With a wide grin, Altia sits up and opens the diary to the page that mentions the portrait. She holds it out to let Nimby read along, the halfling occasionally running a boney finger across a sentence that the Lich is curious about. They remain on top of the animal cart until it is too dark to read, their first day of work giving them nothing more than eye strain. Yet, all three are happy to be useful and have a distraction that makes them forget that there is very little trust within their group.

  8

  None of the patrons and employees know that the whispering pair in the middle of the tavern are really chaos elves. To them, Trinity and Quail resemble tan-skinned elves with matching golden hair and emerald eyes. Whatever cannot be covered with clothing has been hidden by a paint that can only be washed off with a special oil. Popular among thieves and assassins, the thinnest layer resembles skin in both appearance and touch. The only problem is that it prevents the wearer from sweating, which means being in a warm bar is very uncomfortable and can be dangerous. If not for a nearby window that opened and fell off its hinges, the chaos elves would have been forced to leave or risk passing out. As it stands, they have already earned enough attention for standing out, so Trinity fears that it would be too easy for someone to notice her casting a cold spell. The only enchantment she feels comfortable with is one that disguises their conversation, but she lets the magic choose what people hear. From what the pair can tell, they are talking about something very personal that nobody wishes to interrupt.

  “I really hope Tzefira’s contact was right about this place,” Trinity whispers before elbowing the pouch at her side. She winces at the sensation of Vile’s toothpick stabbing her in the arm, the hidden figurine continuing to shift impatiently. “Doesn’t look any different than a normal tavern, but Racker supposedly hired his men here. The paint is making it hard to hear things. Must have put too much on my ears. How about you?”

  “Things sound like they’re underwater, but I’m getting words,” Quail replies while picking at his food. More comfortable with maps than spying, he cannot stop himself from fidgeting with whatever is in reach. “Altia would have been a better choice, your . . . Trinity. I haven’t done anything like this before. Not to mention, our lessons have been repeatedly interrupted, which means I’m still a liability in a fight. It isn’t too late for you to pretend we’re arguing and send me back to the camp.”

  “Just relax and listen for anything suspicious,” the channeler says as she reaches out to take his hands. Knowing she has to keep up appearances, she smiles warmly and giggles as if he told a joke. “I really hope that fit with what my spell is doing. Anyway, nobody pays much attention to a couple in love. We’re already starting to fade into the background of this place. That wouldn’t have happened if I took Altia because two women together would attract the drunk and curious. Have some faith in yourself. After all, you tricked Yola once and kept me in the dark about your relationship with our new friend.”

  “I am truly sorry about that.”

  “You were ordered by a goddess to remain silent, so I can’t be angry.”

  “Don’t hate Altia for it either.”

  Taken aback by the request, Trinity releases her grip and takes a long sip of her cold drink to clear her head. “Not trusting her is different than hating her. To be honest, I’m still trying to wrap my head around Ambrosine working with other races. I understand the purpose, but I would have liked to have been told. Altia is so . . . accepting and friendly towards us. Kind of reminds me of Sari, who always threw me off balance. Our people aren’t used to being treated as anything other than enemies and it seems even I need time to adapt. Maybe I should have Altia come with us to Shayd and hire her as an advisor. Not only that, but she can spend time with my daughter and make sure Drusilia doesn’t grow up being suspicious of others. That would be a first for our people.”

  “Perhaps I don’t fully understand because of my own experiences,” the mapper admits as he finishes his water. He slides a finger into his glove to scratch at his wrist, which he hides since it is not painted. “There have been people who hated me on sight, but it is surprising how many accepted me. Grandma Babs, and later Altia, helped since I was not seen as a threat as long as I was with them. The key might be to make the first step and create friendships with average folk instead of focusing on those with influence.”

  Trinity holds up her hand to cover a fake yawn, the motion made more to silence her companion. With her ears partially clogged, it is difficult to make out the words that are coming from a well-lit corner. She swears the name of their target was mentioned a moment ago, but everything else is a muffled mess of sounds. Deciding that it is better to be seen as unladylike than miss out on crucial information, Trinity uses her nails to scrape the balls of dry paint out of her ears. She ignores the looks of disgust that she gets, but stops long enough to kick Quail under the table for staring at her. The mapper clears his throat and scans the room in search of what has her attention, his hearing only slightly better off. Unable to talk without losing the conversation, they quietly eat their meal while putting on the air of a couple whose fight has reach a moment of uncomfortable silence.

  “Not sure what the maniac used, but it split the building in half.”

  “All for a single mug?”

  “I heard it was enchanted and this Racker of Salamander Army wants the whole set.”

  “Salamander Army? He works for Tzefira then.”

  “Probably what he wants people to think, but I doubt someone like her would be involved.”

