Three days had passed since Daggeuro and his companions had returned to Celia, and with each day that passed, Councilman Stahg grew ever more nervous. The humans didn't worry him; reports from his spies concluded that they seemed to be courting. They had gone Mortal-side twice to watch movies at Kathy's apartment, and gone the fourth morning to see an early play that would be starting in twenty minutes. No problems there.
But Daggeuro had held an audience with the King upon their return, and hadn't been back since. Stahg gathered from what he overheard that there had very nearly been a bad incident up in Graymarsh, averted by Kathy Potts's bravery. He didn't care for humans, but thanked the gods that one seemed to be blessed.
Senta hadn't been by again, but that only worried him more. Men who showed such patience operated on a level he only matched in the chambers of office. He needed a break, and soon. It was his lover who unwittingly gave him what he needed as she came to his home office with fresh poll number sheets from Alsem.
"Councilman Tornio wants to know if you'll be joining him to discuss the vote on extending asylum offers for the Awakened," she said, dropping off the sheets.
"I'm sorry, the what?"
"Asylum offers for the Awakened," she said brightly. "I don't know why any of them wouldn't take it. Aren't they all in danger or something?" Stahg shot up out of his chair, heart singing. "Sir?"
"Christina, thank you," he exclaimed, leaping over the desk and catching her up in a deep, soulful kiss. She fanned herself as he let her go and ushered her into the hall. "Tell him yes, now, in chambers! Send word, I want to bring a vote to the floor in one hour, GO!" She got caught up in his excitement and took off running.
"Ah, yes," he said to himself, fetching his official robes from their coatrack by his desk. "I love politics."
In the Grim Flats, woodlands were sparse, but civilization moreso. The Chained One used a ghostwood grove in the center of those barren plains, standing under eternally gray skies, to appear in the realm. Flanked by his five moving trees, he moved about slowly, dragging his anchor behind him.
It wasn't long before dozens of ferocious beasts of various sorts stood before him, snapping, snarling, lunging. Those that dared get too close were swiftly destroyed as object lessons for the others. "If you would serve me, place yourself upon my trees," he intoned. There was a rush as dozens bulled their way through, some powerful specters slaughtering lesser monsters for a spot. "Yes, only the strongest may serve," he cooed. When he had his desired quota, the five ghostwoods and The Chained One disappeared, leaving only one fallen ghostwood in the copse he'd arrived from.
Daggeuro didn't like errands like the one he was on, but at least he didn't have Byron around for it. He'd taken a neutral view on him, but the kennin suspected that the wee folk would react to Byron in the same fashion Tsen Chuk had- with distrust. He didn't need to be making a recruitment effort with the human nearby.
He entered the wide grasses of Veil Park, home to the trees that hosted most of the wee folken in Celia. Even brownies lived there, along the muddy shores of the artificially made ponds. He approached a strong elm, leaves blowing in the bustle of fairy activity above his head. He looked up and shook himself, trying to limber himself up for what he was about to do.
From the back of his belt, Daggeuro pulled out a drawstring pouch kept drawn tight, a white cloth number with archaic symbols stitched all over it. He then kept another one, its polar opposite, on his belt, fastened tight. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. He opened the top of the white bag just a little, grabbing a pinch of rainbow-hued, sparkling sand from within. He set the pouch down at the base of the tree, held his fingers up over his own head, and sprinkled himself with the sand.
The change came over him immediately, beginning with a pulse vibrating outward from inside his body. The world around him began to expand and stretch, until all he could see before him were some blades of grass and the trunk of the tree. To his left stood the white pouch of fairy dust; at his current size, it was a little taller than him.
"I hate this," he grumbled to himself. With a twitch of will, he rose up off of the ground, floating slowly up towards the branches of the tree. A glowing, winged man in a dark brown jerkin with crimson boots and a hat made of a cleverly folded and arranged golden leaf came down toward him swiftly, wings fluttering rapidly on his back. His features were sylvan, elf-like and smooth, and he smiled amiably as he hovered across from the shrunken kennin and bowed.
"Lord Daggeuro, it has been a long time since last we received you in scaled fashion! TO what do we owe the honor?"
