Eden

“Should we use the button?” Vorol asked. “The city watch is probably already here.”

“Not yet!” Bran replied, tersely. “Run!”

The group turned and ran up the rubble-ramp and out of the newly blasted hole and out onto the grassy center-area of the VPGA. Numerous goats ran amok, bleating and shrieking in fear, the handlers and shepherd-dogs running to and fro in a futile attempt to return them to the pens that the collective goats had vacated. A lone security guard, the devil-blooded dekapri that had chased Bran earlier, stood at the end of the building, mouth agape.

Eden wasted no time, reaching down to her lute and plucked it, recalling the song she was trying to form earlier at Danford’s Draft. Bran immediately took off at a quick jog and the rest of the group, plus Lord Joyautombe and Fergus, followed closely; Eden didn’t stop plucking her lute, silly as she thought she looked running along with a musical instrument like some sort of field musician– wait. WAIT. She was technically a field musician. Suddenly Ichabod’s instruction to do breathing exercises made a lot of sense. He knew, that old man knew, she would end up doing exactly what she was doing!

“Hey–hey you! Stop!” the security guard called after breaking out of his stupor, running after the group, though he, himself seemed to be only jogging halfheartedly. Eden’s song was doing its work, though, as all her muscles suddenly felt tingly, as if there were small streams of electricity running through them. Her feet pounded the cobblestone, but the impact seemed negligible. Eden looked back to see how far back the security guard was, and she did indeed see that the guard was falling behind, but she also saw the city watch arrive into the center grounds of the complex, dressed in blue and white livery with crossbows at the ready.

As the group turned a corner and out of sight, Eden was relatively sure that the watch had not gotten a good look at them. The security guard, on the other hand, had, and not only that, but had interacted with Bran. She wondered if that would be a problem. A problem in addition to the presence of the thieves guild wererats at Lord Joyautombe’s prison.

The group zoomed through the city with Bran leading the way. Left, right, then left again, over and over, until they were in another section of the city and sure there were no guards chasing them. They filed into an alleyway and let the two former captives catch their breath. A couple minutes passed and Lord Joyautombe turned to the orc, whose name was, apparently, Fergus, and said something unintelligible to him. It was a few short, gutteral syllables that Eden recognized as the orc native tongue. Fergus replied in the same language, patting his sides. The freed lord turned to Bran and said in a surprisingly smooth voice with just a touch of an accent,

“Thank you for mounting such a… spirited rescue. I recognize your coat of arms, so I have to ask–if you don’t want the city watch involved… what, exactly, is going on?”

“I would love to answer any and all questions you have,” Bran replied, “but we need to get somewhere safe, first; somewhere where we don’t run the risk of getting overheard. The walls have ears, it seems.” Lord Joyautombe nodded and said,

“My dwelling, here in the city, will provide such security. You can follow me there.”

***

The group arrived at Lord Joyautombe’s estate shortly before dark--harried, hurried, and tired. Lord Joyautombe and his friend were very much worse for the wear, but had managed to keep up with the group as they wove through the streets. Now that they were at the mansion, though, they breathed a little easier as their recently-rescued noble assured them that the mansion was unbreachable.

An old butler greeted the group at the gate to the grounds, apparently overjoyed at the return of the errant lord, as the butler threw his arms around the young man and wept audibly. Despite Lord Joyautombe’s condition, he threw his arm around the butler and helped escort the rickety old man up through the grounds. Fergus' legs started going out and it took both Vorol and Bran to brace him on the way up.

The way up through the grounds was a path guarded by scattered hedge-animals–large bushes carefully shaven to look like great cats, various bears, and other such carnivorous creatures, but also decorated with flowers that peeked out of the bushes. The path was a brick path so bright red it might as well be crimson, and, compared to the green of the grass around it and the varied flora-fauna, the road stuck out in such a manner that Eden found a headache developing.

