CHAPTER V: THE DUKE OF SUFFOLK
As they awoke the following morning, the malicious laughter rang out once again, nearly splitting Illonel's head from the force. As it died down, a figure appeared out of thin air in the center of the room – a large, ornate throne, covered in leafy designs. The golden chair seemed to be facing everyone in the room – indeed, as they tried to change their perspectives by moving around the room, it always faced them…
In the chair, much to the letter-bearer's chagrin, sat the robed figure. He didn't appear ill at ease at all – clearly, it was an illusion. They all got the sinking suspicion that even if he had been in the room, he still wouldn't have batted an eye – he took quite a punishment from Barakus and barely flinched the entire time.
"Sorry to BARGE in on you like this, gentlemen…and, once more, allow me to apologize."
Furrius sniffed and glared at the man, not wishing to provoke another attack. He was certainly angry; but he was wise enough to stay his ground.
"What do you want?" Illonel asked impatiently, rubbing his temples.
"As I specified in my letter, I am in need of assistance…I mean, you were the only six to respond! Have you ANY IDEA how many letters I sent out seeking assistance? And only six…" he clucked his tongue condescendingly.
"Ten. There were ten of us…" Celathiel pointed out, taking Furrius and Barakus into account.
"Hmmm…" the robed figure tapped his finger against the arm of the throne. "No matter…"
Krougu turned to Illonel, who sat on the bed next to him after getting dressed. "Wasn't that sorceress your friend? Aren't you worried?"
Illonel shrugged. "She'll turn up. She always does."
The robed figure cleared his throat. "AS I was saying…I need…liaisons…"
"Why the hell should we help you?" Illonel asked. "You're communicating through a friggin' illusion…we don't even know your NAME…"
In the blink of an eye, the robed man procured a small letter opener from his robe and threw it at Illonel's head, narrowly missing as it struck the wall behind him. The object was real – solid silver, Illonel realized, as he stowed it away in his pack. Gesturing to the others that this was not a man to be taken lightly, he allowed the robed figure to continue.
"Have you enjoyed your stay in Suffolk thus far? It's quite a town…no? Yes…but it didn't get that way OVERNIGHT…no," he cleared his throat again. "There…there is a Duke of this town. A most honored and prestigious Duke, I might say…quite difficult to gain an audience with. You see – I used to be in the Duke's small cabinet of…shall we say, mages. Enlisting the help of those talented in the arcane and divine arts, he was able to make this town prosper. Yes, I rose through the ranks…" he paused to chuckle to himself. "Or was it fly? It certainly seemed as though I passed through the ranks quickly…in any case. Once I had become the head mage – the so-called 'leader' of this mage guild – before I was fired unceremoniously and thrown from the premises."
"Just like that? I mean, no reason?" Sic asked genuinely.
The robed man laughed. "When you're the Duke, you don't need to give REASONS to fire your staff, evidently, my gnomish friend…alas – I have ATTEMPTED on many occasions to gain an audience with the Duke…but I am banned from the Duke's manor. I have a somewhat unique character trait. Surely you are familiar with the head-splitting laughter that rings through your ears now and again?"
Illonel nodded painfully as the robed man continued.
"It's a sort of…defense mechanism. I leave a mark on everything I come in contact with – the letters, and therefore, those who touch the letters…the sensation you experience is nothing more than my mark being erased…"
"Mark?" some of the group muttered, not truly asking the robed figure about it.
"Neither here nor there – regardless, I need some commoners to gain an audience with the Duke. Namely, YOU six. All I ask is that you find out WHY I was fired…"
"No way…" Furrius began to protest, but the robed man cut him off as Celathiel and Sic stayed him with a hand.
"A handsome reward awaits you."
"How handsome?" Barakus chimed in, seeking personal profit.
The robed man chuckled beneath his hood. "Those weapons you found in the dungeon? Tinker toys compared to what I can provide. TRUST ME…you will not go unpaid for this task…"
And with that, he was gone, taking the illusion of the throne with him.
"I didn't even get my advance…" Illonel deadpanned, though honestly overrun with greed.
"Well…how the hell do we get an audience with the Duke?" Celathiel asked, looking around the room for an answer. Behind him, Sic was toying with his new robe – the symbol on the back of his garment was exactly the same size as the mysterious coin he had found in the dungeon – after a bit of experimentation, he slid the coin into the spot on the back of the robe and it promptly vanished into the cloth with a satisfying click. Feeling around, he could tell it was still there, just invisible – pulling it off and then replacing it, he ran his fingers around it as the two hands of the 'clock' began to move – with them, the hands of the individual compasses adorning the interior of the hood began to move. It was a bit much to try to decipher now; Sic resolved to let a properly trained magical appraiser take a look at it later, as he slid it over his head.
Krougu sat on his bed, already dressed and ready to leave the inn. "So…does anyone mind a little break from the action? Maybe a few weeks in town to brush up on some skills? Shopping? Food?"
Furrius and Barakus heard the last word and immediately agreed to the suggestion.
"Two weeks?" Illonel proposed. "And then we hunt down the Duke?"
Reaching a general consensus, the group split and left room fourteen, heading out into Suffolk – glad that, if nothing else, a much deserved reward was in their future.