Golden Rook Ch. 08-15

"I told the elf, there were two choices." Syreilla stepped forward to stand next to him, "If you don't go with Vezar your children will be taken from you, either by me and put with those who have good sense and loving hearts or by those who have already tried to steal them who will not be so kind."

The woman had a mad glint in her eye but a little girl with a bruised face stepped forward as much as her mother would allow, "Who? Who would you send us to?"

"If your parents go with you? To my grandmother, the goddess of mercy and the bringer of peace to the desolate until it's safe for you to return. If I have to take you from them? You'll go to Delver's Deep. Clan Hammersworn would take you in and you'll spend the rest of your lives in a dwarf mine.

"They're good people. Syreilla Hammersworn was a half-elf. She was loved and you wouldn't find it a harsh place to live." Syr smiled mischievously, "Dwarves sing, tell stories, and dance. Better than elves."

"The men who grabbed me wanted to take me to a temple in Withia."

"My uncle's temple."

"Master Odos said it was his fault they came, is he..." the elf turned to address Odos, "Are you the god, Odos? The god of poets and-"

"He can't be!" One of the other men gestured dismissively. "He's just an old man with a funny name."

"I can be, and I am." Odos sighed, brushing his ragged clothing off and it became a fine, stylish grey tunic. "Your children are special, Cellindir, and I promise you, Phiphla, I wouldn't be letting the Rook bully you if there was another way. My brother has decided that the ones I claim are bright and he thinks he can make something useful out of them."

"I love my uncle, but he's joyless and he'd break the spirit of a poet or a thief if he got hold of them too young." Syreilla rubbed her face and then gestured at the girl. "His are strict and lack the patience for mischief. She's just a little girl. I was once bought off the headsman's block in Pale and the dwarves never treated me like that."

"I bit him." The girl tilted her head up proudly.

"I once yanked a dwarf's beard and kicked him in his hammer and pockets." Syreilla grinned at the girl. "I got my legs swept out from under me when I tried to run and sat on for my trouble, but they didn't black my eye for it."

Odos covered his face, "His hammer and pockets?"

"It was less offensive than the beard yank, Master Odos. My ears were ringing with curses for that one." She gave the now grinning little girl a slow blink, "They're very proud of their beards."

"Cellindir," one of the older men came to put a hand on the elf's shoulder, "You've been with us since before I was born but if Odos, the god we look to as much as Mabor, says you should go with this Rook for a time..."

The elf nodded and glanced to the woman, "Phiphla-"

"Our wagon! Our things!"

"Will be looked after." The older man reassured her firmly.

"Pack a few things, Phiphla."

"If you wanted to pack a bag you should have done it instead of arguing." Syreilla turned back to Vezar and ran her hand down his arm as Odos shooed the woman and followed behind. "I want you to get back to safety as soon as possible too, Vezar."

He could feel her worry and her need for him to be safe. It brought a relieved smile to his face, "My treasure, I am far from helpless. I would prefer to be by your side to face any danger with you."

"You make me want to come home when you say that, you know."

Sweet Syreilla leaned in for a kiss and he claimed it hungrily, taking hold of her and letting her feel his claws through her layers of clothing. The soft sound she made into his mouth nearly prompted him to tear the fabric from her.

"I would do anything to have you back with me." Vezar rubbed his face against hers, opening his eyes to the horrified human faces around them.

"It's going to put me in a sour mood, wanting my dragon on top of me and not being able to have him." She purred into his ear and he felt the threads of desire being stroked as if she were running her fingers over the ridges of his cock beneath his robe.

Capturing her lips again, he lifted a hand to caress her ear, knowing how it sent ripples of desire, trust, and tenderness through her. It had the desired effect, her leg hooked over his hip and she clung to him needfully.

"Enough of that!" Odos snapped. "You can play with each other's threads another time. I need you both focused on your tasks."

It took all of his will not to snarl at the god as Syreilla broke the kiss and pressed her face to his shoulder. The sensation as she pulled away, of her pushing her desire down and out of mind, was painful and infuriating.

"Are they ready, Master Odos?"

"They are and so is your uncle. He's sending his hopefuls, this has taken too long already."

"I will take them, Divinity."

"I'll help you with the door, Vezar, so you get to the doorstep without trouble."

