The inner sanctum of the Doranil Star, (the soul of the vessel when soaring in the air), remained empty while the ship crested the waves of the ocean. The clerics weren’t always present in the religious center of the divine chariot, especially when resting for the next flight. The ship had sailed within distant sight of the Wilder continent, named appropriately due to the lack of large cities but an abundance of more primitive civilizations. Few traveled to this continent, due to the unknown dangers and lack of outposts for trade. Tonight’s schedule featured a flight well above the forested canopy of this strange land. The crust of Orlaun society would feast as they overlooked this strange place, as well as enjoy a spell show put on by the hosting wizard guild. For now, however, the inner sanctum stood deserted as the divine chariot floated on the tides.
The chamber’s entrances were closed and guarded. Pairs of sentries employed by the Brotherhood of the Circles guarded both doors, fore and aft. These men expected little trouble. Though well-trained and given an important position, they did not seriously expect much mischief to go on during the journey. They gave only a brief notice as another richly dressed couple strode down the hall, especially after they saw the emblem of the mage guild on the middle-aged gentleman escorting the lady. No one besides the guards and this couple were in the hall, but then again it wasn’t a busy area as far as the nobles were concerned. The closed and guarded doors certainly didn’t offer any entertainment, yet now and then people still walked this way to avoid the busier passages.
“This is where they keep the ship aloft…by prayer alone?” The human woman asked of her escort. The guards watched her out of the corners of eyes dulled by their unenviable chore. The woman had a long face, long brown hair braided and tied in a bun at the top of her head, and an ample bust line and hips. “Will they let others take a peek?”
“I’m afraid they won’t.” The handsome mage answered. Thick, dark hair was peppered with gray at the sides, with the colors extending to his thin mustache and small, pointed goatee. Dark eyes were almost hidden under bushy dark eyebrows. He grinned to his lady as he spoke. “This is hallowed ground, but we should be honored to get this close. It is an amazing vessel!”
The couple stopped near the guards, as the lady paused to plant a small kiss on the cheek of her escort. The gentleman had one arm around her back as they leaned close. When they broke apart, resuming their walk, a small scarf drifted to the deck. The guards noticed it, but apparently the woman proceeded unaware of her loss.
One of the guards stooped over to pick it up. “Excuse me, milady…”
With alarming speed the woman whirled around towards the guard’s voice. Bending over as he was to retrieve the scarf, he was now within Kemora’s reach. The human image, created by the mask she wore, disguised her true height and identity. The domid rogue roped a loop of her bolo over the top of his neck, even as her other hand shoved a piece of cloth over his open mouth.
The second guard barely registered the action when the mage escort turned towards him with piercing, insistent eyes. Jentan Mollamos stared into the sentry as he spoke some words. The only ones the guard could make out were: “Stop and hold silent, and you may hear it.”
The second guard was momentarily distracted by the mentalist’s magical suggestion. He went rigid and still as his ears strained to listen for whatever it was he might hear. This left him more susceptible to Jentan’s next spell. The mage whispered the words of illusion to weave a false situation in the memory of the guard. Off to the side, he heard muffled protests as the first guard tried to back away from the woman. The sound of the struggle seemed detached and distant.
The first guard instinctively tried to raise his head as the cloth covered his mouth and nose. The loop around his neck would not offer him any leeway. Kemora held on tight, pulling the bolo while forcing the potion-soaked cloth forward. The guard found the whole weight of the halfling hanging onto his neck, though her illusion made it look as if a human woman hung onto him. He fumbled about trying to pull her hands away, but he was already becoming dazed. A smell that simulated strong alcohol overcame the man, making him clumsy.
The guard’s eyes became drowsy, while his voice lowered to more of a whimper as he lost his strength. He dropped to the floor of the passageway. Confused limbs slowly jerked about without coordination or clear direction. The domid rogue held the cloth tightly against the man’s face until the scent of the potion had pushed him past consciousness.
