To be placed between the third and fourth entries, ie. meeting Naxartes and meeting Cawlis
INTERLUDE
'There's a definite...yup, see? I'm starting to see a pattern in the traps here.'
Isolde resisted the urge to swing a fist at Baldrin, her ostensible partner but actual millstone. She knew the only reason he had been so recommended was because he was the guildmaster's nephew. Incompetence was only to expected with this sort of nepotism, but Isolde had not truly appreciated just how utterly lacking in any graces Baldrin actually was.
Now, with his leg caught firmly in the third snare of the night, the young thief waited expectantly for Isolde to cut him loose, cheerfully and loudly humming. Shivers of barely controlled rage ran down Isolde's spine, the knife in her hand shaking. Had she not so desperately needed the coin, she would cut him loose all right, piece by piece, freeing his soul from his body. Instead, she forced a smile, put a finger to her lips for the umpteenth time and severed the cord.
Baldrin fell back to earth, picked himself up, dusted himself off and flashed what he doubtless thought was a cheeky, rakish grin at her. Then he set off again towards the main building of the estate, sparing nary a glance around him for any more traps or patrols. It was almost as if, Isolde thought, he had heard of the stereotype of the hositan rogue and wanted to be the exact opposite. Clumsy, not skilled. Thoughtless, not cunning. Loud, not stealthy.
She crept up to the wall, trying to ignore her hopeless companion and focusing instead on the reward. All she had to do was break in, retrieve the ducal signet ring, return it to the Gentleman's Association of Acquisitions - a fine title indeed for a guild of thieves, and a misleading one at that, for a more chaotic and treacherous rabble of scoundrels she had never encountered - and the dividends would be enough to bribe half the officials back in Zel City for a year. Or maybe buy one of the higher agents for three, maybe even four months! The security would be unbelievable.
Isolde held her breath as a guard turned the corner. An orc-blooded creature of some kind, bred for strength and stamina. The hiring of such was one of the more recent peculiarities of the Silver Duke, who had already been infamous for being 'eccentric'. Such as when he had declared war on his own apiaries for treason - which had merely been mildly amusing - or, more fantastically, when he appointed Russell Starsulking II, his prize stallion, as steward of his lands.
Quite what the unwilling namesake of this horse, Lord Russell Starsul, perhaps the most powerful noble in all Kelerak, thought of all this was the subject of much hushed speculation. There had been whispers among the denizens of Wyvernia's underworld that a grandmaster of the Unvoiced Order had been contracted to avenge the insult, but the continued life of the Silver Duke belied this option.
The orc-blood paused in its patrol, scratching at its nape with the sharp edge of its halberd. Isolde boggled at the sight, wondering if perhaps she had encountered the only creature in the world more stupid than Baldrin. At least it meant the guards were not on any kind of alert yet, despite Baldrin's best efforts. She stayed silent, motionless, in the shadows, barely breathing as the idiot creature turned back onto its path. Now, if only they could stay undetected for another thirty seconds.
'Hey Isolde!' Baldrin called over to her happily. 'I think I found the hidden entrance! Come on, before we're noticed!'
Her furious thrill was orgasmic in intensity.
*****
Isolde had to admit, the duke had been remarkably calm about the whole thing. When she and Baldrin had been dragged before him, bruised and chained and cursing, he hadn't hesitated to offer the pair the chance to try the new batch of Old Norey's Eastern Blend he had just had imported the other day, all the way from the gardens of Ladona would you believe.
His seneschal, on the other hand, was clearly far less benign. Perhaps it was the perpetual sneer on his face, or the venomous contempt with which he addressed the pair, or the frustrated sycophancy he directed towards the duke in demand for their execution. More likely, Isolde thought, it was just the fact that he was an orc and they were very edible-looking playthings.
'Oh my word, Koorlsh, do relax a bit!' the Silver Duke had exclaimed, elbowing the orc jovially. 'You act as though these two were readying themselves to preach about how salvation is open to all who follow the one true god, Bunga Proudfoot! Now, let's hear no more nonsense about thieves and plots and violence and all that nasty sort of stuff. It is hardly polite to treat guests in this manner.'
The orc bristled visibly, then a cruel look had come into his eyes that Isolde had dreaded seeing. 'Of course, most enlightened lord and master. I shall naturally see to the placing of your dear guests into quarters best suited to them, and personally.'
