Byron left the manor, still annoyed with Holter's attitude. The man was so arrogant to think he could improve on their plans, after the years of hard work and thought he had invested. He almost regretted bringing Holter into this, but it was a calculated decision, and it had paid off so far. It made everything much easier as far as paperwork and public appearance went, though the man was beginning to get on his nerves. It had been over two years since the mining had begun. Allowing Holter knowledge of their plan had kept the dwarves ignorant and complacent, for now—but it would never last. Because the dwarves were no idiots—and when they realized the scam, they would be angry.
Anger was an interesting emotion, one as easy to use as pain was. Byron made a decision as he walked through the closed mine entrance. He would have to ensure that Holter was not the one to alert the dwarves of any of their lies. He did not care that the dwarves would learn of it. But he did care when, and he was too close now to let one man's arrogance ruin his work.
He had already memorized the winding tunnels that would lead him to the Reclaimer. He walked for a few miles, enjoying the silence and using it to calm his temper. By the time he found his way into the natural tunnels past the mine, his anger had faded back to its usual simmering.
Arnet had been waiting, but only for a little while. He could easily teleport himself anywhere he chose in these tunnels, and that had made summoning and placing his pets so much easier. He leaned over the edge of the chasm, with carefree indifference to the dangers below.
It was deep, with rocks jutting out along it the entire way. A fall that could kill nearly anyone should they trip, or be pushed over the edge. The climbing gear the dwarves had left was now well hidden under some loose rubble, to make any who wished to follow them think twice. He had even shaped some of the stone into much sharper points—out of boredom. Thinking of the way someone could cut themselves to pieces made him shiver.
He sensed—more than heard Byron's approach. The tangible aura of power was a comforting brush against Arnet's senses. The goddess was around Byron at all times, her power radiating from him. He turned with a graceful flourish of his robes. "Finally here, I see. I was getting bored." His feathery voice was on the edge of mocking.
"I'm sure you found something to entertain yourself," Byron said, his deep voice echoing around the stone. "Why meet here?"
"Because," Arnet said as though it was obvious. "This chasm is so useful with the right pets in the right places."
"And are they?"
"Of course." Arnet smiled and whispered his spell, watching as two large creatures rose from the stone and mud beneath him. They lumbered forward, flanking either side of him like a pair of guards.
"Big... but stupid," Byron commented.
Arnet laughed. "You doubt me, now?" He offered a pouting frown, his eyes glinting. "They are smart enough."
Byron considered them for a moment, before nodding. "And below?"
Arnet's grin changed into something malicious. "Mhm. Below is taken care of. No one will survive the fall, and if they do..." There was mirth in his words, taking his voice to a higher pitch. "They will wish they had died up here." His loose sleeve slipped up his arm as he gestured, revealing the skeletal form of the limb. No flesh or muscle covered the pale, gleaming bones.
Byron smiled with him, the creases around his eyes deepening. "The other tunnels? Are you going to keep the dwarves busy?"
Arnet's posture changed immediately, and he was every bit the serious scholar. "Already done. The enchantment is working perfectly. Every death feeds our Blood Stone."
"Good."
"You know, there are certain people whose blood and souls are best suited for this task, don't you?"
Byron gave him a stern look. "I do. We need volume for this, Arnet. Quality is not important."
Arnet laughed waving an arm through the air, scholarly presence already gone again. "But if we could find some... it would please her."
Byron crossed his arms. "If you find anyone, tell me."
"Of course." Arnet bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of him, his skeletal fingers looking too long, their sharpened points digging into the skin of his other hand.
Harness and Mary were wonderful hosts, but Katerin had realized the previous evening that no one in this town appreciated the type of books she spent most of her time reading. Mary had given her a book, and it was a kind gesture.
It was a ridiculous storybook about a dwarven adventurer named Tumble. She had done her best to accept it with grace, and not tell the woman her honest opinion of it. It was nothing more than pointless nonsense, and as she read it, she felt as though her brain was melting. But read it she had, and she was no better off for it.
As she walked for the keep, she had a small skip to her step. Graiden had surely found something. There had to be something here that could link to her mother. If not, she had wasted months of grueling travel to follow something that held no more clues for her, but that would not happen. The thought of being free of the ship, just to turn right around and get back on board was an unsettling one. She knew she would have to get on another ship in her lifetime, but she hoped it need not be today.
