by C. M. Carney
“I have no idea who or what that is.”
Murmurs of doubt flowed through the crowd. Lassendir held his gaze and Gryph felt as he had every time the Colonel had stared into his eyes when he was a boy, a boy who had just lied, a boy who was very aware that he could not pass any lie by his father. It’s a good thing I am not lying now, Gryph thought.
“Then explain how you came by these items and why you brought them here?” Lassendir said, barely reigning in his anger.
Gryph took a deep breath and told the Regent the tale of the Barrow, his battle with the arboleth, the quest he was given to harvest the eggs, even his death at Ovyrm’s hands.
“You died?” Lassendir said and glanced sideways at Myrthendir. “So, what they say about players is true. You are immortal?”
“I do not know My Lord. I know that I died, and that I returned, but I do not know if it will always be so, or if there is a limit to that ability. I am new to the Realms and there is much I do not understand. That is, in part, why I took the eggs. I had no knowledge of the pain the vile creatures they contain had brought to this world, and the quest I received suggested that they could craft powerful defenses.”
“Or bring about great destruction,” Lassendir countered.
“They also mentioned that,” Gryph said reluctantly. More murmurs, these distinctly angrier filed the chamber, but the Steward raised his hand and the room grew silent.
“And the seal?”
“It was part of the reward for cleansing the Barrow and killing its master,” Gryph said.
More rumblings.
“The Barrow is far from here,” Myrthendir said.
“And your tale does not explain how you found your way into this valley. It is shrouded by powerful and ancient magics. There is no way in or out that we do not have guarded,” Barrendiel said.
“We came through a portal, an ancient archway of stone. It brought us to the woods beyond the Serpentine. Not long after we were attacked by those corrupted beasts,” Gryph said.
“Impossible,” Barrendiel said.
“My cousin speaks true,” Myrthendir said and gazed at his father. “The ancient portal gateways have long lain dormant, and the Icons used to power and access them were long ago lost.”
Lassendir looked from Gryph to his companions and every one of them stared back, letting the Regent see the truthfulness of the claim. “You have many explanations and excuses player, and I sense you bring a great change,” the Regent said, his hand stroking the cover of the book. “But I sense no deceit in you.”
“Uncle?” Barrendiel said, anger bubbling into him. “You cannot take this man at his word.” The ranger took a step onto the lowest step of the dais and Lassendir’s eyes snapped to his nephew’s and the powerful warrior stopped and lowered his head.
Lassendir returned his gaze to Gryph. “You, and your companions, have proven the truthfulness of your words, so I am inclined to spare you, all of you.” He looked at Wick and Ovyrm “From the punishment the old laws demand.”
Wick visibly relaxed and Ovyrm bowed his head in thanks, but Gryph suspected that the other shoe was about to drop. The glance that Tifala gave to Wick confirmed that she too was worried.
One ranger carried a large form wrapped in a tarp up the steps and placed it between the Regent and Gryph. He peeled back the layers of oiled cloth to reveal one of the corrupted wolves the rangers had slain with their massive volley of arrows.
“But there is the matter of this corruption,” Lassendir said and stood, walking towards the wolf corpse. “Somehow the corruption infected the Blighted Ruins just as you appeared. Can you explain that?”
Gryph exchanged looks with his companions and saw the deep worry bubbling just underneath Wick’s calm exterior. Gryph turned his gaze back to the Regent. “I cannot.”
“It is the work of this demon sorcerer,” Barrendiel said, pointing at Wick.
"Quit blaming everything on me," Wick whined.
Lassendir crouched down, hovering a hand over the corrupted wolf. Gasps and warning of "My Lord” rippled through the tower as the ancient elf touched the dead creature’s fur. He grimaced as if in pain as he ran his hand along the length of the beast, and Gryph saw a pulsating light the color of magma flow through the body.
“This is no chthonic corruption,” Lassendir said. “It is the taint of chaos.”
Gasps filled the room. Gryph saw the shock on both Tifala and Ovyrm’s face. It shocked even the ever-stalwart Steward. “Are you sure my Lord?”
“I am,” the Regent said and for a moment Gryph could see the burden of innumerable centuries weigh the elf down.
“But, that is impossible,” the Steward said, the shock and fear in the stalwart man’s voice digging into Gryph’s soul.
“Apparently not,” Lassendir said and stood. He swayed and Myrthendir rushed forward to give his father support. “Somehow the Princes of Chaos have punctured the veil between their realm and ours. We must find the source of the corruption and seal the breach.”
Lassendir eyed Gryph. “You will give us access to your bag and hand over the Seal of the Dwarven King and the arboleth eggs.”