Upon entrance into the mansion, Eden felt like she had entered another world. As someone who had actually traveled from one world to another, she was quite familiar with the feeling. It wasn’t only the shiver that ran down her spine, but also the decor in that place. The walls were bright red accentuated by pitch black damask, the furniture was all black, but cushioned and lined with red velvet, down to every ottoman and piano bench. The countertops in the kitchen were black marble, but, strangely enough, marbled with red instead of the typical white. Animal heads were mounted on the walls, animal-skin rugs lay in lounging rooms, and weapons of various sorts were set in display cases. The only reason Eden didn’t find the place terribly gaudy was that the utter lavishness of the mansion was overwhelming her. Lord Joyautombe was rich.

The butler rolled in more chairs with a two-wheel dollie, one by one, great, plush ones, too, and set them around the lit fireplace, bidding the guests to all sit.

“Lord Joyautombe–” Eden began.

“Raenaugh.” He responded, relaxing into a red velvet chair, grimacing as if sore.

“...Bless you?”

“My name,” he said, reaching back to pull his hair over his left shoulder, “is Raenaugh. As my rescuers, you all should dispense with the ‘Lord Joyautombe’ nonsense. That’s what everyone calls my father, anyway, so, doubly so, just ‘Raenaugh’ will do.”

“Alrighty, then.” Eden replied. “So, Raenaugh, this place is… impressive?”

“Eh.” Raenaugh grunted, noncommittally. “This is just an away-house. You should see the central mansion that my father owns in Thor’s Threshold. It makes this one seem like a lean-to.”

Bran sat down in a chair and asked, “You own properties that your father doesn’t? I was under the impression that the purpose of a House was to own as a collective and improve upon ownership as a collective.” Raenaugh turned and gave a friendly smile.

“Lord Leland, I’ve heard of House Leland, all the way from Thor’s Threshold. Your House’s ingenuity is remarkable at the least, but dare I say it’s been spoken to me as a thing of legend.”

“Just ‘Bran’, if you please. You’ve extended the courtesy of familiarity to me, I can at least extend the same to you.” Raenaugh inclined his head, his blue eyes twinkling in the firelight.

“He prefers ‘Brandy’.” Eden interjected.

“No I don’t.” Bran said quickly, shooting her a look of annoyance. Raenaugh’s smile grew wider, but he didn’t address the statement.

“To answer your query, Bran,” he continued, “My father and I have had a recent falling out. I have several bank accounts and am well off in my own right, but House Joyautombe is currently split. Very heavily in my father's favor, I might add. Though that shouldn't come as a surprise.”

“Oh? What happened?” Bran prodded. Raenaugh raised an eyebrow.

“I’d actually rather not discuss that at this present moment. It’s still somewhat fresh.”

“Hence your drinking binge across the city.” Vorol commented. Sariel reach over and punched him in the arm. “Ow!” He was giving Vorol a very pointed stare with his golden eyes,

“Yes. Unfortunately, that is, I believe, how my father’s former crew members found me. But first, I have questions for you.”

“We’ll answer everything we can.” Bran replied.

“Let’s start with your names. I knew who Bran was by his coat of arms, and he provided his name. Who are my other three rescuers?”

“I’m Vorol, the group’s martial expert.”

“Vorol’s not overselling himself when he says he’s an expert.” Bran added. “While he specializes in polearms, he can wield many weapons to great effect, and, pound-for-pound, his prowess is more formidable than others with his same experience.”

“I’m Sariel, the group’s primary healer, not that I’ve had a lot of opportunity to show out.”

“Sariel is an acolyte in the temple to Ra. While he is an offensive caster in his own right, he also boasts some significant healing magic, and has taken on our mission with much enthusiasm.” Bran said, almost proudly. “It doesn’t hurt his chances at priesthood, either.” He added with a wink to Sariel.

They all turned to Eden.

“I’m just a stray they picked up.” She said, confidently. The group, sans a slightly confused Raenaugh, all laughed at this.

“Don’t let her deceive you.” Bran told Raenaugh. “Eden is our bard, and while she’s fairly inexperienced, she’s a boon to our group. She’s silver-tongued and casts a variety of magics, including support magic and offense. Supposedly she can do a bit of healing, but fortunately we haven’t had a chance to find out.

“Speaking of introductions, where’s your friend?” Bran asked, referring to the orc.

