Golden Rook Ch. 08-15

He stood next to her, leaning on the altar in silence for a long moment, "What did the note say?"

"I couldn't read it but I knew who it was for. You can ask him about the reply and throw him off."

"I intercepted the answer. Edra was caught off his guard."

She arched a brow at him and stood straight, but before she could speak he raised a hand, "He was unharmed and sent back. It was why they thought you would be easy to search. I had impressed upon them the danger-"

"But your priests don't listen. I've noticed. Next time you want me searched, Uncle, all you have to do is ask. And if you're serious about lending me a Hand, either give me the one who listens best or the one who listens worst. If you give me one who listens I can do my best to keep him alive. If you give me one who doesn't, well... You'll either get him back with a newfound talent for listening or in a box."

"It would serve me better to have you teach one who finds the matter difficult." His silvery eyes shimmered for a moment. "But I would prefer it if you tried to keep him alive."

"I'll do what I can. Consider it my thanks for what you did for Syreilla Hammersworn."

"I will summon the one I would have you take."

"I'd ask you to have him meet me at my lodging but the innkeeper had the balls to sell my room after I stepped out to do my errands. I'm not sure if the dwarf in it realizes that he'll be sleeping on the floor if he doesn't have the innkeeper find some way to get another bed in there. The room would be cramped with three."

"I can give you lodging for the night. The rooms are austere but clean and safe."

"The offer is deeply appreciated but I-"

"You would prefer privacy?"

That made her laugh, the walls of the inn were thin and she wouldn't be surprised if there was a peephole in the floor.

"No, Uncle. I like the location and the fact I can get in and out easily without using the door. You've gotten better about securing your temples and it makes them less appealing for me to stay in."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Ah. I will send him to your lodging in the morning if you wish. He will make certain you both have rooms that meet your needs."

"I'll plan to take him hunting for less conspicuous clothes. Your priests look very pretty in white but it makes them stand out."

*Nine*

Cyran rose from his kneeling position with the other Hands. Prayers had been said and the remains of Toreth and Jeris had been laid in the appropriate chamber to be attended to. Now he wished to wash and rest. The morning should bring clarity.

He felt the pull toward the innermost altar and tried not to sigh. It seemed his punishment was to begin now. A feeling of dread pursued him through the Temple.

Entering the holiest chamber he sank onto his knees and bowed, waiting.

"Cyran, I have a task I would entrust to you."

"A task, Divinity?" He lifted his head feeling certain he'd misheard. It certainly wasn't the chiding he expected.

"A difficult and dangerous one. I would have you follow and protect Lady Rook."

Tilting his head, he was almost certain this was what going mad must feel like, "Divinity? You would have me protect a Servant of Evil?"

"She is my niece, whatever else she may be, and I would have you watch over her carefully. The assassin that murdered Syreilla Hammersworn may try to do the same to the Rook. Should you encounter him I would have justice done swiftly."

"It will be done, Divinity."

"As you perform this task for me, learn what you can of her methods and mission. I am not certain that she is masterless. I would learn who she serves and what she intends.

"My brother has always said she is as loyal as a hound, and I know the woman obeys him, impressively at times. I have my suspicions that he put her in our uncle's foul service for a reason. Listen carefully to what she says and win her trust. It will require you to obey her commands. I promise you, what you do will be forgiven."

"If she commands me to open the Garden of Night? She spoke to a mage-"

"I have no doubt it's a misdirection, my brother enjoys them. The god of death has no worshippers or priests to make it whole again much less keep it protected. But if she does command you to open it, agree to it and pray to have my presence granted to you. I will take her to task myself.

"Rest well tonight, in the morning you will go to her lodging and take up your task. "

"Yes, Divinity."

Cyran's head swam as he made his way to his chamber. The task was expansive. It showed, however, that his god still had faith that he could serve, and serve well. This was not a task to give a man you expected to fail. He washed from his basin and then gave thanks before climbing into bed and sleeping the sleep of a man forgiven.

It was before dawn when he woke and began preparing for his tasks. Armed, dressed in his crisp white tunic over his light brigandine, blessed and as white as snow, he accepted the satchel of extra clothing and a few travel provisions from the priest awake to see him off. His feet found their path toward one of the more ragged parts of the city, and he came to a stop in front of a rotting building purporting to be an inn.

