She waited five hours. Five hours, seething quietly the whole while. Though in that time she finally found a use for the storybook Mary had given her, at least. It kept her from planning a thousand ways of killing the dark-eyed secretary, who still sat not far away, ignoring her as if she did not exist.
Finally, she heard movement coming down the stairs, so she sat up straight and put her book away. She watched as two men came down the stairs with purpose to their steps. One was broad, with a chiseled jaw and a mature, hardened face, and the other was an extremely tall elf.
Katerin was quite tall by anyone's standards, but she was sure she would look dainty, standing next to this man. His sword alone was almost as long as she was. He had supple, dark green hair flowing down his back, pulled into a braid almost as thick as her arm. He moved like a cat stalking its prey, and he shadowed the other man, eyes watching as if he saw every detail. Those eyes fell on Katerin for a moment, and she nodded to him, fighting an urge to keep her eyes downcast, and she wondered if anyone felt at ease under that calculating stare.
The first man strode easily toward the door, shaking his head dismissively at the elf as he walked out, his footsteps thudding on the tiles. The elf stopped in mid-step and leaned against the wall, his expression a perfect mask showing no hint of being bothered by the dismissal.
Katerin stood, stretched her sore, cramped muscles and approached the desk. "Might I speak with him, now?" she asked as politely as she could, holding back her anger at the infuriating wait. It was a tiny, simple mining town, after all. This man could not be nearly as important as he wanted to seem.
"No," the gnome said, "Appointments are necessary."
She gaped, glaring at the small figure, "But you told me—"
"I told you nothing, except to come back later and make an appointment." He sniffed. "It's far too late for visitors. He'll be wanting his dinner."
She bit her tongue and her fists clenched in her cloak. "How long ago exactly was it too late for visitors?"
There was a quiet chuckle from the tall figure at the door.
The gnome looked up at her and smiled a sarcastic, taunting smile. "From about the time you walked in."
She took a deep breath. "I've been waiting for hours."
"Would you like to make an appointment?" the gnome asked, all business.
"Vorn... just let her see him." The elf spoke in a bored tone as he stepped away from the wall. His voice was deep, predatory, and he sounded as if he was accustomed to people listening to him.
Vorn glared at him.
The elf sneered and leaned forward, looking down with his eyebrows raised.
Something flashed in Vorn's eyes, but then he relaxed his posture, like a bird ruffling its feathers then tucking them away. "Fine!" Vorn spit the word, and waved his hand, as if shooing them both out of existence.
"It's this way," he said, turning to Katerin and jerking his chin up the stairway.
She had to hurry to keep up with his long strides as he ascended the steps. "Thanks," she said, when they had reached the landing.
"Don't thank me yet." He gave her a wry expression.
He turned and led her down a richly decorated hall. Tapestries hung from the walls, and elegantly colored rugs decorated the polished wooden floors. All in dark colors, shades of red and brown and black. He led her to an office door and held a hand up, without even looking at her. He knocked once and entered, closing the door behind him before she could even peek inside.
He came back out a moment later with a cynical smile. "Good luck." He stalked back towards the stairs without even glancing back at her.
She entered the office and found what she expected, for once. Lavish furniture, beautiful rugs, and a liquor cabinet that would have made anyone envious. The man sitting at the desk was short and pudgy. He was dressed like a lord—threads of silver embroidering his black vest, with a soft gray shirt and black trousers. The fabrics looked expensive, and rare. A thick leather belt and ornate jeweled buckle held everything in place around his waist. He held himself with an air of self-importance and an arrogant look on his round features.
"What might you want, miss?" His voice had a nasal quality, and his polite tone was as fake as the smile he wore.
"Katerin," she said, groaning internally. She knew exactly what type of person this man would be. More arrogance than money, and an ego to match. The type to hire the gnome standing a story below me, she thought. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, so late... I'm looking for some information." She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.
