A bloodthirsty savagery that he regretted not an instant, he assured himself, as it had given him the power to heal Jess from a fatal wound delivered from an infernally cursed weapon, even here within mundus, where his bloodmagics were but a fraction of the power that they were in deepest Shadow, burning out the taint of Jessica's injury with no less than the life-force of twenty souls.
Souls that rumor held haunted that cursed courtroom even to this day, howling their endless despair throughout the night, for all that Echobart swore it was but the whistle of the wind.
And Morlekai's suddenly hooded gaze was as loud as words to Malek's ears. He was not to say a word. Not a whisper.
For if enemies lurked, puppetmasters in the shadows, masterminding the machinations designed to bring down Crown and Calenbry Clan both, best that their enemies had absolutely no idea of how close Malek and Morlekai had come to the truth of it all.
They would give their foes not the slightest clue that they were on to them, until it was time to strike. To butcher them utterly and completely, a savage assault with no quarter given. A fitting end to any dark covens they would find, if they could find any at all. For their enemies had covered their tracks exceedingly well. Their only hint had been the tainted inquisitor who had sought to ambush Malek and Apple with a handful of crossbowmen when they had done their best to purchase the liens being used to blackmail Jessica's jurors and force a guilty verdict.
An ambush that had ended with the inquisitor's death, but not before conceding that the very head of their order was involved.
Yet no matter how they had watched home and office, to the extent they could when not consumed with their own missions, they could find no trace even of impropriety, let alone infernal foulness. Absolutely nothing improper. No screams of innocent souls from sacrifice. No wave of dark, hellish energies which Malek was somehow dead certain Morlekai would be able to pick up. Not even visits to brothels specializing in the darkest of vices.
Nothing. The head of the inquisitorial order appeared little more than a middle-aged bureaucrat, if more fit than most, content to lead the most mundane of lives, his wife hosting the most sedate of parties. Even shadowing his various guests in the hopes of unmasking darkest vice carefully concealed had turned up absolutely nothing.
It appeared that their enemies had retreated from the field. But Malek didn't trust it. Not for a minute. Just the other night Malek had been haunted by a terrible dream that Jess had been attacked by darkest agents once more, he shouting at her to guard herself, dizzy with relief that she had somehow listened, agonized to see her attacker plunge cursed knife into vulnerable flesh, fiercely exultant when Jess had run him through, relieved beyond words to see her healed in the arms of a figure that had been like an uncle to them both.
Malek had woken up shaken but relieved, taking it as a warning to never let down his guard completely.
Yet the man they thought to be the mastermind behind at least one prong of the attack seemed determined to lead a life almost obnoxiously proper. And if they were to attack a man of his rank and station without cause or provocation, they could well instigate a conflict between Guild and Crown that all parties were loath to initiate.
It had become a waiting game of sorts, one that Malek feared at least two of his brethren were more than ready to give up, the rats hiding in their burrows, Jess vindicated and free.
Their focus was now once more entirely upon the sacred prize hinted at only in scraps of legend. For the treasure they sought could well redeem them all.
30
“Well pup, are you ready? 'Tis time for us to profit from the fruits of our last Delve, fill our purses with gold, and earn the right to explore the library that holds the clue to the next step of our journey!”
Malek blinked, realizing he had been woolgathering, before nodding to Alacabar’s gentle prodding, strapping his shoulder sheath securely to his frame, discretely checking the draw, his oversized cloak and absurd sock both packed away once more. Morlekai gave an approving nod, patting the enchanted falchion of darkest origin he wore at his own hip, their companions similarly ready for deadly violence at a moment’s notice, even in the heart of their sanctuary, as they proceeded to make their way to the topmost floor of the keep to see the Guildmaster of this hall in person, the only man authorized to handle the details of all contracts initiated under his roof.
Not that Malek feared any aggression in the heart of their sanctuary. Rather, he feared looking stupid. For all that he'd rather be laughed at in gentle good humor than feared in the streets below, among his own kind who accepted him for who and what he was, the last thing he wanted to appear was a court buffoon with sock on hilt, wearing a silly smile and an oafish cape atop it all.