Isolde felt the courtly phrasing was ruined somewhat by the orc's harsh tones, which made her stomach churn, but the Silver Duke was evidently pleased by this and bade them all a good night, as it was getting late and, regrettably, he had an early luncheon to attend on the morrow with the Striped Queen Ippotigris to discuss a peace treaty between Kelerak and her unicorn army. As soon as he had departed, the orc had indeed, personally, seen them into the dungeons. It was only when he dismissed the guards and wheeled in a small cart, a blood-stained cloth draped over the top, that Isolde's deepest fears were confirmed.
'Miserable, ugly, undersized, dirt-digging rat-lovers,' he growled at them. 'I haven't spent the last four years slaving away beneath the notice of my so-called superiors to see you undo everything at the last minute! Now, we are going to have a long talk about who sent you and how they found out. And you are going to tell Koorlsh all the little details I am missing, because each time you tell the truth, you will have less pain to look forward to.'
He removed the cloth to reveal a hideous assortment of tools, each belonging to that school of thought which asked its adherents to become as personal with their victims as possible. Judging from the delicate, confident manner in which the torturer-seneschal made his first selection, he was an experienced adherent to this philosophy. Isolde's throat locked up in terror. There was nothing she could say that would make this easier on her - the whys had not been her concern when accepting the job. She only hoped that none of Baldrin's desperate attempts to save his own skin thus had been listened to.
'My uncle...' Baldrin started to say, swallowing hard when the orc turned his merciless gaze onto him. 'My uncle is a very important thief. Too important to go out on small runs like this. We're just humble gutter runners. This was our first big job. We didn't mean to interrupt anything you were doing, honest!'
Seneschal Koorlsh looked unimpressed. 'Your earlier babblings were very clear, wretch, as were the insults your friend used whenever you said something.' Isolde's heart sank at this. 'You are after the signet ring. Specifically, the ring, nothing else. The ring that I had cursed at enormous expense to make the duke truly insane - and keep him alive long enough to plunge the rest of Kelerak into civil war.
And now, at the very cusp of my triumph, worthy of notice by a personage of true importance, come two vile hositan to steal away the lynchpin of my destiny...and I am expected to believe this is accidental? No. No, I can see by your face that it is not. She is ignorant, isn't she? But you, no, you were given details by your uncle, weren't you?'
Baldrin grunted an assent and Isolde, shocked out of her fear, gave him a glare that would frighten a vampire. Neither he nor the orc acknowledged her. Koorlsh instead motioned for Baldrin to answer, holding up a tool that seemed designed for the slow peeling of flesh. With so clear a threat before him, the already garrulous thief found his tongue completely loosened. Eventually, he ran out of things to say and Isolde wished that she could close her ears as well as her eyes.
Koorlsh had only promised less pain.
*****
A key turned loudly in the lock and the cell door swung open, torchlight burning away the pitch blackness within. Isolde jerked awake, biting back a scream. The nightmare faded, but its replacement of its source was no comfort. When Koorlsh had finished, he had left Baldrin's corpse hanging from the wall. So that Isolde could truly appreciate its artistry, he had said, before she became its twin.
Now it was clearly her turn. Koorlsh had returned to finish his sick entertainment. She turned her head away from the tall shadow in the doorway, burying it as best she could into her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut so tightly it was painful. A sob escaped her as heavy footsteps neared. There was the rustle of cloth and the scraping of metal on metal.
'Now there, young missy, let's not be crying this early in the morning,' said a polite, grandfatherly voice.
Isolde's eyes snapped open and she looked into the stern, yet compassionate face of the Silver Duke. A moment later, her hand fell to her side, freed from its manacle. She gaped at it, scarcely able to comprehend what was happening. When the key unlocked her other hand, there was a glimmer of understanding and hope. By the time she was wholly unchained, Isolde felt as though she had a tenuous grasp of the situation.
'Remarkable how adept hositan are at escaping when unobserved, is it not?' the Silver Duke asked, diligently relocking each manacle. 'Almost as if they have outside help, despite that being clearly impossible.'
Isolde opened her mouth, uncertain of what exactly she would say. 'Koorlsh cursed your signet ring.' It was not what she had expected.
The Silver Duke smiled, patting her head condescendingly. 'Of course he did, dear. I'm just sorry he was so rude to you and your poor friend. Now, follow me and I'll see you out without more trouble. Koorlsh does seem to think sometimes that everyone answers to him instead of me. I don't think he'll be in my employ much longer. Too serious, too uptight. Always sending letters to Orland written in drow. Not exactly a popular hobby.'