He pointed his nose into the air, as if in an attempt to look down on her. "Information about what?" He looked at her expectantly. "You have five minutes, so please, get to the point."
"My Mother. Su—Drider Moonshadow. She came here, and I need to find her."
"What was she doing?" he asked, tapping his foot on the stone floor.
"I'm not exactly sure," she said, a frown crossing her face.
"I can't help you if you aren't sure," he said. "You now have four minutes."
As quickly and precisely as possible, she gave him all the details she cared to share about her mother, though he looked as if he heard not a word of it.
He sighed after her explanation, "So you're looking for something and you don't even know what it is." He gestured toward the door. "I have had a long day. Come back sometime in the next ten-day and maybe we can talk. If you have—"
"I have been traveling for months. Waiting here for hours. Just... look up the name? Please?" She stared at him intently, her eyes pleading blue pools.
He considered her for a moment, with a pinched expression, before he pulled a thick book from under his desk, scanning the pages with haste. "Your person of interest was a merchant," he said. "Came and left." He slammed the book closed and looked at her as though his job was done.
"A merchant? Which guild does she work for? When was she here?" Katerin asked, excitement pulling at her nerves.
"Not my problem. Now it seems to me that you have wasted more than enough of my time."
"Just tell me the name of the guild she was with? I still have one minute—"
"No."
She stood rigid, staring at him as she pulled her coin purse from her belt. "I can pay, if that's what you want."
His eyes widened and he laughed, the most genuine sound she had heard since entering the place.
"Can you pay for these supplies?" His tone was ice cold as he waved the book around. "Can you pay for the hit against my reputation after I have freely given away information that isn't mine to share?" When she was silent, he gave her an arrogant smile. "I thought not... leave or I will have you escorted out," he said, a threatening note in his voice. "Your minute is gone."
"Please," she said, desperation taking over the anger in her thoughts.
He only pointed at the door, clearing his throat.
She took a deep breath, doing her best to unclench her fists.
He smiled up at her once more, all smug superiority.
She turned and walked from the office, slamming the door as she went. The green-haired Elf was right behind her, shadowing her footsteps and making almost no noise.
"How do you work for him?" she said the words through her teeth, her jaw working back and forth.
"I don't," he replied, with an amused grin and a cynical tone. He escorted her down the stairs, and walked her to the landing, opening the door for her.
"Goodnight," she said, turning to thank him once again, but the door was already closing in her face. She stared at the door for one sullen moment, her shoulders slumped and an urge to cry welling up, before taking a breath and pushing those thoughts away. She fumed over her wasted day all the way back to the inn, though she had the forethought not to slam its door.
She had a feeling Anteal could take a bad day and make it into a terrible one.
Smells of heavy spices found her nose, and pipe smoke wafted easily up to the ceiling, obscuring and hazing the low, shaded, magical lights. The reds and golds of the interior shined in the haze, and music played faintly in an almost mournful tone from the animate instruments in the corner.
The people here were all dirty, dusty, and worn looking, but they relaxed with their feet firm on the floor and elbows well away from the table edges. There was no yelling, fighting, or ruckus of any kind to be seen. Only quiet, tired people enjoying a nightcap and—from the smell of it—a fine meal. She scanned the busy room and saw Fykes sitting casually at a table.
"Looks like it didn't go well," he said as he saw her.
She bit her upper lip to keep it from curling back in anger. As she approached the table, she realized there was an older dwarvish individual sitting across from Fykes. "I'm so sorry for interrupting," she said, turning to find a corner to sink into.
"Nonsense!" The dwarf said, his volume drawing a glare from Anteal across the way. He shrank under her stare and cleared his throat. "Sit, sit. Time I was off anyhow," he said, notably quieter. Standing, and draining his mug, he walked with a slight drunken sway as he left the inn, waving a thick-fingered hand to Anteal.
"Nice to meet you," Katerin called after him in a hushed tone, a seemingly permanent scowl on her face.
"You alright?" Fykes asked as Katerin sat, passing her a small, simple looking bottle of rum.
