"Katerin?" Typhon sputtered. "What in the nine hells happened?" He was staring with wide eyes at all the blood—horrified at the state of the three people who had just fallen from his teleportation circle and stumbled down the ladder, trailing blood and looking like something out of a nightmare.
"Sorry for the intrusion," Fykes slurred, trying to be calm and charming, and having the opposite effect, for once. "We'll just be on our way."
Typhon watched them leave, as suddenly as they had come. His glasses hung precariously on the edge of his snout as he tried to puzzle out exactly what he had just seen.
"I wonder if they got their spell to work," Wiggus said, his head crooked sideways as he watched them stumble away.
They stumbled down the stairs, having to catch each other more than once. Katerin forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. They made it out of the Abstract Imblemgnomium, and headed down the road to the keep.
Katerin kept feeling an odd presence up against her mind. It pushed on her will, making her vision fuzzy. She passed it off as exhaustion and fatigue, and it made her unable to focus on more than one step at a time. But every few seconds, the sensation pulsed, pulling at her, making her vision spin.
The guards at the keep's gate hardly argued, recognizing the three. Though they followed them warily after they opened the gates, hands very near their weapons, expressions ranging from open horror to ill-concealed curiosity.
For once, Katerin did not care, nor was she intimidated by the fact that they wore a uniform. She stepped into Graiden's office without knocking.
He looked up in annoyance, though his expression shifted quickly as Katerin walked up to the desk. "Wha—" he began, voice rising in volume.
Katerin held up a hand. "We need to talk." Her voice was quiet and hoarse. She had to fight to focus her thoughts enough to speak. She pulled Byron's cloak free of her shoulder, dropping it on the desk, the medals glinting despite the blood. She set the amulet atop it, fingers quivering. Her useless arm held close to her side, as another wave of sickening dizziness overtook her.
Lugaria stepped from the wall, weapon in one hand, and watched them in silence. His gaze following the bloody trail out of the keep office and down the path.
Graiden's face paled. "What did you do?" he demanded. "What happened?"
"Byron didn't... want to be found," Katerin said, a feeling of terror welling up again, threatening to choke her. "He tried to kill us."
Graiden picked up the necklace, shaking his head. "This wasn't Byron's."
"It was," Fykes said, head hanging. "He wore it."
Graiden made a choking sound, and sat back down at his desk, scanning their faces for any hint of a lie. "Is he... is he?" The blood drained from his face.
Fykes' expression softened. "He's dead."
Graiden rubbed his fingers over the double-sided symbol. On one side, a familiar spear and gavel. On the other a nine-tailed whip, stained with blood.
Katerin found herself unable to speak. Staring at the items under her she felt sick. Horror rose up in a tide and threatened her grasp on consciousness.
"What... can you tell me why? What happened?" Graiden's voice cracked, and he sucked in a deep breath.
Fykes sighed and gave a short version of the information they had. Katerin handed him the letters and ledgers.
"But... why?" Graiden said, his usual stern visage miles away. "I'm sorry... if I had known I never would have sent you." He looked at Katerin, a pained expression in his eyes.
"We know..." Arjiah said. "It's alright."
Graiden glanced at the blade Katerin had shoved through her belt.
"It was Byron's," Katerin explained, numbly noting his gaze. "You can hav—" her words cut off, as the dizziness came over her again, leaving her unable to speak, taking her thought from her before she could voice it. "Have a look at it later." Her brow furrowed. "There's something strange about it. I'd like to take some time with it."
Graiden gave her a puzzled expression but only nodded.
Katerin glanced up to finally notice Lugaria standing against the back wall. "How long have you been there?"
"The whole time, nitwit," he said, looking at her with what might have been concern.
She choked out something close to a laugh, and it made everything hurt even more. "Fair enough."
"You look like the backside of a butcher shop," Lugaria said, something pulling at the corners of his mouth. Distaste? Or was it amusement?
Fykes looked up and down them with a sigh. "Mary is going to finish the job of beating us to death, if we try to go into the inn looking like this."
"Ocean?" Katerin said, feeling the blood as it dried on her skin. It was an unpleasant mixture of both itchy and sticky, and knowing what it was only served to strengthen the queasy feeling she had not been able to escape since leaving the cavern.
