X
She had feared that there would be repercussions. Now, she was certain she was going to find the extent of the damage to their alliance.
Banon Hen Wyneb hurried anxiously through the halls of Arlais-Corryn, ignoring the apprentices that scattered before her. The high priestess was far too concerned with the news that Lowri Caer Llion had sent for her as soon as she reached the academy, no doubt to discuss the terms of their alliance after the previous day's lethal assault on the second house's troops. As Banon reached the door to the Caer Llion chapel, she simply burst through the obstacle without so much as knocking. Lowri whirled on the intrusion, her and dropping to the snake whip writhing on her belt, but the priestess stayed her hand at the sight of the far larger Banon.
"Knock," the Caer Llion daughter snarled, gesturing to the open door. Banon half turned and rapped twice on the door, then slammed it shut.
"You summoned me, mistress," Banon stated, only barely bowing to the drow in front of her. Lowri nodded.
"Our alliance is over," she reported simply. Banon's jaw nearly dropped.
"What do you mean?" the Hen Wyneb asked incredulously. "It cannot be over!"
"It is over," Lowri confirmed. "House Caer Llion will have nothing more to do with Hen Wyneb."
"This is how Caer Llion repays its allies?" Banon demanded furiously. "One setback and you turn tail and run?"
"Brynne was killed, along with twenty-five of our best soldiers!" Lowri exclaimed in return. "Your house may as well have led our troops into an ambush! Your carelessness and incompetence has cost my house valuable resources!"
"You cannot just cast us off!" Banon countered sharply. "You need us as much as we need you!"
"Your doomed house is of no use to us," Lowri growled, stalking forward with her hand on her whip. "You have done nothing except cost us troops that we could have used to turn back House Siryddion. Matron Vala will not sacrifice another of her family to those that cannot secure the routes to their own house."
"We are at war!" Banon retorted. "At war with an alliance of houses!"
"An alliance that likely includes Siryddion," Lowri added simply. Banon's shock held her speechless for only a moment.
"What… what do you mean?" the Hen Wyneb asked, her stern tone tempered with her surprise.
"This morning House Siryddion has sent thirty of their soldiers, three squads led by priestesses, to, as I believe they put it, 'protect the southern entrances from deep gnome threats'," Lowri explained. "Deep gnome threats, indeed. They watch us more than they do the caverns leading to Vyskov."
"Thirty soldiers," Banon said. "Thirty soldiers and the money for a dozen more contracts, and we will bother you no more."
"We sent twenty-five already," Lowri said. Banon slammed her fist down on the nearest chair.
"They never made it!" the Hen Wyneb shrieked.
"That is your problem," Lowri countered coldly. Banon's hand dropped on instinct to the handle of her whip, but the priestess reined in her anger before she was foolish enough to attack a daughter of the Second House.
"Hen Wyneb will remember this," Banon warned. Without so much as waiting for a reply from Lowri she turned and stormed through the chapel doors, slamming them shut behind her.
The blacksmith's eyes remained fixed on the small pouch in front of him, mentally gauging the number of gold and silver coins it contained. Behind him, the blacksmith's apprentices and slaves busied themselves at the forges, pointedly ignoring the noble guest at the front of the dingy shop.
"How long have we known each other, Ithyl?" Bradwr inquired, leaning over the counter to speak to the blacksmith. Ithyl, powerfully built and covered in soot and multitude of tiny scars from flying embers and handling white hot metal for so much of his life, tore his eyes away from the pouch sitting on the sooty table. "Surely you have something for me, or shall I take my business elsewhere?"
"How much can I really know of House Evnissien?" Ithyl asked in reply, raising his callused hands in a show of helplessness. Bradwr smiled faintly at the act. He already knew that Ithyl made many of his fine weapons from the ores and finished steel that House Evnissien sold to him and several other independent smiths of the Central Market. For a blacksmith along the ash strewn alleys and dingy forges of the Metal Quarter to know nothing of the Seventeenth House was almost as unrealistic as the butchers of the Slaughter District knowing nothing of House Hen Wyneb.
