Golden Rook Ch. 01-07

The room had gone silent.

"You're telling me what she's talking about is real, Erebrim?" Tark pushed his way back to the front holding his arm gingerly.

"Yes, but-" his words were drowned out by the sudden raucous chatter.

"What if you don't have someone to take your ashes?" The room quieted again. A young man timidly stepped toward her. "If you don't have family or," he glanced around, "reliable friends."

"An excellent question." Syreilla gnawed on the hunk of bread contemplating it. To Magpie, she murmured, "If Master Odos hadn't left so abruptly I'd ask him if he had any suggestions."

"If Hevtos is your uncle, that would make you a demi-goddess at the least." Erebrim looked speculative, "They could pray to you."

She shuddered, making several of them snort. "I don't know if it would work or not, but if you don't have anyone else, I suppose you're welcome to try. You could ask me to do that for you. BUT!" Syr tried to make herself heard, "BUT!"

They quieted back down. "The small offering of sentimental value is important. If I don't know you and I don't have anything that makes me feel sentimental about you..."

The murmuring began again. This time Magpie spoke up, "You like birds, maybe if they carry a feather for luck or a medallion with a golden rook on it?"

"That might work."

*Five*

Hevtos listened. His name was rarely spoken outside of curses and this conversation... Odos knew it would get his attention. He wanted his uncle to be aware that he guessed the plans that had been made and he wished to caution Hevtos over taking Zyulla. Syreilla handled it surprisingly well. Her admission to perpetrating some sort of con on him was curious. He summoned Vezar.

Before the half-dragon could get there things began to grow much more interesting. The Rook was spinning a web of half-truths. To have worshippers again he might be willing to reward the thieves that helped her but... she was suggesting their sins would go entirely unpunished, and that this would go for all thieves who managed her instructions.

"Divinity?"

"The Rook, she spoke to Odos of deception, of a con. But I can't tell who she intends to deceive. Syreilla is offering to intercede for them and spare them my punishments." He opened Vezar's mind.

"She spoke to me of needing to hit as many of the temples at once as she could. I assumed she was going to pay the thieves, I did not realize she was going to offer them a better afterlife."

"She's recruiting worshippers for me. And reluctantly for herself. You spoke to her of the Garden of Night?"

"Once, Divinity."

"Did she understand that it was destroyed? That it was sealed by Imos and cannot be opened again except by his priests?"

"If she did... was his name spoken? If he hears this as well he may send someone to be certain, someone who may open it to venture inside." Vezar smiled viciously. "She can be clever when she wishes."

"If the Rook has it reopened, and brings me worshippers, I will have to find a way to reward her." Hevtos sat in contemplation for a moment. His name was reverently on the lips of almost every thief in the tavern. "The statue will need to be remade."

Summoning the spectral builders once again, he set them to a simple task. Create his statue from the heavy basalt he favored. This time he instructed that a rook made of gold be added to it, perched on his hand. If her plans succeeded, the Rook's reward would be there for all to see.

Having his name being spoken so much, he almost dismissed it when his name was whispered, but the pleading quality to it drew his attention. Syreilla knelt by a bed. On it lay Odos' leather purse. She was peering at something inside it nervously. He sent the command for Vezar to visit her as discreetly as possible, immediately.

Keeping his eye on her, he watched as Vezar slipped into her room, she greeted him by pulling the purse closed and shoving it into his hands. "I don't know why he gave this to me, but I have the feeling I really don't want to be caught with it."

Vezar nodded, "I'll take care of it." The half-dragon hesitated, "Do you think you can get his approval to return home?"

"I'll only try if he'll let me come and go as I please." The Rook smiled at him and kissed him sweetly, "Go, and don't you get caught with it either."

Hevtos smiled faintly, that was some sort of act for prying eyes. Whatever was in the purse, it would be something that could be easily replaced. No doubt she wished to see which gods were observing, and which would interfere. The implications that he'd thrown her out were amusing, some would believe it and undoubtedly try to enlist her services for themselves. His Rook seemed to have a reputation.

On Vezar's return with the bag, Hevtos inquired, "Did anyone try to intercept you? I expect she wished to know..." The bag held two of the jewels, white and nearly identical, as well as a note.

Use my little rook well while you have her, I want her back when you finish. Free my mother and justify the lend.

"He intends to help for his mother's sake, but Odos will not get his little rook back." Hevtos felt the righteous fury bubbling at the thought. He was beginning to appreciate the Golden Rook and, like his father, Odos would take away that which he could love.

"Divinity?" Vezar looked concerned.

