Vedek

The days following the Emperor’s Clash were less chaotic than Vedek expected. The coronation ceremony took place only hours after the battle was won, and by the end Thezzus was already moved into the palace with people addressing him as their Emperor.

His first order was mass removal and sky burial of the dead in the city. The corpses were taken by cart to vast craters beyond the city. As the Vulture Mother clerics applied rights, the circling scavengers blotted out the sky. Vedek had never seen a mass burial before, and had little to say during, or after it.

This was followed by an immediate declaration of war on the Order of Suffering. Their symbols were struck from the city and their members expelled. Ghetsis led the exodus himself, after a lengthy public declaration that he would one day cleanse the city and return it to the rightful people. He promised that he had already found allies in the noble elves of Sráid, and that all who believe in his cause should join him there. Odile was wraith of fury after that, demanding that Thezzus not let them take root in her city.

Thezzus assured her he wouldn’t let Ghetsis make good on his promise, but it would take time. He did not have the full loyalty or support of the people yet. They recognized his title out of tradition, but he was the first of his kind to ever sit on the Cracked Throne. Appearence was of great concern to Thezzus. He understood that intent didn’t matter when it was the appearance of the action that the public saw first. As such, his strategy was to harm the reputation of the Order of Suffering before putting the people to open battle against them. It was a lesson Vedek had learned since he was old enough to be seen in public. It was the reason he had found nobility so constraining in his youth. You can never quite tell how you’ll be seen by others.

As for Vedek and his comrades in arms, they were allowed to stay not in the palace itself, but an adjacent building on the mountain path. It probably was a guardhouse at some point in history, based on its structure, but now it was an empty building with just enough space for Vedek, Azeroth, Frost, and Cole.

Cole had been in high spirits since the Clash. He talked often about how it was nice that they had finally achieved that break in conflict he had been looking for. He would vanish for long periods into Spiral City to explore and soak up the culture, then rush home and spend the late hours scribbling in a notebook. The locals had clued him into a local leaf that, when chewed, provided vigorous energy. He had purchased a pound of the stuff and would dip into it whenever he was losing stamina.

The effects of the Anguyakti had sapped Frost’s strength and once again left him bedridden as he healed. Azeroth made a comment about how this was the second time Frost’s True Wolf had led them to being guests of a monarch. He just wished it didn’t also lead to Frost nearly dying from it.

The way the two of them talked, when Vedek was eavesdropping, it sounded like they intended to stick together. Like at Outpost Onx there was that lingering idea that their alliance could dissolve the moment they decided to go their separate ways. Cole knew he would return to the Academy Oran once the seasons changed, and Vedek was holding on for the moment he could find the path back home. Returning Odile to the throne of Sráid seemed to be that path.

At the end of the week Vedek and Cole were called to the Lion’s Claw’s Headquarters. Neither had been there before. The headquarters were an aged tall house in the upper west side of Spiral City. Tall houses were once small fortresses designed to shelter a citizen militia in the days of the empire. It had been long since those days, and long since Spiral City had ever been successfully invaded. Most of these homes fell into lax maintenance or were sold entirely. The one operated by the Lion’s Claw was three stories tall, but was constructed tightly with limited space. Like all tall houses, the top floor was meant to house a ballista. The one jutting out of the Lion’s Claw Headquarters was in disrepair and decorated with cloth ribbons.

The first floor was dedicated to a small armory and sleeping quarters. Dirk greeted them amicably, as did the scent of baking bread and simmering stew. Dirk led them to the second floor, which served as their meeting room. The wall of the narrow stairway was adorned with painting, carvings, and drawings of former Lion's Claw members.

Along the south wall of the second floor was a ceiling-high shelf for many books, scrolls, and unlabeled chests. Wooden tables of disparate sizes were pressed together to form a dining table in the center of the room. The table itself was littered with multiple maps and documents pertaining to the Confederacy. At the far end of the table, stacking coins by himself, was Pallet. He wasn’t wearing his usual green and had transfered to something of a deep blue. When he moved, it was with none of the pain that someone who should still be in recovery from being gored. He made a single wave to the new arrivals.

Lyn sat on a bench pressed against the wall. She gripped her sword tight with both hands and rested her chin on the pommel. Her eyes were stuck to the opposite wall, using it as the backdrop for the thoughts she was lost in. She didn’t even acknowledge Cole and Vedek’s arrival like the others had.

Dirk smoothed out the edges of his goatee. “I’ll carve out the meaning quick, to use an old phrase: We think Fern and Trub are still alive.”

Vedek couldn’t help but turn his eyes to Cole. The boy was standing straighter, his attention taken from the smells coming from the kitchen.

“The night of the Feast, Trub intended to follow up on that name we heard in Corban’s tower: Tohl Bahn.”

“—And Thezzus asked Fern and me to also look into the matter.” Pallet remarked. “I’ve been wondering why I was the one that had to be stabbed while Fern only got a blow to the head.”

