Golden Rook Ch. 25-32

"Enduring wards, wards with a very large discharge of power, or broad dispellings require a well of power. The siphoning spell lets me pull from any imbued object or even other wards. If I can feel it I can draw power like water."

The dwarf stared at her and then swallowed, stepping back. "Any power?"

"Any. I've drawn from discharging wards and from wards not yet tripped that hummed with power, imbued stones, and steel that people put too close to me."

Odos laughed and grinned, looking her up and down, "My thieving Rook! I should be glad you didn't draw from what I gave you in the bag!"

"I did, old man! Not much but enough for a contact spell. Tark, was his name? Tried to pull me out of my seat." She tilted her head at the perplexed look on Odos' face and looked oddly birdlike for a moment. "Why?"

"You shouldn't have been able to."

"Why?" She and Kwes asked at the same time.

"Because it didn't belong to her." Grimgrip was eying the Rook as if she were threatening him. "That kind of theft..."

"I don't steal from dwarves, Juddri, but then I didn't realize I was stealing from you either." She smiled faintly at Odos.

He breathed a laugh, "My little rook, what's a little light theft among family?"

Kwes laughed at the impish grin on the Rook's face.

"Family shouldn't steal from one another." Cyran was shaking his head. "How do you ask and who are you asking to draw from these sources of power?"

"Who do you ask when you dip water out of a river? It's there. I can feel it. I can take it."

Rook tossed Cyran the circlet she was holding. "Here, let me show you the siphoning spell and teach you the healing spell while we walk so that we can start on dragon's fire." Glancing at the rest of them, she waved her hand imperiously much like Odos always had, and pulled Cyran aside, "The rest of you go ahead."

He almost protested but Odos clapped him on the shoulder and walked with him to his horse. "It wouldn't be useful to you, my little magpie."

As he climbed back on his horse he asked the question that had begun to itch at the back of his mind, "Tirnel was at least as disappointed that I didn't have my grandfather's gifts as he was angry that Syreilla did. Were you?"

"You've never been a disappointment to me, my magpie."

"What's the difference between your magpies and your rooks, Master Odos." Grimgrip gave them an amused look as he started the cart forward.

"My rooks are reckless and a little mad. They laugh when others would be silent in fear, they leap forward when others would turn and run." He pulled his horse alongside Kwes'. "My magpies surround themselves with beauty. Both are clever and mischief makers to their core, they love the thrill of locks picked and puzzles solved but none of my magpies would have been mad enough to go into the Nameless."

"Was it really such a challenge?" Kwes frowned considering it. "If the Rook could do it alone with her old-fashioned kit..."

"The sharpest elves, men, and dwarves that could be found built it, my magpie. There is some truth to it when she says dragon's fire can clear away many things. It took her circlet, her skills in mixing that volatile flame, her talent with magic, and her skill as a thief to let her survive it. Not to mention divine luck."

"Hammersworn said it could have been built better. That woman put wards on the walls around the traps they let her design and she wanted a section of corridor with a ward that would activate and spew spikes in every direction if there were so much as a whisper but it was deemed too dangerous. The treasure chambers at Delver's Deep may not be as rich as some but the other mines send their cleverest to study her work and make their own more secure. She wrote tomes of suggestions."

"I suspect those tomes are more valuable than any gold in the mine."

"What was it that Tirnel stole?" Kwes eyed the dwarf curiously.

"Every mine sends a box of tribute to the gods once every ten years. I was told, he was angry that his father had been struck down and left buried in a ditch by the road so he had a thief collect something that looked valuable as restitution.

"The Hammersworn girl found the thief, visited Tirnel Acharnion, and brought the tribute to Bhiraldur herself with a little extra thrown in for good measure. Her belly wasn't quite as round as they say, but you could see she was carrying Oduil."

"She burned our father's house to the ground with dragon's fire." Kwes shook his head, "She nearly burned me along with it."

"I wouldn't have let that happen." Odos smiled faintly, "She didn't know you were there or you'd have been taken back to the mine."

"I would have missed my mother. I stayed with Tirnel until she died."

"You'd have grown up with your sister as your mother." Grimgrip gave him a vicious grin, "Like a full-blooded elf."

"That's where the Rook gets it! The dwarves! She looked around the Bent Elf and started-"

Odos and the dwarf started to laugh.

