Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

Andri prayed, ate some bread and cheese from d’Medani’s saddle bag, and prayed some more. Dawn was beginning to filter through the high canopy, and still Irulan fussed with her pot, while Greddark lay as one dead, barely moving or breathing, his once-scorching skin now clammy and pale. After feeding the horses, checking Maellas’s bonds again and wandering aimlessly through their small camp, Andri finally remembered what Irulan had said about the rest of the bounty hunter’s bags.

He crossed over to the black stallion, who whickered uneasily but allowed the paladin to pet his nose. When he was sure he wouldn’t spook the horse and that it wouldn’t bite him, Andri opened the nearest of the three bags and began looking through it.

Clothing, some of it quite fine, and some cheap but still fashionable jewelry. This trip hadn’t been strictly business for her, then. Her identification papers were in the second bag, along with the writ for Greddark’s arrest, including a rather good likeness of the dwarf, though Andri thought he looked a fair bit more sinister in real life. The writ had been signed by King Kaius himself, though the surety for the bond was being put up by someone with the unlikely name of Rango ir’Rangoth and not House Medani. He supposed that made sense. Regardless of Greddark’s crimes, House Medani was unlikely to publicly put a price on the dwarf’s head, for fear of angering House Kundarak. He doubted ir’Rangoth actually existed anywhere but on paper.

There was another piece of paper in the bag, though Andri didn’t notice it at first, as it had been crumpled into a ball. Smoothing it out, he saw that it was a personal letter, addressed to a Julanna d’Medani-the bounty hunter? It was signed only with an “H”-Helanth d’Medani? As he skimmed the body of the letter, he began to understand why the half-elf had been so insistent on bringing Greddark in, even after Andri had paid the bounty.

… avenge the horrible death of my daughter, your cousin, Yaradala-a death for which you are at least partly responsible, since it was your lapse in surveillance that allowed her to contact the dwarf in the first place. Accordingly, his fate will be yours. You are no longer welcome in the Tower of the Twelve, and if you fail in this mission, you will be stripped of your name and expelled from House Medani forever.

Do not fail.

— H

He almost felt sorry for the bounty hunter, but as he looked over to where Irulan was finally feeding spoonfuls of her dweomer root broth to Greddark, pouring small amounts in through his swollen lips and stroking his throat to get him to swallow, any stirrings of sympathy died stillborn in his heart. Excoriate was better than dead.

Andri returned the letter and moved on to the third bag. It held manacles, chains, rope, a vial of a gray, oily liquid that he assumed was the dwarfbane, several unpleasant looking knives, and a scroll case. Andri opened one end of the case and eased the scroll out. He unrolled the parchment only far enough to see the first line.

Think of the place you wish to go. Speak these words, and it shall be so .

A scroll of teleportation? That could come in handy. “Andri!”

He turned, shoving the scroll back in the case and dropping it back in the saddle bag.

“Hurry! I think it’s working.”

It seemed Andri’s prayers had been answered, for within moments, Greddark’s color and breathing had returned to normal and by midmorning he was sitting up, asking for food. As he ate, Andri related what he’d found in the bounty hunter’s bags. By the time Greddark had finished his second helping of eggs, the dwarf was ready to travel. Luckily, thanks to d’Medani, they wouldn’t have to go far.

“You’re sure you can get us inside the gates, without getting us … inside the gates?” the inquisitive asked once Andri had revealed his plan. His concern was understandable, given his own unfortunate experiences with teleporting.

“Do not worry, friend dwarf. I’ve used similar scrolls before, and familiarity with your target destination is not a requirement for their use. But there is likely a weight limit. We must leave the horses behind.”

“Fine by me,” Irulan muttered, but Greddark protested.

“Do you know what that warhorse is worth? We could buy a stable full of horses, and a stable boy to feed them, and still have money left over-and that’s if we got a bad deal. Leave the others if you must, but this one comes with us.”

Andri hid a smile. Obviously, the dwarf was well on his way to a full recovery.

But they couldn’t afford to bring the stallion. His bulk would only hamper them if they needed to fight in close quarters, and despite Andri’s words to the contrary, he had no way of knowing exactly where they would appear within Aruldusk. Greddark finally agreed, grudgingly, and they began transferring necessary equipment from the saddle bags to their packs. Andri felt a momentary pang of guilt at the thought of leaving the horses to fend for themselves. Still, they were near the edge of the woods and, once out of the forest, they wouldn’t be far from Angwar Keep. The horses would have a good chance of survival. Probably better than their erstwhile riders did. But as long as Maellas was brought to justice, their individual fates were not important. The will of the Flame would be done, regardless of what happened to them. And that was how it should be.

They made their preparations quickly. The shifter damped the fire and Andri unchained Maellas from the tree, leading the unresisting priest to their staging area. As he neared, the horses whinnied nervously and moved to the other side of the clearing. The last vestiges of Maellas’s non-detection potion must be wearing off, making his nature apparent to the unhappy mounts.

Good, Andri thought. That would just make their job easier.

When all was in readiness, they gathered in a circle, Irulan and Greddark grasping Andri’s tabard while the paladin kept a firm grasp on Maellas. With his free hand, he unrolled the teleportation scroll and read it.

There was an odd lurching sensation, as if they were on a boat in the middle of rough seas, and then the trees and horses were gone, to be replaced by wooden walls, a desk, and three very surprised guards.

They weren’t just inside the gate. They were inside the gate house .

Andri drew Maellas’s silver dagger and held it to the priest’s throat, while Greddark and Irulan brandished their blades.

“Don’t,” Andri warned, as one of the guards-the inexperienced Hal-lunged for an alarm bell. “Or the Bishop’s death will be on your hands.”

Hal stopped in his tracks.

“Good. Now sit down,” Andri said to the other two, who obeyed after a bit of encouragement from his companions’ swords. “Hal, fetch your captain, and Bishop Xanin. Tell no one else we are here. And move quickly. If you are not back within a bell, we will kill Maellas, and then start on your friends. Now, go!”

Soon after the guard left, Andri heard a familiar carillon and had to suppress a groan. With everything that had happened in the last few days, he’d forgotten it was Sul, the Day of Cleansing. The odds of Hal getting anywhere near Xanin on such a holy day were so low, not even Greddark would bet on them.

He was still trying to decide how to get out of making good on his threat when Hal knocked on the door, barely a half bell later. The guard ushered in his captain and Ancillary Bishop Xanin, who was cloaked to disguise his identity. As they crowded into the small room, Andri wondered whether Hal had followed his other instructions as well. Half the garrison could be waiting for them outside. But it really didn’t matter-if they couldn’t convince Xanin of Maellas’s guilt, there was no way any of them were leaving the gatehouse alive.