Pallet spun a coin on the table with the maps. “Despite Ghetsis’ rhetoric, the Order hasn’t executed everyone they dislike. They want people to think that there’s a great conspiracy going on, and a conspiracies thrive on whatever proof they find. They say a diablan with arcana killed the Eldest Cleric, and getting actual proof to that would make more people believe in their conspiracy.”

“Like an arcane diablan actually confessing to the crime.” Vedek understood the reasoning. Both the Order’s and the Lion’s Claw’s.

Dirk went to the kitchen to check on the dinner. “As for why he took Trub, I’m not certain. Perhaps it was something Trub learned, or something this 'Tohl' learned about him. Perhaps all of us who know Tohl’s name are in danger.”

Lyn shook herself out of her trance and made a deep sigh. “Maybe that’s why Lyr is missing. He was supposed to be with Trub, but he vanished before the Feast.”

“It’s a plausible theory.” Vedek offered a comforting nod.

Cole clapped his hands. “Great! Not for Fern and Trub if they’re being tortured, but great for our chances of rescuing them.”

“I even know where.” Pallet grinned. “You may have noticed I have a thing for coins. The man who took Fern and Trub also took a sack of gold from me. I know exactly where that gold is now.”

The coin on the table was still spinning. The hob pressed it flat at an exact point on the modern map, then pointed to the same position on the imperial map.

Lyn came to the table. “Underdune Prison used to be where the Empire would throw high ranking prisoners of war. It was abandoned during the Terror like everything else. Only squatters make their home there.”

“Like Outpost Onx.” Cole said to Vedek. The similarities were not lost on Vedek.

“-Squatters like the Order of Suffering, should they need a place to hold ‘volatiles.’” Pallet concluded.

Vedek moved closer to the map. Underdune was in the southwest section of the Spiral territory, close to the Dune Seas. Sráid, where Ghetsis was gathering his forces, was at the utter opposite end of the territory.

Pallet had drawn a possible route between the prison and Sráid, which Dirk traced with his thick fingers. “Thezzus’ scouts have already confirmed the Order is fortifying this route. Ghetsis did not expect to lose the Clash, and now that section of the Order is stranded. Joining their leader will be difficult with prisoners to transport.”

“What if they decide the prisoners aren’t worth the effort?” Vedek asked.

He did not realize the severity of his words until he had said it. The room went quiet.

“Da, that would be the reason why we’re mobilizing fast. Thezzus’ is already supplying troops for the siege. It’s expected to be an easy victory regardless if the Lion’s Claw aides them,” Dirk looked to Lyn, “but it is a matter of friendship that we be there to rescue Trub and Lyr when they do.”

The others in the room nodded in agreement. Cole threw his hand on the table. “I want to be there too. Fern needs to walk freely again.”

“They suspected you’d feel that way.” Pallet smiled to one side. “Bards of a feather flock together.”

The table was cleared of maps and Dirk returned to the kitchen. He returned with a tray of bread bowls filled with pozole, a kind of red soup. The soup smelled good, and Dirk had predicted that Cole and Vedek would desire some. They stayed for the evening, further discussing the details of the mission to Underdune. As before, they’d be contracted as mercenaries. That was fine by Vedek’s measure. He was still lacking in financial stability and working with the Lion’s Claw had proven the most fulfilling work.

Once the windows darkened with night Vedek excused himself from the table. He enjoyed the company and conversation, but he needed time alone to think about his future. He was mulling over whether to reveal his identity to Thezzus. Perhaps after the war with the Order had ended.

Cole wished to remain, promising that if it got too late he would return to Tauren Row with Pallet. Before Vedek could depart Dirk shoved a ceramic pot into his hands. Remaining pozole for Frost and Azeroth. The pot of soup had a thick lid and was wrapped in a cloth so the heat did not harm Vedek’s hands. Dirk speculated that if he went directly home it would still be warm enough to be enjoyable.

Vedek wished the meal had been something more manageable. A loaf of bread he could tuck under his arm, or a bag of produce he could carry with one hand, but the dwarf was insistent and earnest and Vedek was out the door with the pozole in hand.

The warmth was at least welcome. Athshin had been warm when he arrived, but now the evenings were getting colder. They had reached the middle of the “Season of Cold Winds”, what Fae called the “Season of Burgundy” for the boldest color the leaves would change to. Were he in his homeland it would be time for harvest festivals and a proliferation of pumpkin in every dish.

Vedek’s childhood room faced the garden and he would often listen to the wood elf bardners performing song arcana to promote the growth of crops in time for an equinox feast. He learned many words in True Elven by listening to those bardners banter, some of which he wouldn’t dare say in polite company.

