I'll be posting, in installments, my first attempt at Age of Worms fan fiction.
Entitled "Portrait's Lure," it concerns events concurrent with the adventure "The Champion's Belt." So if you have yet to run that adventure, be forewarned, there are some spoilers.
As fan fiction, it owes much to many other talented people, from whose works I drew inspiration. This group includes David Noonan, from whom we first learned about Celeste in "Zenith Trajectory"; Tito Leati, who wrote "The Champion's Belt," Richard Pett, who detailed "The Midnight Muddle" and the eccentric artist Yalexex; and artists Eva Widermann and Matt Dixon, whose character portraits brought to life many of the Free City's denziens.
Enjoy.
By Troy E. Taylor
An Age of Worms Adventure Path Inspired Story
The rich, pungent fragrance of Zeif spice and the wafting yeasty sweetness of a nearby bakery — though pleasant — were insufficient to block out the low market’s more rancid smells.
It was not yet midmorning, but the high sun was baking the mixture of human sweat, animal waste and a hundred other odors in a nearly overpowering olfactory stew. Petty nobles held perfumed handkerchiefs and flowers close to their noses, while everyone else just let the stink close down their senses before carrying on.
Celeste absorbed it with the same relish as she would the bouquet of a fine wine. It wasn’t that she couldn’t discern the good smells from the bad. It was just that she cherished these moments when she could be immersed in the sensations that, to her, seemed to make being human worthwhile.
Smells aside, the colorfully clad shoppers and the rancor of haggling merchants all were contributing to the lively pulse that earned the Free City its reputation as the most irresistible place to be. Smiling broadly, Celeste reveled in it and waded into the throng of people.
Celeste was conspicuous, even in this crowd. She was taller than most men, to begin with, and she walked with the carefree stride that only a freeborn adventurer would assert. She also bore souvenirs of her recent foray into the southern jungles. Her short-cropped hair was sun-bleached nearly white and her nominally fair skin was now a rich bronze. Certainly, it was browner than anyone this far north could manage so early in the summer season. The hide and cut of her traveling leather outfit were also clearly foreign, being unlike anything a midlands leatherworker could produce.
Her most distinguishing feature was a recent addition, however. She ran her tongue over the gold ring that pierced her lower lip, delighting in the sensation, getting used to the feel of metal inside her mouth. The lip ring made her feel playful, even mischievous, a side of her personality she rarely got to indulge in these days. And she knew that when she flashed a knowing smile and her deep blue eyes flared, it was the look of a scoundrel, and it made her appear all the most dangerous. In her line of work, it was an advantage not easily discarded.
Work, if that’s what one called it, meant running errands for her master Manzorian, who even now, securely was ensconced in his citadel in Magepoint. Work brought her again to the Free City, where she must resolve a mystery involving the abduction of certain nobles. Her hand rested lightly on the pouch containing one such noble’s locket. The piece of jewelry was her best clue as to the recent spate of disappearances — kidnappings, she corrected herself — and the trail led here.
Keeping her eyes and ears open, she moved about the low market, inspecting the finest wares, rubbing shoulders with the well-to-do. They, in turn, stepped away, perceiving at a glance that she was some rogue intent on snatching their purse or wares or both. She offered each a wide smile, the shiny gold lip ring doing little to assuage them of what they thought were her true intentions. She was about to inspect another stall, and frighten another merchant in the process, when a voice nearby called to her. She spun about, but did not see the speaker.
“Milady, if you please, may I have a moment of your time? It will be worth your while, I assure you.”
The voice that called to Celeste was high pitched and precise, a staccato delivery with an emphasis on all the wrong syllables, at least for the common tongue. A gnome! She looked down and beheld the inquirer: A male, possessing his race’s signature pointed nose, stood wringing a battered beret in his hands. His suit coat and breeches were well worn — but presentable enough, except for the small splotches of paint on his shoes. He was no beggar, but someone’s servant.
“How can I help you, master ....”
“Grovette is my name, milady. Grovette, apprenticed to Yalexex, the artist,” the gnome said, now pointing back toward the row of houses that served as the boundary to the city’s foreign quarter. “You see him over there.”
Yalexex was not difficult to pick out of the crowd. Fair skinned with a shock of wild, brown hair sticking out in all directions and wearing a smock splattered with paints of many colors, Yelexex was the very picture of an eccentric artist.
Even now, with the market’s bustle all around him, he went about with his arms extended, the thumbs and forefingers of both hands held up square before his eyes. No doubt he was mentally framing the scenes before him as he scanned the marketplace for likely objects or persons to portray on canvas. Celeste observed him crouching down (gaining disapproving looks from passersby), and then just as quickly standing up, squint against the bright sunlight and move the frame of his hands close to his face, all the while shaking his head disapprovingly. He threw his hands back out to their full extension of his arms and shouted “Eureka!” Never still for a second, he now had hands on hips, cocking his head sharply to one side to inspect something else, and from here, seemed to be muttering to himself. The man’s jerky movements had all the grace of a chicken pecking about a barnyard.
“My master is a bit eccentric, I must admit,” Grovette began, apologetically, “but he is unquestionably the finest portrait artist in the Free City.”
“Your loyalty to your master is admirable, Grovette, but why inquire after me?”
“Why, milady? Well, my master Yalexex instantly perceived your radiant beauty from across the marketplace ...”
“Go on,” Celeste said, smiling in spite of herself, and wanting to hear more. The addition of the lip ring to her appearance had been the clincher, she told herself. It made her irresistible.
“Well, my master bid me to summon you to his studio, where he might capture your essence on canvas.”
“I’m flattered,” Celeste said. “But I’m hardly dressed like a lady. Are not these nobles, in their powders and finery more suited to your master’s work?”
Grovette twisted the hat in his hand tighter, there being something uncomfortable about the question. He shrugged before answering.
Celeste, meanwhile, looked deep into the gnome’s eyes, peering into his soul, seeing if evil lay within. She could perceive a person’s nature, if pressed, but it was at times an unreliable ability. Even the best people could be capable of doing evil, of perpetuating sin, sometimes out of necessity. Grovette had seen and done evil in his time, she was certain of that — but how much, and whether he intended to do it again was an open question. Those secrets were buried within a person’s heart, which was more difficult to penetrate that even the mind. So far, she did not sense that he had lied to her.
“Yalexex demands high fees to paint the portraits of nobles, it is true, but to master his craft, he paints the scenes and people of the neighborhood,” Grovette said. “He is willing to compensate you for your time ...”
“Hardly necessary,” Celeste said, waving a hand dismissively, her smile even wider than before. “You don’t have to ask a girl twice if she wants to have her picture painted. Lead on, Grovette.”
2. Abode of the Eccentric Artist
The studio was cool despite the rising temperatures outside. It was a cluttered open space with a single stairway to the rooftop garret, where Yalexex supposedly lived. The artist began to prepare a canvas and a sitting area. So far, he’d said nothing to Celeste, not even in greeting back at the marketplace. He had refused to shake Celeste’s hand upon Grovette’s introduction, simply motioned for her to follow. En route to the studio, though, he spoke roughly to Grovette, admonishing him for tasks left undone and his general unkempt appearance. Celeste chuckled at the irony of that last bit, since the apprentice was far more presentable than his master. She saw up close that should the artist scrub away the paint, submit to a decent shave and cut, he would actually be quite handsome.
Yalexex’s criticisms, meanwhile, came out in clipped, half sentences, and he jumped from subject to subject with alacrity. Grovette took the browbeating in stride, and simply replied with the occasional “Yes, master,” “Of course, master, you are correct” and “I will see that it is done.”
Grovette made his apologies to Celeste when they arrived, explaining that he had to prepare the paints, so she should feel free to walk around and admire his master’s work. The gallery was impressive, if only for the large number of paintings on display.