Isolde shivered, the implications many and terrible. Kelerak was no paradise, but it was no longer one of the occupied realms, unlike Zeland. Koorlsh must have been plotting with the Zelish secret police to cripple Kelerak from within, allowing it to be reconquered. It would explain several quirks to the traps she had disarmed on the way in, especially that nasty counter-weighted one by the service gate.
Following this thought to its conclusion, Isolde saw that only smugglers and thieves could hope to transport the orc's sensitive letters across the borders. Ideally, it would be thieves who had a Zelish connection, such as among the hositan living in the slums. Thieves who would eagerly sell these secrets to enemies of Koorlsh, easily bought by promises of obscene wealth but not be missed once they outlived their usefulness. Isolde shuddered to think of the webs of duplicity in which she had been snared. And from which she had been freed, meaning she owed the Silver Duke her life - a debt that, if repaid soon enough, would save more than just one ageing human, but an entire nation.
'I swear to you, lord, upon my very soul, I am telling the truth. Your ring is cursed to affect your judgement.'
'Quite, quite, all very serious I'm sure,' the Silver Duke replied, clearly not listening in the slightest. 'Matters of state are always so dull. Ah, here we are. This carriage will take you back into Dragonspur. A true pleasure to have met you, my dear. I shall regret not being able to spend more time in your company. Do enjoy the gift, I never could.'
Desperately, sensing her chance fading, Isolde tried once more. 'Please! Don't use the signet ring!'
'Never do, it has a copper inlay and I have a dreadful allergy. This is just a copy I bring out instead of the real thing. Glad to be rid of it. Have a pleasant journey.'
Isolde fell back into the carriage, defeated. Baldrin was dead. She couldn't go back to his double-dealing uncle. There would be no payment to safeguard her family in Zeland. Koorlsh still had the Silver Duke in the palm of his hand and Kelerak was thus doomed to civil war. Everything had gone wrong. She felt like screaming, so she did so, kicking out like a child having a tantrum. Her foot hit wood and there was a clatter, followed by clinking.
She stopped and sat up. She looked hard at the overturned treasury box that had been placed in the carriage along with her. There was a pile of coins spilling from it, and among them, a small circular object glittered. The Silver Duke's words came back to her. The dullness of state affairs. A gift he was glad to be rid of. For a few minutes, Isolde stared dumbstruck at the ducal signet ring, wondering just what she going to do next.
Finally, she started laughing.
INTERLUDE
'There's a definite...yup, see? I'm starting to see a pattern in the traps here.'
Isolde resisted the urge to swing a fist at Baldrin, her ostensible partner but actual millstone. She knew the only reason he had been so recommended was because he was the guildmaster's nephew. Incompetence was only to expected with this sort of nepotism, but Isolde had not truly appreciated just how utterly lacking in any graces Baldrin actually was.
Now, with his leg caught firmly in the third snare of the night, the young thief waited expectantly for Isolde to cut him loose, cheerfully and loudly humming. Shivers of barely controlled rage ran down Isolde's spine, the knife in her hand shaking. Had she not so desperately needed the coin, she would cut him loose all right, piece by piece, freeing his soul from his body. Instead, she forced a smile, put a finger to her lips for the umpteenth time and severed the cord.
Baldrin fell back to earth, picked himself up, dusted himself off and flashed what he doubtless thought was a cheeky, rakish grin at her. Then he set off again towards the main building of the estate, sparing nary a glance around him for any more traps or patrols. It was almost as if, Isolde thought, he had heard of the stereotype of the hositan rogue and wanted to be the exact opposite. Clumsy, not skilled. Thoughtless, not cunning. Loud, not stealthy.
She crept up to the wall, trying to ignore her hopeless companion and focusing instead on the reward. All she had to do was break in, retrieve the ducal signet ring, return it to the Gentleman's Association of Acquisitions - a fine title indeed for a guild of thieves, and a misleading one at that, for a more chaotic and treacherous rabble of scoundrels she had never encountered - and the dividends would be enough to bribe half the officials back in Zel City for a year. Or maybe buy one of the higher agents for three, maybe even four months! The security would be unbelievable.
Isolde held her breath as a guard turned the corner. An orc-blooded creature of some kind, bred for strength and stamina. The hiring of such was one of the more recent peculiarities of the Silver Duke, who had already been infamous for being 'eccentric'. Such as when he had declared war on his own apiaries for treason - which had merely been mildly amusing - or, more fantastically, when he appointed Russell Starsulking II, his prize stallion, as steward of his lands.