The memories made Vedek nostalgic. He paused and tuned his ears to any nearby music. Spiral City was so much quieter following the Clash, a factor of both the Clash entrants leaving and the volume of citizens that died during the Feast of Equals. Trailing on the night wind was a chorus of women singing in New Quetzal several streets over. He did not know the song, but it sounded improvised with call and response. He let the world around him fade away as he listened closer. He could identify the clapping of hands and drumming to keep the rhythm. Coatlmade music was built on percussion. Percussion instruments were easy to make when they were human slaves, and when they became empire builders it turned to the intimidating drums of war. Fae music favored wind instruments, born from the birdcalls wood elf rangers would use. Following the Pantheon Wars they started to incorporate the dwarven fiddle into much of their folk music. As part of his tutelage, Vedek had been taught the recorder and harp, though it had been years since he had played either.

A loud whistle snapped him back to the present. A dwarf on a donkey drawn cart was annoyed with Vedek’s stalling in the center of the road. So lost he had been in the memories and music that he had to scramble quickly to avoid being trampled.

He darted into a side alley. It was too thin for any carts, which was preferable should he become lost in his own mind a second time. He cautiously glanced skyward. A habit since the night he left Sráid. He was checking for the second moon. The Omen Moon. Thankfully, the clouds had rolled in with the wind and much of the sky was obscured. He continued on a path to Perforacielo Mountain.

The singing soon became too distant for him to hear and was replaced by the buzzing of flies. The ally opened into a square clearing where rubbish and broken furniture accumulated. His heart sank when he saw that there was more than refuse in this area. Four bodies were stacked against a wall like pallets of wood. Each dead and pale. The hosts for the flies he heard.

There was a figure standing over the bodies. Someone in a large cloak. They turned to look at Vedek, showing a flash of red scales.

“This is coincidence.” They muttered.

“Rerume?” Vedek asked.

“Yes.” Rerume turned back to the bodies. Vedek drew closer. They were humans. Soldiers in loose clothes showing sigils of unknown allegiance.

“Who are they?” Vedek asked.

“Victims of the Diablan poisoning.” Rerume grunted. Vedek could see that he was holding his red dagger and lightly carving symbols into the chests of each corpse. “Most were collected for the mass burial outside the city walls, but some slipped notice. I am marking them so the Mother’s angels can find them.”

“I thought you had left this territory chasing the necromancer.”

“That was my intent, and it still is, but I was delayed in leaving this city. Now I feel obligate to seek out corpses like these and alert the Mother to their presence.”

“You should come see us. The moment you left has weighed on Cole’s mind. If you just-”

Rerume halted whatever Vedek would say next. He looked to the sky in much the same way Vedek had earlier. “I don’t regret leaving the way I did. If the tourist regrets it then he should not have sided with the necromancer.”

He returned to his rites. Vedek could feel the heat sapping from the pot in his hands. Rerume paused once more. “What I said back in Ramuff still holds true. I enjoy your company, but that is because we are more alike than we are with the others we traveled with. You have no illusions of being on a social crusade like the student. That is why you did not fight in the Clash, correct?”

Vedek bit his lip. He couldn’t tell Rerume why he had truly avoided the attention of the Clash. “What about Frost and Azeroth?”

“We share no culture.” Rerume replied bluntly. “Traveling with them was an interesting experience, but I am ultimately glad to have ended it. Had I stayed I have no doubt the wecher would have kept trying to escalate our perceived friendship. I may have strayed from my righteous path like Dirk, who is a cleric in ability only. That would be an insult to my passed family who taught me that tradition is the most important of things. As an elden fae, I assume you share the understanding. We are both the children of ancients.”

Rerume would still not look directly at Vedek. He stepped away from the corpses and regarded his finished work. Vedek noticed a fifth body separate from the others. It was a young diablan male. When a diablan dies, the fire vanishes from their eyes, leaving empty sockets that stared back at Vedek. The body was too exposed for Rerume to have missed it.

“Will you not mark him?” Vedek pointed the dead man out.

Rerume’s eyes passed over the corpse as if it was more refuse. “What good will it do? He caused the poisoning. His soul will bypass the Sunless Borders and head straight for the Hell of Etsef. Or perhaps it will go as far as returning to his maker in the Thirteenth. My rites are to make the transfer to judgment gentler.”

“But he was also poisoned…” Vedek felt this detail obvious.

“That is because evil so easily attacks its own.” Rerume sheathed his knife. “If the Mother wills it, then he will be found when the vultures come for the others.”

Vedek felt a strange sensation in his gut. It was the feeling of realizing you no longer knew how to talk to someone you could previously hold a conversation with. Vedek had once considered Rerume the most trustworthy of his allies of convenience simply because of his station, but time with Azeroth and Frost had changed his impression. Whereas the others had opened up and become welcome company, Rerume had closed himself off.

Rerume was no mind reader. He seemed unaware of his own tone. Perhaps to him this chance encounter had gone amicably. He picked up his stinger spear and turned to leave after a short farewell.

“If you travel south tomorrow you may meet us.” Vedek said to the dark outline of Rerume’s back. “We’ll be taking Underdune Prison. Cole feels like it will be reminiscent of Outpost Onx.”

“Does he?” The words trailed out of Rerume like breath. There was something soft in his tone now. Just a hint of reminiscence. “Perhaps then...Perhaps.”