Paintings of common folk adorned nearly every inch of wall space, while other canvases were stacked in piles throughout the room. Scraps of pencil sketchings littered the floor, and even these simple drawings were eye-catching. She recognized in both the paintings and sketches many of the faces belonged to the merchants and shoppers from the low market, some considerably younger than they were presently. Even if Yalaxex had begun his career as a teenager, he was clearly not yet forty. But even these early works exhibited great skill with the brush. Yalexex was, indeed, a master.
Celeste’s eye fell on a stack beneath a ratty blanket. With both artist and apprentice occupied, she went over to inspect it. She pulled back the covering to reveal a true masterpiece, a full portrait of an official of the high quarter. Beneath it was another beautiful work, a woman in riding regalia. And beneath that another, and then another. She was propping them up now in a semicircle around the pile.
Once they were all arranged to her satisfaction, Celeste took in each one in turn. These were not castoffs or practice attempts, imperfect objects laid aside while the master crafted the main work. These were each completed masterpieces in their own right.
Not all the faces were known to her, but she recognized the crests and other symbols that adorned their rings and badges. These were all portraits of the missing nobles, neatly set aside and covered with a blanket.
She also noticed that Yalexex did not sign these paintings, even though the artistry and style clearly matched the other paintings in the gallery. What artist did not sign his paintings? The only thing that marked each one was the presence in the portrait of a tiny, almost imperceptible, green worm. Each painting had one, either as the outline of a button, floating in a glass of amber liqueur, incorporated into a crest or adorning a part of jewelry. It was all very cleverly done. She had to look carefully to find it, as it was not always evident at first glance. It was very strange. Celeste had to admit it was somehow fitting, because Yalexex was a strange fellow, indeed.
Grovette appeared carrying a tray filled with paints. When he saw what Celeste was doing, he gasped audibly, hurriedly set down the tray and hustled over to where Celeste stood. She glanced back at Yalexex, who seemed to ignore her discovery. But Grovette was in a panic.
“We must put these back with care. Not a scratch. Not a scratch, young lady,” Grovette said in a hushed whisper. He was very anxious, inspecting each one. Once satisfied that they were undamaged, he breathed a little easier. Carefully, he began arranging them in the pile again, at last covering them up.
“These are too beautiful to be covered by an old blanket,” Celeste observed casually, gauging the gnome’s reaction. “Even I, new to the city, recognize some of them. These are paintings of the nobles who’ve gone missing, the ones everyone’s talking about.”
“And you wonder why they’re under a blanket, by Glittergold’s beard?” Grovette said with a touch of hostility. “If it ever got out that there’s some sort of connection; that as soon as my master paints an aristocrat’s portrait then that person goes missing, we’d be ruined! Already, some houses have canceled sittings. For supposedly educated folk, the nobility are awfully superstitious. Now the families of those kidnapped have refused to pay for these portraits, so we are stuck with them!”
“Maybe I should refuse to sit for your master,” Celeste said. “I don’t want to turn up missing, either. But it explains why you were in the marketplace. Your master has no one to paint, so you’re back to your old calling.”
“That’s hardly true,” Grovette said, even more defensive. “Not every noble who has sat for us goes missing. Lord Umbray and Lady Calefordrae, for instance, just to name two. I can rattle off the names of a dozen others who have sat for Yalexex and are unmolested. As for Lord Tachi, Lord Mibras Mackhorn and Lady Kallai, my master counts them not as patrons, but they are among those who are missing. You might as well as suspect the pastry chefs of the city for this tragedy. The nobles who are missing eat more pie than have portraits of them done.”
Celeste giggled. “You are absolutely right, Grovette. I shall take your advice and avoid eating any pie for the remainder of my stay in the Free City. Pie is off the menu!”
Now sharing the little joke, Grovette laughed too, but not nearly as heartily as Celeste, who then added: “As for your offer to paint my portrait, I hope I have not given offense. I am honored to have an artist of the standing of Yalexex choose me out of the crowd.”
Grovette breathed a sigh of relief at that. “I apologize if I seemed alarmed. It’s just that the authorities have made inquiries, and my master, being temperamental, did not answer their direct questions to their satisfaction. They had no appreciation for my master’s eccentricities. I was afraid that you were ... well, it doesn’t matter. Please have a seat over there and my master will begin shortly.”
3. Capturing Beauty
The day had passed quickly, Celeste mused, as she rose from the stool she had been perched on for most of that time. Even if Yalexex was no conversationalist, and the gnome seemed to disappear for long periods of time, Celeste was not bored by the long sitting It gave her ample opportunity to view the artist’s impressive gallery. To accommodate a change in lighting, Yalexex had her shift twice during the afternoon, so that even after setting her pose, she had a view of new paintings to admire.
Among the paintings she scrutinized was a self-portrait that Yalexex had done, supposedly early in his career. The portrait was of a clear-eyed, well-groomed, if not stylish, young man. Certainly, it was a far cry from the temperamental, shabbily dressed man who stood across from her now. She focused on the eyes in the painting, noting the confidence — even arrogance — that once had been present in his bearing. Yalexex possessed none of that today. There was a feverished desperation in everything he did. He stabbed at the canvas with his brush in vigorous fits and starts. He also twitched uncontrollably at times, a facial tic that sent him muttering to himself in some incomprehensible speech. These were eccentricities that went beyond showmanship or affected artistry. Celeste saw that he was a man deeply troubled by something,
Her time spent posing allowed her to contemplate recent events in the city, as well. She had helped some adventurers — from Diamond Lake, of all places — obtain a gladiator’s license by introducing them to the bard Ekaym Smallcask. Ekaym was an old friend still searching for his missing older sister, Lahaka. The sister also was an entertainer but was last seen as a companion on the arm of Loris Raknian, master of the Free City arena. Celeste feared for her. She didn’t know if the woman’s disappearance was linked to those of the missing nobles, but in the Free City, danger waited around every corner for anyone who flirted with men of power.
Celeste tried to work things out in her head, weighing everything that her dear friend in the city, the mage Eligos, had told her about all the disappearances. Discovering the paintings in the studio was troubling, too, despite Grovette’s logical explanation.
Grovette’s comings and goings had alarmed her at first. But when he returned to the studio bearing more art supplies or simple foodstuffs from each little errand, she assumed it to be a part of his daily routine. His small arms could only accommodate small bundles, she reminded herself. It was no wonder that he took so many trips. The painting occupied Yalexex thoroughly. So engrossed in his task he spared no time to browbeat the curious gnome.
She wondered for a time if the artist employed magic in his craft. He would be unusual, if he did not employ an arcane art in some fashion. Yet, his erratic behavior would indicate he did not, since wielding magic required a sharp, stable mind. Her suspicions aroused, she attempted to sense the presence of magic anyway, and was not surprised. There was nothing, in either his supplies or on his person.
Celeste vaguely remembered becoming drowsy late in the afternoon, but Yalexex had admonished her for slumping in the stool. It being the first time Yalexex actually spoke to her, she straightened up in spite of herself. If he’d done something to cause her to lose consciousness (with the intent of doing some harm by taking advantage of the situation — perhaps by weaving some enchantment), certainly he would not have roused her, she surmised. Nor did she suspect the gnome of playing a role, for he had gone on one of his innumerable forays to the marketplace. She took her bearings by judging the length of shadows on the floor, and discerned that no appreciable amount of time had passed.
Now, however, the high sun no longer poured into the studio’s tall windows, illuminating the room. Rather there were long shadows associated with the coming sunset. Grovette lit a couple of oil lamps, casting a smoky, yellow light across the studio. Then, when the sun had at last dipped below the level of the windows, Yalexex declared that he was finished, and stepped back from the portrait to evaluate its final form.