"Stow the false cheer, Regril, we both know you've no stomach for my visits," Daggeuro said. "I'm here to speak with Elder Wimbly." The fairy's expression flattened, his smile vanished like a shadow at night.
"Of course. Follow me, sir." He winged away upward, leaving Daggeuro to flounder as he tried to catch up. Flight had never agreed with Daggeuro, one of the reasons he disliked having these visits. But Elder Wimbly would not come before Biggers in their natural state, not since a bad incident with a troll named Vellarin some three-hundred years before. Fairy dust was needed for a conversation with him.
Up through branches filled with tiny huts and houses composed of various natural components he floated, passing by dozens of fairies and a few visiting pixies. The pixies' feathery wings always drew his attention, but Daggeuro forced himself to focus on Regril as he led the kennin inside a hole in the tree's exterior. The hole had been concealed with a false bark door, opening on a vast chamber divided into rooms with bits of string, from which hung treated leaves, kept green and lush with fairy magical bindings.
The scent of vanilla hung heavy within, Regril leading him down a leaf hallway to an open flap, standing beside it with his arms folded over his chest, scowling at the kennin. "Make it quick," he grumbled.
"That's up to your Elder, Regril, not you," Daggeuro said. He stepped up to the opening and looked in. The Elder's study was lined with matchboxes that had been converted into bookshelves, each containing various knickknacks and tiny fairy books, each brimming with the secrets and histories of the wee folken. Daggeuro would have loved to get his hands on just a couple of them for study, but as a rule, wee folk didn't entrust their tomes to Biggers without damned good reason.
Elder Wimbly presently sat at a long bench covered with assorted instruments and brickabrack, his hands clasping a pair of metal tongs which he used to slowly pour a measure of some bubbling yellow fluid into a beaker filled with neon green sand. Smoke plumed white from the mixture, but he seemed to have everything under control. He set the vial in a slider rack, stoppered the beaker, and set it over a small tub filled with ice. He removed the thick black gloves he was wearing, set them on his bench, and spun round on his bench seat. His waist-length white beard swayed, tied in a tight braid, and his eyes were magnified behind bug-eyed goggles, which he pushed up onto his balding pate. He turned his regard upon Daggeuro and nodded.
"Sir Daggeuro, please, pull up a chair," he said, his voice dry, wizened. The kennin stepped into the room, grabbing a carved pine cone and dragging it over across from Wimbly. The Elder fairy looked to Regril and flapped one hand. "Close the curtain and leave us." The other fairy seemed ready to protest, but he did as bade. Wimly regarded Daggeuro with a neutral visage. "My apologies for his rudeness."
"How did you-"
"I just assumed," Wimbly said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His gray jerkin was ruddy and scuffed with ash and dirt, signs of hard work in his lab. "Regril is not exactly a fan of Biggers, particularly you."
"I'm not sure why that should be. I have aimed always to be cordial with the wee folk."
"Effort and success do not always stroll hand-in-hand, Sir Daggeuro," Wimbly said. He reached down beneath the bench, bringing up a flagon of spring water. After drinking a healthy portion, he said, "You'll remember nine years ago, when you asked us to move the village here to Veil Park?"
"He's still sore about that? It was for your own protection."
"Many here still don't understand that," said Wimbly. "There are those who feel that grove should have been left alone. But that is old business. Surely you come with new matters."
"I do," said Daggeuro gravely. He wrung his hands a moment, trying to gauge Wimbly's likely reaction. Yet, the old fairy was cunning, able to remain neutral in affect. "Elder Wimbly, what do you know of a creature known as The Chained One?"
"Ah, Cassius Melchar," said Wimbly, his tone wistful. "Scourge of the Awakened. I remember him, yes. Wekina that was, now known as Rinchak. I've heard rumors on the wind, dear boy. Are they true?"
"Some, yes," Daggeuro said softly. "I understand the magic of your people can cut through most of his defenses."
"Yes, that is right. But he's dangerous," Wimbly said. "Far worse than any shade. Is it true that he's here, in Amermidst?"
"We believe so, yes. Why he chose this kingdom, we don't know. Have you any thoughts on that?"
"Of course," said Wimbly. "But the 'why' isn't really what you're here for. You want recruits."