"She said I'd spent too long with elves! As if all of Orileria were a brothel!"

Grimgrip stamped his foot on the boards of the cart bellowing out his laughter.

*Twenty-seven*

Cyran's head swam as he let Lady Rook lead the horse at a trot. Once he'd grasped the siphoning spell, he'd been able to draw from her stone to place and dispel what she called simple wards with the chants she'd taught him and heal a small scrape he'd gotten with the healing spell. Without power, they were just words, with the power... She'd been amused at his horror that there were no gods involved, suggesting he speak to Master Odos for clarification, but she'd learned from mages and they weren't an overly religious bunch.

His world was standing on its head. He had believed that all his power came from Imos, that he had been born with nothing and all his gifts had been given to him. Looking around him suddenly he realized there were no paths laid out, and that there hadn't been for some time.

"Lady Rook?"

"You can call me Syreilla, cousin. Or Syr." She didn't stop her steady pace as she glanced up at him.

"The divinity used to guide me and now..."

"He gave you to me to teach, I think I'm supposed to be doing it but I don't know how." Syreilla offered him a chagrined smile, "You have the misfortune of being the first person to come under my wings. I'll be learning as much as you do. I've heard mages say that you can't see the gaps in your knowledge until you try to teach someone else. It's part of why they do it."

Cyran was silent for a moment, considering it. "Why do you not want to be called Lady Rook?"

"I like being called Lady Rook. It's just that... those who love me, and whom I love, my family, call me Syreilla. Or they used to. Syreilla the Rook."

"Syreilla is a lovely name."

"Thank you, Cyran. Do you have another part to your name or did your mother choose to have you given only one?"

He smiled ruefully and looked for the cart ahead of them. "When I was born, I was given to the Temple. I was named by Brother Somi who raised me in an orphanage in Caoria with the others who became White Hands. Cyran Caorious is my name."

She came to a sudden stop and looked up at him in horror. "Brother Somi raised all of you?"

"Yes. The divinity referred to the other Hands as my brothers."

Syreilla covered her face and sighed. "All six of you had a talent for magic?"

"Yes. Others with us who lacked the faith to..." He felt his face flushing. "Those who lacked the talent remained hopefuls. Some who only had hints of the talent were not deemed worthy..."

"How many sons did he have to have to get so many..." Her brow furrowed. "And what happened to his daughters? I'd have tried to be more understanding if I'd known. I'll ask Uncle Hevtos if he'll be more gentle when he looks at them. Family should be looked after."

Cyran blinked, that he might have had sisters wasn't something that had occurred to him. "All of my brothers will be rewarded by the divinity in death..."

"Your father doesn't have the ability, Cyran. It's always been Uncle Hevtos. They should have been working together to see justice done in life and death. If your father hadn't murdered my other half he and I could have... Revenge is a kind of justice, Uncle."

"What?" Cyran peered down at her as she folded her arms and looked sulky.

"I can hear Uncle sometimes, when he wants to make himself heard. Your father doesn't claim his children probably because he's afraid of what will happen to them when they go to Uncle Hevtos. Our other uncles were harmed. He doesn't, you know. He's fair and unless the children have done something they should be punished for Uncle isn't cruel."

"I will think better of him. My brothers were good men, they tried to do what was right."

"They attacked me on sight." She arched an eyebrow at him.

"We were taught not to tolerate evil in any form. They didn't know that you weren't... you aren't entirely evil."

Syreilla gave him an impish grin, "You might make a good replacement for him, Cyran Caorious. You learn quickly, you have a sense of justice, and I think you have a solid temperament under that stuffiness."

Her smile was impossible not to return, "He doesn't need to be replaced, Syreilla, but perhaps he needs to be corrected."

"We'll have to disagree on that." Her grin widened as she stretched. "We should get moving again."

"You should ride, I can-" He stopped as she started to laugh.

"I'm half elf, cousin, I can last longer than you can on my feet."

"I train daily-"

She doubled over with laughter. "I could race your horse!"

Sourly, he jerked the reins away from her and put his heels to the animal, bringing it to a trot.

"No head starts!" Her delighted shout startled the animal but even he had to laugh as she darted past them. They would catch up to the others more quickly this way. Cyran put his heels to the horse again, "Yah!"