*Thirteen*

Kwes studied the building Rook had disappeared into. Despite his advice, she'd chosen to take a room at the Hollow Jester. Whatever the place might have once been he was certain it wasn't anymore. The Bent Elf might be a brothel but it was at least comfortable and no one would bother her if she didn't want to be bothered.

"I thought she'd go there." Erebrim sidled up with a smug smile. "You offered her a room at your favorite brothel?"

"She gave me a look that suggested I shouldn't press the matter. Why she'd choose to stay here, of all places..."

"It was the inn the thieves favored until forty or fifty years ago. There used to be rooms that had access to the roof and walkways above they liked to use to get around the city unseen."

"She doesn't know they aren't there anymore." Kwes breathed a laugh and shook his head. "That's why she was so insistent."

The old mage wheezed with amusement, "Thieves have their habits. In a hundred years you may still be staying in brothels."

"They're comfortable and I like the company." He folded his arms and studied the old building wondering which rooms would have access to the roof and how. His brothel had access to some of the catacomb tunnels honeycombed beneath the city. The businesses he'd set up at their entrances did brisk, mostly legitimate trades and he kept his name well away from them.

"She seemed almost friendly with you." Erebrim edged a little closer and Kwes gave him a speculative look.

"You want me to ask her for something?"

"Syreilla Acharnion was never a trusting woman. I've gathered some tales of the woman, I wanted to prepare to meet the Golden Rook someday."

"And?"

"And if you have value to her, she'll bargain for you." A quiet female voice behind him made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Don't turn and don't run. I tip my weapons with poisons so unpleasant that death is a relief."

"Why would you need to bargain with her?" He managed to keep his voice calm even though his mind was racing.

"You were never a quick one, Riellion Fethurin." Erebrim wheezed another laugh, "How did Syreilla Hammersworn die?"

"I never believed she did. I thought she'd just gone into hiding." Kwes felt a chill as the mage spoke the name his father had given him.

"Why would she value this one?" The quiet woman sounded vaguely annoyed.

"They share a father, Tirnel Acharnion." Erebrim beckoned. "Family means a great deal to the woman. According to the tales, the King Undying bound her as his sister at first."

"You're certain she values him enough to be manipulated?"

"She's gone to the old inn, as I said she would. I'll make certain to be waiting outside the Storm Cauldron when we finish our business. Syreilla Acharnion bought supplies there before and she'll go back. Thieves are more predictable than they want to believe. You'll keep him alive for now and I'll make the arrangements."

"What do you want her to do for you?" Kwes had a feeling that it wasn't going to be a task the Rook wanted to complete.

"Do you think she actually stole something from the god of death?" Erebrim wheezed another laugh.

"I think she wanted to steal from Mabor. We made an arrangement. She'd help me take back something from Tirnel and I'd help her with the Temple here in Withia."

The mage turned to study him with an unreadable expression. "She's a goddess, a minor one with no worshippers and no priests, but still divine. If she wants to take their power... Maybe she did steal from death after all."

"What does that mean for us?" The woman behind him prodded him forward.

"It means we should be careful, very careful."

Kwes heard nothing more as the mage cast something at his feet. The world went black and silent but he knew he wasn't asleep. Master Odos had told him about things like this before. The important thing was to keep his wits and be ready when it lifted. He began running over the things he knew in his mind and the things he suspected.

Hammersworn was rumored to have been murdered outside a temple in Brosa, but it was also rumored that it was a misdirection. As far as thieves went she was almost legendary. It was easier to think of her as having gone into hiding than having been murdered but... If the Rook was here, if the stories were true and they'd been split... He'd come back from the underworld if someone murdered the other half of himself.

If she was murdered outside a temple, was she trying to rob it? Did someone confuse the halves of her and think they were killing the Rook? What was it the Rook wanted from the Temple of Mabor?

The sudden realization of the time of year struck him. The Festival of Song, Mabor's festival. The highest priest wore a crown that had a gem, brilliant blue that caught the light like no other. Every thief that saw it lusted after it and knew it was out of reach, a temple might be robbed if the thief were reckless enough but that crown would be unfenceable. It was only taken out for the Festival and worn as the singers, performers, and casks of wine brought before him were blessed but anyone would recognize it.