Quite what the unwilling namesake of this horse, Lord Russell Starsul, perhaps the most powerful noble in all Kelerak, thought of all this was the subject of much hushed speculation. There had been whispers among the denizens of Wyvernia's underworld that a grandmaster of the Unvoiced Order had been contracted to avenge the insult, but the continued life of the Silver Duke belied this option.
The orc-blood paused in its patrol, scratching at its nape with the sharp edge of its halberd. Isolde boggled at the sight, wondering if perhaps she had encountered the only creature in the world more stupid than Baldrin. At least it meant the guards were not on any kind of alert yet, despite Baldrin's best efforts. She stayed silent, motionless, in the shadows, barely breathing as the idiot creature turned back onto its path. Now, if only they could stay undetected for another thirty seconds.
'Hey Isolde!' Baldrin called over to her happily. 'I think I found the hidden entrance! Come on, before we're noticed!'
Her furious thrill was orgasmic in intensity.
*****
Isolde had to admit, the duke had been remarkably calm about the whole thing. When she and Baldrin had been dragged before him, bruised and chained and cursing, he hadn't hesitated to offer the pair the chance to try the new batch of Old Norey's Eastern Blend he had just had imported the other day, all the way from the gardens of Ladona would you believe.
His seneschal, on the other hand, was clearly far less benign. Perhaps it was the perpetual sneer on his face, or the venomous contempt with which he addressed the pair, or the frustrated sycophancy he directed towards the duke in demand for their execution. More likely, Isolde thought, it was just the fact that he was an orc and they were very edible-looking playthings.
'Oh my word, Koorlsh, do relax a bit!' the Silver Duke had exclaimed, elbowing the orc jovially. 'You act as though these two were readying themselves to preach about how salvation is open to all who follow the one true god, Bunga Proudfoot! Now, let's hear no more nonsense about thieves and plots and violence and all that nasty sort of stuff. It is hardly polite to treat guests in this manner.'
The orc bristled visibly, then a cruel look had come into his eyes that Isolde had dreaded seeing. 'Of course, most enlightened lord and master. I shall naturally see to the placing of your dear guests into quarters best suited to them, and personally.'
Isolde felt the courtly phrasing was ruined somewhat by the orc's harsh tones, which made her stomach churn, but the Silver Duke was evidently pleased by this and bade them all a good night, as it was getting late and, regrettably, he had an early luncheon to attend on the morrow with the Striped Queen Ippotigris to discuss a peace treaty between Kelerak and her unicorn army. As soon as he had departed, the orc had indeed, personally, seen them into the dungeons. It was only when he dismissed the guards and wheeled in a small cart, a blood-stained cloth draped over the top, that Isolde's deepest fears were confirmed.
'Miserable, ugly, undersized, dirt-digging rat-lovers,' he growled at them. 'I haven't spent the last four years slaving away beneath the notice of my so-called superiors to see you undo everything at the last minute! Now, we are going to have a long talk about who sent you and how they found out. And you are going to tell Koorlsh all the little details I am missing, because each time you tell the truth, you will have less pain to look forward to.'
He removed the cloth to reveal a hideous assortment of tools, each belonging to that school of thought which asked its adherents to become as personal with their victims as possible. Judging from the delicate, confident manner in which the torturer-seneschal made his first selection, he was an experienced adherent to this philosophy. Isolde's throat locked up in terror. There was nothing she could say that would make this easier on her - the whys had not been her concern when accepting the job. She only hoped that none of Baldrin's desperate attempts to save his own skin thus had been listened to.
'My uncle...' Baldrin started to say, swallowing hard when the orc turned his merciless gaze onto him. 'My uncle is a very important thief. Too important to go out on small runs like this. We're just humble gutter runners. This was our first big job. We didn't mean to interrupt anything you were doing, honest!'
Seneschal Koorlsh looked unimpressed. 'Your earlier babblings were very clear, wretch, as were the insults your friend used whenever you said something.' Isolde's heart sank at this. 'You are after the signet ring. Specifically, the ring, nothing else. The ring that I had cursed at enormous expense to make the duke truly insane - and keep him alive long enough to plunge the rest of Kelerak into civil war.
And now, at the very cusp of my triumph, worthy of notice by a personage of true importance, come two vile hositan to steal away the lynchpin of my destiny...and I am expected to believe this is accidental? No. No, I can see by your face that it is not. She is ignorant, isn't she? But you, no, you were given details by your uncle, weren't you?'
