by Pirateaba
“Ryoka, I need—”
“I said no!”
Ryoka snapped. Heads turned. Erin let go of Ryoka’s arms. She had never been angrier with her friend than at this moment.
“Fine. Go.”
She saw Ryoka turn guiltily to her, but she still left. Erin watched the door swing shut. Klbkch looked up from his notes.
“I believe that is everyone. It seems there is no indication that Brunkr’s death was a result, however indirectly, of the actions of anyone within this building.”
A gentle sigh ran through the room, and Mrsha howled again upstairs. Erin stared at Klbkch as he went to consult with Relc. From their postures, she knew they were wrapping things up. They’d already talked to friends of the other deceased adventurers and found nothing. It was an accident, or something else. Not murder.
She disagreed. She felt it. Erin wandered over to the table where Regrika and Ikriss were sitting. They’d both finished their plates. She tried to smile at them.
“Did you like your food?”
They both smiled at her. Regrika spoke softly, sympathy in her large brown eyes.
“I did. Thank you, Erin.”
Erin tried to smile again. It failed. She walked off. And the certainty in her heart grew.
—-
Ryoka stood in the snow outside the inn. She hadn’t run far. Just far enough away from the city and inn that no one could really see her. She waited. She knew what was coming.
There was no crunch of snow to alert her. No sound. Only Ivolethe’s cold hand on Ryoka’s cheek. She turned, and saw Ijvani standing behind her.
The skeleton’s bones were black. Her blue eyes danced with flame. She held a staff in her hand that looked like it had been carved from a huge length of bone. Its tip was set with a golden gem. Ryoka swung at her.
“Ah.”
Ijvani caught the blow. She let go and Ryoka’s leg struck an invisible barrier. Ryoka bent, grasping at her leg and made an incoherent sound.
“Fractured. Curious. You move quite adeptly for a Runner.”
A second voice issued from the skeleton’s mouth. It was not Ijvani’s hollow tones, but the quiet, deliberate words she had heard before. Az’kerash spoke as Ijvani lifted a finger and pointed, and Ryoka felt the sharp pain in her foot subside.
“You bastard. Go fuck yourself.”
She didn’t thank him as she stood. Ryoka glared at Ijvani. The skeleton shifted in silent outrage. She heard Az’kerash sigh.
“Just as well that I did not bring Venitra. You are careless, Ryoka Griffin. My servants are devoted.”
“They’re murderers!”
“I am well aware of their traits. As to the death of the Gnoll—that was Venitra’s error. She has suffered my ire for her actions.”
Ryoka waited. Ijvani stared at her.
“That’s it?”
Her voice was trembling. Ryoka strode towards the skeleton and met the invisible barrier in the snow. She strained against it, shouting at Az’kerash.
“That’s it? You kill someone and—that’s all you have to say?”
“Yes.”
There was no limit to the coldness in Az’kerash’s tone. Ijvani stared at Ryoka, her jaw moving as he replied softly.
“Do you expect me to apologize for his death? No. I am irate at my servant for revealing herself in this way and potentially compromising my disguise for her. That is all. I care not at all for the lives of your friends. I am here simply to warn you against foolish impulses.”
Ryoka ground her teeth together.
“You mean so that I don’t tell anyone else. Why shouldn’t I? If you’re going to kill my friends—”
The skeleton’s eyes flashed.
“I will kill them all if I am betrayed, girl. Do not mistake me. This is not a threat, but a promise.”
The fear that swept over Ryoka was sudden and chilling. She fell silent. Az’kerash went on.
“You have no power here. Know that Venitra will not take any more actions without my consent. If she does, she will prove herself to be a failure. That will stay her, you have my word.”
Did Ijvani shiver on hearing that? Ryoka stared at the skeleton, and then looked away.
“So I just have to wait while you decide my fate?”
“Yes.”
Contempt. No, not that. Indifference. That was all Az’kerash’s voice held. Ryoka wanted to punch at Ijvani, and knew how futile it would be. She felt worthless. Helpless.