"I wasted hours on a worthless endeavor." She laid her head on her hands. "He wouldn't tell me a thing."
"You'll find her."
She groaned, her hair splaying across her back.
He chuckled. "Want to talk about it?"
She eyed him with suspicion. Of course she wanted to talk about it, but she doubted that he wanted to hear it. If Mordai had been here, she knew she would already be talking, but she hardly saw the point in ranting to a man who would barely answer the simplest of questions about himself.
But he only had to press a little more before she gave up and told him how everything had gone since she left the inn. When she told him of the green-haired elf, he frowned.
"Ah. You met Juen'tal, then." His tone held both respect and distaste. "He's one of Byron's guards."
"Well, he was the only one who wasn't a complete ass," she said, feeling the rum burn as she took another drink.
Fykes gave her a look that said he doubted that. "I might know some people who can help you... we can go see them tomorrow if you want."
"You do?" she said, looking at him with wide eyes. "I thought you would be leaving."
"Well, unless you plan on staying here, you'll need someone to get you back to O'siaris... and I specifically remember someone being too stubborn to wait for a caravan in the first place," he said with a wink.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, looking down at the table with a grin. The alcohol was starting to ease her anger and lift her mood.
"Mhm..." he said, with disbelief heavy in his tone. "You know, since we're on the topic, threatening Graiden usually isn't a good idea." His expression was only serious by a thread, and the corners of his mouth pulled up.
"I didn't threaten him!" she said indignantly, though color bloomed across her cheeks. "I was proving that I wasn't an incapable idiot."
He laughed at her, his hair falling in front of his face. "Not incapable at all."
She narrowed her eyes at him, too tired to argue about grumpy old men.
They spent a few hours drinking and joking about various subjects, and enjoying a surprisingly fine meal. It seemed Anteal was quite a chef, and she served them what Katerin thought of as a meal fit to feed the Varslys themselves.
Fykes' expression turned serious while they ate. "I had a thought."
She bit off her sarcastic reply before it escaped. "Hm? What?"
"If these.... things we've been fighting are already dead, how are they so well... preserved?" His face scrunched. "The undead I've seen never looked so convincing... and Ge'henna was in pieces."
Katerin looked at him with a thoughtful expression. "Depends on the level of magic." Her brow wrinkled. "But you're right. Whoever is controlling them... is strong."
"They should show more signs of death then they do," he said. "That or I'm just missing it..."
"From what I've studied it should be very difficult to miss," Katerin frowned, tracing her fingers along the polished wooden tabletop. "Are... are you sure your friend died?" She saw that same flash of anger and pain, but this time he sighed, instead of lashing out.
"Please don't ask again... I'm sure."
"That's not good," she said, shivering. "The levels of magic that would take... even with rituals, it's close to impossible. At least in the Tower."
Fykes frowned at her, as if trying to make sense of something. "I didn't think there would be anyone here with that kind of knowledge."
"It's unsettling."
"They would have an endless supply of people," Fykes said, with a sigh. "This fighting isn't going to stop."
Katerin said nothing as she thought it over. It was a relief to know more, but it still left questions. Always, she had more questions. Answers were tricksters in disguise. Promising knowledge, and only ever granting more curiosity. She feared that her mother was a part of this somehow, and she buried that fear deep until the soft sounds of the music left it gone from her mind, but not forgotten.
They finished their meal, listening to the quiet harmony of the music. Fykes stretched his arms and looked across the now dwindling crowd with a yawn. "I'll see you tomorrow, Katerin. All this sitting around and drinking has me exhausted."
He stood and turned to leave, draping his cloak over his arm and pulling his hair free of the leather tie that held it.
It must have been the alcohol, but she thought his hair was gorgeous. She stared after him until he disappeared from sight, shaking her head at her own thoughts.
"Goodnight," she said to no one in particular, pulling the bottle of rum across the table and pouring herself another shot.