Baldrin grunted an assent and Isolde, shocked out of her fear, gave him a glare that would frighten a vampire. Neither he nor the orc acknowledged her. Koorlsh instead motioned for Baldrin to answer, holding up a tool that seemed designed for the slow peeling of flesh. With so clear a threat before him, the already garrulous thief found his tongue completely loosened. Eventually, he ran out of things to say and Isolde wished that she could close her ears as well as her eyes.
Koorlsh had only promised less pain.
*****
A key turned loudly in the lock and the cell door swung open, torchlight burning away the pitch blackness within. Isolde jerked awake, biting back a scream. The nightmare faded, but its replacement of its source was no comfort. When Koorlsh had finished, he had left Baldrin's corpse hanging from the wall. So that Isolde could truly appreciate its artistry, he had said, before she became its twin.
Now it was clearly her turn. Koorlsh had returned to finish his sick entertainment. She turned her head away from the tall shadow in the doorway, burying it as best she could into her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut so tightly it was painful. A sob escaped her as heavy footsteps neared. There was the rustle of cloth and the scraping of metal on metal.
'Now there, young missy, let's not be crying this early in the morning,' said a polite, grandfatherly voice.
Isolde's eyes snapped open and she looked into the stern, yet compassionate face of the Silver Duke. A moment later, her hand fell to her side, freed from its manacle. She gaped at it, scarcely able to comprehend what was happening. When the key unlocked her other hand, there was a glimmer of understanding and hope. By the time she was wholly unchained, Isolde felt as though she had a tenuous grasp of the situation.
'Remarkable how adept hositan are at escaping when unobserved, is it not?' the Silver Duke asked, diligently relocking each manacle. 'Almost as if they have outside help, despite that being clearly impossible.'
Isolde opened her mouth, uncertain of what exactly she would say. 'Koorlsh cursed your signet ring.' It was not what she had expected.
The Silver Duke smiled, patting her head condescendingly. 'Of course he did, dear. I'm just sorry he was so rude to you and your poor friend. Now, follow me and I'll see you out without more trouble. Koorlsh does seem to think sometimes that everyone answers to him instead of me. I don't think he'll be in my employ much longer. Too serious, too uptight. Always sending letters to Orland written in drow. Not exactly a popular hobby.'
Isolde shivered, the implications many and terrible. Kelerak was no paradise, but it was no longer one of the occupied realms, unlike Zeland. Koorlsh must have been plotting with the Zelish secret police to cripple Kelerak from within, allowing it to be reconquered. It would explain several quirks to the traps she had disarmed on the way in, especially that nasty counter-weighted one by the service gate.
Following this thought to its conclusion, Isolde saw that only smugglers and thieves could hope to transport the orc's sensitive letters across the borders. Ideally, it would be thieves who had a Zelish connection, such as among the hositan living in the slums. Thieves who would eagerly sell these secrets to enemies of Koorlsh, easily bought by promises of obscene wealth but not be missed once they outlived their usefulness. Isolde shuddered to think of the webs of duplicity in which she had been snared. And from which she had been freed, meaning she owed the Silver Duke her life - a debt that, if repaid soon enough, would save more than just one ageing human, but an entire nation.
'I swear to you, lord, upon my very soul, I am telling the truth. Your ring is cursed to affect your judgement.'
'Quite, quite, all very serious I'm sure,' the Silver Duke replied, clearly not listening in the slightest. 'Matters of state are always so dull. Ah, here we are. This carriage will take you back into Dragonspur. A true pleasure to have met you, my dear. I shall regret not being able to spend more time in your company. Do enjoy the gift, I never could.'
Desperately, sensing her chance fading, Isolde tried once more. 'Please! Don't use the signet ring!'
'Never do, it has a copper inlay and I have a dreadful allergy. This is just a copy I bring out instead of the real thing. Glad to be rid of it. Have a pleasant journey.'
Isolde fell back into the carriage, defeated. Baldrin was dead. She couldn't go back to his double-dealing uncle. There would be no payment to safeguard her family in Zeland. Koorlsh still had the Silver Duke in the palm of his hand and Kelerak was thus doomed to civil war. Everything had gone wrong. She felt like screaming, so she did so, kicking out like a child having a tantrum. Her foot hit wood and there was a clatter, followed by clinking.
She stopped and sat up. She looked hard at the overturned treasury box that had been placed in the carriage along with her. There was a pile of coins spilling from it, and among them, a small circular object glittered. The Silver Duke's words came back to her. The dullness of state affairs. A gift he was glad to be rid of. For a few minutes, Isolde stared dumbstruck at the ducal signet ring, wondering just what she going to do next.
Finally, she started laughing.