Jentan Mollamos convinced the other guard of his companion’s drunkenness. The descriptive spell painted upon the guard’s mind by the mentalist held him still. “He overindulged, and shouldn’t have even tried to take watch with all that ale in his system.”
The second guard scowled down at the first. Kemora released her bolo from around the unconscious man. Anyone who came close to the downed guard would be able to smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. The standing guard paid little heed to the woman, entranced as he was by Jentan’s messages.
“A shame that such a good man should try to guard such a holy place when he is so drunk he passes out.” The mentalist’s voice altered slightly as he mixed in arcane words with the visual images. It had a musical quality to it. The suggestions turned to realities in the mind of the charmed guard. “In such a state anyone might slip past you both…”
Kemora opened the door to the inner sanctum, slowly and quietly. The rogue glanced in, then nodded to the mage that the chamber was indeed empty. She slipped inside the holy room.
“A good thing nay visitors have been here yet. Not a soul has walked the hall or dared trespass into the inner sanctum. You stood your watch vigilantly and let none pass.” The mentalist watched the man nod in agreement, though the sentry stared off into nowhere. The guard had already forgotten the couple even before Jentan went past and closed the door behind him.
Kemora slipped off the mask, resuming her true halfling appearance. Both rogue and mentalist enjoyed being inside the quiet sanctity of Ganden’s chamber like two wolves inside a sheep pasture. They silently appraised the room, wall sconces, instruments on the wall attached to controls on the helm deck, kneeling cushions and finally the cauldron of holy water set in the center. The cauldron was worth sneaking a closer peek. Jentan and Kemora glanced into the holy water, spotting the submerged holy items that helped provide the conduit for miraculous flight.
Almost as one, they slowly backed away and peered upwards. A chandelier holding incense sticks instead of candles hung directly over the cauldron. One, then the other, glanced between the chandelier, the cauldron, and slowly spun to examine the rest of the chamber.
Jentan indicated the chandelier. “That would be perfect, would it not? The pilots sit in a circle around this point, and it hangs directly over the divine receptacle.”
Kemora rolled her eyes toward her companion. “You mean the pot?”
The mentalist kept his charming grin, but spoke condescendingly as he replied. “If you are referring to the spiritual conduit, that divine receptacle which channels such miraculous intentions of flight into the ability to raise the largest vessel known to the races up to the heavens, and which consists of a religious cauldron inscribed with a god’s favor, containing blessed holy items in the favor of said god…then aye, I’m talking about the ‘pot’ sitting before us.”
Kemora let slip a look of mischievousness as she grinned and batted her eyelashes at the tall human. Jentan had no doubt it was all for show, and that on the inside Kemora always remained deadly serious. The rogue kept a slight smile towards him as she spoke. “I’d parry words with you, but I have to rely on you for the levitation spell to get me up there and carry out the deed. I’d rather not find myself falling back into the pot.”
“Nay swimming in the pool of the gods. The cauldron is too big for you anyways; you’d never be able to swim to the side without drowning.”
Kemora returned to her poker face after the mentalist’s witticism regarding her smaller size. The halfling reached into
some pouches at her sides. Her dexterous hands pulled forth a couple items. “Sacred grave dust from DeLaris,” she spoke as she hefted a bag in one hand. “Consecrated by our own sweet Savannah, who seems to hold the lustful attention of a certain lip-wiggling mage.”
Jentan glowered at the halfling’s jovial slandering.
Unconcerned, Kemora held a piece of carved stone in her other hand, “And the scion of Mothrok, Goddess of Earth and Stone.”
The notion of why these objects were present brought amusement back to the mentalist. “Hardly necessary for these items if the surprise has the intended effect. I somewhat hope the pilots do survive the initial incident, so that the effects of these religious items in the holy cauldron of Ganden can be felt and feared before the end comes.”
The rogue looked up at the incense chandelier, “Your levitation spell, please. It’s time for a little sabotage.”