"I do," said Daggeuro, feeling dread stealing over him. He had a feeling he knew already what way Wimbly would come down on this decision. "The kingdom is in need, Elder, and the powers of fairy, sprite, pixie and brownie are our best shot at ending the threat quickly."
"Not really our concern, is it," Wimbly asked plainly. "Your King may be of our people, but we do not all agree with his rule. He does not do enough for us."
"He keeps Tsen Chuk from going free to devour more of your kind," Daggeuro snapped, a touch too defensively. Wimbly smiled broadly, clearly taking joy in pricking at the kennin's temper. He shook his head, grinning wryly. "Well played, Elder."
"Thank you. My answer is no, Sir Daggeuro. I will not send any of my people to their doom against The Chained One. His power is too great to risk their lives." Daggeuro ground his teeth, knowing he was going to hate himself for a long time for what he was about to do. Yet, the Elder had put him in a corner, from which he had few options if he wished to succeed in this task.
"Elder Wimbly, the dragon Tsen Chuk is bound to his service for twelve more years. Already he has selected his renewal opponent for the pok-chi match to be played at that time. It's me."
"Ah, splendid! I understand you're one of the best there is at the game."
"I am. My alternate has not yet been chosen," he said. "Whoever I name would be playing to extend his service another one hundred years."
"Then I would recommend you select someone who can play well," said Wimbly.
"Or, I could name Dale Yarbock as my alternate," Daggeuro said, his tone laced with false whimsy, his eyes wide as he gave Wimbly a mad smile. The fairy looked stunned, horrified.
"That minotaur barbarian? I doubt he's even ever played the game before! He'd be dead in eight turns! You can't oh I see," Wimbly said, starting roaring and ending softly, his voice suddenly a wispy echo. He remained silent for a moment, eyes locked on the kennin High Knight's. "You know, for a man who claims to hate politics, you're quite skilled in the field."
"Thank you. Twelve of your best, they'll report to Ranger High Commander Hachico as soon as possible." Daggeuro rose, clearing his throat. "Do your duty, and in twelve years, I'll do mine."
"I won't forget this, Daggeuro," Wimbly said, still in control of himself. "Your reputation among the wee folk has always been positive. This conversation will surely damage it."
"Not as much as your reluctance to help would damage yours with King Ovin," he shot back. "But neither cut needs to happen. I float out of here, and we both agree that we negotiated a fair deal when relaying this meeting to our respective people." Wimbly glowered at him, tugging at his beard.
"Agreed. Very shrewd, Sir Daggeuro."
"Elder," he said with a bow.
Councilman Stahg chuckled to himself as he left the High Council Hall, having just finished one of the fastest votes in the entire time he'd been in office. Word had gone out among the public, and now he merely had to return to his home office to await Leroy Ferter.
Before heading there, he sent off a runner with a piece of paper and the instructions Senta had given him for the false egg. With that taken care of, he dashed to his office to await the Awakened. The first human to arrive was a fairly attractive woman who had been debating whether or not to even remain Ether-side. In the end, she explained, she'd feel safer right in Celia until this business with The Chained One was dealt with.
He was putting the stamp on her paperwork when he felt a draft blow through his office from the window. He didn't recall having left it open, but that wasn't important to him. What was important was his instincts, which clamoured at him that he was not alone in the office. He took the papers, rolled them into a messenger tube, and strode to his office door, popping it open. In the corridor sat four more Awakened, along with five Royal Guard. He raised the tube toward one of these men, a svelt elven man in green leathers.
"Please escort Ms. Billings to her safe place, Sir Hilm." As the Royal Guard took the tube, Stahg blinked rapidly at him, then held out his thumb and forefinger in a half-moon shape against his sternum. This was a signal, developed many years before for the Royal Guard, that there was an armed man in his office who might hurt him if things seemed amiss. The elf nodded, the movement barely perceptible. He led the woman past his comrades, whispering to them, then heading away.
One of the Royal Guard remaining, a bear-faerie in a dark yellow robe, cleared his throat. "Who shall you see next, Councilman?" Stahg pointed to the man he assumed was Ferter, given the jumpy way the human moved at every sound.
"Your name, sir," he asked.
"Leroy Ferter, sir," Leroy said, his voice cracking.