"You disappoint me, Ithyl," Bradwr stated, shrugging his shoulders. He scooped up his pouch of coins from the counter. "Perhaps Powys knows more than you. And if he should be so kind as to assist me, it's possible that we may want to make quite a sizable purchase of his excellent swords…"
"That bastard makes the worst swords in Llyr!" Ithyl snapped, hurrying around the counter as Bradwr started to the door. "Hobgoblins make better weapons! He… you would take your business from my fine swords to his slag?"
"It would mean quite a bit to him, to gain such a… lucrative contract," Bradwr stated, slowing as he reached the open doorway to the Metal Quarter. The secondboy allowed himself a faint smirk; noble houses were not the only ones in Llyr to fight and squabble for power. Even the lowly blacksmiths played their own little games of power and intrigue, petty as they were. "I'm sure he would be able to purchase larger quarters, more slaves…"
"All right!" Ithyl snapped. Bradwr turned back to him.
"I knew you'd come around," the secondboy remarked, walking back to the counter and replacing the pouch of coins. Ithyl followed quickly, rushing back around the counter and reaching for the pouch. Bradwr placed his hand over the pouch before Ithyl could snatch it. "Let's hear what you have to say first," the noble prompted. Ithyl scowled faintly.
"You'll notice that I'm a little bit slow right now," the blacksmith said, glancing past Bradwr to the door. "Truth is, this last week House Evnissien has sent only two very small shipments to me, rather than their usual supplies of ore."
"Are they taking their business elsewhere?" Bradwr inquired. Ithyl shook his head.
"I thought that myself, but their ore hasn't turned up anywhere," the blacksmith countered. "And while their duergar miners can refine some of the ore, they don't have the furnaces to do so in large amounts, and they don't have the smiths to forge that ore into weapons."
"So where is the ore going?" Bradwr asked. Ithyl smiled.
"Their ore isn't going anywhere," the blacksmith explained. "It's not even coming out of the veins."
"They're not mining?" Bradwr concluded. "But, they've bought more slaves, hired more soldiers-"
"Their duergar have mutinied!" Ithyl exclaimed, barely keeping his voice from rising in excitement. "They're hiring the slaves to try and dig for more ore, while the mercenaries are trying to force the duergar back to work!"
"Mutiny?" Bradwr repeated. "How did you find out about this?"
"It wasn't easy, trust me," Ithyl said. "But when they brought those paltry shipments, I was furious. I checked to see where they were selling, but only a few other smiths had gotten any ore from Evnissien, and even then only small amounts. From there it was a simple matter of trying to track down a duergar that would know something, and fortunately, I happen to know some of those duergar."
"A duergar mutiny," Bradwr said again, considering the implications. If House Evnissien was having trouble with their duergar, they could hardly be mounting an attack of any sort against Hen Wyneb. Which meant that Fychan's offer of mutual aid to rid each other of their respective elderboys was simple coincidence. "You're sure of this?" Bradwr asked, forcing down the smile that was trying to break out on his face.
"As certain as I can be," Ithyl replied. "My source was a duergar, not a drow."
Bradwr kept his hand over the coin purse on the counter for another moment, but finally lifted his hand and started away.
"Thank you, Ithyl, you've been a great help," the secondboy said as he walked out into the streets.
"You're welcome!" Ithyl shouted after him. Bradwr did not hesitate long enough to discern if the shouts after that were from gratitude or from the blacksmith's dismay at finding only copper coins in the purse he had left; his mind was already focusing on a possible alliance with Fychan Evnissien.
"There's so much going on in this city, and yet this is where you've gotten off to?"
"I was hoping to avoid the city for the time being," Pryderi stated flatly, refusing to turn around at the sound of the voice. The Gwalchgwynn had no reason to turn to identify his newest antagonist, and his back was already torn so badly that he doubted another flogging could make his pain even worse. The few patrons of the Hidden Jewel, one of the most out of the way taverns that catered as much to hobgoblin and troglodyte mercenaries passing along the lower edges of Llyr as it did the drow of the city itself, pointedly ignored the wizard and his new guest, one or two even edging away as the male showed what could be considered an insolent attitude to a female.