Celeste, too, stepped around the raised canvas to inspect the painting. Despite devoting the whole day to the enterprise, Celeste knew that Yalexex had worked faster than a portrait artist normally would. Still, she was amazed at what she beheld. If he had put a steel mirror up to her face, its reflection would have been no match for this painting.
Celeste remembered what the gnome had said in the marketplace, that Yalexex desired to capture her “essence” in the painting. If true, he succeeded. She wanted to reach out and touch the painting, to see if it were really a flat image. Like the other works she had unearthed from the pile beneath the blanket, she felt as if her image would leap off the canvas, so convincing were its details.
Scanning, she even found where Yalexex had placed his signature green worm. The worm lay curled up, sleeping, within the silver earring that hung from her left lobe. She found herself absent-mindedly fingering that earring, seeing if there truly was a green worm nestled inside. It was an almost overpowering suggestion, and she shrugged off the lethargy that again seemed to want to pull her from the conscious world.
“No!” came the cry behind her, and Celeste spun to see the artist, wild-eyed and raving, hefting a stool above his head and advancing on the painting.
He intended to smash it! Celeste moved to intercede. She stepped in front of the painting quickly, and felt a powerful emotion compel her to action: She must protect the painting from harm. She couldn't explain the feeling, and it surprised her at how powerful and quickly it welled up within her. Even as Celeste ripped the chair free from the artist’s hands, Grovette sprinted across the floor of the studio and tried to tackle the artist at the ankles.
“It is imperfect! It is unworthy of me! It captures not her beauty!” Yalexex was shouting now, trying to climb over Celeste while taking swipes at the painting with his long arms. Yalexex kicked himself free of the gnome, who skidded across the floor in a heap.
Dislodging himself of the gnome, however, caused Yalexex to lose his footing. Celeste had the advantage in leverage, and was able to secure him with a wrestling hold and drive him to the floor.
Yalexex was sobbing now. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. The work is unworthy of my talent. I cannot permit it. It must be destroyed!”
Grovette scrambled to his feet and moved quickly to his master’s side, saying soothing things to quiet him down. “Master, please. It is a fine painting. A fine painting.”
Celeste felt the artist go slack. He was no longer frantic to get at the painting. He was crying now, tears staining his sleeve where Celeste had his arm locked under his face. Grovette’s calming words seemed to have the desired effect. Soon, from either exhaustion or anguish, the artist became still and seemed to fall asleep on the floor.
“Rest, my master, rest,” Grovette said softly and reassuringly. Satisfied that Yalexex now slept, he rose carefully and motioned Celeste away from the spot.
“I don’t understand,” Celeste said. “He was going to destroy the painting.”
Again, Grovette gave the same pained expression that she’d seen earlier in the marketplace, when Celeste asked a question that he rather not answer. Grovette betrayed his distress only momentarily, and had she not been looking for it, might have missed it.
“My master aspires to perfection, whether the client is a paying one or not,” he said. “I am sorry you had to witness that. His own weakness is that none of his work meets his own impossibly high standard. He would destroy every painting in this room, if he could, when he’s in one of his fits. More than once I have had to subdue him to prevent this. I assure you, the painting is of good quality, and I will be more than pleased to pay you for your time — and for your understanding in this matter.”
That last bit was said with such silky smoothness that it might inspire envy in a courtier from the Duchy of Urnst. It was time to give the gnome the credit he was due — and subject him to a much closer examination.
“My time was mine to give, and I gave it freely,” Celeste said. “As payment for the sitting, might I have the painting, instead. Yalexex seems intent on destroying it, and to be honest, I’m not all that sure I’d want it to end up in that pile over there.”
Celeste pointed to the portraits of the nobles she uncovered earlier.
This time, Grovette did not give himself away. In fact, he brightened at her suggestion. “An excellent idea. Clearly, you are as keen as you are beautiful. It will only take a moment to prepare the canvas for travel. We mustn’t damage it in any way. This is your prize. I sincerely hope that you find a place to hang it and enjoy it for years to come.”
“Actually,” Celeste said, “I intend to give it to a dear friend who collects paintings, and have him hang it in his gallery.”
“Brav-o!” said the gnome, then giving her a wink. “It wouldn’t happen to be a male friend, would it? An admirer, perhaps?”
“The answers to your curiosity, master Grovette,” said Celeste, kneeling down so they looked eye-to-eye, “is ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ The real question you should be asking, however, is ‘Whom admires whom?’”
He looked at her quizzically, for a moment, then he broke into a wide, wide smile.
4. Awaken, Mage!
“It’s too damn late for visitors!” snapped the carrot-topped mage Eligos as he secured the wrap on his dressing gown. He glared at the one who roused him, his elven manservant Pollard, whose unkempt hair sprouted up like a weed from a skewed bed cap. He too had left a warm bed and a deep reverie. Unlike his master, the manservant had no one to voice his complaints.
“It’s her,” said the manservant, stifling a yawn.
“Really?” Eligos said, his tone softening, an image of Celeste forming in his mind. “Well, if that’s so, I suppose we can at least find out what couldn’t keep until morning. But it will be a brief audience, only. She of all people, should know that a wizard requires his sleep!”
“I have her waiting in the parlor.”
“Well, that’s a change,” Eligos said. “She usually avoids the room.”
“She said that she’s looking for a place to hang a painting. Her portrait, actually.”
Eligos raised his eyebrow. “A painting? Of Celeste?”
5. A Discussion in the Parlor
Eligos, still in his dressing gown, pulled back from his inspection of the painting of Celeste and let the monocle with its magically empowered magnifying lens pop out from his eye into his hand. All thoughts of a brief interview had vanished hours ago, once Celeste related her investigation into the marketplace and her encounter with the artist. Sunrise would be shortly. Already the servants were up and at work, the sounds and smell of breakfast being prepared came filtering in from the kitchen.
“Well?” asked Celeste, as she lounged with one leg dangling over the sidearm of a settee. Behind her was one of the large scenic paintings that graced the room. This one was peculiar for its scene of a ziggurat surrounded by a jungle and for a strange tower rising beside it that resembled a tuning fork.
Eligos snapped shut the tiny noble’s locket that he held in left hand, then turned and gave it back to Celeste. Earlier, he’d spent considerable amount of time examining it and the painting together.
Finally he leaned back in his chair and tapped his finger to his lips in thought. He seemed to drift into a faraway look, but Celeste followed his eyes, and saw instead of staring aimlessly, he was examining the strange painting behind her.
“Look above you,” Eligos said, indicated with his index finger the painting that hung behind Celeste. She shifted to look back over her shoulder. “There’s magic in there, woven into the fabric of the canvas, infused in the paints themselves, applied by a brush that’s also empowered by transmutation.” Eligos said. “Very modern technique. Easily understood. Any novice arcanist could tell you how it’s done, even if they could not manage to do it themselves.”
Celeste viewed the jungle scene. It was a forbidding, ominous place. The ziggurat's walls had several dark stains, which she presumed were splotches of dried blood. “Your vacation home?” she asked teasingly.
“Hardly. It’s stood abandoned for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. It is a cursed place,” Eligos paused, then added, “and actually not from the hot spot you called home until recently.”
“That’s not very funny,” Celeste said. “People died when the volcano beneath Cauldron erupted.”
“They build the damned city in the cauldera of a volcano, Celeste! Your report said they named the streets for magma and lava, and the lake bubbled, for goodness sakes. What did they expect?”
“It was a dormant volcano,” Celeste protested.
Eligos’ gaze was unblinking, scolding.
“It wasn’t their fault,” she added her face set just as firmly as his.
Eligos’ expression relaxed. “You’re right. No one deserved that fate. Still, no one who builds a house on a riverbank should complain if floods follow spring rains.”