Senta slid from the shadows under the window of Stahg's office inside and over to his closet in one sweeping movement, staying just outside of the human woman's notice. It was a risky move, but if seen, he would simply say he was one of the Councilman's functionaries. But all he left was a breeze from his movement, unnoticed by either party.
The closet had already been partially open, thankfully. Now all that remained was to see his target. Stahg exited the room with the woman and her papers, and Senta could hear him speaking in the hallway. One of the elite officers out there, known in this kingdom as Royal Guard, rumbled something about checking Ferter for weapons. Wonderful, he thought. The fool won't even be armed!
Hanging back in the darkened closet, Senta did a visual doublecheck on the distance between the guest seat and Stahg's office window. Yes, he'd have plenty of time to stab Ferter in the throat and dart out of the building. These Royal Guard had been easy enough to elude sneaking into the inner court; surely sneaking out would prove no trouble once he was clear of the building.
So it was that when Leroy Ferter came in with Stahg and took a seat, the assassin didn't stop to use his honed senses to check the human over visually. Had he not allowed himself this one mistake of overconfidence, things would have turned out much different. He would think on this several times in the days ahead.
With his dagger gripped underhand, Senta flashed out like a bolt of lightning without sound, weapon stabbing in an arc until it was caught in a web of translucent green force inches away from Ferter's throat. Too stunned to move, Senta stared wide-eyed as the bear-faerie charged into the room, crashing into him with the brute impact of a stampeding horse. Senta grunted once before his arms were yanked over his head, his wrists clapped in irons. He was hauled into the air, legs kicking as he struggled for purchase.
Stahg got up languidly from his chair and stood before him a moment later, his grin a cold, calculating thing. "Sir Brochar, I believe this one belongs in the Red Room. See to it that Sir Daggeuro is informed post-haste." The bear grunted and rapped Senta once on the back of the head. All went dark for the gotrin assassin.
Kathy sat at her kitchen table, playing a quick snippet of a Nancy Drew game on her laptop while Byron showered. She felt better than she had in a long time. Sex and a nap with a new romantic interest did that to a person. Yet she was starting to feel guilty about leaving Ether Plane when they had The Chained One to deal with. It felt like a betrayal, odd for her to feel since she'd never been the national pride sort.
It's different with Amermidst, though. That's where my heart is. This realization didn't help her much, as all of her friends and family knew her as just Kathy Potts, a friendly woman with her own successful cleaning service. They knew nothing of her magic and the world of fairies and dragons, though she had a feeling her mother was starting to suspect something was odd about her only daughter.
Byron came out, freshly showered and shaved, looking more civilized without stubble on his cheeks and neck. He was dressed in a black Ramones shirt and jeans, his combat boots laced tight. "We just about ready to head back," he asked, giving her a quick peck on the forehead.
"Sure thing," she said, saving her game and closing the computer. She grabbed her bag and cut open a rift, taking them directly to her room at the Phoenix Inn where they were staying. As they stepped through, she gasped and laughed, taken off-guard by Daggeuro. He was sitting on her bed, seemingly waiting for her to return. The awkward look on his face was priceless.
"Um, Kathy," he began slowly, eyeballing Byron. "Byron. Good to see you're back."
"Good to be back, Dave, I always love coming to your show," Byron quipped, snatching Daggeuro's hand and pumping it rapidly. Daggeuro yanked his hand away and rose.
"I've just received word from an unlikely source that there's an assassin in our lockup in the barracks, a chamber called the Red Room. He was after an Awakened. I believe he may be working with The Chained One. I want you to to accompany me to interrogate him."
"Interrogate," Kathy asked, feeling squeamish. "I don't know, Dag. That's really not my thing. Couldn't you use the Word of the Knight on him?"
"I already tried," Daggeuro groused. "He's too clever by far. He answers with vague hints and questions of his own. I am not an imaginative man, and I believe he'll respond better to you two than to another faerie. Will you help me?" Kathy shared a look with Byron, who just shrugged as if to say 'Why not?' She waved her hand toward the door, and he led them away from the hotel without further question.