That any form of divinity might choose to spend even a moment here was unfathomable. Steeling himself, he made his way inside. Filthy-looking men were sleeping under and on top of the tables. Kicking one awake, he glowered down at the man, "I seek Lady Rook."

"Upstairs." An old beggar he'd overlooked sat huddled near the fire. "She was in a foul mood when she came in. I would wait here for her."

Ignoring him, Cyran headed toward the stairs. "What room?"

"The one with the wards that will leave you a charred husk. Don't worry, you'll trip them before you see them."

The man had the gall to sound cheerful and Cyran stopped with one foot on the bottom stair. "How do you know?"

"She's famous for nasty tricks like that."

As if summoned, an angry-looking half-elf came stomping down the stairs toward him.

"I'd hoped you would arrive later, I've got errands to run. I'm going to collect my bag and then I'm going to show that fucking mage why the Golden Rook is not to be crossed."

"You're angry that the mage told us about your intentions?" Cyran opened his mouth to tell her he had no intention of stopping her when she fixed him with a black look.

"No. Riman was decent enough. Messus or Erebrim or whatever he wants to call himself is the one who helped murder Syreilla Hammersworn. Old mages are vicious and quick, I don't want Uncle upset that I've gotten you killed on the first day. Go back to him and let him know I've found the mage and I'm going to burn the name of who hired him and the assassin he used out of his worthless tattooed hide."

"I was commanded to protect you. A mage is no-"

The woman exhaled loudly. "I forgot he was sending me one with no ears. Did he forget to tell you to listen?"

"I was commanded to protect you. I was told to obey you and to learn from you but my command is to protect."

"That is fucking adorable."

One of the men under a table snickered and the half-elf smiled unpleasantly. "Whoever you are, come out here and fill his head with stories of the Golden Rook in my absence. A few of Syreilla Hammersworn wouldn't be amiss either."

Before he could protest, the woman muttered and gestured to his feet and he found himself rooted in place. If she thought a White Hand could be contained by a common ward... Cyran tried to grip his sword and found his arms refused to obey. He couldn't even make his mouth move to speak the unbinding prayers and a wave of panic washed over him.

"It won't kill you, and anyone who harms you or steals from you in this state will answer to me. You're mine for now and no one fucks with mine with impunity."

The Rook stalked out and the beggar approached with a speculative look on his face. "I told you she was in a foul mood. Do you really not know who you were sent to protect?" The man glanced at the door and hesitated before looking him up and down. "If I let you out of that and you go running after her she'll do worse to you."

"She'll do worse to you too, old man." One of the others came into view, it might have been one of the onlookers from the evening before. "Riman was ready to do anything she asked, even challenge Hevtos on his black throne, for the chance to learn the spells and wards the Rook knows."

"The Golden Rook has Hammersworn's temper and all the lessons a little more than a hundred years of service to Hevtos could teach. This Erebrim she's after will tell her all she wants to know."

The old man muttered something under his breath while making a curious gesture and it felt as if Cyran's bones turned to jelly. He slumped forward, unable to stop himself, and hit the floor with a groan.

"Syreilla Hammersworn would make everybody connected to her murder pay for it on principle. The Golden Rook will take dragon's fire to their souls and all they hold dear for cutting short the life of her other half." The old man looked grim and certain, "Hammersworn was a mother and a wife, she had a clan and home. The Rook has none of that and as much as she envied Hammersworn she was grateful that Hammersworn had all of those things. For that life to be cut short..."

"By Orsas' beard and all the Nightforged."

Cyran managed to lift his head to see a dwarf with a large axe strapped to his back.

"She said she was here for mischief."

"No one had told her what happened. She thought her father had allowed Syreilla Hammersworn to die on a job. It would have been too soon, but a good death by her standards."

"She's out for blood."

"If she stops at blood I'll be amazed at her restraint. Anyone who can leave Withia should, that includes you, Master Dwarf. How much dragon's fire can she make with her supplies?"