Morlekai breathed deep, sighing contentedly as he stood before the door of the Guildmaster, finest oak, etched with scenes of adventure and wonder from any number of tales, the characters all carved in bass relief, polished to a warm glow. Malek grinned, his eyes catching sight of a scene from one of his and Jess's adventures, her blade thrust outward with one arm, deep into the heart of a man whose features showed such horror, even carved in miniature, bat-like wings splayed behind him, even as Jess held a beautiful damsel in her other arm, Malek by her side striking down one of the twisted creatures they had faced in the tower of the mad infernalist who had sought to doom all of Turnsby to darkest Shadow just a handful of seasons ago.
Malek felt the faintest shiver as he gazed carefully at the carving. It seemed almost as if the demon Jess had run through was gazing back at Malek, lips locked in a silent scream Malek fancied he could almost hear, echoing endlessly through the ether.
Malek lurched back, shaking away a tingling nausea sweeping through him.
He felt a powerful squeeze to his shoulder. "No reason to let such remembrances hold power over you, pup. Best gaze right back at it and smile with all your hate."
Malek grimaced at a winking Alacabar, even as Morlekai smoothly opened the door, waving them all inside.
The head of the Guildhall had of course been expecting them. Dressed in an elegant doublet a shade lighter than the royal purple, his undershirt was of spotless ivory silk, much like Morlekai's own.
He was a handsome man exuding charm and confidence both, Malek had to concede, even if on the latter side of his middle years. Delvers, after all, aged extremely gracefully, even if they somehow managed to put aside their cravings for endless adventure within realms of living dream. Rumor held they could survive vital and hale, well past the century mark, choosing only to let go of life when weariness, as opposed to decrepitude, at last overcame them. Those adventurers who were active, of course, never seemed to age a day, but only for so long as they survived their adventures, for all that they would live on in the legends they had inspired.
“Morlekai. It is good to see you and your companions.”
“And you as well, Gregorian.” Malek replied even as the man immediately got up from behind his grand desk, smoothly moving to shake Morlekai’s hand, clap a grinning Alacabar’s shoulder, and of course, kiss the hand of fairest Lucienda with a gentleman’s consummate grace, exchanging warm words and commendations with all of them, even spending a moment to give Malek a warm greeting.
“And how fares your newest companion? One of the strongest Spring Delvers to surface in years, isn’t that right, my lad?”
Malek grinned. “So the rumor goes, though of course my shieldsister was my equal if not my better in all things that mattered, save perhaps possessing a complete inability to carry a tune.”
Gregorian chuckled at that. "Your modesty and loyalty to your first sister-in-arms does you credit, young Malek. As does your choice in present companions, a group which I can say in all honesty is perhaps the deadliest band of Delvers this humble Guildhall has seen in quite some time."
“Yes, we do bring up the property values, don’t we?” Alacabar gave vent to a great laugh, his baritone voice causing the fine stained glass windows to vibrate in the
ir frames.
Gregorian nodded. "Indeed you do, my mighty friend. Adventurers without peer, with a reputation for never refusing a mission, and never failing to achieve the artifact for which you strive, no matter how dark or perilous the journey into realms of dream and Shadow."
Lucienda chuckled dryly. “Which is your polite way of querying as to whether we have once again honored our own reputation.”
Gregorian smiled. “I have no doubts, sweetest Lucienda. No doubts at all. The Guild knows it can always count on its bravest adventurers to succeed where others fear to tread.”
Morlekai nodded solemnly, pulling a securely wrapped bundle from his reinforced belt pouch. Carefully he set it down upon the finely polished mahogany desk, gently removing the silk and linen he had used to cushion the artifact.
Gregorian let loose a breathless gasp, gazing at the exquisite gem encrusted music box with wonder. “May I?”