*Twenty-eight*

"But Brother Somi was a father to you? He raised you and loved you..." Syr couldn't keep the envy out of her voice.

"Yes. He was stern but loving. Are you certain he and the divinity..." Cyran walked next to her holding the reins of the tired horse.

"He's used that ruse before. Without having met the man I can't be entirely certain but..."

"No, I-there were moments I felt that I was with Brother Somi when I was in the divinity's presence. I thought it was because he had died." Cyran looked mournfully at the ground as they walked and she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Her resolve to push him into taking his father's place weakened somewhat.

"I know how you feel. For a time, Master Odos was like a father to me. He..." She stopped and cleared her throat. "He taught me and even though he could be terrible, I loved him. And then he died and I did everything I could to give him the kind of funeral he wanted, even buried him with a cask of his favorite mead."

Cyran stopped and looked at her curiously before pulling her into an embrace. "The memory of his death still hurts you?"

"The memory of being alone does. He abandoned me. Twice. I hate that I love the old man." She wrapped her arms around his waist and took a deep breath. Even after riding all day he still managed to smell mostly like soap, a feat that should have been impossible. "Why do you smell like soap?"

He laughed and stepped back, "I asked to take some with me, I think they gave me every bit of soap they had. They didn't want you to come back angry at any lack of hospitality."

Opening his jacket he showed her the thin soap bars tucked into places that should have held discreet tool pouches, money, or other small items.

She broke into laughter as well.

Smiling shyly, he closed his jacket and fastened it again. "How far do you think they went?"

"If we don't catch up to them we can stop and make our own camp. It shouldn't rain tonight, and I can show you how to make dragon's fire if you want some light."

"The food is on the cart, Syreilla, and it isn't appropriate for a man and a woman to sleep together alone."

She dissolved into laughter and it took some time to compose herself, every time she looked at his serious face she started to laugh again. Finally, shielding her eyes so she couldn't see him she waved her free hand, "Cousin! I'd say I'm not elf enough for that but I did choose to be with Vezar. You don't have to worry though, I'm as loyal as a hound. I won't ravish you!" Her laughter spilled out again almost before she'd finished speaking.

When she glanced at him he was trying to scowl and failing. "I wasn't worried about that, I was concerned about your reputation. A woman has to think about such things, as does a priest."

"Ah." Syr grinned at him, "My reputation is that I'll put my foot on any man's throat who gives me the glad eye. If you never prove yourself you never get a reputation. You don't prove yourself by avoiding situations."

They walked in silence for a time and then he asked curiously, "We're related to Vezar Edra, the King Undying?"

"We're related to Vezar Edra, the Undying, yes. Here." She stopped and drew an interconnected group of circles with the toe of her shoe. "Our grandfather is here, and our grandmother. This is our uncle, Grandfather's brother. See, Grandmother gave Grandfather two sons, that I know of, I was never religious. And then she gave Uncle two, that's what Vezar explained to me. All four of them are brothers, they have the same mother. Vezar is our cousin."

Cyran nodded slowly. "Why would she do such a thing?"

"Love, cousin. I've never met our grandfather but Uncle is handsome, a little dour, but he looks after his family. He's good to Vezar-"

He held up his hand, "Neither should have been looking at the other. He was wrong for pursuing his brother's wife and she was wrong for giving in."

"Right or wrong it happened. I've felt my heart pulled in two directions before and I can understand."

He looked dubious and she rubbed the horse's face, "Cyran, when even vengeance has to make allowances for love, should justice do less?"

His brow furrowed and she could tell he was thinking again. Syr pulled one of the perfectly sized though not perfectly spiced sausages she'd bought out of her pocket and offered it to him. Eating as they walked, evening rolled in and they could see a fire ahead near a small copse of trees by the road.

"That's probably them."

"And if it isn't?" Cyran was frowning at the fire.

"Then they can share their fire and food or they can run screaming into the night." She gave him a wide smile, "I like to give people a choice."

"How is that just or right, Syreilla?" He turned his frown on her, "And it looks as if there are at least four of them."

"They may make the right choice, Cyran! Don't worry so much!"

As they got closer it was clear that there were several men at the campsite, but the cart was one Syr recognized. Her steps became more purposeful. She could feel eyes on her already and hear at least two men trying to be stealthy. Those at the fire well ahead were talking and laughing amongst themselves.

