Weeks had gone by since the hydra Ak Mutulu attacked Demongate, and things were slowly turning back to a state of relative peace and quiet. Vlad's Vultures were once again occupying their spare time with card games and hooch. Kadol avoided any such distractions in favor of training to fight with shield and sword both in his one remaining hand. It demanded awkward movement at first, but by the time he was used to it he was sparring with the best of them and giving them a run for their money.
Thane's squaddies still showed up at the barracks every once in a while for basic drills, though Thane's own attendance record during these drills was less than stellar. When she did show up, she was, in Vlad's own professional opinion, halfway to passed-out drunk. She paid little attention to instructions and outright refused to spar. The Knights, meanwhile, trained for upwards of eight hours a day, stopping only to eat or to study with Brenzen or Tarmid, when the scribe was available.
In the hours before dawn, as most dwarves slept, a scout rang the alarm. Goblins had been spotted in the fields, hiding in the tall grasses, perfectly concealed until a wandering horse bumped into the group and ran off terrified. The goblins rose then, giving chase to the horse. The wild stallion had inadvertently bought time for Demongate's armed forces to scramble out of bed and form up. By the time the goblins had turned their attention to the barracks entrance, Brenzen's knights had formed up, along with most of the Vultures. Vlad himself was curiously absent.
The goblins approached the trap funnel. A first volley from the towers injured many, and the traps outright slew half of them. The Knights and Vultures moved in to mop up the injured. The entire goblin squad died before they could even swing their weapons.
Another alarm. Another squad of goblins, spotted by the hills. An overeager Vulture sprinted toward them, a foolish action that would have provoked disciplinary measures from Vlad if he had seen it. The remaining soldiers called him back, but he acted deaf. They saw no choice but to go after him and try to keep the glory-seeking idiot alive.
The marksdwarves moved to the other tower. Tarmid had comissioned a second tower across from the first, to ensure that covering fire could come from either direction. They managed to get into position and fire after the infantry had engaged the goblins. Though many of them carried iron swords, they were unable to cut through the finely-shaped bismuth bronze armor of Demongate's forces. The enemy fell under a hail of blows and bolts, the dwarves escaping the skirmish with nothing more than a few nicks and bruises.
They headed back inside to resume their rest. Only to be disturbed again, at the crack of dawn, by yet another alarm.
The humans had come to trade. And with them came another ambush. Vlad's grumpy Vultures made for their weapons and prepared to march out. Brenzen's Knights were already in armor. Kadol was beginning to suspect they slept in it.
Three of the goblin spearmen were down by the time the dwarves arrived, though one of the human caravan guards had a gaping hole in his leg for his troubles. Joining forces, the dwarves and humans routed the enemy in moments, then stayed around until the wagons had made it to the depot. The longshanks saluted, then followed their charges inside. The bridge closed behind them minutes afterwards, and Demongate's soldiers headed back inside, ready to take wagers on how many merchants the Fractal Dwarf would manage to confuse before closing the deal.
It was later that day that a hunter found the body. A dwarf who had called himself Captain, slain the previous night during a hunting trip, chest caved inwards, three limbs broken. Nearby, a goblin lay in the grass, lifeless, a bolt jutting from her throat.
Dantheman was in Tarmid's office, asking for materials for some spell of his again. Tarmid listened to every word, his expression carefully neutral the whole time. When the hunter was finished, Tarmid rose from his seat, walked in front of him. His normally soft cobalt eyes hardened into knives, though his face remained impassive.
"Listen here, Dan," the scribe said in an even tone, "I thought I made it clear last time that your talk of magic is not welcome here. Regardless of how 'harmless' it may or may not be, I must remind you - again - that magic, or thaumaturgy, is illegal throughout the dwarven realms -" pause for effect- "And punishable by death.
"Now, regardless of my opinion on the subject, I am a Scribe of St. Zane, sworn to, among numerous other things, to uphold the law. This includes reporting any crimes I witness, or mandating the arrest myself if it is in my power to do so. Do you understand what I'm getting at here?"
Tarmid sighed, sensing incomprehension. Dantheman was no idiot, but he wasn't the most attentive of dwarves either. The hunter would be more discreet if he understood the consequences of his babbling.
"I'll be blunt then." Tarmid put on a deep scowl, shifted to a booming voice of command. "If you ever mention your magic again, or try to 'procure materials', or act suspicious on my watch again-" another pause for effect- "I am placing you under arrest for conspiracy and suspicion of thaumaturgy. Which, if you are indeed innocent of, you will not mention again. Do I make myself clear?"
Dantheman seemed to shrink before the scribe, though Tarmid could tell this dwarf was thinking of ways to continue whatever he did in secret. Perhaps even a bit of spite towards Tarmid. "Look, this is not personal. But it will be necessary if you keep this up. Your behavior upsets the other dwarves. If I have to fling you in a cell to keep them from forming an angry mob to hunt you down, so be it."
Once that matter was settled, The scribe escorted Dantheman outside and returned to his desk. He was making progress with the Steelhold documents, though no mention of a Joyce yet. The vampire situation was moving forward as well, though not as quick as he would like. Tarmid decided to take a short break to sate his curiosity on the matter of St. Rhaken's bridge defense system. He retrieved his copy of Recovered Correspondence of Steelhold from its shelf, set it down on his desk. Before he could begin to read, another knock on his office door.