"The mage..." Cyran sat up carefully, "The mage said she could burn Tirnel Acharnion's house and the three nearest towns with what he sold her. She slew two of the White Hands with what she was given to test the ingredients."

"She's had more practice with it than anyone alive." The old man sounded almost proud. "Whoever hired the assassin and the mage will want to be sure she doesn't learn his name. If you want to protect her, White Hand, I suggest you come with me and do it from a safe distance."

"What distance is safe?" Cyran took his feet and tried to dust off his tunic.

"With her temper? The other side of the Acrine?" The dwarf offered with a shrug.

*Ten*

It didn't sit right.

Syreilla had gone out of one of the higher, unbarred windows instead of a door as she left the temple, much to the surprise of the scribe working by candlelight. Hammersworn would have felt unfriendly eyes and to have a mage close by in case the assassin missed his mark... They knew who they were attacking.

It would have to be someone who thought they could get away with it, who thought they could keep themselves from being dragged down to death by the Golden Rook... A suspicion nagged at the back of her mind. Someone who thought they knew her true name and thought their wards were something she would be wary of, perhaps? Master Odos did like to arrange things and he was better at finding things out than anyone she'd ever known.

Reaching into her front pocket she pulled out the chain and gem, wrapping it around her hand and glancing around. No immediate danger leapt out at her and she headed toward the Storm Cauldron. Messus had worked with an assassin once before. She needed to know what method had been used. It was best to be sure. Straightforward wasn't a direction Master Odos liked to move in.

The shop was dark as she approached and the wards that should have been in place were not, she could see that clearly with the gem from where she stood, concealed in shadow, across from the shop. Syr slipped away and around to the old exit. It wasn't intended to open from the outside but she chanted a dispelling in case someone had thought she might try it and jarred the mechanism as she had earlier. The door opened enough for her to squeeze through. She smelled blood the moment she stepped in.

There was what looked like a small river of it down the passage and at the foot of the ladder that would lead up to the shop was Riman's crumpled body. Syr moved to inspect it and saw the quarrel sticking out of his throat. It had been coated in something, she could smell that just from crouching so close and his skin was still warm as if he'd had a fever as he'd bled out.

"Uncle Hevtos... I don't know what kind of man he was, but Riman helped me and he didn't deserve to die this way. If you can find something better for him than the blank faces I would appreciate it. But the ones I'm going to send to you, the ones who murdered Hammersworn, I hope you find something far more horrible than the sunless pits for them."

My Golden Rook... The words were quiet, like a whisper at the edge of hearing, Do not get distracted.

"I'm angry, Uncle Hevtos, but if I don't kill them first, they'll try to do to me what they did to her. I ask you to hold Vezar back, I have a suspicion that the mage owns something that can harm him."

Is there anything else you would request? The voice sounded annoyed as if she were being demanding and she broke into a smile.

"Many things Uncle, I'll try to earn some goodwill before I ask for them."

She stood and glanced up the ladder intending to go that way when she heard the soft sound behind her and snapped her head around.

"You should be more careful." Master Odos stood not far away with a frown. "The assassin hasn't gone far. She's deadly with that crossbow."

"In the dark-"

"She has Hammersworn's circlet. It was stolen off of her burned body."

Rubbing her face she took a deep breath. "I hate to burn this place down but... I can mix dragon's fire here with the ingredients... If I left him enough, if not a regular fire might do in a pinch. Either way, it'll be bright, too bright to keep the circlet on, and probably spectacular enough to distract her."

"You could ask for help, little rook." Master Odos leaned against the wall and his face softened into a smile, "Or are you too angry with me?"

"Less angry. I thought you'd let her get herself killed on a job." She exhaled as his smile faded. "It was what we always expected, and it wouldn't have been a bad death, but... it was too soon."

"It's always too soon, little rook."

"Have you ever thought about trying to raise poets or traveling storytellers or something instead? Something safer?"

Master Odos snorted a laugh and his smile returned. "I never raise them, I spent longer with you than with any of the rest. Hammersworn told me... she said, 'Father, I love you but if you have my little ones following you out of the mine and into trouble, you and I will go on a tour of the flooded mine shafts with a length of stout chain.'