Celeste fumed. “That’s so like a man!” She said “man” with such distaste that Eligos winced. Knowing Celeste, he couldn’t decide if she was infuriated with his gender — or his race. With Celeste, you never knew for sure. “You have all the compassion of a tarresque!”
“My duties for Manzorian are very demanding,” Eligos said.
“That’s just an excuse,” Celeste said, accusingly.
Eligos settled back, lowering his voice, to explain himself. “Compassion is a luxury I cannot afford if I do all that is required of me. If you plunged into the dark depths of prophesies and magic as I do, you would develop calluses over your compassion as well. You are Manzorian’s champion, free to vanquish evil in the name of good. I must wallow in the darkness, and direct your next blow. We may serve the same master, but you are not as bound as tightly as I am to the craven nature of our enemies.”
“You are still making excuses, but for now, I accept your apology, however slight it is,” Celeste said. “There is much work to be done with you yet, I fear.”
Eligos shrugged. “I believe you came to me for help, not the other way around.”
“Then help. You were about to say something about this painting behind me.”
Eligos cleared his throat. “Yes, well, this painting behind you is magic. Everything about it is magic, powerful magic, in fact. Hit it with a magical detection spell, and it will glow as brilliantly as the sun.”
Turning in his chair, he indicated the portrait of Celeste. “But this is different. Vastly different. The same detection spell didn’t even cause it to spark. Make no mistake, however. It is magic, of a particularly sinister nature. In all likelihood it’s an ancient technique. I might venture to call it primal. In all likelihood, you would not have recognized its magical nature during its application. Yet, it’s so sophisticated, it might even be more powerful than anything hanging in my gallery.”
Celeste nodded her understanding, then her lips curved up into a playful smile. It was all in the lip ring, she thought.
“It’s a picture of me in all my beauty,” Celeste said, putting on mock airs of vanity. “Of course it’s going to be powerful and magical.”
“And damn foolish to meddle with,” Eligos said sharply. “It’s masterfully done I’ll admit. But the risk! Subjecting yourself to the same as those missing nobles ...”
He let the words fall away. Celeste found his concern beneath the disapproving tone touching. Unfortunately there was more to tell. Her story did not end with her exit from the studio, painting tucked beneath her arm.
“Later, I waited outside the studio and followed the gnome — and you won’t believe where he went next.” As Celeste began to tell the story, Eligos leaned forward, his attention on every word.
6. Perched Atop The Crooked House
The roar of the crowd from the City Arena spilled out over the city. Even in the Midnight Muddle, Celeste caught in the rise and fall of raised voices the collective delight or disappointment of the crowd as it reacted to the exploits of those gladiators vying to be city champion.
It was unusual in that today’s bouts had continued this late into the evening. Even in the Muddle, lamps were being lit and soft glowing yellow light streamed out from windows and doors of the homes and businesses along the lane. The word on the street was that arena contestants from Diamond Lake were beating the oddsmakers’ projections and that these underdogs had become the crowd favorite. Certainly, there was little to redeem Auric’s warband, which had won the last two seasons, in the eyes of the fans. Normally, she would not have cared, but something about this year’s competition was nagging at her. Eligos hinted that something was not quite right about the happenings at the arena.
But Celeste had her own concerns, and trailing the gnome Grovette for a third straight night was chief among them. Eligos had nearly fallen out of his chair when she told him that on that first night, Grovette had made his destination the mansion home of Lord Tachi. It was Tachi, and his secret paramour, the Lady Kallai, whom Celeste was tasked to find.
It was Tachi’s own locket, the one that held a small portrait of him and his secret love, that Celeste possessed. It was the locket that had led Celeste to the marketplace originally, because the small portrait within had one distinguishing feature, a small green worm woven in the lady’s feathered hat. The green worm that was the artist Yalexex’s own signature. At the studio, Celeste realized immediately when Grovette had lied about Tachi and Kallai ever sitting for Yalexex. From that moment, Celeste had been determined to make the gnome the subject of her investigation.
That his little feet led her back to the Tachi estate had been a greater surprise. To confirm her suspicion, she waited for Grovette the second night, and once again he scurried along his way, making straight for the Tachi home.
Celeste chastised herself for not having visited the place earlier in her investigation. She simply had taken the Tachi family’s word that the lord was missing. It followed that his mansion now stood empty, except possibly for servants and the like. Besides, the report said that Tachi and Kallai had been abducted sometime after they had left the city for a lovers’ rendezvous in Hardby. That trail proved to be very cold, although it was in that city at the mouth of the Salitan River that Celeste came across the locket.
Tonight, Celeste was determined to see this through. Even if Grovette did not lead her back to the Tachi mansion, which she had no doubt he would do, anyway, she would make entering the house a priority. If Lord Tachi was being held in his own home, it was a brilliant ploy on the part of the kidnappers. Who would have thought he could be found there?
Celeste stood perched on the roof of the Crooked House. From within, joyful voices sang bawdy songs, and Celeste, being a minstrel by trade, yearned to drop in and take part. There was nothing like the shared fellowship of a tavern, with its close confines, free-flowing wine, hearty food and the warmth of the hearth fire.
And Grovette was inside enjoying it, she cursed softly to herself. Three nights now, he dined on sweet meats and the Crooked House’s signature ale, while she was forced to play night owl in anticipation of his next move.
The night sky was clear, and moon clearly illuminated much of the Muddle, the name for this neighborhood that was the southern boundary of the foreign quarter.
Long after the shouts from the arena died away, and its crowd dispersed throughout the city, Grovette eventually emerged. A few other gnomes — including the Crooked House’s proprietor, Tanquin — slapped each other on the back in a round of goodbyes. She saw Grovette stumble a bit as he made his way down the street. That was good, Celeste thought, as she alighted to the ground, taking care to move silently and stay in the shadows. Inebriated, there was less chance Grovette would realize he was being tailed.
7. Following A Drunken Gnome
Unlike the previous two nights, Grovette made a drunken, circuitous route to the Tachi mansion. His most annoying detour took him to a pawn shop, where he stood beneath the storefront’s large brass balls, admiring something in the window. He occasionally would look up, then admire the wares behind the glass plane again. Celeste caught his reflection in the giant brass fixture, and observed a grotesque caricature of the gnome. He did this three times before moving on.
At last, Grovette dragged himself up a hill to the mansion district, and from there, to the servant’s kitchen entrance in the rear of the Tachi manor. After fumbling with a key, he made his way inside. This too, was a change from the previous two nights, when Grovette had gone straight to the front door. Perhaps he did not want his drunkenness discovered, Celeste thought, as she moved from shadow to shadow, before running up to the rear entrance. She couldn’t believe her luck! Not only had the gnome left the door ajar, the key still remained inside the lock! She quickly scanned the interior, and seeing no one, stepped inside.
She stopped and listened. From somewhere within, she heard footsteps. Then came the voice of Grovette, muffled by the intervening walls. She couldn’t discern what was being said, but the gnome’s high-pitched, erratic speech pattern was unmistakable. Celeste crept forward, through the kitchen and into an inner foyer, always following the sound of the voice as it echoed faintly down the halls.
Ahead, she heard a door shut, and then, quiet. At the end of the hall, light spilled out from beneath the door. There seemed to be movement, based on the shadow play at the foot of the door.
Breathless, Celeste stepped slowly toward the room, Grovette’s voice becoming more and more distinct.
“.... is nearly ready at the city arena ... just like you planned,” Grovette said, snickering. “There’s only one little job that needs doing. My contact says Bozal wants Raknian to send his boy Okoral to take care of that mage who’s always snooping around.”
“The redheaded one?” said another voice, much deeper, coming from within the room.