"Barracks showers," Fykes replied, "They get a lot of blood."
Lugaria eyed them. "Not that much."
Fykes sighed, and looked at him as if to ask what his other options were.
Graiden tore his gaze away from the bloody items on his desk. "The barracks showers will do you fine. I doubt you could make it to the shore, anyway." He took a deep breath and looked across them all. "Just, stay nearby. I'll... I'll need to talk to you further."
As they walked toward the hall to exit Graiden's office through the back of the keep, Katerin's head swam. Dizziness wracked her again. This time it was accompanied by terrible pain that originated from the wound in her shoulder.
Her vision blurred pure white, then faded to black as she collapsed in a heap on the floor, while a sinister chuckle echoed in her mind.
I will not obey you.
The sword on her belt disappeared in a crackle of black energy.
Arnet wiped the blood from his hands onto a silken kerchief, smiling to himself as he replaced the lock on the cage door, sparing one last glance at Sulea, who sat in the corner, staring at nothing. He walked the halls of the spire, humming slightly under his breath, an old tune, from another life. His humming faded when he found the common room empty. Byron still had not returned, and they had agreed to celebrate tonight.
He checked Byron's room and found it empty, and now he sighed, closing his eyes he cast a spell and disappeared from the room. It was no fun, after all, to celebrate such victories alone, and tonight he did not feel like waiting.
When he opened his eyes, he blinked twice, to ensure he was not in the wrong place. Blood was nearly up to his ankles, sticky and pungent. He looked around and found Byron easily enough—laying on his back, eyes open and sightless. Chunks of a strange gray crystal floated across the surface of the blood, ebbing in an attempt to shed a crimson light
"My," Arnet said, looking about with a curious expression. "We can't have that." He closed his eyes and leaned over Byron's body. He hit Byron in the chest with the flat of his hand, magic swirling out from him. He waited patiently as the seconds ticked by, unconcerned. Soon, the blood around Byron dissipated, and Byron's eyes snapped to focus as he gasped in a ragged breath.
Too-bright yellow eyes grinned down at Byron, waiting for him to find his bearings. "You got too cocky, didn't you?" Arnet said, stepping back as Byron pulled himself to his feet. "Who was it?"
Byron growled in response, searching the ground for his weapon, but did not find it. He reached out with his mind and found it. He called the sword back to him, holding out a hand, and there it appeared, as if it had never gone. Just as covered in blood as he was.
"Byron," Arnet said, staring at him pointedly. "Who was it?"
Byron turned a glare on him, eyes burning with anger. "It was our final piece," he said.
"He killed you?" Arnet said with a snort, his eyes sparkling with glee. "That's—"
"No. It wasn't him... the woman with him. The one our goddess is fond of."
Arnet snickered. "What a dramatic twist. You let his lover kill you?"
Byron's glare only intensified. "She was stronger than she seemed. Refused to help me... broke the spell," he said, shaking his head. Those were thoughts for another time. His prayers this night would be answered, he was sure. The Goddess always answered him, and she surely had a reason for this. Maybe it was a test, and he only needed to be patient.
Arnet patted his shoulder in a condescending gesture. "Don't worry. Spirits aren't that hard to break."
Katerin awoke in a very uncomfortable bed. Memories and dreams fled from her mind, like birds fleeing the footsteps of men. She had dreamt of her mother again, of slamming her staff into Fykes, of Byron's eyes as he struck her with a sword, of his words. As the dreams faded, she saw more hazy images—glimpses of worried faces standing over her, half understood words and hands on her forehead. Was that Lugaria peering at her? Calling her a nitwit? It all disappeared as she blinked her eyes open.
Soft torch lights lit the room, and she heard the bustle of footsteps. Brazen sat at one edge of her bed, back turned to her, watching the room. She groaned, realizing that her muscles were in no hurry to heed her commands. The pain was nothing compared to what it had been. But her head felt fuzzy and she felt as though she had not moved in some time.
Brazen turned to her, eyes blinking. You're awake, he said, Everything is okay. I watched it all after I woke up.
Where am I? she asked, looking around. There was a line of similar cots, all with white sheets. The room held an herbal smell, but it was not familiar to her.