A flash of blue shot by her face. The flames in Ijvani’s eyes brightened for a second—and then went out. The skeleton tumbled backwards, frost suddenly covering her entire body.
“What is happening? Ijvani?”
“I am under attack, master!”
Something blasted Ryoka off her feet. She tumbled down the slope of the hill she was standing on, and then felt another force lift her up. She struggled in the air and saw the black skeleton pointing at her. Lightning was crackling from her fingertips, across her entire body. Ryoka went limp.
“It was not Ryoka Griffin. Hold your spell.”
Az’kerash’s voice snapped as Ijvani’s head turned around, surveying the landscape. She paused as Ivolethe floated in front of her face. The faerie was raising one finger and glaring. Az’kerash’s voice paused, and then grew thoughtful.
“What is that, Ijvani? I cannot see it, but I know something is there from your reactions.”
“A…Winter Sprite, my lord. It seems to be protective of Ryoka Griffin.”
“A Winter Sprite? Are you sure, Ijvani?”
“Yes, master. I see it in front of me.”
“How intriguing. I have never heard of a Winter Sprite befriending anyone before. Is it hostile, Ijvani?”
“I cannot tell, master. It is a blur to me.”
“I cannot see it. Put Ryoka Griffin down. Gently. Avoid antagonizing it, Ijvani. These Winter Sprites are considerably powerful in terms of magic, but they do not use force unless threatened. They are a form of elemental. Intelligent in some senses, but harmless.”
The look on Ivolethe’s face made Ryoka want to laugh hysterically as she was lowered to the ground. The Frost Faerie hesitated, looking at Ryoka, and then floated over to her shoulder. She sat there, glaring, as Ijvani turned back to Ryoka.
“That is all I wished to speak with you about. Ijvani, return to the inn.”
“Yes, master.”
The skeleton turned away. Ryoka clenched her fists, longing to shout, to say…something. But what could she say? There was no insult horrible enough, no word to describe him. She looked at Ijvani’s back and thought she understood a bit of evil. It was in Az’kerash’s voice. It was his sheer, awful contempt for everything he saw.
Ijvani walked through the snow, putting the illusion spells back on her body. Az’kerash spoke one last time through her mouth.
“Watch her, Ijvani. Don’t let her out of your sight. And find out more about her. That is an order.”
She nodded.
“Yes, master.”
—-
Ryoka sat in the snow, burying her face in her hands. She was lost. She didn’t know what to do. And she couldn’t ask for help from anyone. Because she understood now.
He was listening to everything she said. She was being watched. And there was no escaping. If Ryoka said anything, did anything, if she even hinted, she was sure Az’kerash would notice. Or his servant, Ijvani would.
She was stuck. Ryoka spoke to the air. It was the only thing she could speak to, the only thing that wouldn’t draw attention to her.
“What should I do?”
She was just speaking to herself. That was what the spell saw. But Ryoka had one friend. One friend the Necromancer’s magic couldn’t see. And the Frost Faerie was no mere elemental. She hovered in front of Ryoka and her frozen eyes blazed.
“Fight.”
Ryoka stared at her. She felt a core of her resonate with Ivolethe’s words. There was no help for it, was there? She had to fight. If not�
��if not, her fate was in Az’kerash’s hands. And she could not trust him for anything like mercy.
“How could I defeat those two? I mean, it’s impossible. That bitch Venitra’s made of pure bone and she walked through an explosion unscathed. As for Ijvani—how could I hope to kill them myself?”
Ryoka lay back in the snow, pretending to stare up at the sky. Ivolethe floated overhead, looking grave.
“By yourself? Ye could not do a thing. You know this. But you are not alone.”
“If I asked the others? That’s suicide. They couldn’t help if I managed to get word to them. Could they?”
She could imagine Zel putting up a fight, but Erin? What about the Gold-rank adventurers? Ivolethe considered this.
“If it came to a battle, perhaps they might win. Perhaps not. The lord of death watches his servants. He would cheat, as surely as you breathe, Ryoka Griffin. The leader of armies could fight well I think, but there are too many who would die.”
“It would be a bloodbath.”