  “Well, her army did show up two days after the first theft.”

  “That’s to be expected though.”

  “Guess we can only sit back and see what happens.”

  “At least until our next shift. Glad we missed this one. Hate dealing with bodies.”

  “Let’s get back to the barracks and rest up. Going to be a long week.”

  Using the mirror behind the bar, Trinity watches the three guards get up and walk towards them. She reaches out to Quail and smiles in what she hopes is an apologetic way, but feels that it looks more like she stubbed her toe. Glancing at the warriors, she tries to memorize the details of their armor while they talk with the bartender for a few minutes. By the time they leave, the channeler is sure she can make illusionary copies to help them get into the crime scene. Wanting to move quickly, she tries to stand, but Quail refuses to let go of her hand. He nods his head toward the chair to get her to sit and gives her a small kiss on the fingers. She follows his darting eyes to see that they are being watched by most of the patrons again. Realizing that they need to stay for a bit longer, Trinity can only s
igh and wave her hand for another drink, which she chills as soon as it arrives.

  “Looks like Tzefira failed to mention how much of a head start Racker had,” Quail softly whispers. Letting go of Trinity’s hand, he blushes and looks around the room as it fills with the dinner rush. “Sorry about the kiss. I didn’t know of any other way to stop you from leaving too quickly. This might not be my area of expertise, but I do know that you wait before following a lead. Never know if you’re being hunted. Racker could have agents in every tavern to warn him about suspicious people.”

  “That might be why we were sent instead of someone his people would recognize,” Trinity says with a nod. Handing several coins to the waitress, she stands and waits for her companion to escort her to the door. “I want to get this over with as soon as possible, so we’ll check the last place he hit for clues. They said something about a mug, which is a strange item to destroy a house for even if the thing is enchanted. Probably going to be more to this than we thought. I’m already worried that we’ll be in Gods’ Voice for a week when we need to move now.”

  Gulping down a lump in his throat, Quail puts his arm around the channeler’s waist. “Not necessarily. We could get lucky and figure out his next target before nightfall. Then we can set a trap and be done with this quickly. Unless Racker isn’t going to act for another week because he needs things to calm down. Maybe we should have brought Nimby along or let General Vile go off on his own.”

  “I’d rather not unleash our allies on Gods’ Voice,” she admits, her voice wavering as she reconsiders her decision. She is about to open the pouch when the toothpick punctures the cloth and stabs her in the hip. “You know, we’re definitely better off without them. I’ll just paralyze our little friend here and free him when we need the help. Now, let’s find a place to get this paint off and change into more comfortable clothing. Feel like my real face is going to crumble into dust if I don’t let it breathe in the next ten minutes.”

  *****

  Cloaked in the illusions of two human guards, Trinity and Quail stop in front of the broken teahouse. The four-story structure has been split in half, both sides still crumbling along the jagged edges, which remind the chaos elves of wolf teeth. Only the sturdiness of the neighboring buildings has prevented the destroyed shop from collapsing entirely, but the creaking of damaged boards hint that all three could fall at any moment. Regardless of the danger, a pair of tired guards continue to sift through the strewn belongings in search of clues that will lead them to Racker. Their job is made more difficult by the owner’s request for them to save any dishware and tea jars that survived the destruction. So instead of callously hurling everything into a crate on the street, the overworked soldiers must examine every piece they come across. The only benefits to the long hours is the extra pay and they can take any edible food that they find back to their families.

  With the rumble of thunder in the distance, the disguised chaos elves head for the wreckage and whistle to the guards. Trinity prays that the tired pair are more interested in taking a break than talking since she is unsure if their voices will be disguised along with their bodies. To her relief, the soldiers turn out to be grumpy and mutter half-hearted thanks as they leave with a few sacks of cookies. She watches one of them toss a clay dish into a bin, the undamaged plate shattering against the side. As Quail goes inside, Trinity frees Vile from the pouch and makes a gesture for him to remain silent before removing the paralysis spell. The figurine nods his head and swiftly disappears into the nearest hole to search areas that his normal-sized companions cannot reach.

  With a final scan of the dark street, the channeler enters the building and immediately grabs the doorframe. She can feel the floor threaten to buckle, so she walks carefully towards the door that Quail went through. Chunks of wood tumble into a hole that is lit by scattered fires that were caused by an exploded oven. Inching along a narrow beam, Trinity peers down to see that Vile is checking a dead body that is partially buried by rubble. The shadows are too thick for her to get a clear look of the corpse, so she gets to solid ground before the quivering walkway collapses under her weight. Stepping into a corner, the channeler casts a spell to make her as light as a feather, the visual effect of shining feet coming through the illusion. A passing citizen forces her to remain crouched and pretend to be looking through a toppled cabinet, the glow flickering to resemble torchlight. She waves to the old man and his dog, who take a few minutes to stare at the incredible destruction. The animal growls and tries to get into the wreckage, its senses picking up on something it considers dangerous.