“The same,” Grovette replied.
Celeste felt her heart jump at that. A redheaded mage? That could only mean Eligos. They were plotting against him! She felt torn. Should she stay, and listen for more, or go and try and warn her friend? Eligos was probably more than capable of fending for himself, she told herself, so she eased closer to the door, trying to learn as much as she could.
“Yalexex has served us well,” the deeper voice said. “But he is beginning to attract attention— the wrong kind of attention.”
“He is beginning to succumb to the slow worm,” Grovette said. “The deterioration is coming quickly, more quickly that you anticipated, my lord.”
“I’m not concerned for your master, you fool,” the deep voice said. “It is this latest inquiry. The blond-haired woman from the marketplace, the one you had sit for you, the one you say Yalexex found ‘irresistible.’ It was reckless of you to approach her. She has been seen asking questions about our business.”
Now that they were obviously talking about her, and her daytime inquiries. Celeste slid against the wall to hear even more. Even as her instincts urged at her to leave quickly, she ignored them. She had to hear it all.
“Then I have news that will please you my lord,” Grovette said. “Look at this.”
There was a rustling, like Grovette pulling something from his pocket. And then silence. Something about this was wrong, Celeste thought. She mentally retraced her steps back to the point she entered the house. Grovette, stumbling from drink, had left the key in the lock of the open door. There were voices. Grovette speaking ...
Grovette speaking .... clearly! His speech was not slurred! He’d feigned drunkenness! And he’d probably seen her reflection in the pawn shop fixture, just as she’d seen his!
And then it hit her, a sensational that was magical and unwarranted. The unseen eye spied her from above. She was being scryed upon!
Celeste slid into a warrior’s stance and she commanded a radiant blade of pure light and goodness to appear in her right hand. At the same moment the door to the room burst open and a towering figure in dark green robes, masked and wearing gold chain mail, stepped through. His gloved hand was making the arcane gestures associated with spellcasting. Grovette, a glowing scrying crystal cupped in his hands, was at the dark figure’s heels, shouting “There she is, master! Just as I showed you!”
Celeste sprang forward, blade thrusting.
The dark figure’s spellcasting arm sprang up, quicker than she believed possible, and in the infernal tongue, she heard the command: Hold!
She stopped in mid-motion, trapped, like a fly in amber. She could move neither arms or legs. She was astonished. Few mages had the power to overcome her will and determination to fight through their spells. But the command held fast. Through the dark folds of her assailant’s mask, she saw her foe smile wickedly.
“Loose me, you fiend!” Celeste said through gritted teeth. “I shall make you and your lying little friend pay for this!”
Grovette was actually giggling as he spoke. “She thinks its is a common spell that holds her fast, master! She doesn’t realize the source of your power!”
“Be quiet, gnome!” the dark figure scolded, and Grovette immediately stifled his giggles by biting on the sleeve of his jacket. The dark assailant then stepped closer, and Celeste could sense the evil that oozed forth from his being. Not only surrounded by darkness, this being was so rotted at the core the presence was palpable, a hundred times more powerful than the stink of a slaughterhouse.
“You won’t be needing that,” and he waved his arm dismissively, and the glowing blade — the blade that only she was supposed to be able to summon —vanished like so much mist. The hallway became very dark, and the dark mage seemed all the more imposing because of it.
He took his time, scrutinizing Celeste from top to bottom, careful not to touch her in any way. She was straining against the magic, perspiration soaking her back and running down her face. The spell — if truly was a spell — was unrelenting.
Just as abruptly, the dark figure pulled himself to his full height and backpedaled a few steps, as if Celeste were a flame licking at his heels. He smiled again, and this time Celeste perceived delight and recognition in his eyes.
“Oh, Grovette, I was a fool to question you,” the figure said. “You didn’t bring me some nosy girl. No, this is much, much better.”
“Oh, master, tell me how I have pleased you.”
“This,” the figure said, “isn’t a girl. It’s an eladrin. A gahele eladrin. An angel, if you will, from heavens above. And she stands firmly in our grasp.”
Like a child, Grovette clapped his hands gleefully at this news.
8. A Prison Without Walls
The Tachi mansion upstairs ballroom had been turned into a prison — a prison without cells. Here were the missing nobles, each assigned to a bedroll placed a few feet from each other. The arrangement on both sides created an open walkway, which they passed through.
Celeste limped as she was led by the robed mage past his captives. The house’s new master had been thorough, patient and cruel during his interrogation. Celeste, now brandishing many bruises — including a swollen left eye — and abrasions, left a trail of blood as she took her wobbly steps across the finely polished parquet floor.
From the length of shadows and the sun streaming into through the west windows, Celeste judged it to be in very late in the afternoon, perhaps into the early evening. Her sense of time had slipped away during the questioning. She focused on the sounds coming through the same open windows. The familiar rise and fall of cheers and boos from the arena floated on the wind and reached her. She recalled that this afternoon was the championship match at the arena, a very strange thought, considering her predicament. Yet, the sights and sounds in the ballroom helped re-establish her reality after the hours spent at the mage’s relentless mercy in the lightless basement below.
Her captor’s name was Filangus, at least that’s how he introduced himself before beginning his routine of torment. He had actually appeared disinterested at any response she offered. And he had never touched her physically. There were no instruments of torture used on her. No, that would have broken the spell, or whatever magical hold he held over her, she surmised.
Instead, Filangus extracted a cache of scrolls from a locked chest. All the scrolls were freshly inscribed. Without preliminaries, Filangus read the first scroll in the draconic tongue, and writhing black tentacles, a sorcery from some demon realm, emerged from the darkness, slithered up her arms and legs before wrapping themselves around her wrists and ankles, holding her fast. At more words from Filangus, the tentacles lifted her up and held her suspended over the floor.
Filangus smiled lustily, then reached into the chest, pulled other another, longer scroll, and began casting other, more depraved magic, which lashed out with otherwordly energies and tormented her.
As an eladrin, Celeste was a magical, celestial creature. But her natural defenses were no match for the relentless battering she endured at Filangus’ hand. He methodically burned scroll after scroll in reciting incantations that inflicted pain and anguish. As the magic hammered her again and again, driving her face to the floor sobbing and crying for mercy, she also became mentally detached from her body, and found herself wondering at the expense of this session, the high cost in labor and magic that went into creating scrolls that he consumed without hesitation or regret. Mages usually cherished their reserve cache of scrolls and she wondered at the resources of one who used them with so thoughtlessly.
Her disbelief came because he seemingly did nothing to extract information from her. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the session that Celeste realized she had misjudged her torturer’s intent. What she took for dispassion, was really patience. He was wearing her down, making her more pliant or prone to mistakes. Mentally, she withdrew deep inside herself, hoping to endure the physical torture and preserve her wits.
But the deepest regrets Celeste reserved not for herself, but for her friend, Eligos. She’d rashly ignored his advice. Oh, how she longed to be free of Filangus’ sadistic attacks. Now, she’d gladly exchange her peril for the comfort of the parlor, even if it meant being chastized and hear the mage say “I told you so” one more time. Worse, she could do nothing to prevent this fiend’s designs on Eligos. Without warning from her, he’d be unprepared for their sneak attack. She’s failed the missing nobles, failed Eligos and herself. Now she was paying for her pride and overconfidence with a barrage of cruel, painful magic..
A sense of time escaped Celeste as she endured her captor’s assault. Had Filangus simply left the scroll box and began stripping her flesh with the scourge that hung unused on a nearby peg, he would have been kinder. Extremes of heat and cold had been the preliminaries. There had been the sensation of drowning, then of burning fever, a spell that caused her to convulse into laughter uncontrollably and another that ignited in her belly passion, followed by the sensation of something crawling up her throat. Normally, she would have resisted such wicked evocations, but bound by the painting — there was no mistaking it now — Celeste was vulnerable to each spell Filangus cast At last, after having her emotions and body toyed with unmmercifully, Filangus cast his last incantation, which induced in Celeste an overwhelming sense of hunger and thirst.