Ivolethe nodded.
“Just so. But perhaps there is another way.”
Ryoka stared at her. She was desperate.
“What can I do? Tell me, please.”
She stared at the sky as the Frost Faerie flew next to her. Ivolethe whispered in Ryoka’s ear.
“There is one who fears neither death nor magic. He who rules above all others. A tyrant of flame.”
Teriarch. Ryoka inhaled the word before it could come out. Yes! Why hadn’t she thought of that? In the next moment she was deflated. Yes, there was someone she could ask. But he was—Ryoka shook her head in despair.
“It’s half a day’s run from Celum. And dangerous. I’d never make it—”
She’d be caught the instant she tried to run. Ivolethe nodded, understanding what Ryoka was saying without her saying it.
“Yes. Yes, they would hunt ye. But if you ran—if you had a distraction, then perhaps.”
“How? No. I could run for it. But there’s a cost, though, right?”
Ivolethe smiled sadly. Her form glistened. Another bit of her melted away and dropped, frozen and cold, into the snow next to Ryoka.
“There is always a cost. I bent the rules for you yesterday. I would bend them again. I can play…tricks on others. Tricks, Ryoka. It is not exactly interference. Bothering that fool with the spear was one trick. But I know many more. The servants of that lord of death may know their spells, but I have magic beyond what they know.”
“Maybe. Maybe I could just run away. But—what then? Would I have a chance? Or would I be killing myself either way?”
“Do you truly wish to know?”
The Frost Faerie’s gaze was ancient. Ryoka nodded. Ivolethe closed her eyes, and then nodded. She flew up and Ryoka sat up in the snow. She watched as Ivolethe looked.
She looked backwards, then forwards, and then through Ryoka. Ivolethe’s gaze traced objects that were not there. Her eyes were distant, aloof, immortal.
Ryoka averted her gaze. Of all the things she had seen her friend do, this unnerved her the most. In that moment, she felt the difference between the two. Because Ivolethe was immortal, for all she behaved like a creature of this earth. And the undying look at the world as it truly is, as it will be, and as it was.
Dust.
At last, Ivolethe shook her head. She alighted on Ryoka’s palm and looked up at her. There was infinite compassion in her gaze, infinite sorrow.
“You would save those who can be saved.”
Ryoka inhaled. Ivolethe held up a hand.
“Aye, but the cost. The cost is great, Ryoka. For when I look down that road, I see death, Ryoka Griffin. I see your death. It is unavoidable.”
There was a churning pit in Ryoka’s stomach, a clump of fear. It had been there since she’d looked back in the alleyway and seen Venitra’s face. Now the fear subsided. Ryoka felt calm. She stood up, holding Ivolethe, and looked north.
She could save them all. She could do it. Ryoka took a step towards the inn, towards the door that led to Celum. She took another step, and then realized something was wrong.
She wasn’t moving. Ryoka looked down. Her feet were planted in the snow. She tried to raise her left foot. It didn’t twitch. Ryoka stared. She couldn’t make her legs move.
She was too afraid.
—-
Erin stood in her kitchen, in front of a freshly washed cutting board. Her inn was empty. There was only Lyonette, Mrsha, and one or two others in the inn. Everyone else had left.
Mrsha was crying. She would cry, and then howl. It was a painful noise. Her throat was already raw, but nothing could make the Gnoll child stop. Lyonette was crying too. Erin could hear her sobbing. Their room was right over the kitchen’s upstairs.
Erin wasn’t crying. She stared at the cutting board. Then she looked along the kitchen counter. It was covered in food. Or rather, ingredients.
Choice cuts of meat, ham on the bone, wizened vegetables, the last of the winter’s harvests, flour, salt, and rarer ingredients still. Ground up Corusdeer horn, the skin of some kind of salamander or newt, a goopy mess that was something’s eyeball—ingredients from Octavia. They were all neatly arranged, but Erin hadn’t begun cooking. She stared at the ingredients, and then turned as someone coughed and knocked quietly on the doorjamb of the kitchen.
“What do you want, Pisces? I’m not serving food.”