Senta lay on his cot on the floor in the corner of the Red Room. He had expected torture. He had expected to be beaten. He had not expected a kennin with the Word of the Knight. He had barely managed to resist that power, but he had trained himself well against it, evading the terrifying High Knight's questions like a man dodging throwing knives.
He had been careful not to let the kennin see how scared he was. Doing so would only have egged the man on to the breaking point. As it now stood, he expected someone far less capable would be in to question him. He would be fine, now the worst was over.
The Red Room was just that, a box of a room painted all in red, from every wall to the chairs and table in the middle of the room. There was a small grate over his cot, also painted red, through which air came in and out. It was too narrow to consider for escape. He was effectively locked down.
The Red Room door was a heavy steel portal with a single slot in the bottom, presumably for trays of food to be delivered. A primitive toilet stood in the corner opposite his cot, along with a water basin with two faucets for water. The faucets and toilet had already been tested; he wasn't going to be able to pull them free.
His best bet for escape was when someone came into the room. Three locks had to be undone to open the door, so he would always have a thirty-second warning when someone was coming. He would let his next visitor come without trouble, but he would ensure they'd want to come back. On that trip, whoever came would be in for a nasty surprise.
As he was thinking this, the first lock began to disengage. He hadn't expected a follow-up so soon. He laid back, striking a relaxed, confident posture. The second lock went, then the third, and the steel door slid open. In strode Sir Daggeuro once more, followed by a human woman and man. The woman smelled of honey and sugar, some sweet perfume he found wonderful.
The male hume, however, smelled of soap and sweat, and the look in his eyes was something that Senta had seen a few times in his life, something he'd always been leery of- madness. He sat up with his back to the wall and made no other move while a third chair was brought in by an elven guard before the door was closed, one lock engaged only.
"Senta, come sit with us," Daggeuro said, he and the humans taking seats. Kathy observed the gotrin's loose, relaxed movements as he got up and sauntered over to the seat across from them at the table. She had worked in group homes for years before going to the Ether Plane and starting her cleaning company. Many of her clients had criminal records, and she'd learned to read the movements and mannerisms of many of these types of men. This man was either very confident of himself, or, more likely, he wanted to project confidence so he could get a feel for her and Byron. This gotrin would lie, give half-truths, or deflect at every turn.
"Sir Daggeuro," Senta said. He laid his hands flat on the table. Kathy had seen this move. It meant the gotrin was feeling defensive, but didn't want to fold his arms over his chest, because that would be a dead giveaway.
"Senta, this gentleman is Byron Torg," Daggeuro said. "The lady is Kathy Potts. Kathy?" Daggeuro pulled one of Senta's daggers from his belt and set it on the table. "Would you be so kind?" Kathy hadn't known he was going to do this, but she scooped it up to go with the flow, instantly scrying the blade. Or rather, she tried to, and was struck with a blaring horn like God's Trumpet of Judgment blasting in her ears. She dropped the knife and grabbed her head, which still vibrated for a moment. Senta just scoffed.
"So, she can scry, eh? Not my weapons, she can't. I'm no fool." Kathy shot Daggeuro a look, and he grimaced. He didn't know, Kathy thought. She shook her head and regained her composure. "A simple treatment with fish oil renders them unreadable."
"That's very clever," Kathy said. "I imagine you're like that, though. Clever."
"I've been called worse."
"Such as," she asked, leading him on.
"Murderer, killer, scumbag, hitman, vermin, take your pick." Kathy reached out and put her hand on one of his, and Senta remained still, but not without a flinch in his cheek and shoulder. She caught it, but just rubbed his furry hand.
"And I'm willing to bet you've learned to brush all of that off," she said.
"Of course. I'm a professional," Senta said. Byron rubbed at his cheek, clearly impatient.
"Are you here to hunt down the Awakened," Byron snapped, slapping his hand on the table.
"Yes and no," Senta said, pulling his hands into his lap. Kathy tapped Daggeuro on the leg and eyeballed Byron. Daggeuro in turn tapped Byron on the leg, but he swatted at the kennin's hand, rolling his head on his neck. Kathy had worried about this when she saw how the room was arranged. It reminds him of that other world, where he was held captive. He's going to bug out.