An overseer's work is never done.
"Who is it?"
"It's Gnora," said the farm-girl through the door. She sounded nervous. "Can I come in?"
"Certainly, Gnora. One moment."
Tarmid opened the door. Gnora had a bucket in hand. The powerful odor of lye entered his nostrils. Before he could motion her inside, Gnora pulled the bucket back.
Tarmid slammed the door in her face.
A yelp of pain, followed by the bucket crashing to the stone floor. Tarmid opened the door again to find Gnora sitting on her rear, a puddle of lye beside her on the floor. Luckily, none of it had touched her skin directly. Her clothes would be ruined though.
Tarmid sighed, pulled the farmgirl to her feet. "Gnora. What in Armok's name are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, Tarmid," she said, groggy and almost sobbing. "But Joyce said you were going to destroy the farm-"
"And you believed him?"
"H-he said I had to stop you, throw lye in your face to keep you from doing it..."
The scribe frowned, pulled her into his office. He sat her down on the same chair where Dantheman had sat minutes before, preparing to scold her like one of his students. "Gnora, think for a second. Why in the world would I want to destroy our source of food and drink?"
"But..." She was tearing up. Tarmid had seen many students do the same when caught red-handed. Unlike his students, however, Gnora wasn't faking it for sympathy.
"But?"
"But Joyce said you lied to me. And that you tortured that vampire that got arrested."
Tarmid sighed again. "Very well. First of all, I suggest you get out of those clothes before the lye gets to your skin." He moved to an armor stand in the corner of the office, took out a spare, midnight-blue robe with well-worn elbows and handed it to Gnora. He turned around out of respect, but between her and the door, and out of arm's reach. If she tried anything, she would be the first to see Tarmid's knife training in action. Though he suspected that Gnora wouldn't try anything stupid at this point.
Once she was dressed in a robe one size too large for her, Tarmid resumed the conversation.
"First of all, I did not lie to you. I have no reason whatsoever to destroy the farms, and I am frankly shocked you would suggest that. It makes no sense, and you know me better than that. The fact that you would go through with this at the request of some foreign noble baffles me. Don't you find it at least a little odd that Joyce would ask for this out of nowhere?"
Gnora seemed to have recovered her lucidity, and she listened to Tarmid's every word before replying.
"Well, he does act a little strange sometimes. He was writing something or other about the broker when I went to see him. But I think he means well."
"He means well in trying to harm the dwarf who is currently overseeing Demongate?"
Gnora's shoulders slumped.
"Look, Gnora," Tarmid said, gently patting her arm, "I know you only want what's best for everyone. But doing what is right is thinking about your every action. Did Joyce offer any conclusive proof that I deserve a bucketful of lye in the face?"
"No," she answered, shrinking inwards.
"Did you find any such proof yourself?"
"No."
"Then why did you do what he said?"
"I don't know," she said, apologetic.
Tarmid sighed. "See the problem here?"
"I'm sorry, Tarmid," Gnora muttered.
"Apology accepted. Now, help me clean up the lye."
Sometime later, when the puddle of lye was vanquished from the corridor, Gnora turned to Tarmid, a questing look on her face.
"Did you really torture that vampire?"
Tarmid sensed a trap, but took the bait anyway. Maybe this was an opportunity to make Gnora understand.
"Yes."
She gasped in surprise, retreated a step away, as if Tarmid was unclean. "Why would you do that? I thought you were a good person!"
"That is not for me to decide," Tarmid answered, not exactly eager to debate morality with her. "You pose a good question though. Why do you think I did it?"
Gnora paused to think. "You hate vampires," she offered.
"Incorrect. I don't exactly like them, but I have no irrational urge to see them all dead."
Gnora hummed in assent, went back to her mental drawing board. "Your higher-ups ordered you to do it?"
"Close, but not quite," Tarmid stated. "I have orders to capture and interrogate, but not necessarily torture."
"Then why did you do it?" Gnora grimaced.
"Think about what I said before. About considering your every action." Tarmid used his practiced professor's voice, as if explaining to a struggling student. "What reason could I have for considering torture the best course of action?"
Gnora took a minute to run the options through her head. Many scenarios came to mind, though some were too outlandish to consider. Then, just like that, she had the answer. Any sense of accomplishment at being correct vanished before she could enjoy it. Her gaze turned to the floor.
"Because a creature that is centuries old will lie about anything if it doesn't somehow feel threatened."
Tarmid gave her a sad smile. "I'm afraid you are correct, Gnora."
Hours later, eyes beginning to sting, Tarmid turned yet another page in the book of correspondence. It was an ancient copy, made years before the invention of back indexing, so the scribe had to dig through the letters manually. He let out the occasional mumble and grumble about nobles and their ludicrous gossiping about a fortress half a continent away.
At long last, he found the one he was looking for. A letter addressed to nobody in particular, describing the architecture and defensive systems of Steelhold in the year 260 Old Era. It did indeed mention trapped archways over the entrance, which a previous letter from a different nobleman had mentioned some three or four years earlier, which coincided with St. Rhaken's supposed stewardship of the ancient fortress.
Satisfied, he moved to close the book, but something caught his eye. At the bottom of the page was the name of the letter's writer. It made Tarmid's blood turn to ice in his veins.
James Joyce, Esq.
Author
Topic: Demongate: Wrapping up the Loose Ends. (Read 696681 times)