Nyx and Delvin join the barbarian and squint at the bizarre swirls on the page, their eyes throbbing after a few seconds. Blinking away the discomfort, the champions swear the paper is blank until their vision refocuses. Timoran flips through the collection in the hopes of finding a familiar word, but nothing is recognizable. The trio split up to grab random documents from other shelves and return to compare the various marks. None of the words match, which makes the champions wonder how anyone could make sense of the archives. Stuffing the documents into the nearest opening, the champions go to where Luke is still sleeping. Without chairs, they can only lean against the table and surrounding bookcases, all of which give an inch beneath even such a gentle amount of force.
Only the sound of Fizzle darting among the higher shelves can be heard, the drite repeatedly hissing at the dust vermin that pounce on him. A crash can be heard as he crashes into a bookcase, which slams against the far wall with a creaking impact. Several documents drift across the chamber, but the small dragon doubts any of the clerks will notice the change. Fizzle soars to the ceiling where he can see his friends have stopped their search, so he dives to softly land on the table. He sniffs at the half-elf and licks at a few crumbs of food, which makes the drite shudder and yawn.
“Fizzle no like mayor,” he declares while sitting on his slumbering friend’s chest. His tail taps on Luke’s forehead, but there is no reaction to the prodding. “Not mean kill us. Want us out of way. Fizzle think Dariana in trouble. Also not sure what map look like. Think plan not working well.”
“Well storming the upper floors would make things worse,” Delvin says before Nyx can make the suggestion. The warrior grabs a random document and runs his fingers along the old lettering, some of the ink smearing against his skin. “I’m thinking Dariana is more than Pazel bargained for, but she can contact us if trouble starts. I’ll start worrying when we get to the inn that our slimy host is sending us to and she’s not there like he promised. The mess still leaves us here in the most disorganized archives in the history of Windemere. How can anybody find or read anything?”
“There has to be some system here,” Nyx claims, slapping her hands on the table. A splinter pierces her palm and she burns it off while cursing in Orcish. “What if nobody uses the archives anymore? Look at all the dust vermin, mushrooms, mildew, and destruction. Nobody spends any time here or seems to care about the documents. For all we know, one of the previous mayors decided to abandon this place. That would explain a lot.”
“Map still be here then,” Fizzle claims with a whimper. Spotting a solitary apple on the distant cart, the drite zips over to the fruit and brings it back to his perch. “Old stuff not touched. Old stuff not make sense. Code on documents. Need make sense of scribbles. Friends think Dariana write same?”
“I considered that, but it means we would have to check every scrap of paper,” Timoran says with a groan. The barbarian pats the head of his tiger-striped great axe, the weapon helping him remain calm. “Dariana may have used the local code to hide her document from nosey clerks and thieves. They would think it is supposed to be here and not realize its importance, but that still carries a high risk. No matter what a thorough search will waste precious time. There has to be a way to make this easier. I know it is not like me to request this, but maybe Nyx or Fizzle can use a spell to locate the map.”
“There’s enough magic in here!” Sari shouts from somewhere in the chamber. The gypsy sends up a spire of light that shows the archives are bigger than the champions realized. “I have something to show you guys! So come over here because I don’t want to yell. Leave the hero to his nap and we’ll explain it to him later.”
The other champions make their way through the rows of bookcases, momentarily getting lost when the floating lights flicker. Disturbed by the jogging adventurers, dust vermin scamper out of their path and lurk in the shadows. It is in a barely lit corner that they find Sari sitting on the floor with her skirts spread around her. The gypsy is flanked by several piles of documents that she lazily takes random pieces out of and moves around the groupings. A gathering of dust vermin are playing by her bare feet, the tiny creatures nipping at her toes. Their pin-like teeth never break Sari’s unbreakable skin, but they continue trying. When the others arrive, the small animals disappear and the emerald-eyed woman slips her boots back on.
