The Preachán came the rest of the way down. As soon as his boots touched the floor, the creature shifted and started at him with slow, shuddering movements. Erasmus covered the final orb, plunging the chamber in darkness.
The creature stopped.
Paedrin breathed out, releasing the pent-up frustration and panic. He felt strange, his emotions jumbled. He wanted to kiss Hettie. He wanted to kill Annon. He wanted to drown Erasmus in the waterfall. The feelings were violent and went against every aspect of Bhikhu precepts. He struggled with his feelings, trying to control his breathing.
“Annon?” Hettie whimpered. “I feel sick…”
Paedrin heard the grunt in the darkness, then a muffled voice muttering, “It is too heavy.”
“Quickly, Druidecht,” Erasmus said, his voice sounding pained.
Annon’s voice rang out sharply. “Goule. Obey me. Open the trap door.”
The creature shuddered again and slowly returned to the alcove. There was a grating, grinding noise as the lid was dragged away. A hiss emerged in the room. There was light in the alcove, and Paedrin saw Annon’s face bathed in the silvery light. He stared at the dark space, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he reached inside his belt pouch, uncinched the drawstrings, and withdrew a set of sturdy gloves. After tugging them on, he reached gingerly into the pit.
The feelings intensified within Paedrin. Thoughts and images rushed through his mind that shocked him with their intensity and depravity. He trembled against the rush of feelings the images produced.
Annon lifted a silver dagger from the depths of the pit. There was a white stone embedded in the blade guard, one that glowed with a ghostlike light. Annon stared at it in awe and fear, his eyes widening with horror. Then slowly, deliberately, he withdrew a sheath from the pit and slid the blade inside.
The three glass orbs cracked, leaking a glowing reddish mist that dissipated, stealing the light slowly as the mist began to disperse.
There was a release of the emotions as the blade snicked inside the sheath. Its control vanished. The images in Paedrin’s mind disappeared. He breathed a sigh of relief. Never before had thoughts such as those tormented him. He had not been able to control the surge of them.
The reddish glow was replaced by the blackness of the chamber. The only source of light was the gaping hole in the ceiling. It too dimmed. There was a shadow on the floor below—an obstruction in the light from the world above.
Kiranrao’s voice descended into the gloom. “The day is fading. We are building a fire up here. Would you care to join us for a meal?”
“There is a Preachán saying I admire: If two friends ask you to judge a dispute, don’t accept, because you will lose one friend; on the other hand, if two strangers come with the same request, accept because you will gain one friend.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Paedrin knew his shoulder blade was probably broken. His entire left side had the stinging tingles that made gripping anything with his left hand useless. He was weary from the action and concerned at the blood streaking down Hettie’s face, at Annon’s half-terrified expression holding the dagger, and Erasmus’s sudden pallor. But never would a Bhikhu show his fear.
“I hope there are no onions,” Paedrin said loudly, lifting his voice deliberately. “I cannot abide them. But to be honest, we are not hungry and would not wish to intrude rudely on your supper.”
There was a chuckle. “We have enough provisions to starve you out of there,” Kiranrao replied. “I’m not a fool, and we did not rest. We have trailed you all the way here and know you are tired, wounded, and in possession of Drosta’s treasure. The treasure that Tyrus has successfully hidden from me these many years. I could as easily come down there and kill you all for it myself, but I’m rather lazy by nature as most Vaettir are. Besides, there is other information I want from you.”
Paedrin looked at Annon and cocked his eyebrows. Annon shrugged, confused.
“What information?”
“Where is Tyrus Paracelsus expecting you?”
Again, Paedrin was confused. “Where is he expecting us?”
“Where were you going to meet him after this was finished? Where did he say he would be?”
Annon spoke up. “I mean no disrespect, but Tyrus was not planning on…”
“Don’t waste my time, Druidecht. Please. I abhor it when people play themselves as fools. All of Kenatos is abuzz with the news. I do not rely on wagon trains for my information, surely you realize that. And I do not believe he is dead, or there would not be such a grand reward for information regarding his whereabouts. You were the last to have seen him before the explosion. Surely he told you where he was going?”