"You still don't wear your piwafwi," Arwydd noted, her tone almost teasing. "Or are you still a member of House Gwalchgwynn?"
"For the moment, it was decided that I was of more use alive," Pryderi answered simply. The mage still refused to meet the gaze of his tormentor; it was Arwydd who had sunk him into this mess, involving him directly in an attack on the Second House of Llyr, and both Matron Morfyl and his sisters had lashed him repeatedly for his inability to see through her ruse. Pryderi was furious with his family and angry with himself for failing to see the priestess' deception for what it was, but Arwydd…
"They hurt you, didn't they?" Arwydd inquired, gently tracing her fingers along one particularly deep gash in his back. Pryderi straightened instantly at the sudden burst of pain. "I'm so sorry, Pryderi."
"You've caused enough trouble already," the wizard suddenly snapped, whirling on the priestess. Arwydd backed off a step with the sudden move, her hand dropping beneath the folds of her swirling cloak. Like Pryderi, Arwydd seemed to have an aversion to wearing the robes of her station or her house; her cape, made of translucent blue material, and the loose dress beneath it was the attire of a dancer or bard, not a noble daughter and high priestess of Lolth. "Leave me be."
"But, Pryderi, whatever do you mean?" Arwydd asked, her amusement only barely masked beneath the mock tone of confusion.
"Enough," Pryderi said, standing and brushing roughly past the priestess. In his haste to get away from her, he nearly knocked her into the bar; it was bad enough that he felt nothing but desire whenever he looked at her, but to have her mock his weakness made it far, far worse. The wizard noticed one or two of the hobgoblin patrons near the door swiftly moving out of the line of fire, but he paid them no heed as he quickly left the tavern.
"Pryderi!" Arwydd shouted, her voice stern and serious now. Pryderi turned quickly left, starting through the dark, narrow passages that would lead him up the winding, narrow passages to the Central Market. Behind him he could hear Arwydd rushing out of the tavern, trying to keep up with him. "Pryderi, stop!"
Pryderi could feel his muscles stiffen at the priestess' magical command. Wise or not, the wizard steeled his will against the mystical assault, forcing himself to take three more steps before he turned angrily on his antagonist. Arwydd was standing in the middle of the dark passage, a mixture of shock that he had resisted her spell and fury that he had even attempted to do such a thing written across her features.
"You have your alliance," Pryderi pointed out angrily, striding back toward her. "What more do you want from me?"
"Don't raise your voice to me, male!" Arwydd snapped, her voice rising. The priestess paused a moment, bringing herself under control. "I've killed males for lesser offenses," she warned. "Don't garner yourself another punishment atop the lines of blood that show so plainly through your robes already, wizard."
"If I were to kill you and turn myself in to Hen Wyneb, I think I would find all the shelter I need from your family," Pryderi growled, his hand dropping to the wand he kept secreted in the folds of his robes. Arwydd's shock lasted only a heartbeat before she slapped him across the face.
"One more word, male!" Arwydd snarled, shoving Pryderi into the wall as she drew her short sword from the sheath on her back. As Pryderi thumped into the wall, aggravating his injuries, the priestess' serpentine blade whipped up to his neck. "I could slit your throat and be well within my rights!"
"As long as you survive the lightning bolt," Pryderi said evenly, meeting Arwydd's furious gaze. Arwydd glanced down to see his wand only a fraction of an inch from her unprotected chest.
"You'd kill yourself," the priestess observed. "The lightning will rattle off the walls until you're nothing but a charred husk."
"It appears I'm going to die anyway," Pryderi said, glancing down meaningfully at the blade to his throat. "If I'm going to meet Lolth, you're coming with me to make the introductions."
Arwydd looked down at the wand once more, then returned her harsh stare to Pryderi. For a long moment the two remained silent and still in the alley.
"You wouldn't," the priestess decided.
"I have nothing to lose," Pryderi countered. Arwydd paused again, then smirked.
"You love me too much to do it," the priestess stated.
"You love me too much to slit my throat," Pryderi said. Once more the two paused for a long moment.