Now, as she surveyed the ballroom and beheld the plight of the other nobles, she knew she must overcome that desire if she was to survive the day. Her “cell” awaited her at the end of the room. The gnome servant Grovette busied himself at a short, wheeled cart that rested in front of her bedroll. The cart was topped with a steaming platter heaped with roasted meats, a stew bowl and fresh breads.
“By the way you look at that cart, you must be famished after our little exercise,” Filangus said, leading Celeste closer to her place. “I know it aroused in me appetites that must be quenched. After I introduce to your cellmates, I will excuse myself. I will leave you to your dinner while I will slake my thirsts elsewhere.”
Most of the other nobles had given her scant notice, apparently too drugged or dispirited from their captivity to care. A few, however, eyed her ravenously, a crazed, bewildered look in their eyes that reminded her either of the artist Yalexex or of a wild beast that was about pounce. At the end of the line, however, she beheld an emaciated figure lying on a mat in soiled clothes that met her gaze with equal amounts of sympathy and suspicion. She recognized the man, but held her tongue.
“Milady, I present to you the former master of this house, Lord Tachi,” Filangus said, indicating the man on the mat. “So far, he has refused my hospitality. After first, I must admit, that I held his resistance in some measure of admiration. Of late, however, it has become tiresome. Perhaps your example will demonstrate the futility of his position and encourage him to join us in our cause. Of course, the time available to accept my kind offer is quickly running out. Both of you will either embrace the future the wormgod offers this night, or I will be forced to utilize you in other, less productive, ways.”
Although Grovette giggled at this evil prospects, Filangus frowned as he said it. Evidently, he considered their execution a waste. What fate awaited Celeste if she and Tachi refused whatever it was he was offering was left unsaid, but at the mention of the wormgod and her earlier humiliation at the hands of the black tentacles caused her to shudder slightly.
“Of course, I have been remiss in my introductions,” said Filangus, trying and failing to sound courteous. “If you but turn around, my dearest angel, you will see that it is Lord Tachi’s paramour Lady Kallai who rests beside you.”
From the shadowed corner of the ballroom, a creature clad in plate armor, yet manacled and chained to the the wall lurched forward. Even Grovette flinched at the thing’s sudden movements, and Celeste stifled a gasp. She turned, and saw Tachi start to weep slightly.
If this had been Lady Kallai, little remained of her. Green-tinted mail wrapped tightly about her arms and legs, which were so thin only bone must remain beneath. The gauntlets were equally thin, with fingers tipped with razors. The stench of death was all about her. The last tatters of what had been her dress barely covered the padded armored skirt.
Beneath the mask of the helm, Celeste beheld the horror Kallai had become. Her eyes had been replaced by small maws with teeth. These “eyes” were atop stalks that protruded out, coiling and uncoiling like a snake poised to strike. Her long hair that extended beneath the helmet was now steel gray, and within the strands crawled thousands of tiny green worms.
The creature was speaking, haltingly in the abyssal tongue, which Celeste understood. Kallai was crying out to Filangus for food. “Feed me flesh, feed me the new prisoner!” it cried in the language of demons, as it lunged at Celeste, straining at the bonds, bending links in the heavy chains!
Celeste also noticed the weapon this creature was meant to carry, an thing as unholy as the undead horror Lady Kalli had been transformed into. A long-handled two-handed mace with a spiked metal head rested against the wall, just beyond the thing’s reach. The mace had a long slicing blade attached to the haft near the head. Even from here, Celeste sensed the evil magic that had been infused into the weapon.
“Men such as Grovette and I are lesser servants to the wormgod,” Filangus said, in explanation. “Even all these nobles, save for Lord Tachi, are but thralls to the will of the worms they ingested. But Lady Kallai embraced her destiny, allowed the worms she consumed to exalt her body and become knight in the great god’s army of darkness. When the final reckoning comes, we shall all bow and lick the boots of the likes of her — all for the glory of Kyuss!”
Kyuss, the wormgod! Celeste felt sickened and angered by this madness. But she had fallen into the hands of her enemies, powerless to stop whatever they conspired. But she held her tongue. She listened, and hoped she would learn more.
Instead, Filangus, pointed to the “cell” area framed by the bedroll and the other prisoners’ areas. “I bid you to stay within these barriers. You shall not leave this area. You are bound to it. Step into the cell, now!”
Even as her mind rebelled at the command, her limbs complied with the request. Celeste stepped over the threshold and into the “cell.” She hated herself for not having the willpower to resist Filangus’ commands. But the magic that held her spirit in the painting could not be overcome.
Filangus now turned to Celeste, beheld the fury in her eyes. “You, my angel, could choose submission. Kyuss has among his servants creatures greater than you — celestial archons, eladrin such as yourself, even a silver dragon. What you call in your ignorance corruption, we call glory. Join us. Join us, and live. Refuse, and you will be food for the worms.” Filangus gestured at the thing Kallai had become. “Think on it, while you dine.”
Celeste watched Filangus turn and leave, Grovette at his heels. As soon as they were out of sight, she looked at the inviting pile of food, then at Tachi, who lay emaciated on his blanket. He shook his head slightly.
She breathed deeply, inhaled the scent of the food, then looked back at Lady Kallai. Filangus had said “ingested,” hadn’t he? The hunger Filangus instilled in her was of artifice, she told herself. It wasn’t real! Then with a surge she shoved the cart away, which wheeled awkwardly down the ballroom alley between the bedrolls. It struck one of the nobles, the cart teetered, then toppled over, spilling food between three of them. The nobles pounced on the meal with the ravening viscousness of dogs. Celeste turned away.
“They put the worms in the food,” Tachi said, his voice strained. “At first they tried to cover us in the worms, but that had no effect, so long as we resisted. They call them the ‘slow worms,’ whatever that means. But if you unknowingly swallow them, they take over.”
Tachi looked sadly at the chained Kyuss knight, the thing that had once been his love. “She held out longer than many of the others. But finally she said she had to eat ...” Tachi’s voice trailed off momentarily, before he continued. “Unlike the others, who have become Filangus’ slaves, the worms transformed Kallai. Made her into this. Whatever you do, don’t look long upon her. Her gaze is a weapon.”
Tachi’s eyes fell upon a skeleton that lay upon a bedroll to his right. There were gobs of green flecks, the withered husks of worms, all around it.
“Lord Mackhorn resisted as I did, but he could not stop looking at what Kallai had become. Again and again, she fixed him with her new ‘eyes!’ I could see that it was doing something to him. But he was enraptured by her gaze, and there was nothing to do, day after day. One day he just split open, green worms pouring out of him. They’d devoured him from the inside.”
Celeste felt a tingling at the back of her neck. She turned and found one of the Kallai’s eye stalks straining to nibble her. Though injured and fatigued, Celeste turned and spoke in as commanding a voice as she could muster.
“Back off you unholy spawn,” she said in the draconic tongue, raising her palm as if to ward the undead thing away. “You are a single creature. I belong to a whole race. Whatever evil you do to me shall be revisited upon you a thousandfold by the holy vengeance of my kind. You will be subject to the torments of the outer planes, a fate far worse than anything you may think to inflict upon me on this Oerth!”
Momentarily, it shrunk back, eyeing Celeste curiously. But its hunger overcame its fear, and it lurched again. Celeste moved aside, trying to keep out of its reach within the mean confines of her cell. She saw where the chain was attached to hooks, bolted to the wood paneled walls. It would not be long until the Kyuss knight tore that free of the wall. Something had to be done, but quickly.