  “Please move along, sir, because these buildings can fall any moment. We don’t want you to get hurt,” Trinity says in a deep voice. She holds her breath until the man pulls his pet away and leaves her free to dart into the back room. “Our voices aren’t going to fool anybody that gets a good look at us. I have the body of a slender woman and I speak in a baritone. Find anything that will get us out of here?”

  “I’m looking as fast as I can, but nothing seems important,” Quail replies in an ear-wrenchingly shrill voice. He covers his mouth and he pleadingly stares at the channeler, who wipes away the illusions around them. “Thank you. I’ll try to find a clue before anybody gets curious about us. The problem is that this place is a mess. I can’t tell if this was done by someone searching for the mug or because the Earthquaker Staff shook everything off the shelves. By the way, I thought you wanted to keep Vile out of this.”

  “Changed my mind once I saw the destruction,” the channeler whispers while she sifts through piles of ruined tea leaves. Finding a small box, she calmly opens it to find a pouch of coins, which she pockets. “Last I saw, Vile was checking the body that is still at the bottom of this mess. Strange that they haven’t removed it, so it’s best that he handles the suspicious stuff instead of those of us who are made of flesh and bone. He might have better luck than us since we have no idea what we’re looking for up here. Not like Racker is going to leave a personalized message or a chunk of his weapon here.”

  Finding a thick tome in a cabinet, Quail carefully places the book on a tilted counter and opens it to find that it is a detailed inventory. He searches his pockets for a stone that glows when it is banged against his hand, the light too weak to be seen from the street. Moving the rock along the first page, the mapper is afraid that the information is coded until he realizes that the storeowner simply has the sloppiest handwriting he has ever seen. The chaos elf chuckles at the idea that there is someone with worse penmanship than his adopted mother, the woman’s messy scrawls helping to make him a talented literary translator. Skimming each page in search of any mention of magical items, he gives up after the second time he has to reactivate his enchanted stone.

  “I made it a quarter of the way through and there’s no mention of enchanted items beyond five kettles,” Quail reports while placing the book back in the cabinet. He is about to jump across the gap and search a drawer when Trinity catches his arm. “I know this is pointless, but we have to try. Unless we sneak into the nearest guard barracks and get our hands on the owner’s statement. There might be something about the mug in there.”

  “According to this list, they took an Eporwil Mug,” Vile states as he struggles to climb out of the hole. Handing the list to Trinity, the warrior grunts and curses until he is on the floor and can hoist up a scroll that is tied to his waist. “The dead man was one of the thieves, who fell and broke his neck. Must have been near the end of the heist since none of his friends took the target list or this map off him. Then again, something doesn’t smell right about this. If Racker is a former guild thief then he wouldn’t have been this sloppy. He could have done something to set the body on fire and destroyed these items.”

  “I’ve heard of the Eporwil Decanters, but never the mugs,” Trinity admits as she goes over the short list. Noticing that there is only one location that has not been crossed off, she memorizes the information and burns the page. “Don’t want the guards getting
there first and making our job harder. Why would anybody go through this much trouble for relics of the Drinking Goddess? Maybe there’s a collector backing Racker or these mugs do something horrible. Not that Eporwil is known for anything worse than alcohol poisoning and her followers don’t use lethal curses. I’m guessing the map is of an underground lair complete with ritual circle. That’s my bet.”

  Quail holds up a finger and nearly drops the document, which he is hanging open alongside the crest map. Lost in thought, he comes close to stepping on the crumbling edge of the hole and falling, but a burst of wind shoves him to safety. The mapper looks for a table to place the scrolls on and pulls out a bleached quill that he touches to each one. His companions watch the feather turn red against the crest map and lose all color against the newer document. Scratching his head, Quail gently rolls them up and taps them against each other.

  “These maps are similar to each other,” he bluntly states before sniffing them. The sour scent of old ink causes the young man to wrinkle his nose, but he relaxes at the aroma of fresh parchment. “The enchantments are the same as are the handwriting, ink color, paper type, and size. This second one is obviously of a different location than Ashkeep and I’m not sure what it has to do with the mugs and Racker. None of that is as confusing as the fact that this map had to have been made in the last month. There is no reason a person would use such ancient techniques and spells to create a modern map. I guess this could have been made by a lover of the classics, but such a mapper wouldn’t waste time and resources on a set for thieves. Not unless their lives were being threatened. Trust me when I say that each of our enemies probably has one of these, which makes the similarities to our map even more disturbing.”