"Quite a miserable pair we make," Arwydd finally concluded, her gaze softening. Pryderi chuckled faintly.
"Quite," he agreed. He glanced down again at the blade to his throat. "You can sheathe that, then."
"You can put your wand away," Arwydd added. Pryderi smiled at the slightly shorter priestess; he might have been in love, but he was not stupid. Arwydd watched the magical weapon pointed at her for a moment before turning a coy smile on the wizard. "Well, we can't just stand here forever like this," she said.
"You're absolutely right," Pryderi affirmed. "What do you suggest, mistress?"
Arwydd's smile grew faintly as she leaned up against him. A spike of fear rose in Pryderi as her blade nicked his throat, just drawing blood, but before he could blast her with a lightning bolt the priestess kissed him with enough force to drive him back into the wall. Without letting him up, Arwydd turned her blade downward and began to cut away at the wizard's robes.
If he was to die tonight, Pryderi thought, he could think of no better way to die.
As he ascended the ramps towards the Academies of Llyr, he still could not make a decision.
Bradwr stopped at the top of the ramp, watching as the last flickers of light disappeared from Amser-Colofn. It was midnight. For hours he had roamed through Llyr's market districts, slowly making his way to the academies as he struggled with the possible options. House Evnissien could not be behind the looming war with his house. They had problems of their own, dealing with a rebellion underneath their own house. The duergar were nothing if not fierce warriors, and if they had seized control of House Evnissien's mines the seventeenth house as in for a tough fight indeed. Fychan, then, could not have been trying to set him up in preparation for an overall attack.
But the problem remained that the threat was coming from somewhere. Those who spoke of it at all whispered Brenin Llywd's name; the fourteenth house feared their immediate rival, and striking at houses of lower rank was a sure way of maintaining power. Brenin Llywd had hired more soldiers, and seemed to be preparing for something. The fourteenth house was a powerful enemy, and should Hen Wyneb lose Maddox, a powerful and talented caster, it could tip the scales in Brenin Llywd's favor.
Bradwr shook his head in frustration at that. Every house faced a constant threat from its rivals; he could not let fear of his house's demise stay his hand. Maddox was powerful, yes, but he was not the most pivotal player in the possible war to come. Hen Wyneb retained the services of several mages, and even their new arrival, Collwen, was a force to be reckoned with. Indeed, should battle arise, Maddox could be countered by a simple spell of silence cast by an apprentice priestess. Bradwr could not take his brother in a straight fight, that much was certain, but in the chaos of swirling melee a wizard could easily be laid low by nothing more than a single poisoned dart or javelin. If it did come to war, Bradwr would be more important than his brother, as he was not limited to a handful of spells and maybe one wand. Magic was powerful, but fleeting; steel was strong and steady.
Bradwr turned away from Amser-Colofn, looking to the twisting spire of Llyfrdy-Lledreth. Idly he wondered if Fychan was inside that tower, or if he had been recalled to his house to face the brutal, stony duergar. Hesitantly at first, but then with more purpose, the secondboy made his way across the plaza to the Wizards' Academy, banging loudly on the steel of the arched double doors. Despite the late hour, a young apprentice appeared within moments. The boy looked up at the warrior for a moment in surprise.
"Sir?" the apprentice asked.
"I'm looking for Fychan Evnissien," Bradwr said. "Is he here?"
"Yes sir," the apprentice answered. "Wait in the foyer, please."
Bradwr followed the boy into the spartan foyer of the academy. The boy gestured to one of the uncomfortable looking chairs of wood that stood against the far wall, but disappeared through another set of doors before even seeing if the secondboy had done just that. Bradwr remained standing, waiting in the center of the small, circular chamber, for only a short while before a slightly haggard and confused Fychan entered the room.
"Bradwr," the Evnissien said, a look of surprise coming to his face. "I… wasn't expecting company at this hour."
"I needed to talk to you," Bradwr explained. Fychan arched an eyebrow.
"About something regarding magic?" the wizard asked. Bradwr shook his head.
"About your offer from the other day," the Hen Wyneb clarified. "Are you still interested?"
Fychan's smile was all the answer Bradwr needed.