"Raising them, little rook, makes you too attached. You don't want to risk giving them the chance to fully spread their wings."

The memory was vague and hazy but it made her smile. Two sons and a daughter and it was the younger boy that was the troublemaker.

"What are their names?"

"You wouldn't rather ask your Uncle?"

"I suppose I can. He'd probably like to meet Magpie."

Odos was no longer amused. "I keep my children away from him for a reason."

"You didn't keep me away. You sent me into-"

She stopped as the old man seemed to blink out of existence. "You're lucky I love you, old man, and lucky I liked Magpie. You're not as good at hiding us as you used to be." Syr leaned to peer up the ladder again and was greeted with Odos' silent, sour stare from above.

"How so?"

"When I mentioned I had a brother he was curious. He wanted to know if this brother was being raised as a thief or as something else, something safer. I said he was called Magpie and his curiosity vanished. He already knew. There was something specific he was hoping to learn from me."

The language that he started to swear in made her ears tingle and her eyes water.

"Either teach me that or fucking stop! Aah!" She rubbed her ears and shook her head before laughing at his frustrated sigh. "Go. I can take care of myself. You've got fledglings to look after. I know how to spread my wings."

She felt the hand that grabbed the back of her collar and yanked but before she could react she was no longer in the underground passage. In a small patch of woods, the old man was dusting off the ragged traveling robes he hadn't been wearing a moment before.

"I can't do that often, my little rook, you'll have to walk back. But first I want to persuade the ones watching over my fledglings, as you called them, to stay away from the city."

"This should be fun. What kind of birds are these?"

"Put the gem away or stay out of sight."

Syr tucked the gem into the sleeve of her shirt and pulled on a glove to help hide the chain still wrapped around her hand. She tugged the hood of her cloak up to cover her hair and shadow her face, moving as silently as she could, circling the glimmer she saw him moving toward. It was a ring of brightly painted wagons, traveling performers if she had to guess, with a fire in the middle.

The sound of people talking and laughing wafted out with the smell of food. Master Odos was greeted with surprise but warmly, she noted. Settling in to watch, she could feel the moment wary eyes fixated on her and sighed.

"I must have more dust on my feathers than I thought. You don't have to worry, I'm not here to rob you or cause mischief."

An elf crouched next to her and tried to peel back her hood. She swatted his hand and did it herself.

"Who are you and why are you skulking in the trees if not to rob us or cause trouble, half-elf?" His pale, delicate brow furrowed.

"You can call me Rook." With an annoyed sigh, she removed the gloves and made a show of waving them, distracting him, as she slipped the gem and chain into a more secure place. "Are you part of that or are you out here for another reason, elf?"

"Why would you approach us if you don't know who we are?"

"I'm not approaching, I'm trying to watch from a safe distance and see what-"

"Why do you keep doing it?"

"This is the first time I have."

"Your friends then. I've seen them watching but they haven't been this bold."

"I'm almost certain they weren't my friends. Do you belong to the wagons or not?" Syr eyed him with a growing feeling of trepidation.

"You'll answer my-"

Syreilla let out a burst of muttered spell that made him slump mid-sentence and started rifling through his pockets.

"You could have told me whether or not you belong here but you wanted to do it the hard way." She was murmuring mostly to herself, "I don't mind the hard way, you understand, but I'm annoyed tonight. A little cooperation would have been nice."

A boot knife, dwarven and expensive-looking was the only thing on him, a good indication he was camped close by.

"Give it back." A child's voice made her look up to see a small half-elf peering around a tree trunk with wide terrified eyes.

"You belong with the wagons, yes?"

It nodded.

"Does he?" Syr gestured with the butt of the knife.

It nodded again.

"Thank you." She smacked the elf's shoulder twice, letting the spell fall away from him, "Wake up, elf."

*Eleven*

"Wake up, elf."

Cellindir shuddered coming out of the half-sleep the woman had put him in. She must be a mage but she didn't look like one. The woman yanked him to his feet as he was still collecting himself.

"You..."

"Call me Rook. Where did an elf get a dwarven knife?" Her tone was almost accusing.

"From Master Odos." The sound of Rivoril's voice was like cold water bringing him out of his grogginess. "Give it back."