With an impish smirk, Sari hands a piece of paper to each of her friends and stands in front of Nyx. They are unable to make any sense of the unreadable scrawls, which makes the gypsy giggle and spin on her toes. Holding her page up with one hand, the blue-haired champion leans forward to give an enchanted kiss to her childhood friend. Being used to Sari’s method of delivering spells, Nyx does not shy away and shivers as her eyelids blink out of sync. The others are given a similar treatment, but the gypsy kisses Delvin on the cheek. Patiently waiting for Timoran’s permission, she lets him lift her off the ground to plant a small peck on the tall man’s nose.
“What did you do?” Nyx asks as the words vanish from the paper in her hand. Crouching among the piles, the channeler realizes that all of the documents are blank. “Oh for the love of Gola, everything here is fake. Should have known a gnome laced this placed with layers of illusions. This is probably nothing more than an abandoned basement.”
“No, it’s the original archive location, but someone cleared it out,” Sari explains while leading the way back to where Luke is sleeping. Pushing the half-elf to the side, she takes a seat on the shaky piece of furniture. “Doubt the current mayor knows about the specifics, but he is aware that there is no reason to put new files down here. There’s a chance that it has always been like this and Dariana’s map is the only real thing down here. Means we look for the only piece of paper with writing on it.”
“Fizzle check fast,” the drite declares before disappearing in a puff of rainbow smoke. The lights are whipped around the room as the dragon soars through the shelves in search of the elusive map. He returns fifteen minutes later to settle on Timoran’s shoulder and sport a fat-lipped pout. “Fizzle no luck. All blank.”
“Let’s call it a night and go to the tavern,” Delvin says while putting his arm around Nyx’s waist. He considers taking some of the remaining food, but he cannot bring himself to trust the meal. “Pick up our snoring friend, Sir Wrath, and we’ll be on our way. Be nice to get some food that hasn’t been poisoned.”
“Too cold!” Luke hisses as he sits up and knocks Sari off the table. His eyes are reptilian and a forked tongue slithers out of his mouth. “There’s a small draft and something is moving in the walls. It was there for a moment and now it’s gone.”
Urged by the snake fiend’s excitement, Luke leaps to the floor and remains on all fours while he crawls toward the back wall. His spine bends unnaturally whenever he moves around an obstacle, his attention locked on a faint draft. With the cold blood of Pike running through his veins, the breeze feels like an icy blast that makes him shivers. When he is about to collapse from the cold, a layer of golden fur ripples down his body to help keep him warm. Revived by being in the strange chimera form, Luke follows the trail to a blank piece of wall. A dog-like muzzle sprouts from the warrior’s face as he sniffs at the exposed bricks. Picking up the trace of a scent that he knows should not be there, the bizarre-looking champion sticks his long tongue into a crevice. A switch clicks before the floor beneath Luke falls away and he flails wildly to grab the edge of the shaft. No longer needing the spirits’ abilities, the forest tracker turns back into a half-elf and accepts the slender hand that is offered to him.
“Do we give you a treat for this?” Nyx asks as she helps Luke out of the hole. The trapdoor quietly swings shut and sends a gust of cool air into the room. “If this was any other city, I’d be suspicious. In Rodillen, I’d be more worried about a room that didn’t have a secret passage leading into a shadowy underworld. Who’s going in first?”
Delvin helps the channeler to her feet and tenderly guides her toward the stairs. “We’
re going to the tavern and getting a hot meal. Nobody is plunging into mysterious passages until we talk to Dariana. More importantly, I want to get some food. Last thing I want is to get into trouble on an empty stomach.”
“You’re no fun,” Sari mutters as she trails behind the others. Glancing over her shoulder, she watches the dust vermin crawl out of their hiding places. The tiny creatures gather in the center of the archives, their eyeless bodies bouncing in place. “Then again, this place is starting to make me feel uncomfortable. First one up the stairs is the bride of an ogre.”