“Lord Tachi. My name is Celeste. I was sent by my master, the archmage Manzorian, to find you. In truth, he suspected something sinister, but nothing like this. Tell, what do you know of their plans.”
Tachi coughed, which led to full bout of hacking. There was blood in the spittle. The man was failing. Celeste winced, but waited for his fit to cease. Finally, he answered. “Tonight, at the arena, Filangus’ allies will unleash something horrible. It will cause panic, a fear he hopes will undermine the people’s faith in the council that governs the Free City. The nobles in this room would step forward in this crisis, and with Filangus filling our mouths with his words, bring a measure of calm to the city.”
Celeste nodded. “I can guess the rest. With the council supplanted by these nobles, the resources of the city are at Filangus’ disposal. He can, at his leisure, cause the spread of the worms, undermine the people from within. In time, he will control the whole city. Am I close?”
Tachi nodded. He was tiring. Though Celeste could draw upon none of her reserves, she was still in far better shape than he. She considered her next move. Tachi would be essential to its success, but could he do what she asked of him?
“If I could free you,” Celeste began, “could you get out of here? Could you get help?”
Tachi looked at her, bewildered for a moment, then seemed to consider his plight. After a moment’s consideration, he nodded. Perhaps there was a source of determination within him that Celeste could not discern. She hoped she had not misjudged him. But she had little choice.
Carefully, Celeste reached into the interior of her shirt, for a secret pocket there, and withdrew the locket. The one that Tachi and Kallai had posed for and had painted by the artist Yalexex. The very one that had enscorseled them both.
“The locket. You have it!” Tachi said. “Be careful with it. It’s precious.”
Celeste nodded. “I know. But it’s the protective magic of the locket making you say that. If I scratch it, it will release its magic, and its hold upon you.” Celeste turned toward Kallai. “And, I also fear, her. There will be nothing to hold her back.”
“Don’t scratch it!” Tachi said pleadingly. “It’s all I have of Kallai as she was. Don’t take that away from me. I beg you. I thought we’d lost it.”
“We don’t have much time,” Celeste said more forcefully. “And no, you didn’t lose it. Filangus left it when he abducted you. He placed in a locked box, and in the guise of a concerned passerby, gave it to your uncle in Hardby for safekeeping. In that box it would rest undamaged forever, or so he thought. It’s not the only mistake he’s made, but I intend for it to be the most costly.”
Celeste moved adjacent to Kallai, dodging the probing eye stalks, which snapped at her hungrily. “I will do my best to keep her at bay. But once I scratch this, you must flee, and quickly. Do you understand, Lord Tachi? You must flee!”
Slowly, he got to his feet, tottered for a moment, then straightened. He looked about for the exit. “As a boy, I climbed up the handholds and guttering outside that window, there.” He pointed at an open window, the one that filtered through the sounds of the arena. “I can’t go down the stairs. They’d be on me in a moment. It has to be that way.”
“In your condition, it’ll be risky,” Celeste said, still holding the creature’s attention, which also was focused on the locket. “But I see no other way. When you get down, run for help, as fast as you can. Remember, you still have your signet ring.”
Tachi gave a faint smile. “Yes, good. They guards might not recognize me in my current condition. Thank you for reminding me.”
“Are you ready?” Celeste asked, one last time. Tachi nodded, determination now evident in his bearing. Celeste opened the locked, took one last look at the couple in a moment of happiness, then drove her thumbnail over picture.
Celeste watched for Tachi’s reaction. He stepped tentatively out of his cell, smiled, then shuffled off toward the window.
Celeste then saw Kallai’s eyestalk follow Tachi as he moved. Fearing that the creature would follow, Celeste’s hand flashed out and snatched one of the eyestalks — and wrenched down on it! The eye snapped at her and Kallai’s armored helm came crashing into Celeste’s face in a viscous head butt. Celeste released the eyestalk and tumbled back.
As Celeste rolled up she caught that last sight of Tachi as he went over the window sill. She smiled momentarily, until a heavy object whizzed over her head. Kallai had yanked the plate free from the wall and was using the length of the chain like a flail. Celeste tried to dodge, but was held by the confines of her “cell.” She dove as another swing missed her skull by a hair’s breadth.
The other nobles were yelling, screaming encouragement to the monster. Celeste rolled to the “entrance” of the cell, as far as she could place herself from Kallai. But where the monster could not reach her, the chain could. With the next swing, the chain slammed into her side, then snapped about and wound around her frame. The bolt and hook fixture thudding into her smartly. Kallai yanked, hauling Celeste off her feet, and toward her menacing eyestalks. The worms that were in Kallai’s hair were falling now, trying to land upon Celeste’s face. She writhed and wriggled in the chain, trying to avoid the things.
The sound of feet rapidly clambering on stairs sounded. Filangus bounded into the room, again followed by a wheezing and gasping Grovette. As Filangus surveyed what had happened, his face filled with rage. “Stop this!” he yelled. “Quiet, all of you! Quiet!”
Kallai ignored him, continuing to pull Celeste in. Then a hand reached down, grabbed the chain, and with a violence wrench, unraveled it. Celeste rolled over and over until its coils cast her own onto the floor. She looked up and saw it was Filangus who had intervened.
“Great Kyuss knight, you have acted well. But please return to your stool. I promise, you will feast, soon,” Filangus said, a hint of trepidation seeping into his voice. His control over the creature had been broken, and he knew it. Would the creature obey him anyway? Celeste watched.
Grovette also looked on anxiously, though from a more discreet distance.
Kallai paused, considering, then stepped back a pace, before finally breathing a sigh of relief. Looking down, he spotted the locket, flung from Celeste’s hand during the battle. Filangus bent down, picked up the trinket and examined it. There was a cruel smile on his face as he looked at the marred portrait within. Abruptly snapping the locket shut, he turned on Celeste.
“Foolish. Foolish. How far do you think he will get? How much longer did you think that it really mattered anyhow? Even now, things are approaching a climax at the arena. The great worm will be unleashed. The people will panic. And my dear nobles will step forward to claim their authority. Even now, others are eliminating the last obstacles, such as that carrot-topped mage you associate with,” Filangus paused, then pointed at Grovette. “Go to the window. See if Lord Tachi is still there.”
Grovette dashed to the window, hoisted himself up on the sill and poked his head down. “He’s there, my lord Filangus. Lord Tachi appears to have fallen. He’s not moving. Perhaps he is dead.”
“He could have been the greatest. His will was strongest,” Filangus said with regret. “Your meddling interfered. If I didn’t have even grander plans for you, I would have allowed Kallai to have you.”
“At least Tachi died free,” Celeste said. “Freer than you. Afraid of your own creations, even.”
“Wary,” Filangus said. “I’d be a fool otherwise. But never afraid.”
At that moment, Celeste felt a change. The magical bindings that held her were unraveling. It was a strange sensation, a rippling across her scalp as if her hair were being pulled out a strand at a time. There was a momentary lance of pain, then nothing. She stood up.
“What’s this?” Filangus asked, taken aback as he watched curiously as Celeste’s split lip healed and her swollen eye diminished. She gave a wry smile, then winked.
“She’s free!” Filangus shouted, alarmed. He backed away and turned to Kallai. “You may feast on her now! Take her my pet!”
Even before the Kyuss knight lurched from her chair, the improvised flail slinging, Celeste had stepped aside. Her golden blade flared to life in her left hands, while her free left hand cast a spell dispelling Filangus’ magical protections. With a quick motion of her free hand, Celeste dispelled Filangus’ magical defenses. Then she stepped forward and swung, the fiery blade slicing into the mage’s robes and mail. Filangus cried out, blood gurgling in his mouth, and then he crumpled.