Morlekai gave a nod. “Of course. We detected no harmful emanations, and it is not near as fragile as it looks.” He smiled then. “By all means, stroke it. It is quite the little marvel, and seems almost worth the boon placed on its recovery.”
Tentatively, the Guildmaster did just that, gently stroking the music box, gasping in wonder as sparkles of light and sound appeared to splash through the air as if the magic of music and dream had coalesced into liquid luminescence, before near instantly evaporating into the ether once more. Carefully, he wound the platinum alloyed handle affixed to the small music box, and upon its release, the box played one of over a dozen tunes Malek had heard from the thing, never the same song twice in a sitting.
To say that the modest chambers were suddenly filled with an orchestral masterwork would almost be an understatement. Woodwind, percussion, and string instruments all came together in exquisite harmony, the music echoing and resonating through the air as if they were lost in the grandest of music halls.
One needed merely to close one's eyes and let the music sink in to be enraptured in visions straight out of the Dreamrealms, a waking dream of fae musicians from a bygone era. Elegant, impossibly beautiful, immaculately dressed, all playing instruments the likes of which Malek had never seen before, their notes ringing with unearthly clarity, the grand performance building to a crescendo of music and emotion such that Malek felt tears trickle down his cheeks, though whether with sorrow or release, he could not say.
Malek shuddered with the majesty and wonder of it, opening his eyes once more as the song gently wound to its end. He smiled, seeing that the Guildmaster himself was holding back tears, overwhelmed by the sheer wonder of that ethereal concert, long lost to the annals of time.
"I suspect that perhaps we did not get the better of our client, this time around," Gregorian allowed with a bittersweet smile. "A thousand crown commission for the retrieval of a single music box from the realm of dreams? Of course I accepted the offer, though I thought perhaps we were fulfilling an obsession, as opposed to objectively finding value to match the offered purse. Now, however, after hearing that music, knowing it will like as not haunt my dreams and perhaps compel me to cravings I thought safely left behind, I am not so sure who got the better end of this venture."
He laughed softly, along with Malek’s companions. “Still, we of the Guild are renowned for our honor, never breaking our word or reneging on commitments made, and we shall keep faith as always.” He smiled brightly. “Besides, your pockets are now a thousand crowns heavier. A handsome reward and well-earned, my friends, that I must say.”
Morlekai's smile was one of fierce satisfaction. "A promise was made and kept. And we have indeed honored our part of the bargain." He gracefully took the fine vellum parchment the Guildmaster handed him. A note for one thousand crowns that would shortly be honored in quarter portions to each of their accounts, or paid out in full, by the Guild bank representative just below. "And we do hope our mystical little music box soothes its present owner's weary soul whenever he should need its respite. However, there were specific conditions asked for and agreed, I believe, with this little venture, were there not?"
Gregorian emitted a dry little chuckle. "Yes indeed, dear Morlekai. Yes indeed. In fact," he said, carefully returning the music box to its wrappings, "I do believe you have an interest in a certain lord's library, no? Lord Graves has given you his permission to visit, and assuming you were to head there straight away, he is more than content to have you drop this off with his seneschal upon your arrival."
He spent a quiet moment gazing at the increasingly impatient Morlekai. “Is it possible that our renowned adventurers have found clues to some hidden treasure lost somewhere in the realms of Shadow, perchance?” He chuckled at Morlekai’s deathly cold glare. “Easy friend, easy. I but jest, as you well know. Of course I wish you gods' speed on your quest, wherever it may take you. I can only hope that if you do find a prize of some note, you will be so kind as to allow your humble Guild at least the chance to bid for it?”
Morlekai's fierce gaze eased into an icy smile. "Rest assured, Gregorian, if rumors of a certain nature lead to any prize of note that I choose to sell, the Guild will be the first allowed to bid upon it, as the accords have dictated for centuries. But what prize I seek, I alone shall be the one to find. I will allow no Delver to use means sly and petty to jump my claim!"