*****
Dariana stretches her legs as she relaxes in the large chair, a crackling fire keeping her bare feet warm. With winter slowly absorbing autumn, there is a chill in the air that seeps into the stone floor. Window shutters are on the inside of the building to avoid them being tampered with or damaged, but the design does nothing to keep the room warm. For his part, Pazel has repeatedly apologized and done his best to jam fancy napkins into the creases. Dariana assumes that previous mayors have made their home somewhere else since living on the top floor of City Hall would result in getting sick during the cold months. Yet the gnome has sworn that he sleeps in the canopied bed and demonstrated that the kitchen is fully stocked. She has noticed that every decoration depicts a different holy symbol, so Pazel must be able to call on a healer at the first sign of disease. Dariana’s eyes fall on a pair of wooden statues, one of Ehre the Loyalty God and the other of Verrat the Betrayal Goddess. This puts the telepath on edge because her experience tells her that those who follow opposing gods have a tendency to be malicious toward other people.
Her host is busy lecturing one of his servants, who he caught eating a piece of beef that would otherwise be thrown out. The gnome is attempting to whisper while retaining his angry tone, but many of his sharper words reach Dariana’s ears. Not wanting Pazel’s berating to continue, the telepath causes him to suffer from a severe coughing fit. The mayor flails toward a glass of water that the servant immediately hands him, the simple act making it difficult for the lecture to continue. Waving the young man away, Pazel returns to his chair and takes out his pipe to expel more rings that linger around Dariana.
“My apologies, but you have to be stern with people around here. Today it is leftovers and tomorrow it could be my wallet,” the gnome explains, his lips smacking around the end of the pipe. He hops his seat close enough to put his feet on the ottoman where he taps the side of the telepath’s heel. “I hope dinner was to your liking. It is rare that I get to entertain since nobody wishes to visit the man who rules a city of thieves. Don’t let the rumors fool you. The guild does hold a lot of power in Rodillen, but they would be nothing without me. Just a band of greedy vermin who would be left exposed to the laws of Serab. My presence is what keeps them safe from Duke Solomon.”
“I’m sure they think differently,” Dariana replies, unsure if she should agree or speak her mind. Slipping the clear ring off her finger, she is struck by a wave of sickening desire. Before she loses her composure, the champion jams the jewelry back in place with enough force to cut her knuckle. “You possess a high level of envy. One could easily assume that you wish to have all of the power and credit. It is rare that people outside of Rodillen even know there is a mayor since everyone speaks about the guild. Your predecessors accepted this fate, but you rail against it. My apologies for not fawning over you or playing along. Such things are difficult for me and some of my friends have become terrible influences on my manners.”
“On the contrary, I agree with you and appreciate the honesty,” Pazel happily admits. A nearby crash causes him to peer around his chair, the source of the noise outside the range of his furious stare. “The truth is that every mayor has been a pawn for the thieves to move around the board. There was never any respect for this position until I came into power. Coming from the streets, I know the weak points of the guild and have taken advantage of them. Yet they still refuse to acknowledge my station as anything more than their political shield. Whoever heard of a mayor that lacked even the slightest bit of influence?”
Dariana moves her feet to the edge of the ottoman where the gnome’s short legs cannot reach. “There have been more figurehead leaders in the history of Windemere than you may realize. Many people want power without incurring blame and responsibility for their decisions, which is a difficult way to live. A person must always be prepared to face consequences whether they be good or bad. I think this is why I lack an interest in politics and never truly fit in with my ambitious family.”
“I sense that you don’t trust me.”
“To be honest, I trust very few people.”
“Even though you can read their minds?”
“I try not to invade a person’s thoughts unless it is necessary.”
“Have you done so to me?”
“Should I have?”
A crooked smirk is on Pazel’s face as he puts his pipe away and wanders to a nearby statue of Voran the Gnome God. The metal decoration is covered in a layer of tarnish, which helps the bronze crown stand out. Removing the twisted circlet, the mayor puts it on his head and sucks in a breath at the sensation of needles piercing his skin. Taking a handkerchief from his inner pocket, Pazel wipes away the trickles of blood before they can touch his expensive suit. He taps at the crown as if adjusting the artifact, which remains silent and immovable. After a minute of tinkering, an ivory orb emerges from the octagonal headpiece and moves like a compass that is desperately searching for magnetic north. Whistling a happy tune, Pazel heads back to his chair and refills his pipe for another bout of smoking.