* * * * *
Trestan slowly stirred from his rest. Blankets tangled him on the hard floor. The mantra from the clerics could be felt in a hum from the deck on which he rested. The sound of that mantra and the lack of movement from rocking waves meant they were in flight once again. Judging by the light through the shutters of their cabin, it was getting dark outside. A solitary candle provided some illumination against the coming night. Even as the young paladin looked at the shutters, the candle cast Cat’s shadow against the wall in the act of getting dressed.
Trestan thought of how sad Cat had appeared earlier. The tears rolling down her cheeks and her haunted look made him feel guilty about going along with Korrelothar’s idea. He wondered what horrors she had been forced to relive.
Trestan recalled that the mages of the guild had been planning on a display in the night sky. A magical barrage of fire, light, sound and illusion promised entertainment to everyone on the sun and observation decks as they sailed above the clouds. Korrelothar’s guild intended to impress in every way they could. Trestan and Cat had been looking forward to the show. Trestan rolled over to see if Cat was ready for it…and surprise promptly replaced worry.
Cat dressed for the evening, but not in fanciful attire. The half-elf noticed Trestan stirring, but paid him little attention as she slid into her dark leather adventurer’s outfit. Trestan had become used to seeing her wear a mix of nice dresses during most of the days since the “Embarking”. Katressa relaxed around him, enjoying their time together by dressing the part of his lady. Trestan and Cat had put on their traveling gear for the somber trip to Troutbrook, but after departing Barkan’s Crossing in a ship they started to dress up for each other. Although they brought most of their gear with them on board the Doranil Star, they clothed themselves to mix in with Orlaun’s elite as best they could.
Trestan slowly sat up as he watched Katressa dress as if she anticipated a battle. She buckled or strapped protective pieces into place. Her assortment of daggers, her bracers, and the silver rapier in its scabbard laid spread out on the bed. The tools of her infiltrator profession, a mix of instruments used for picking locks, or possibly disabling or setting traps, sat alongside the blades.
As the young man eyed her possessions, she commented on one that was missing, “I shouldn’t have let Korrelothar talk me out of bringing the crossbow. He said it would look out of place, and it would, but that’s not the point. I should have brought it.”
Trestan’s hand stroked his mustache as he spoke. He made the statement sound like a question. “I didn’t know you planned on going to the spell show dressed that way.”
“I’m not going up to the deck.”
Trestan nodded, then changed the subject as he tried to figure her motivations, “Cat, I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t think we gained anything, and it seemed to bring you such pain…”
She shook her head and waved off his words before he could finish. “You have nay idea, but I’m not asking for or needing comfort. If anything, my vision taught me a few things.”
“Like?”
Cat rounded on him, her emerald eyes staring into his soul. Trestan met her stare with compassion in his eyes. He didn’t see any anger in her look, but there was a stubborn seriousness in her eyes that could not be ignored.
Cat’s voice sounded low but firm. “We have a duty, Trestan. This is your quest, and much more is at stake than the villagers butchered at your home…and the elves at my home.”
Trestan’s brow puzzled a moment at her amendment. “First of all, Cat, remember to whom you are speaking. You sound like you are pointing some accusation or insinuating neglect at me, and for what I have nay idea. What is wrong, faunlessa?”
Cat began to realize how stressed she had been, and how rudely she was treating her beloved. The adventuress closed her eyes and made an effort to relax. Trestan, wearing only his pants from earlier in the day and the coraross necklace, finally got to his feet and stood with her beside the bed.
“I dreamed for so long of having you to myself when you were finished at the seminary.” Cat confided. “Since then we have journeyed to Orlaun, stayed at many fine places along the way, and I was able to show you new foods. We got to share cabins and massage all the worries from our bodies under warm candles. Then, of all things, we get to go on an unexpected journey to the clouds. This should be the time of our lives.
“But then I saw the horrors from my own home city long ago, and realized how it ties in with the relics we endeavor to protect.”
She held out her hands for Trestan to take in his own, which he did. “Tres, we are here to protect them aren’t we? We set out from Troutbrook to warn Korrelothar’s guild about a possible theft, and we succeeded. Now what? As much as I want to enjoy the time here, I realized that the relics are our duty, our priority.”