The infirmary, Brazen told her, You collapsed when that sword disappeared and wouldn't wake up. Graiden helped you, he frowned. Made you stay here until you woke up. Everyone... worried.
Katerin shook her head and tried to sit up, giving up, after her arm threatened to buckle under her. It still ached, deep in the joint, and near her neck. How long has it been? she asked, their telepathic link comforting her.
Two days, he told her.
She squinted, rubbing a hand across her eyes to clear the sleep from them, looking up in time to see Arjiah walk into the room, clean and presentable, yet tired looking.
"You're awake," she said, with a smile. "Good. We were getting worried."
"Fykes—"
Arjiah held up a hand. "Is just fine. Resting at the inn, and fretting over you." Arjiah sat at the edge of the bed, and hugged Katerin gently, carefully avoiding the thick wrap of bandages across Katerin's right shoulder.
Katerin took a deep breath. "And Graiden?"
"He is... coping with it all. Fykes and I both sat in, and were questioned about Byron."
Katerin winced. "And?"
"And you made sure to gather enough evidence, so he believes us. He also spoke to Beymor. You don't have to worry."
Katerin fell back onto her pillow with a groan. "I still want to talk to him." She looked up to Arjiah's perfectly composed features. "How do you stay so damn calm?"
Arjiah smiled. "A hundred years of practice helps, dear. Everything is fine. It's over and we lived through it. There's nothing to fret over."
Katerin's mouth fell open, and she shook her head. She knew amerlyians had long lifespans, but she had never have believed Arjiah was older than her late twenties. "There's always something to fret over," she said.
"Of course. But you can fret or you can act. Doing both is a pointless thing."
"You sound like Avris."
"Thank you," Arjiah smirked. "She is very wise."
"Think Graiden has a moment to speak with me?"
"Of course he does. He'll be glad to see you up." Arjiah leaned forward. "He was quite worried."
Katerin nodded, with a small smile.
"When you're up to it, come find us at the inn. I'll ask Mary to have some food ready for you." Arjiah patted the bed and stood, leaving Katerin and Brazen alone once again.
Katerin walked the keep's halls, not an hour later, with Brazen right beside her. She was pulling her hair back from her face as best she could without a tie. It cascaded down her back, nearly to her hips. Her steps were slow, and every so often she felt dizzy, but she made it to the entrance room of the keep, and found Graiden sitting at his desk, absorbed in his work. His quill scratched across the parchment with a practiced speed. She quietly took a seat, not saying a word.
He looked up at her in an instant, a relieved smile washing across his features. "You're finally up." He reached for her hand and squeezed it.
"Thank you," she told him, bowing her head. "Graiden, I'm so—"
He cut her off, holding up a hand. "No. Fykes explained more of what happened... and I've already spoken with Beymor. You... you were in the right."
"So you're not going to arrest us all for murder?" she asked, trying to bring a smile to her lips.
"Hardly... not with what you brought back, and not with the current state of Anklestrap." He released her hand and sighed, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were wandering across the mountains of parchments on his desk, with a look that said his thoughts were far from here. "I asked you to go, in the first place."
She took a deep breath, shaking memories from her mind. "Graiden?"
He looked at her with a patient fatherly expression.
"Do you know the goddess that he worshiped? I couldn't place it, but the pantheon is not my strong suit."
He nodded. "I do. Her name is Lodyne.... and her domain is that of pain and suffering."
Katerin gulped as Byron's words played in her head. "She said you would help me." Terror rose up in her throat, and she blinked to clear her mind. "Thank you," she looked up with a hopeful expression. "Any new people in town?"
Graiden shook his head, setting his quill aside. "No. A few Uhma'zarhins have visited, but your mother hasn't been back."
She sat in silence, staring at the wooden top of his desk.
"Go and rest, Katerin. You need it, and Jon and Fykes have been by every morning to pester me over you. I'll let you know if anything surfaces on your mother."
She believed him, without hesitation. Funny, she thought, that she had despised him when she had arrived here, and now she found him comforting and wise. Trustworthy.
At the inn, she ate more food than she thought possible and spent the day lounging and fighting off the terror in her thoughts. She had almost killed Fykes, and she could have killed them all had Arjiah not broken Byron's spell. She kept her movements to a minimum, and tried to ignore the flashes of memories that came to mind when she closed her eyes.