The moment Dariana attempts to use her telepathy, the orb in her host’s crown stops spinning and fires a thin beam of energy. The invasive magic bores into the woman’s brain and causes her a second of agony that is replaced by a disorienting numbness. A low hum emerges from her chair, which shines with a potent paralysis spell. Unable to stand or look away from the gnome, Dariana can only grind her teeth and block the crown from burrowing too far into her mind. She is thankful that whatever Pazel is doing has nothing to do with stealing her memories, his attack eventually slipping into her aura. Once the invisible drill stops, she can hear his voice whispering in her skull and feels her nose bleed. The telepath takes some joy from seeing the same thing happen to the mayor, the man feverishly adjusting the crown to avoid a deadly backlash. Curious about his intentions, Dariana eases her powers back and lets Pazel access enough to make him believe he has it all.
“I was wondering what you were planning, but I did not expect this,” the champion states, doing her best to sound distressed. A spark of worry grows in her chest when she feels the crown push against her hastily erected barriers. “The chair repeats its spell at the slightest physical movement while that artifact bores deeper whenever I use my powers. A very effective combination, but I don’t see what containing me will accomplish. You have to release me for food and water at some point.”
“Your new throne also keeps your body nourished and alive,” Pazel points out while peering into the minds of his servants. Sensing that one of them is about to pocket two silver-plated spoons, he callously turns the old man’s brain off. “Did you feel what I just did? I assume you did considering the look of horror on your face. This crown grants me your powers, which I will use to force the guild to obey me. I love that you can easily reach out and erase a mind as easy as snuffing out a candle. It probably helps that all negative effects go to you such as psychic rebounds and any enemies who attempt to track the threat.”
“This is how a beggar became mayor. You’ve trapped those who are smarter and more powerful than you in this chair until you were done with them,” the silver-haired woman says while making another attempt to fight against the paralysis spell. A few fingers twitch against the green leather, which goes unnoticed by the pompous mayor. “Betting you have your servants sworn to secrecy or even magically bonded. That way the guild remains in the dark about the threat that you pose to them. Sp
eaking of danger, what will you do when my friends return? I should warn you that my powers are not very effective against them. Something Gabriel did to me in case I turned against the other champions.”
“That does pose a problem if you’re telling the truth,” the mayor admits, scratching his red nose. Pushing against Dariana’s mind, he finds nothing to prove that she is lying. “It doesn’t matter. They will return in the morning and go back to the archives. A fruitless endeavor since that place was cleaned out years ago by the guild. They don’t think I know about it, but I believe the rumors. Another act to undermine the real authority of Rodillen. Now, I don’t want your friends to free you before I’m done with my plans. They might even side with my enemies, which would be a headache. Perhaps a few surprises will be waiting for them. I’m very curious to see what I can do with your abilities.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t give you any advice.”
“My dear, I’ve already gotten everything I want from you. As far as I’m concerned, you are nothing more than an energy source.”
To Pazel’s surprise, his captive manages to get comfortable in the chair and stiffly puts her feet on the ottoman. He nervously watches Dariana for signs that she is about to break free and attack, but all she does is yawn. Not wanting to be near the telepath any longer, the gnome hurries to the nearest door and hits a button to create a glistening chamber of energy around the champion. Crackles of lightning dance across the elongated dome, which is strong enough to render a troll unconscious for an hour. The added barrier helps Pazel relax even though the woman’s white eyes continue to stare at him even after he is out of sight.
“Such a silly mortal,” Dariana whispers as the candles die and she lifts her arm with relative ease. “In the words of one of my friends, this is going to be fun.”
The Spirit Well Page 6