“Perish the thought.”
The [Necromancer] delicately stepped into the kitchen, surveying the counter full of food. He paused and looked at Erin before clearing his throat.
“I ah, only wished to extend my apologies, Erin.”
“You?”
“Yes. I realize it may be…tactless coming from me, but I feel that offering my sympathies is only appropriate—”
Pisces caught Erin’s eye and broke off. He paused for a moment, sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and then spoke. Differently, this time.
“I am sorry. That’s all I wanted to say. I know I am not the person you would wish to turn to, but Ceria is about to leave for the city. Liscor, that is. I believe she and the others intend to drink and leave you in peace. However, I could ask her to stay, or find Miss Selys—”
“No. No, Pisces, that’s kind of you, but no.”
Erin shook her head. She relaxed a bit, and turned to Pisces. He looked uncharacteristically somber. But his words sounded as genuine as they had ever been. She was glad to hear it. Pisces stared at her kitchen.
“Are you cooking something?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking about it.”
He nodded.
“That may be a good way to, ah, relieve stress.”
“It’s not for that.”
“Oh? If it is tomorrow’s meal or tonight’s you are worried about, I am sure that closing your inn would not be—”
“It’s not that, Pisces. Thanks for asking. It’s…it’s actually about Regrika and Ikriss.”
Pisces’ gaze sharpened slightly.
“What do you mean by that?”
Erin heard a choked noise from above. She looked up and saw Pisces closing his eyes for a second. Erin ignored Lyonette’s voice as she spoke.
“She didn’t like my cooking.”
“Who?”
“Regrika. And that Ikriss guy. They say they like it, but they hated it. I can tell.”
Erin gestured to one of the plates lying on the counter. Pisces stared at the grilled cheese sandwich.
“Those are not typically Gnoll foods, I admit—”
“No. They didn’t like last night’s meals either. They ate a lot, but they didn’t like a thing. Not the steak, not the casserole—nothing. Not even the drinks.”
The [Necromancer] frowned and stroked at his chin as he eyed Erin.
“That is a curious certainty, Erin. How do you know?”
She looked at him. Pisces flinched and avoided meeting her eyes. Erin looked back at her empty kitchen counter.
“I’m an [Innkeeper].”
There was something burning in her mind, something hot behind her eyes. She hadn’t meant to turn it on Pisces. After a second he cleared his throat.
“So this attempt at cooking is…?”
“I wonder what they do like eating. That’s all.”
Erin stared at the counter. There was a feeling she had, like when she was about to solve a chess problem, or she felt like she had come up with a great move in a game of chess. It was as if she stood on the edge of certainty. She had that feeling now. There were pieces. Just pieces, but…
She looked at Pisces.
“Pisces. Is it possible to deceive a truth detection spell? Is it possible to lie when someone’s using one of those stones on you?”
He froze. Pisces stared at Erin, and she felt him searching her face. He hesitated, gnawed on one lip, raised a finger, and then lowered it. Then he nodded and leaned forwards to speak softly.
“Practically? No. I could not do it. Nor could Ceria, Typhenous…a Named Adventurer would probably lack the ability to do so. But in theory? Yes. The current Archmages of Wistram could most likely affect such a spell. And such stones are not…flawless. There are ways to deceive simpler versions of the spell, which is why more expensive and accurate versions of truth-telling artifacts exist.”
“Thanks. That helps.”
Pisces nodded, but didn’t pull back. He lowered his voice further.
“I do not wish to tell you what to do. However. Perhaps, Erin, it might be better to…grieve. And let whatever you are thinking of go.”
He was not prepared for the hand that grabbed the front of his robes. Pisces yelped and then stared at Erin. His face was inches away from hers. Erin stared at him.
“If you know anything, Pisces, tell me.”
He jerked back, brushing down his clean robes. He shook his head. Erin glared, but he kept shaking his head. When he looked her in the eye, it was with open honesty.
“It is just a feeling. Less than that. I cannot sense anything about them. Anything at all. Rather, it is my instincts that prompt me, not magic. Just my intuition.”