She walked through the archway, and once again saw no guards. The hairs on her neck still prickled as they had the day before, but she did her best to ignore it and worked to keep her focus.
Graiden sat at his desk, his broad shoulders hunched over, and he looked up as she entered. His face seemed naturally stern, and his dark eyes held deep pools of wisdom. They appeared as the eyes of a man who could see through even the most masterfully crafted lies. "Good morning," he said and he waited for her to take a seat.
"Did you find anything?" she asked, before she even got to the chair. Excitement and nervousness battled in her stomach.
He sighed at her hastiness. "There was no Sulea Moonshadow in the book," he said in a reserved tone.
Her heart felt as if it had dropped from her chest, and she swallowed back her feelings. She tried to form words, but could only stare at her hands, instead.
"But there was a Drider Moonshadow... is this the same person?"
She chewed her lip. "I... I don't know. The name I gave... she may not use it anymore."
"Could be a relative?" Graiden offered, raising one eyebrow.
Katerin shook her head, refusing to even consider the idea. "No... the name was too hard to track down for that."
Graiden arched one eyebrow, "Why are you looking for her?" He was watching her closely, as if wondering if he had terribly misjudged her.
"She's my mother, and I have some questions," Katerin said. She felt his intense stare fade as he nodded his understanding. "Is she still here?"
"No. They left about a month ago." He rolled his shoulders. "When I found the name, I remembered speaking to them. There were four of them in the group. Asking questions about the locals, and the roads. They never stayed at the Inn, and they were heading up to Anklestrap."
Katerin's expression knotted up. "How many people? Where's Anklestrap?"
"Two men, and two women." he said, as he shifted some of the parchment from in front of him, revealing a simple map of Itrea. "This is Anklestrap," he pointed to a dot in the middle of a mountain. "It's a mining community." He pointed to another dot, halfway between the town and Anklestrap. "And this is Fort Mayor."
"How do I get there? Where can I buy a horse?" Her words spilled free, almost tangling up with each other.
Graiden's eyes widened. "Calm down, girl." There was a stern warning in his voice. "The roads here are dangerous. Ogres, lizard-folk, even hill giants on occasion. Not to mention the locals." He faced her and looked her squarely in the eyes. "You'll not travel the roads alone, and survive."
She stared, setting her shoulders stubbornly. "Then how do I get there?"
"Go with a caravan."
She frowned, tapping her fingers on the desk. The last caravan had tested limits she had never known she had, and she was rather reluctant to join another. Especially one filled with these mercenaries. "When is the next one leaving?"
He turned his gaze away from her, and she took a deep, calming breath as he opened a ledger and flipped through its pages. "Next one leaving from here is scheduled in... a little over a ten-day," he said, turning back to face her with much less rigidity in his posture.
"No... that's too long," she said, shaking her head.
Graiden laughed, but it held little humor. "It's the quickest way you'll find."
"I can't lose track of her now. It already took me months to get here!" Her outburst had no effect on his expression and she sighed, her shoulders slumping. "There has to be another way."
"No." He frowned, staring at her for a long moment. "You can go with one of the caravans. Things change, there—"
She cut him off, and stood up from her chair. "I put too much into this to be mistaken by some clerk." She whispered an incantation and flames licked up her right hand, and with another quick motion frost swirled around and trailed up her left arm. She made no move to attack him, instead, she stood and looked down at him with elemental energy covering her arms. "You can help me, or I will do it myself."
Graiden's expression stayed solid as stone, though something flickered in his eyes. There was a quiet whoosh of sound as a man stepped out from the wall behind him. The man had no weapons drawn; he simply watched Katerin with his arms crossed across his chest.
The flames died when Katerin lost focus at the man's appearance but she held her ground. She spared him only a glance before returning her attention to Graiden with a stubborn set of her shoulders. "I don't care what it costs. I can't afford to wait... it took me over two years to even get this far."