The Guildmaster nodded solemnly. “Of course, Del Morlekai. No adventurer worth his salt would even dare such a thing. Your party did manage to recover the All Seeing Eye, after all, marvelous artifact that it is, and were rewarded extremely handsomely for your efforts, from what I am given to understand.”
Alacabar nodded, grinning fiercely. "We did indeed, Guildmaster. Most handsomely, and no fool dared try to jump our claim then, and a fortune we made. But you know the hunger, do you not? It still eats at your soul in the dark hours of the night. Don't deny it, I can see it in your eyes. The hunger to embrace realms of dream and darkest Shadow once more. To quest for greatness and wonder and perhaps, just perhaps, a bit of immortality as well, no? For all that you know in your heart that to answer that call to glory will be the death of you one day, it matters not! For your soul still yearns for one more valiant charge into deepest adventure and darkest glory, and damn the consequences! Is that not so?"
Gregorian chuckled, his rueful smile and the painful glitter in his eyes the only signs that Alacabar's words had hit home. “You have my measure already, worthy Alacabar. Well do I know these hungers of which you speak.” He sighed then, gazing wistfully upon the brilliant play of light as the stained glass window caught the final rays of the setting sun. "Every day I think myself ahead of the pack, having the wisdom and will to get out of that beauteous game before it consumes me, to retire with the confident knowledge that I will likely be hale and strong for well over a century, my sanity and vitality intact. But I know as well as you those hungers, those cravings, that never truly abate, any more than a drunkard ever loses his craving for wine, no matter how much he's lost, no matter how much he has striven to change. The aching need is always there."
Malek felt himself shiver, as if the very fates resonated with those words, marking his grave.
Lucienda gazed gently upon him then, giving Malek an affectionate squeeze, and soft words uttered for his ears alone. "Fear not, my dear spring pup. We will skip merrily through Shadow as we always have, dodging dire fates with a cheeky grin, the bards reveling in all our tales. For together we are strong, far more than the sum of our parts, is this not so?"
Her sultry voice was equal parts sensual and soothing, and Malek nodded, both relieved and well aware of the game being played beneath the performance on display here; deceiving the Guildmaster into thinking it was an uncontested claim to base wealth and the glory of adventuring alone that motivated them, not the quest for something far more sacred and holy. Not that Morlekai would ever tell Gregorian a direct lie; should they actually manage to find that horn of glory and wonder, the Guild would indeed be given the right of first refusal. Malek was certain as a
ll hell, though, that Morlekai would die before he allowed a divine artifact to be pawned like pretty baubles adorning a tavern doxy. And the talk of the hunger and craving for adventure? Further distraction for the poor Guildmaster to lose himself in, like the best sleight of hand.
Yet for all that, what made the patter so effective was that it resonated so strongly with the cold hard truth of the peril they all faced, Malek having himself joked once or twice already about being lost to the siren call of Shadow, singing to their desperate craving for its power, madness, and glory. This of course had caused Morlekai to smile and mockingly congratulate him. For all that he was still younger than most Spring Delvers, he was already blossoming into Summer, already chained to cravings most adventurers, less potent in their early years, could more easily put away, to embrace a normal life once more, impressive wealth set aside to live the remainder of their days in careless ease.
The question always wondered, yet never voiced aloud, was could adventurers Delve just enough to secure their future before becoming utterly lost to the rush and heady glory that was the adventurer's life? Could they stop before they craved it like a drunkard his bottle, even as they were overwhelmed with the terror of fighting for their lives and the mad ecstasy of draining dry their foes, growing in strength even as they weakened in resolve, till they were eventually as consumed by the calling as was any beggar or harlot lost to the cravings of poppy or wine?
Most, of course, simply reveled in the dark thrills of their Delving life, never thinking to quit, never thinking to retire, and indeed, reveling in riches and glory for all their days, until one woke up to find that one's gregarious friend, larger than life, was no more than the desperately grasped for fragments of a fading dream.
Gods of Shadow and Flame Page 29