The creature stopped.
Paedrin breathed out, releasing the pent-up frustration and panic. He felt strange, his emotions jumbled. He wanted to kiss Hettie. He wanted to kill Annon. He wanted to drown Erasmus in the waterfall. The feelings were violent and went against every aspect of Bhikhu precepts. He struggled with his feelings, trying to control his breathing.
“Annon?” Hettie whimpered. “I feel sick…”
Paedrin heard the grunt in the darkness, then a muffled voice muttering, “It is too heavy.”
“Quickly, Druidecht,” Erasmus said, his voice sounding pained.
Annon’s voice rang out sharply. “Goule. Obey me. Open the trap door.”
The creature shuddered again and slowly returned to the alcove. There was a grating, grinding noise as the lid was dragged away. A hiss emerged in the room. There was light in the alcove, and Paedrin saw Annon’s face bathed in the silvery light. He stared at the dark space, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he reached inside his belt pouch, uncinched the drawstrings, and withdrew a set of sturdy gloves. After tugging them on, he reached gingerly into the pit.
The feelings intensified within Paedrin. Thoughts and images rushed through his mind that shocked him with their intensity and depravity. He trembled against the rush of feelings the images produced.
Annon lifted a silver dagger from the depths of the pit. There was a white stone embedded in the blade guard, one that glowed with a ghostlike light. Annon stared at it in awe and fear, his eyes widening with horror. Then slowly, deliberately, he withdrew a sheath from the pit and slid the blade inside.
The three glass orbs cracked, leaking a glowing reddish mist that dissipated, stealing the light slowly as the mist began to disperse.
There was a release of the emotions as the blade snicked inside the sheath. Its control vanished. The images in Paedrin’s mind disappeared. He breathed a sigh of relief. Never before had thoughts such as those tormented him. He had not been able to control the surge of them.
The reddish glow was replaced by the blackness of the chamber. The only source of light was the gaping hole in the ceiling. It too dimmed. There was a shadow on the floor below—an obstruction in the light from the world above.
Kiranrao’s voice descended into the gloom. “The day is fading. We are building a fire up here. Would you care to join us for a meal?”
“There is a Preachán saying I admire: If two friends ask you to judge a dispute, don’t accept, because you will lose one friend; on the other hand, if two strangers come with the same request, accept because you will gain one friend.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Paedrin knew his shoulder blade was probably broken. His entire left side had the stinging tingles that made gripping anything with his left hand useless. He was weary from the action and concerned at the blood streaking down Hettie’s face, at Annon’s half-terrified expression holding the dagger, and Erasmus’s sudden pallor. But never would a Bhikhu show his fear.
“I hope there are no onions,” Paedrin said loudly, lifting his voice deliberately. “I cannot abide them. But to be honest, we are not hungry and would not wish to intrude rudely on your supper.”
There was a chuckle. “We have enough provisions to starve you out of there,” Kiranrao replied. “I’m not a fool, and we did not rest. We have trailed you all the way here and know you are tired, wounded, and in possession of Drosta’s treasure. The treasure that Tyrus has successfully hidden from me these many years. I could as easily come down there and kill you all for it myself, but I’m rather lazy by nature as most Vaettir are. Besides, there is other information I want from you.”
Paedrin looked at Annon and cocked his eyebrows. Annon shrugged, confused.
“What information?”
“Where is Tyrus Paracelsus expecting you?”
Again, Paedrin was confused. “Where is he expecting us?”
“Where were you going to meet him after this was finished? Where did he say he would be?”
Annon spoke up. “I mean no disrespect, but Tyrus was not planning on…”
“Don’t waste my time, Druidecht. Please. I abhor it when people play themselves as fools. All of Kenatos is abuzz with the news. I do not rely on wagon trains for my information, surely you realize that. And I do not believe he is dead, or there would not be such a grand reward for information regarding his whereabouts. You were the last to have seen him before the explosion. Surely he told you where he was going?”