Grovette dashed from the sill and tried to race for the stairway door. “No you don’t,” Celeste said, teleporting from her position and reappearing to block the stairwell exit. Grovette skidded to stop.
“Mercy, mistress,” Grovette pleaded.
Celeste reached down, grabbed Grovette by the collar and hauled him off his feet. “The only mercy you deserve, then.” she said.
Together, they teleported back in front of the Kyuss knight. Celeste flung the gnome at the creature. Kallai caught the gnome, her eyestalks poking and probing as they enjoyed their first feast of flesh in days. Grovette’s last cry was a wailing “Nooooooooooooo!”
The beast’s eyestalks were ravenous, burrowing deep into the gnome’s flesh before pulling out in a spray of deep red blood and guts. Grovette shrieked as life’s plasma was sucked out of him.
“Now it’s just us, girl” said Celeste, as she winked out ...
... and reappeared a second later as a levitating glowing ball of incandescent light. The globe moved, and then a ray of light — pure goodness — shone from it and struck the Kyuss knight square in the chest. The blasting ray pushed the creature back, dropping its meal. Celeste, in her true form now, loosed another ray, which again battered at the undead thing.
Celeste reappeared in humanoid form, and her eyes — no longer disguised — shone a pearly opalescence. The incandescent sword was again in her hands, and she launched herself at Kallai.
“Behold my glory and might!” Celeste shouted, and her eyes radiated light. The undead creature flinched, averting its own gaze from the fury of the ghaele eladrin.
In its bid to flee, the creature wrenched its other arm free of the wall, and with chains dangling from its manacled wrists, grabbed the dreaded mace from its resting place. Now armed, it advanced and met Celeste’s charge.
Celeste’s incandescent sword met the monster’s mace in flurry of rapid blows, which reverberated as a series of clangs and sprays of sparks. The thing spat green worms at her and the blood-soaked eyestalks made another attempt to bite. But Celeste was prepared for the assault, and she used her superior fighting skill to gain a position of leverage against the Kyuss knight.
Her stance set, Celeste put her full weight into the next blow, and forced the monster off its feet. It tumbled to the floor with a crash, the metal armor gouging the hardwood flooring. The creature awkwardly scrambled to right itself, but it was too heavily encumbered by the plating. This time Celeste struck at the creature’s body, and not its weapon, and her holy blade cut through the plating like a knife through butter.
Celeste struck two more times, cleaving metal plate from bone, and destroyed the worms that surged out of the wounds with her holy gaze. The battle had lasted just a few seconds, Celeste triumphing in a quick demonstration of her ghaele abilities.
Strangely, the room was still. The other nobles, still bound by Filangus’ last commands, stayed in their “cells.” But they were no longer agitated. The slow worms that controlled them were not dormant, Celeste knew. But to cure them of their afflictions would require a bevy of high priests, each endowed to remove the contagion that writhed within. Alerting healers of that quality would require the assistance of a major temple. But that could wait.
Celeste teleported again, this time to appear at Tachi’s side on the grounds at the foot of the window. He’d broken his neck, and his life force was beyond saving. If Tachi’s uncle wished the man raised, it would be his business. But for now, she could do nothing.
Then, a cold realization swept over here, and with a shudder she stood up and teleported once again.
9. A Last Look
Celeste magically appeared on Eligos’ doorstep. In escaping from Filangus’ clutches, she hadn’t time to consider the implications of her release from her magical bond to the painting. Now, standing before the mage’s estate house, she feared what she would discover inside. What price had bought her freedom?
The estate’s front door hung off its hinges, and Celeste raced inside, stopping only a moment to check for a pulse from the servant Pollard, who lay crumpled inside the entrance. There was no sign of life. Intruders had struck the elf down with deep sword thrusts, the work more of butchers than a skilled assassin, she surmised. Celeste only hesitated a moment to close the elf’s eyelids, then run down the hallway to the mage’s parlor gallery.
The gallery, where she and Eligos had relaxed in discussion only days before, now displayed the bloody aftermath of battle. Three warriors, their bodies split and roasted by Eligos’ powerful spells, lay about. The bodies of two servants cut down by blades were here too.
But the carnage did not stop there. Celeste closed her eyes and winced once she beheld the slain form of her friend, who lay sprawled beneath her portrait. She rushed to his side, and while inspecting the scene, the flow of battle played out in her imagination.
A short sword protruded from Eligos’ back. This had been the lethal blow. But what had caused this veteran mage to turn his back on his intruders, she wondered.
Then Celeste focused on Eligos’ right hand, which clasped tightly his own dagger. She followed the line up from the dagger hand up the wall, and saw that is was pointed at the portrait, whose canvas was sliced neatly in two.
Celeste’s heart fell once she realized what Eligos had done. Faced with overwhelming odds, Eligos had turned his back on his attackers, and in a moment of sacrifice, used that brief moment to destroy the painting, releasing Celeste from its hold. Yet, that action cost him, for the assassins took advantage of the move to get in close and strike him down.
Crying freely, Celeste cradled the mage in her arms, trying to wipe the dried blood off the fair skin of his face, gently stroking his red hair and rocking the body gently. She was lost for words. She was alive only because of what he’d done, and in return, there was nothing she could do about it.
Celeste pulled the blade from his back, but because the blood had already settled in the lower extremities, little poured from the wound. After gently laying his head upon the floor, she scrutinized the make of the blade. It was the sort only used by Raknian’s gladiators, and so she knew that Filangus’ boast had been true. Raknian had ordered the assassination. Righteous anger grew within Celeste, and she vowed to gain her revenge.
Celeste, tears streaming freely down her face, stood up, preparing to teleport to the arena, when she heard excited voices coming from the entrance to the estate. In moments the adventurers from Diamond Lake, looking like they have just come from battle, for they were all bruised and bloodied, rushed into the room. The stopped short as soon as they found Celeste.
“Is he ... dead?” a squat dwarf carrying a mace asked nasally through a broken nose.
Celeste nodded sadly. “Raknian’s men ...” was all she could say before her voice faltered.
“Raknian’s dead, anyway,” the group’s female cleric of Wee Jas said. “We slew him while fighting the worm beast he unleashed on the arena. We feared for Eligos’ life, once we pieced it together. I’m sorry we did not get here in time.”
Celeste, calmed at hearing that Raknian had met a just end, spoke softly. “There are nobles afflicted with slow worms in the Tachi mansion. And an artist named Yalexex, too. Would you see that they receive healing ....” With a reassuring smile, the female cleric said it would be done.
Celeste knelt down, picked up Eligos in her arms and carried him out of the room. The cleric offered to administer last rites, but Celeste brushed her off.
“Death is not the only ending,” Celeste said reproachfully to the cleric, who, in turn, showed surprise at the remark. “I will see that he is properly cared for.”
Celeste paused, then looked back. There had been something missing from her portrait. She took a last look at the split canvas, seeing in the painting her bright smile and piercing blue eyes, and of course, the lip ring, ignoring the rip that caused one side of her face to curl away from the other. She made a careful inspection, to be doubly sure. At last, she sighed.
“What’s the matter?” asked the dwarf.
“The worm is gone,” said Celeste before at last turning about and carrying Eligos out the door.
END
I'm glad you've enjoyed it, Mr. Shiny. I don't know when I'll get a chance to write again, or if I'll be inspired to write in AoW. But in the meantime, please put down the any sharp objects.
A fantastic piece of work. Please keep writing! I'm with Shiny on this: w/o James pieces I'm in withdrawal myself.
Come to think of it, might be interesting to do some fiction for the other two adventure paths . . . .
A fantastic piece of work. Please keep writing! I'm with Shiny on this: w/o James pieces I'm in withdrawal myself.
Thanks for the kind note, Lathiira.