6th Day of Ash, 122nd Year of the Age of Steel
The gloom at the end of the tunnel was a welcome sight. Masagh sighed with relief and used a hand on the wall to guide his steps. The pact was beating the echos of his fight with the Inquisitors into his mind and body with the unrelenting cadence the Rune maintained since he had received it. The reaving rune was a powerful thing. It was a weapon unmatching in combat, but it came with a toll. You must suffer as you would, and endurance is the only way through.
Masagh endured, though his knees became weak at points. Eventually he slid through the thin side tunnel into the Grand Hall. It was mostly empty now, House Creth having dispersed to their other pursuits. Amongst those that remained were Cyran, Sabrione, and the new family they had rescued. The two youngsters were much more relaxed now. They were constantly playing and their laughter echoed through the tunnels of House Creth. The parents, Edgar and Ellen, too could be seen smiling at something Cyran said.
Masagh set his face and made his way over to the group. He walked gingerly, attempting to not show any of the pain of the pact toll. Sabrione was sitting on the edge of a table facing the table the family and Cyran were sitting around. Cyran had some book open in front of them. Masagh caught him explaining some detail of the house history excruciatingly old and irrelevant. At least the family seemed comforted at the longevity of the house if not interested in Cyran’s musings.
“Weaponmaster. Can I have a word?” Masagh said, stiffly leaning against the table next to her.
“Sir Masagh, are you as old as High Arcanist Cyran as well?” The little girl asked. Masagh had brought her through Sabrione’s slipspace portal along with her brother but he hadn’t learned their names. He smiled with a huff of laughter.
“No, no, I’m a spritely young two hundred.” Masagh grinned at their incredulous laughter. Quickly he shot a significant look at Sabrione though. She caught it and arched an eyebrow.
“Alright, sorry. Pardon us a moment.” She muttered, waving a hand to the family and standing up. She moved off towards the other end of the hall and he followed. When they were out of earshot she turned and looked him over.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Masagh grimaced. “The Mad Goat… and then other places.”
“What?!” She hissed. She leaned in and her eyes flared with anger. “Why did you go back so soon… and alone?”
“We felt people alive who saw our faces, Sabrione!” How could she not understand. She had been at this longer than him, she knew the game. “First it’s rumor, then the Inquisitors are involved, then it’s a hunt.”
“It was just a bar brawl gone wrong.” Sabrione said quickly, eyes flashing towards where Cyran and the family were still talking. “No Inquisition, no problem.”
If only that were true. “Inquisition was there, Sabrione. They talked to the barman. He called us zombies.” Masagh told her. “Then they went to the Siltori’s house and he confirmed it.”
“What?” Fear pooled in her eyes, like blood in water darkening her expression. “How do you know?”
“I followed them, of course. As an animal.” Masagh waved the question off. “They spoke to the Siltori, he’s named Serat. He remembers undead killed his friend.”
“And now the Inquisition knows.” Sabrione was looking truly fearful, or perhaps it was guilt that plagued her face. After years of responsibility for the safety of the Compound, she was sure to be shouldering the fallout of this disastrous event even now.
“Well, no.” Masagh muttered, grimacing and rubbing the wrist of his sword arm gingerly. “I killed the investigators. Toppled their bodies into the Gash.”
Sabrione blinked. Her attention diverted to inspecting him for wounds. She pushed and prodded at him, making him turn so she could see.
“I’m fine. But we’ve got to handle this tonight.” Masagh said, pulling away.
“Why?” She asked, eyes roving the Hall again.
“Investigators with the Inquisition come sniffing around the bar, hear about some murdered Ork, go visit his friend, then the same night go missing? I’m sure their bodies will be found, or what’s left of them. We leave it for another night and who knows who Serat - the elf - will tell. Got to stop it clean, stop it now.” He finished with the finality of a headsman’s ax.
A nasty look had crossed Sabrione’s face, as though it was all too unpleasant to contemplate. Her shoulders were tight and her hands curled into fists.
Laughter carried from the table where the family was. Cyran’s voice rose eagerly as he explained something. They both knew they had to go back out. They both knew why. Masagh turned to look at the family sitting there, happy and safe.
“Alright.” Sabrione said.
“One more thing.” Masagh still watched the family, face impassive. “I’ve got no more aether to use. I’m just old fashioned blade and brawn for a bit now.” He turned back to her, brows creased in worry.
“Stay here, I’ll go clean it up.” Sabrione said quickly. Guilt hung over her like a cloak.
“Oh, where does the elf live? Think you can kill him alone?” He didn’t try to hide the biting tone. “We go together, we end the elf and then we forget it happened. Ork’s dead, elf’s dead, and the two investigators are dead. No one left who really saw us. The innkeeper won’t press it and no one will believe it without the witnesses.” Masagh reaffirmed the plan.
“Are you up for this?” Sabrione asked, eying his sword arm. “He’s not an easy opponent.”
“I just killed a pair of Imperium officers, Sabrione. I think between the two of us we can handle one elf with a pair of daggers.”
“I meant with the fallout of your castings, Masagh.” Sabrione snapped.
“Oh, yes I’ll be fine. Can you get us to the Mad Goat? I can retrace steps to the house from there.”
“Yea, come on, let’s do this out of sight.” Sabrione said, eyeing the family and pulling on his arm. She led him into the entrance hall and under the looming statue of Quetharax. She tore open a way into the slipspace and lead him through. There was a moment of disorientation as his sister guided them along the leylines. Then they were out into the material plane just up the road from the now familiar Mad Goat signpost.