The Regent’s intensity and Sillendriel’s warning flashed through Gryph's mind again. He took a deep breath and gulped down a bit of rising bile. How do I know the elf woman speaks true? Gryph thought, and though he had no evidence to back up her beliefs, he somehow knew she spoke the truth. He stood tall and placed his hands behind his back.
“I am sorry, but I cannot do as you ask.”
Lassendir’s lips turned to a frown.
“Have you lost your mind?” Wick said, shock filling his voice. “They’ll kill us all and take the bag.”
Gryph looked into Wick’s eyes. What he said next was not meant for the gnome who had become his friend, but for the man who held all their lives in his hands. “Perhaps, but I am a player and my bag is soul bound. Nobody can open it without my permission. If I am killed I will respawn, far from here, and the bag will respawn with me.”
“You bastard,” Wick growled and launched himself at Gryph. Ovyrm grabbed the gnome by the arm arresting his attack. The xydai’s eyes were hard as steel as they fell on Gryph and he knew the warrior monk agreed with Wick’s sentiments.
Barrendiel walked up to Gryph and spoke to his Regent. “My Regent, Uncle, you have the power to compel this man to give us the seal. Take it by force and let us open the ancient Thalmiir city.”
“You cannot be serious?” Myrthendir asked, a tremor of shock tainting the Prince Regent’s visage.
Barrendiel turned on his cousin. “I have never been more serious. We all know the legends. The Thalmiir left fantastic weapons locked away in Dar Thoriim, and now this stranger shows up with the key to the ancient gates just as the taint of chaos returns to the Realms. It cannot be a coincidence. We need the ancient weapons to defeat the corruption. It is as simple as that.”
“You cannot know what you say, young ranger,” Lassendir said, hunched and almost in pain as the Steward helped him ease back down into his chair. “The Thalmiir did not seal their ancient city to hoard their wealth, but to protect all the Realms from a terrifying power they lost control of.”
“Pah,” Barrendiel spat. “Old wives tales designed to scare children. We must use the seal to protect not only ourselves, but all the Realms. No threat hidden in the Thalmiir city could be more ruinous than an invasion from the realms of chaos.”
Voices rose in assent and Gryph felt the tide turn against him.
“Force this imposter, this false El’Edryn to give the seal to us.” Barrendiel said. “Conclave was never meant for the likes of him.”
“Perhaps he is right father,” Myrthendir said. Barrendiel’s eyes snapped to his cousin at the unexpected support.
“No,” Lassendir raged and his voice echoed around the massive chamber. “You cannot know what you ask. I will never allow the gates to that city to be opened. It was an oath promised by my father’s father to the last High
King, and only the High King can release us from that bond.”
“But the High King will never return,” Barrendiel spat with barely controlled anger and he pointed at Ovyrm. “We all heard the words from the Accursed’s lips. If the High King still lives, he cannot return. He is bound by a blood oath.”
Everyone in the room knew the truth of the ranger captain’s words as surely as they knew their own names. Lassendir suddenly looked exhausted and Barrendiel’s gaze softened. He walked the several steps up the dais and knelt at his uncle’s elbow.
“They abandoned us, My Lord. You are the greatest man I have ever known and only you can lead us through this. It is time for you to take the Twined Throne. It is time we had a High King once more.”
“No,” Lassendir snapped and all the pain and exhaustion Gryph had seen in the Regent disappeared. “No man shall sit on the Twined Throne until the High King returns.”
Barrendiel stared at Lassendir in shock and both men’s eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills. After several tense moments Barrendiel stood and spat at Lassendir’s feet. “You are an old man and a fool. You will bring ruin to us all.” The captain stomped down the stairs of the dais.
“Cousin,” Myrthendir said, and reached a hand out to stop Barrendiel, but the irate elf slapped the hand off and strode towards the exit.
“Rangers to me,” Barrendiel yelled and uncomfortable glances passed between the rangers. They looked to the Regent and to the retreating back of their captain before they fell into formation behind their commander.
Lassendir looked at Gryph and said. “I ask you one last time, give me the seal and the eggs.”
Wick’s eyes stared at Gryph, hovering somewhere between anger and pleading. Tifala was fighting an internal battle between the trust Gryph had earned and the betrayal over what Gryph had hidden from them. Ovyrm simply stared, the implacable xydai’s expression impossible to read.
“I am sorry My Lord, but I cannot.”
Heads hung low and Lassendir sighed. “Take them into custody,” the Regent said in a strong voice. “I will deliberate on Conclave and decide their fates in the morning.”
The armored guards surrounded Gryph and his fellows. Myrthendir walked up to Gryph. “Not really what I meant by truthful cooperation.”
Gryph said nothing and Myrthendir stepped aside, extending his hand to indicate Gryph should follow the guards. Gryph did as asked and the guards surrounded he and his friends.
Wick glared at him in anger. “You’ve just killed us all.”