"Wait." Cyran's voice was quiet, "We shouldn't approach."

"Of course you should, good master!" A voice from behind them called out and one from the side started to laugh. "We haven't had a pretty girl in camp for a while."

Syr put on her widest, maddest grin. "What happened to the dwarf who was driving that wagon? And the men with him?"

"Your friend here is going to join them," an unkempt man with a knife made a gesture across his throat as he came from the side, "but if you're a good girl-"

The ward she cast at his feet had his skin sloughing off as he screamed. "Put this on and go around, cousin. See if they went ahead." She tossed him the circlet and he pulled it on as she wrapped the red gem's chain around her hand and tugged on her glove.

"I see my path laid before me." Cyran inclined his head and swung himself up onto his horse.

The man behind them was advancing with a crossbow drawn as his companions from the fire did the same with their weapons.

"What are you, a witch?"

"I'm the Golden Rook." She laughed as he fired the bow and barely missed her, the quarrel grazing her cheek as she moved.

Under her breath, she cast a holding ward and turned to deal with the group coming for her. One had been shot by his friend, the rest hesitated as she murmured and gestured to the ground in front of them.

"Even mages run out of power after a nasty spell like that one and she doesn't look like a mage." One with a short sword tried to rally his companions.

"I'm no mage and I hate having to repeat myself. But perhaps you didn't hear me the first time. I'm the Golden Rook. Where is the dwarf who was driving that cart and the men with him? They're all mine and if you cross me-"

She stopped as they nodded at one another and charged, sinking as a group into the pair of miring wards she'd laid, screaming and struggling to get out. Once the ground had hardened, she knelt, ignoring them as she mixed her powders and the little bit of liquid needed in a small ceramic dish. They fell silent as she lifted it with care.

"Last chance to speak."

"Fuck you, witch! When I get out-"

Blowing across it and waking it, in a smooth motion she cast it across the group, the one on the very end got only a tiny bit but dragon's fire was ravenous and soon all of them were engulfed. Syreilla stood watching for the moment, waiting for when she would need to tamp down the fire to prevent it from running wild across the grasses. Ash billowed in the breeze as she turned a wide, mad smile on the last one alive.

"You can either answer my questions or you can die in agony. I always try to give people the choice."

She dispelled the ward and he collapsed onto the grass, beginning to whimper and tremble.

"I'm not in a patient mood."

"Rook!" Master Odos' voice rang out. "Leave him."

"I want to know what happened, old man." She shouted back as a path lit toward the trees. Grabbing the whimpering lump by his collar, she dragged him along.

The closer she got she could smell the blood and something else. Syr dropped the limp man and moved forward at a trot. Grimgrip had his hand pressed firmly into Magpie's bloody belly. What looked like a guard had been cut down not far away.

Cyran was trying to pray with his hand on the limp half-elf's head but looked anguished, "I can't-the divinity won't allow me to heal him."

"'The divinity' can burn." She gave Odos a sour look but he was pale and looked as if he'd actually wept.

Crouching next to Magpie, she put her hands over Grimgrip's. "Don't move until I tell you." Closing her eyes she murmured the siphoning spell and drew from the stone, the healing spell would have been utterly inadequate without so much power behind it. She gave the dwarf a curt nod and he pulled back as she pressed down, a shudder passed through the half-elf but when she was finished and had wiped away the gore, the area only looked bruised.

"Where are they?" Odos sounded oddly cold and she looked up knowing he was furious.

"I killed all of them except the one with the crossbow. I wanted-"

He spun on his heel and stalked off.

"It was the crossbowman who shot Kwes." Grimgrip looked tired. "I did what I could and kept him alive but that was a mortal wound."

"It's a good thing the Magpie isn't entirely mortal." She flashed the dwarf a smile. "Thank you."

"Do you have enough left to heal that?" He gestured to her face.

"I would like to try." Cyran came to kneel beside her looking pained, "I want to be able to heal even if the divinity withdraws from me."

"I would let you but I need a source to replenish from. It took a lot to help Magpie." Syreilla started to reach over to squeeze his hand and reassure him but stopped realizing both her hands were bloody. "I'll make sure you can practice before we part ways, cousin."