“Oh, Fergus went to bed. Due to his tough physique and nature, he was treated much worse than I was–our captors didn’t want to risk an angry orc summoning the strength to break out. After such an ordeal, naturally, he’s very tired and needs bed rest.”

“And you don’t?” Eden asked, eyeing the deep circles underneath Raenaugh’s eyes. He turned his head to look at her and replied,

“I can sleep when I’m dead. Until then, I would like at least a couple more questions answered. Chief among them is this: you came to rescue me, which I thank you for, and I will make sure you are rewarded for that, but why did you come to rescue me, is the question on my mind. Not many people knew I was visiting the city–I don’t think Fergus or I let it slip on our binge, either–let alone knew we had been abducted. How did you, a group of people I’ve never met, know?”

“Were you drinking with someone named Othello the night you were abducted?” Bran asked.

“Yeah, but he passed out a couple bars back, so Fergus and I left him there.”

“He woke up at some point, then, and caught up with you just in time to see you get taken. Afterwards, he indirectly reported the abduction to the person we report to.”

“You mean you aren’t the brains, here, Bran?” Raenaugh teased.

“Oh, no, I’m just a helping hand.”

“Who do you report to? I need to thank whoever is behind the rescue.”

“Are you sure this place is safe? No one can come in, or even listen in?”

“It’s impossible, I assure you.”

“We report to one Senator Mystern.” Bran replied. Raenaugh’s jaw dropped.

“The demigod?” He asked. Bran nodded. “Why would I be of concern to even a senator in this city? Let alone a demigod!”

“I think I’m beginning to have an idea.” Bran leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “Raenaugh, you mentioned those rats right before we left your prison.”

“Yeah, they were a constant presence. I still don’t understand why there would be wizards watching me.”

“Wizards?” Bran inquired, sounding very concerned. Raenaugh floundered for a moment, as if surprised that Bran was concerned.

“Um… Ah… Perhaps druids? …Hags?”

“What are you talking about?” Bran asked, at a loss.

“Well, the rats are familiars, aren’t they? That’s the reason they were always there and always watched, right? I mean, no normal rat would exhibit that kind of intelligence and dedication.”

Bran shook his head, understanding. “No, Raenaugh, those weren’t a caster’s familiars. They’re arourathropes.”

“Wererats?” Raenaugh gasped.

“And the only association that uses wererats in large groups is…” Bran left off somewhat dramatically.”

“...the thieves’ guild.”

“Which means we’re royally fucked right now,” said Vorol, “because they’ve seen our faces and our skills.”

“A few things suddenly make a bit more sense.” said Raenaugh, thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“When my father’s former crew took me, they spoke to each other about an alliance.”

“Ra’s chase…” Sariel swore, softly.

“And of course,” Bran said wryly, “they pumped you for information on your father’s hidden treasure, didn’t they?” Raenaugh nodded.

“And I told them where it was, too. It didn’t take much, as my father hasn’t been the kindest person in the world. Why not let his old crew sail off with the treasure? It didn’t occur to me that they were working with the local thieves’ guild.” A light suddenly came on in Eden’s head.

“They don’t plan to just ‘sail off,’ this time, do they?” She asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“And the treasure. It’s down in the sewers somewhere, isn’t it?” Everyone in the room sat up.

“Yes, it is.” he replied, coolly. The group looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, at a loss.

“So,” Bran said after a while, “the guild has been sitting on the treasure the whole time.”

“Essentially.” Raenaugh said, starting to braid his hair. “They had no idea until recently, though. And it’ll take them a while to get through the wards that bar entrance.”

“How did they not realize they were rooming with the treasure?” Vorol asked, sounding a bit shellshocked. "My money was that it was sitting in some Great House's bank vault or something."

“Have you ever been in the sewers, Vorol?” Bran asked.

“No, milord, I haven’t.”

“Then let me tell you something about them. They are vast, spanning all of the city with large tunnels, aqueducts, and shafts, leading to strange rooms littered with magical glyphs, strange mechanical devices, piles of bones, strange statues, tar pits, and other such odd things. The sewers are deep, and the deepest recesses of the sewers are places not even the guild dares go. People who go that far down simply don’t return.”

