The Mournful King

V. The Ruin

The Silent looked down over the hill towards Tamaris. The city had grown since his last visit, but the spires of the palace rising proudly over the crowded market and bustling neighborhoods were exactly as he remembered. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach when he thought about the reaction that would be waiting for him. Hopefully he could pass without recognition. He doubted Fionn would be any fonder of Leyans than he had been years ago, particularly him.

"This is..." Andraste took a deep breath, but words seemed to escape her. He looked over to her, noting that she focused intently on the spires of the palace. "I'm really here. I almost thought I would never reach it."

He nodded a little. She had come a very, very long way if she was from further west than Ethilir. She didn't seem awestruck by Tamaris, but there was an almost reverence to her expression. The temptation to ask her why was overwhelming, but he had no tongue to question her with. He gestured to the palace and then gave her a questioning look.

Andraste turned in her saddle to look at him. "I need to go to the Tuama first. I need an answer. There are worse things in the world than the Kindly One, and the Tuama holds a key to understanding them...if Orobas is right."

Once upon a time, the Silent might have disagreed with the idea that there was worse than the destroyer of Zaeylael. Not now, however, with the specter of Gader'el and his unnamed master looming over the Silent's head. He nodded and urged his horse forward, though he felt the uncertainty in his stomach getting worse. Did she mean to stop the dark forces or use them to her own benefit? He wanted to believe that Andraste had a good heart, but he knew that people were nothing if not deceptive.

Their ride through Tamaris prompted little attention, as they stayed near the caravans entering. Andraste's strange armor was mostly hidden under her shrouding and the dust from the road softened the black. Without her helm on, she did not resemble a demon nearly as much. Mus would hunt outside the city, unfortunately unwelcome in the cities of the east. The Silent was a bit disappointed. His truce with the hell-hound had slowly been developing into an understanding, and the beast was a fine guardian. Their path took them to the temple district, a place the Silent had not visited. He had never been a religious man and now he had even less use for the gods. After all, not one had lifted a finger to ease his pain.

It was a pretty portion of the city, removed from the hovels and squalor that surrounded the noble heart of Tamaris. Apple trees lined the streets and gardens tended to by the monks. Andraste did not stop and ask for directions, finding her way with ease. It was as if she knew the way with a perfect familiarity. The Silent's uneasy suspicion grew with every step they took, particularly when they began to descend the stairs that lead beneath the temple. He saw it ahead, a giant metal door covered in ancient glyphs. What really drew his eyes, however, was the presence of hooded knights standing guard. There were four, armored in mail hauberks and armed with side-swords, their shields nearby and grey hoods pulled over their visored barbuta helms. It was cool enough here below that they wouldn't feel uncomfortable in the heat of their armor. The Silent felt a deep chill settling into his own bones.

"Do you have permission to be here?" one of the knights asked, stepping forward to meet them.

Andraste held out something. He only caught sight of the glimmer of gold. "If you have any loyalty to the owner of this signet, please let me pass," she said.

The knight reached out, taking the ring and studying it for a moment. "I would grant you entry, my lady, but there is no longer a key," he said as he returned the ring.

"That will not be a problem. May I approach?"

The Silent studied his companion intently at that announcement, only a touch less skeptical than the guards.