Byron drew out a card from his deck, tossing it at the wall behind Senta. It flashed on contact, drawing all eyes to it. What appeared in the wall was a swirling crimson vortex with a bulging black eye, red lines of power crackling throughout, and teeth gnashing along the edges of the vortex portal. Byron had Senta by the leathers and was pressing him back towards that hellish portal before anybody could react, howling at the gotrin assassin.
"Who are you here to kill, motherfucker," he shrieked, pushing the gotrin back until he was two feet away from the clamping teeth of the portal, the black eye swirling at him. "Who?"
"L-Leroy Ferter," Senta yelped. "The Awakened human Leroy Ferter, and no one else!" Byron tossed him aside and stomped over to the door, snapping his fingers. The portal winked out of existence with a flash of golden light, turning once more into a yellow card. Kathy came around the table as Senta sat crouched on the floor, eyes wide with leftover terror. She looked over at the card and read it moments before it crumbled to ashes and fell apart. What she saw on it burned into her memory in that instant. She would think on it for some time to come.
For the moment, she helped Senta up into his chair as Daggeuro and a guard let Byron out of the Red Room. She went over to the kennin as the door was closing, catching a glimpse of Byron as he stood with his hands braced on his knees, breathing in ragged gasps. Daggeuro mumbled at her, "What the hell was that all about?"
"I'll tell you later. No prison-like rooms for him, no jail cells. You'll understand after I explain." He gave her a thumb's up, and they returned to Senta, who felt and looked spent well beyond his young years. He had seen and done many dark, dismal deeds over the years, taken many lives as an assassin, but nothing he'd seen or done had ever brought him teetering so close to the mouth of madness. That human had carried him to the edge, shown him the jagged teeth, and let him catch a whiff of its breath.
His defenses were gone. If it meant these two would keep him away, Senta would cooperate, and his employer be damned.
Kathy and Daggeuro came out of the Red Room twenty minutes later, whereupon the kennin High Knight ordered four Royal Guard to move the assassin to the south Watch station. He would be held there until The Chained One was dealt with, upon which time he would be released.
"He'll escape that lockup, you know," Kathy said as the Guard members got moving.
"I know. And my men will help him do so. Trackers will see him off until he leaves Amermidst. Trust me, he isn't coming back."
"Miss Kathy," another Royal Guard said, approaching as they exited the barracks. The elven man saluted briskly. "Mr. Byron wished to offer his apologies. He also said he needs time to clear his head, and that he'll meet you for dinner this evening at Bosto's on Kersich Street at seven." Kathy thanked him, and followed Daggeuro away.
"That brings me back around to asking what the hell happened in there," Daggeuro said.
"He had a flashback." She opened her backpack and pulled out the file Selena had given her, handing it to Daggeuro. He scanned through it, finishing as they left the inner court, reentering the city proper. He handed it back.
"Had I known, I never would have brought him in with us. Still, it was effective. What did the card say that he used?" Kathy winced; she'd been hoping to avoid telling him. "Well?"
"'What I See'", she said. "The card just said 'What I See'. So that thing we saw on the wall, Dag? He already saw it, as if it were real." There was an awkward pause as they walked along slowly, avoiding other foot traffic and wagons.
"He's ill," Daggeuro finally said somberly. "Mayhap we should send him back to Mortal Plane."
"No," Kathy said vehemently. "He doesn't have anyone there but an ex-wife who hates his guts and two kids who barely talk to him. His brothers don't talk to him, and his parents disowned him for moving away from his kids for work. He doesn't need to go back to that right now."
"Well we can't very well fix him," Daggeuro snapped.
"He doesn't need to be fixed, Dag! He's a person, not an appliance!" She squared off with him in the street, oblivious of the stares of onlookers. "And besides, he did what you couldn't back there," she spat, jabbing a finger back the way they'd come.
"He did, yes. That doesn't change the fact that he's a madman. Perhaps if you weren't sleeping with him," he said, and would have added more, but Kathy's hand shot out so quickly that he didn't have time to say anything. The sharp 'CLAP' of her palm on his snout echoed throughout the intersection they'd entered, and his head remained to one side, eyes blank with shock. By the time he turned his head, she was gone, running down the street with eyes blinded by tears. He watched her go, sagging where he stood. "Kathy."