Eden spoke up, “Why are they designed like that? How does that help the city?”

“The easiest answer,” Bran said, “is that the city doesn’t have to worry about flooding. But that’s about the extend of my knowledge. Raenaugh,” he said, turning, “you seem to know more about the sewers than I do. What’s your explanation?”

“I only know what my father told me, as he was the one who hid the treasure, but he said that there were a few theories he had heard, but the one he thought was most likely was that the sewers were home to a group of wizards, who re-designed the sewers to better accommodate their strange rituals and experiments. Whatever the case, there’s a certain room my father used to hide the treasure in that requires one to jump through several metaphorical hoops to get into.” He paused, cocked his head, and asked, “What is your interest in all of this? Were you hoping to get the treasure’s location from me?”

Bran shook his head. “We were trying to keep the guild from getting their hands on it. That was before we knew that the Headsman’s Joy was in Valekenport. Now, it looks like we have two factions to drive out–what’s worse is that they’re working together. For some reason.” Bran turned to the rest of the group. “Well, unless we receive a different missive from Senator Mystern, the plan hasn’t changed. We’ve completed our first task: saving Raenaugh, here. Now, we move onto the second task: clearing out the guild vault."

"I want in." Raenaugh interrupted quickly.

"What?" Bran asked in disbelief. "No."

"I insist."

"You need rest, Raenaugh. You look like a vampire."

"No, he doesn't." Vorol interjected. Everyone turned to look at him. "Vampires have red eyes." he explained, sheepishly.

"I assure you, my condition will improve. Besides, it's evening, and I have the whole night to rest. Do you think you ought to go anywhere?"

"He's got a point, Bran." Sariel said. "We probably ought not to even leave this building for a few days. The guild will be looking for us."

Raenaugh immidiately followed that up with, "I have spare rooms here and would happily provide my saviors with lodging for as long as you need it." Bran shot Sariel an annoyed look, saying,

"Who's side are you on, anyway?"

Sariel shrugged. "Just being practical."

"We can stay," Bran said, "but Raenaugh, we just rescued you. Mystern would have my hide if she found out I put you in any danger."

"I can fend for myself!" Raenaugh protested.

"When you're not drinking." Vorol said, casually.

"Admittedly," Raenaugh replied sheepishly, "I am less effective under the influence of alcohol. I, of course, will abstain, but I insist you accept my weapon alongside yours."

"Do you have any combat prowess or tactical advantages that will help us?" Eden inquired, mostly to aggravate Bran.

"Not you, too!" Bran sighed, defeated.

"I've got training in fencing with light to lower middling swords--falchions at the heaviest--and I've got some magical abilities that I've studied hard to achieve."

"You're a wizard?" Bran asked, surprised.

"Not as such. I probably won't ever be able to use any of the fell magics that archwizards use, but middle magic is well within reach. Lately I've been working on trying to use magic in tandem with my sword-work, but so far I've been unsuccessful. Still, I can do one or the other and switch back and forth quickly."

"We'll discuss it tomorrow." Bran replied. "Late tomorrow morning, to ensure that we've all gotten enough sleep. You especially, Raenaugh." Raenaugh laughed and said,

"Fine, fine! I must look terrible if so many comments are being leveled at me over my appearance."

"Yeah, you do look rough." Eden offered helpfully. "Not only the sleep, but I'm willing to wager half your flesh is nothing but bruises."

"Feels like it, too." He replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Edward!" he called. The butler standing against the doorpost leading to another room stepped forward into the light of the fireplace.

"Yes, milord?"

"Is there a stock of health poultices still in the kitchen cupboards?"

"Indeed, sir. Shall I fetch them for you?"

"No," Raenaugh said, struggling up from the chair, "just accompany me there."

"Very good, sir." The group watched Raenaugh and the butler leave the room and then all looked at each other. Eden was the first to speak up.

"It'll be nice not being the rookie in this group. Two days was enough for me."

"I think a bit of magic will help us out." Sariel said, thoughtfully.

"I'll get to spar with him in a couple days, I bet." Vorol said happily.

"You guys are jerks." Bran muttered irritably.