9
Myrthendir escorted them from the throne room and up several winding staircases to a well-appointed floor. Heavy bars guarded the windows, and the doors were girded with thick bands of metal. It was opulent, but also clearly a prison and sent a very definite message. We’ll play nice, for now.
Their prison was a suite of rooms that dominated one quarter of the round tower’s fifth floor. “Baths have been drawn and fresh clothes left for you. The cooks will send up food and refreshment. Get some rest. Tomorrow you face Conclave,” Myrthendir said, indicating that they should enter.
Ovyrm crossed the threshold without looking at the Prince Regent. Wick scowled at Gryph as he entered. Only Tifala showed any grace, with a slight nod of appreciation to Myrthendir. Her glance at Gryph would have done a disappointed mother proud. It seemed odd on her youthful face, but it hit Gryph with all the fury of a punch.
At the door Myrthendir put a hand on Gryph’s shoulder. “I would speak with you.”
Gryph nodded and stepped aside with the tall elf as the guards closed the door behind the companions he’d come to think of as friends. Friends I may have already lost, Gryph thought.
“You would do well to obey my father’s requests,” Myrthendir said. “He is an honest and fair man and while Sillendriel’s words on your behalf hold a great deal of weight with my father … and with me… they will not save you if my father decides you are a threat.”
Gryph nodded at the warning. “Why would Sillendriel vouch for me?” Gryph asked.
Myrthendir sighed and his shoulders sunk as if Gryph’s question had raised old and unwanted memories. “I have known Sillendriel my entire life. Once we were… close. Then her ability took control of her.”
“What ability?” Gryph asked.
“She is a diviner, one gifted, many would say one cursed, with visions of possible futures. It has always been a rare skill in the Realms, one that normally takes years of study to gain and decades to master.”
“But Sillendriel is different?”
Myrthendir paused as if pained, then nodded. “She was born with her abilities fully developed, yet without the lifelong wisdom and discipline to tame those abilities. The poor girl could see future events without being able to understand them or stop them. As an infant she saw the fates of many of those around her. The first was her nanny, a wonderful and kindly woman who adored Sillendriel and was likewise adored.”
Myrthendir paused as the emotions of the moment fought within him. “Sillendriel was barely a year old when a vision of the nanny’s death filled her young mind. She wanted to warn the nanny, to save her, but how does a child bereft of language or understanding warn anyone? That final night Sillendriel cried and cried as the nanny said goodnight and was handed off to her mother. They summoned healers, but none of them could find anything wrong with her.”
Gryph felt a knot tie in his stomach at the thought and his heart thundered in his chest as he let Myrthendir tame his emotions. “The next morning they found the nanny, face down in the Deep Water. She was fond of taking night time strolls by the lake. Nobody knew how she fell in or why she didn't swim to safety.”
Gryph met the Prince Regent’s eyes and saw a strength of purpose.
“We learned later, much later, that Sillendriel felt the whole thing. She was there with the nanny as she died. She knew who had committed the murder, but it took years before she could tell her tale. Turns out, it was a lover’s quarrel gone bad. To make matters worse for Sillendriel, the lover was a palace scholar, a man Sillendriel would see almost daily for the next few years.
“When Sillendriel could finally tell her tale, the man was confronted. Upon learning how he had been caught, he wept and confessed. At his sentencing he said he was most sorry for the burden that Sillendriel had suffered under. I agree with the man. Murder, even accidental murder, is a horrific crime, but to force that terrible burden upon someone, especially a child, is a far more heinous crime.”
The knot in Gryph’s stomach tightened upon hearing Myrthendir’s story and he felt a deep sympathy for the waifish elf woman. Her desperate message surged back into his mind and he found that he believed her warning just as much as he had Brynn’s. You must keep the seal and eggs safe, Sillendriel’s words flowed from the back of his mind. The question is, safe from who and why do I trust her. Is that part of her gift, her curse?
Gryph looked at the closed iron wood door. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew the people who would most likely pay for that need were behind the door. He turned back to Myrthendir and looked the man in the eyes. “I will think on what you have said.”
“It is all that a man can ask of another,” Myrthendir said with a small bow. “I will take my leave of you.”
Gryph watched the regal elf walk away and then the guards opened the door for him and he entered, ready to face the ire of his friends.
For a prison the suite of rooms he found himself in were comfortable. But a prison it was, as evidenced not only by the heavy bolts that slid into the doorframe as the ironwood door closed, but by the magical protections placed on its surface. As the clang of the bolts fell into place, a glow of brown and green energies flowed across the wood. Arcane runes appeared from nowhere as if scrawled by an unseen hand bearing a quill of pure energy. They moved too quickly for Gryph to make any sense of and then faded to nothingness.