Was Rook here for the crown, for revenge, or both? If she was here for revenge she wouldn't give that up just for him, they'd only just met whether they were half-siblings or not. Tirnel had always sworn Syreilla wasn't his but, the resemblance, Kwes could see it clearly. He'd suspected who she was when he'd seen her in the street. Still, if she were a goddess it put everything in doubt.

A dull ache in his chest began as his mind went back to the idea of Syreilla Hammersworn, the sister he'd idolized all his life being murdered.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice as sounds began to filter back into his hearing. He shifted his focus and waited.

Kwes wasn't certain how long it was until he heard Erebrim's agitated voice, "She's clever but not as clever as she thinks."

"How so?"

"She tried to claim she spoke to the dead while she was there and that Istion gave her my name, she demanded I return the book he finished and pay for it."

"If she'd spoken to the dead, why would she care about that?" The woman sounded almost amused.

"She's a liar. She spoke to Riman at the Storm Cauldron before she murdered two of Imos' White Hands."

"She slew two?" The woman sounded surprised and Erebrim gave an unpleasant wheezing laugh.

"With dragon's fire. She was testing the ingredients she was buying as they came in. The woman breathes across it to wake it."

"Was it beautiful?" The woman sounded envious.

"Riman said it was the most magnificent thing he'd ever seen. Syreilla Acharnion breathes dragon's fire, indeed." The mage wheezed a laugh, "But she stored her supplies in my floor. She has enough to murder Mabor himself if it came to it. Whether or not she knows about Hammersworn I can't tell. She suggested that her cursed uncle would let the King Undying off of his chain on principle if someone tried to harm her, despite their disagreement."

"For all the good that would do. I'll go... speak to Riman. Where is she now?"

"She said she had to visit the temple, I suspect she meant the Temple of Imos."

It was the woman's turn to laugh, a low throaty sound. "Perhaps the dragon's fire isn't meant for Mabor? The god of justice had her murdered once, she may want to kill him before he tries again."

"She would have used the dragon's fire on Mabor's Temple and taken the crown. Power is what she needs to consider challenging Imos. I suspect she's bluffing about the King Undying; she wants to make certain she isn't killed and sent back to the god of death. I can use her but I need her injured."

"I can mix something that will put her in agony but not quite kill her." The woman sounded smug. "I'll take what I need from the Storm Cauldron. Do we still need this one?"

"It would be unwise to discard him so soon. Keep him under the floor to wait."

*Fourteen*

Cyran followed the old beggar out of the inn and the dwarf fell in with them. "She slew two White Hands..." and she'd caught him in a ward as if he weren't one at all, "How much help will she need?"

"If these are the ones who murdered Syreilla Hammersworn?" The dwarf sounded speculative, "That woman wasn't the trusting sort, she wouldn't have been an easy target."

"She wasn't." The beggar glanced back looking oddly angry, "I've suspected they had divine help since I heard of her death."

"The divinity spoke to me, he would have the woman's murder punished. I am to see justice done to the assassin swiftly if I find him."

"There were two." The beggar stopped in a doorway. "One with poisoned weapons and the other a mage."

"Lady Rook said she was going to speak to the mage." Cyran nodded.

"And you are going to give justice to the assassin." The smile the beggar turned on him was unnerving. "In here."

Drawing his sword as the dwarf hefted his axe, Cyran murmured a prayer of protection and entered the house. It was empty and looked abandoned. Cobwebs hung from the walls and ceiling attaching themselves to unused furniture. The room nearest the stairs held a faded, rumpled rug and nothing else. He made his way up the rotten-looking stairs.

Against all odds, the staircase made no sound whatsoever as he slowly made his way up, testing each board before putting his weight on it. As he looked into each of the rooms he thought perhaps the beggar was wrong, this place was entirely empty. Then he caught sight of a slender form hunched in an open window holding a crossbow.

If he were quick-

"Does Imos have more orders for us? That is why he would send a priest to visit me again, yes?"

"Orders?" Cyran stopped and blinked in confusion as the woman with slightly pointed ears turned the bow on him with a frown.

"Orders. Does he want the Golden Rook dead?"

"I was commanded to protect her and slay the one who murdered Syreilla-"

The bolt embedded itself in his throat before he could finish his words and Cyran fell to his knees clawing at it and dropping his sword. It felt as though fire were spreading from the wound faster than blood was pouring out. The woman kicked him to the side as she passed and a white mist of rage settled upon him.