Trestan looked down at his hands. Cat’s fingers glided across his ring as she spoke. Trestan stared at the symbols still present on Faithful’s Companion, and the significance was not lost on Cat.
He spoke, “Aye, my love. This is my chosen quest, and I have been neglecting the stones to indulge in the moment. I don’t believe we can offer the relics more security than Korrelothar’s guild, and yet we have been totally ignoring our charge. We only went down to look at the relics once since coming on board.”
Trestan broke away from her grip slowly, only to retrieve his own belongings. Cat smiled as Trestan began to lay out his armor next to her equipment on the bed. The squire of Abriana pulled forth Sword of the Spirit from its scabbard as if to check for rust, though the blade would never tarnish. The magical elvish edge gleamed as bright as ever. He replaced it in the scabbard.
“Are we just going to stand around and guard the relics while everyone else enjoys the show on deck?” Trestan asked. “Not that I’m complaining, I was curious if you had something in mind.”
“I do,” she replied, reaching into a pouch.
“The memories also reminded me of this…it was my father’s.”
The half-elf woman produced a small block of stone from the pouch. It had several runes and elvish letters carved into it. Trestan took it in his hands when she showed it to him, though of course the jumble of carvings was foreign to him. He handed it back to her.
Cat explained, “I have carried that around for years. First I did so because I remembered my father was its guardian. He kept it hidden away for some unknown reason, but I found it in the remnants of my home. I became its guardian. The years went by and I had nay idea what it was, yet I still couldn’t part with it since it was my father’s.”
Trestan waited for Cat to go on, but she stared distractedly at the surface of the block. “And?”
Cat slyly smiled up at him. “I think I know what it is now.”
Her smile proved infectious, though Trestan had no idea why the rune block came into the conversation.
The half-elf grinned mysteriously over her hidden secret. Finally she acquiesced and told him. “The leather skin wrapped around one of the relics…I never took a good look at it until today. My father’s name is on that document, a
nd my memories revealed that the third relic must have been stolen from my city. You read the inscription by that exhibit even as I got my first real glance at the scroll. The top portion of it had elvish lettering jumbled into some kind of code the mage guild couldn’t break.”
She held up the rune block, beaming with pride. “I believe this is the key to the code. We can go see what the rest of the scroll says.”
Trestan gave Cat such a ferocious hug that he lifted her off her feet. The two of them began kissing and hugging as if both had already won some major victory. “The faster we get there, the faster we find out how much this can help us,” Cat playfully scolded him.
Katressa and Trestan went about donning their adventure gear. The young squire equipped all of his armor, and even grabbed a pack of miscellaneous belongings of things that might prove useful. Katressa slid all her daggers into various hiding places. Her silver rapier, with the pommel shaped like the head of a hunting cat, hung by her side. Trestan said a brief prayer as he slung the baldric containing his sword over his back. The young warrior grabbed the warhammer fashioned into the shape of a minotaur’s head and tucked it through a ring on his belt. He even reached for his helm since hers lay nearby as well. The Taef’ Adorina was tucked away in her pack, which she also planned on grabbing.
Trestan paused when Cat strapped on her bracers. Once again he took note of the oddity of her left bracer, a bulge on top of it concealed by a sizable piece of cloth. “When are you going to tell me what trick you have hidden in that bracer?”
Katressa turned her back to him. “You may have to find a way to pleasantly torture it out of me.”
* * * * *
Others found themselves missing out on the mages’ promised spell show. One of them was Montanya, an uninvited guest that knew nothing of the schedule of entertainment. The woman was saddened and alone in a dim room, but she abated any weak feelings with thoughts tinged of resentment. She always found it easier to deal with problems behind a veil of anger. The nineteen-year-old student of chiaso was no closer to her goal of vengeance upon thieves, and it looked like she could no longer pursue the one on board this vessel.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 24