She looked over the man standing behind Graiden, trying not to make it obvious. He was shorter than she was, but wider, and he seemed to be nothing but muscle. He had broad shoulders and his dark brown hair was pulled back. The large hilt of a great-sword was visible on his back, and he watched her as if daring her to start a fight. He leaned casually against the wall, and now he smiled at her—though it was no friendly smile. The sensation of being watched now felt more like one of being hunted. He made no threatening movements, but he had a look about him that said he was more than willing and capable of violence. She gulped, having to focus her attention on not stepping away from him, still stubbornly refusing to give up ground.
She heard Graiden groan, and her attention snapped back to him as he spoke.
"Can you wait a day?" Graiden said, looking at her as though she gave him a headache.
"I can." She relaxed her shoulders and bowed her head slightly.
He pursed his lips. "You can leave in the morning, then." He leaned forward. "Make sure you're prepared for a four-day journey."
Graiden glanced toward the door with a sigh as the girl's footfalls faded and she disappeared from sight.
"That was interesting," Lugaria remarked in a bored tone.
Graiden groaned. "She's going to get herself killed." He regarded her and saw what most people saw. A young woman in clean but simple garb, shy and bookish. She looked naive to the ways of the world, especially in this place. This was no city or peaceful hamlet, but she had not yet realized that. All she carried to defend herself was a simple staff, and a dagger that looked brand new. It had hung awkwardly off her belt, poorly hidden by her cloak.
He was unwilling to let her go off alone. It was far more dangerous than most believed, and he knew this because he had been the one that buried all the souls that had not heeded his advice. Her attitude was something that had surprised him, though. She looked the type to cower and hide in any confrontation, but instead she had held her ground and faced him. Almost threatened him, in fact. A good start, but attitude alone would not keep her alive out here.
"Probably," Lugaria nodded his agreement, stepping out from the wall. "Who're you sending as an escort?"
Graiden smiled not with joy, but with cunning. "Fykes needs a reason to get out of here. He's moped around enough, and he's starting to sour the mood of the place." He felt bad for him, he truly did. But he knew that Fykes needed a distraction, and he had decided that the fiery young woman would be the perfect one.
Lugaria grimaced. "I could almost feel bad for him... she's a nitwit."
Graiden let out a quiet chuckle. "Go tell him to get ready, or I'll put him to digging latrines for a month."
Gregorio Fykes laid with his head propped up on a pillow, absentmindedly sketching in a small leather wrapped book. He looked at the bare stone walls, with a shake of his head. He could not seem to shake it off. No number of drinks, busy work, or flirting had touched his sour mood. Losing Ge'henna had left him with a lot to think about, and after Graiden found him in the woods and demanded he come back to the town he had been unable to shake his anger. He had nowhere to put it, and no one to lay it on except himself. He replayed his friend's death over in his mind a dozen times, and he felt that he could have easily stopped it.
If only he had been just a little quicker, or just a little more precise. He glanced at his swords, leaning across the room—sheathed, with the belt still attached—unused for a while now. The guilt was eating him, but his mood kept him from doing anything about it. Instead, he simply laid here, sketching, and letting himself fall into a miserable slump. Lugaria walked through the door without even knocking, and Fykes sighed, not even bothering to sit up.
"Graiden wants you ready to leave for Anklestrap in the morning," Lugaria said, regarding him with a slight frown.
"For what?" Fykes asked, his sarcastic greeting was instantly forgotten, and replaced with skepticism that was written plainly on his face. His usually melodic voice was hoarse, a side effect of not having slept much.
"Some girl needs an escort up there and refused to wait for a caravan," Lugaria explained. "And he thinks you need to get off your ass."
Gregorio sighed again and pushed himself up on one arm. "What if I don't feel up to it? I'm sure there are plenty of new recruits that would love to go." He raised an eyebrow and Lugaria shook his head.
"It's this or you'll be digging latrines for a month, Fykes," Lugaria said, with a telltale hint of humor in his tone.
His eyebrows climbed higher. "I'll be ready in the morning, then," he said, in a mockingly cheery tone. He pondered the idea of a woman on her own, trying to get to Anklestrap. Of anyone here refusing any word that Graiden gave them. She was obviously new here, probably fresh off a ship from some tiny village, and she was either very stupid or very bold. "What's she like?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him, but he realized that Lugaria had already gone.