Tearing the bolt from his throat, white flame poured from the wound and he came to his feet, taking up his sword once more. He stalked after the fleeing woman, she would feel justice for her crimes and it would burn.

In the room in front of the door, the dwarf stood over the woman, his axe already bloodied.

"-promised we would never die, our reward for killing Hammersworn was being put out of Hevtos' reach! You can't kill me with that."

She started to laugh. The dwarf looked up and, noticing Cyran, stepped back from the woman. The laughter stopped as the woman saw him coming.

"Your god made a promise!" she shrieked as he brought his sword down in the middle of her chest and it turned into a scream unlike anything he'd ever heard.

When it stopped, he realized he was trembling and the white mist was gone. Gingerly, he touched his throat and found it whole, the blood staining his white tunic was the only proof he had that he'd been shot in the throat.

"Master Odos," a quiet male voice came from behind and Cyran turned to look with dawning horror, "I don't think I want to meet any of her uncles."

The beggar laughed, helping a bedraggled half-elf to the door, "No, little magpie, you don't."

"Master... Odos." He came to his feet and bowed. "Divinity."

"None of that." Odos waved his hand, "My brother enjoys priests and bowing, I prefer to go unnoticed."

"I was told Lady Rook also does not wish to be called Divinity." Cyran pulled his blade loose from the floor and the assassin's body fell into ash. As he did, something metallic the woman must have been carrying made a muted sound as it clattered among the remains. "If I had kept my wits I could have discovered how this assassin was deceived. The Divinity would not have promised such a thing nor would he have had Syreilla Hammersworn murdered. He spoke of her good heart."

"The Rook should be nearly done with the mage." The Divinity eyed him speculatively. "Why don't we go find out? What is your name, priest?"

"Cyran. They may be nearby. I-"

Odos laughed, "I know exactly where my rook is.

"Master Dwarf, the assassin stole Syreilla Hammersworn's circlet. She wanted Sirruil to have it."

"Who is Sirruil?" The half-elf took a step toward the ashes, "Can I buy-"

"One of her sons, the one she worried most about." Odos smiled faintly and put his hand on the man, stopping him. "She left everything to her family."

"I wish I could have met her. And she was my sister." The man straightened his dirty clothes.

"I'll see to it the boy gets it." The dwarf dug around in the ash with the butt of his axe until he found something and picked it up. Fine, if filthy chains, with an ash encrusted jewel hung from his fingertips. "It looks more like something for Kyrilla."

"If you clean it and put it on you'll understand why she wanted Sirruil to have it and why the assassin took it." Odos shook his head.

"Something in the stone..." The dwarf frowned and rubbed at it.

"If it's the circlet she was rumored to have," the half-elf nodded toward it, "It will light the darkest room like brightest day, show the edge of every trap, every ward... I've always heard it called Syreilla's Eye."

The dwarf's face crinkled and split in the broadest grin Cyran had ever seen, "Syreilla's Eye. That's what she was on about. 'The boy will have his mother's eye.' I thought she meant he would have her eye for trouble."

"He has that too." Odos shook his head. "My own daughter threatened to take me on a tour of flooded mine shafts with a length of stout chain if I-"

The dwarf broke into loud laughter but Cyran was appalled, "She threatened a god? Her own father?"

"To keep her boy safe she would have made the Nightforged look like boys at play." He grinned down at the stone in his hand.

"She would have." Odos nodded with a sad smile. "Come, we don't want to be late."

"Late?" He felt baffled as he moved toward the door.

"Lady Rook in her glory is something to behold." The Divinity was smiling his unnerving smile again and clapped him on the shoulder. "As are you, nephew."

*Fifteen*

The door the monsters had spoken of seemed more like a curtain being drawn aside and every fiber of Cellindir's being told him not to go through it.

He had no choice, however, as the Rook asked in a teasing tone, "Which one of you is the bravest? I bet it's Virilla."

"It is not!" Rivoril stepped forward with an incredulous look.

"First one through proves it." The Rook shrugged with a nod to Virilla.

Both of his children darted into the dimness beyond the curtain that was being held back and Phiphla let out a small squeak, following them. He forced himself to go after. Letting his wife and children go to a dark and dangerous place alone...