"You will take back the purse with a response for Odos." Hevtos sat for a time considering his reply. Once the first flush of anger passed, it became clear to him, if he wrote the response he wished it would expose her lies. It might even hinder her efforts.

The Golden Rook served well, but the little thief could not be broken of her habits. Death will drive her back without my leave. The Rook will receive all she has earned and what was taken from me will be restored.

It would have to suffice. He placed it in the purse and sent Vezar back. This time the purse was intercepted. The half-dragon returned battered.

"Divinity, I could not get the message back to her. Imos has raised priests with-"

"He did that long ago. Imos has only a few White Hands but they are powerful. I expected someone to interfere." Hevtos allowed himself a smile wondering if the second stone had belonged to Imos. "In the future, if you see them, call out for me. I will draw you back myself."

"Are they a danger to my Syreilla?" Vezar's claws were at the ready as if he might attack anyone who presented themselves.

"I think the Golden Rook can evade two or three-"

"There were six, Divinity!"

"We will wait. She may need to earn her reputation."

*Six*

It was a good start. Syreilla was trying not to get too proud of herself as she secured her room at the Hollow Jester Inn when she opened the purse. The sight of the two faintly glowing white gems felt like a punch to her stomach. She wasn't ready yet. Syr took it immediately to her room and stared into the partly open bag. The note with them wasn't in a script she could read.

Under her breath, she murmured, "Oh, Hevtos. Vezar, I need you. Hevtos, I need him." All she could do was hope that she was heard and Hevtos would send Vezar quickly.

After what felt like an age, Vezar slipped into her room. Syreilla came to her feet immediately, pulling the purse off of the bed and tying it closed. Pressing it into his hands she tried to keep her worry under control. "I don't know why he gave this to me, but I have the feeling I really don't want to be caught with it."

He nodded, studying her face, "I'll take care of it." Hesitating for a moment, he asked, "Do you think you can get his approval to return home?"

She understood what he was asking, was she in over her head? With a smile, she answered him the same careful way, "I'll only try if he'll let me come and go as I please." Giving him a kiss she hurried him out, "Go, and don't you get caught with it either."

Even after the purse was given over and gone Syr's nervousness didn't ease. Pulling on her cloak and making certain she had all of her tools and a hefty purse, she slipped out. The evening air was cool and she knew what she still needed to find to complete her kit. She went to fetch Magpie first. He wasn't waiting where she'd left him. With a shrug, she assumed he'd catch up at some point.

The Storm Cauldron was still doing its quiet business in the evening hours. It wasn't likely she would be particularly welcome. The Golden Rook was someone that mages tried to protect against, at least the ones who aspired to become lich. She waited until it looked as though the shop had emptied before entering.

"We don't serve thieves." The scowling mage came from behind the counter as soon as she stepped inside.

"Will you serve the Golden Rook? Or do I need to bring Vezar and come back in a more official capacity to get service?" Syreilla smiled sweetly.

"That isn't a title to throw around lightly." He narrowed his eyes and she could feel the ward above the door starting to activate.

Drawing from it and muttering the dispelling chant she'd learned while dragging back a stubborn lich, one who'd cleared away her wards with ease, she watched the man step back. The ward above her sputtered and faded and the floor in front of her quivered for a moment. "I can throw down a few new ones if you'd like. I've picked up several really exciting ones since I've been working for my uncle."

"That won't be necessary, Divinity." The mage bowed low.

"Don't. I don't like that. I was born mortal." She lifted a hand and he flinched. "I'm the Golden Rook, no more no less. Understand?"

"Of course." He lifted his eyes nervously. "How may I serve you?"

"I need some supplies. Contrary to the rumors I so enjoy hearing, I don't actually breathe dragon's fire, I mix it." Syr glanced around at the shelves.

"Many of us suspected as much, though I would be interested to hear about the things you've learned in the course of your... duties." He began to assemble ingredients. "May I ask what brings you out unofficially?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Syr grimaced before she answered, "Oddly enough, my uncle doesn't like thieves either. We're useful."

"Only as long as they aren't stealing from you." The mage looked at her as if expecting her to be amused, she gave him her widest smile.

"What's a little light theft among family?"

He stopped what he was doing. "You stole from the god of death?"

"He got most of it back." She put some defensiveness into her voice.

"What does he have to steal?" The fascination on his face made her glance around and lean in before she started to speak very quietly.

"You're aware that the gods all have at least one stone or jewel to pour power into for their priests to use? Uncle doesn't have any priests, he does have a lot of chambers to maintain and they are vast."

"You stole... How many did you keep?" He was almost breathless as he leaned uncomfortably close.

"None, he wouldn't have turned me loose on the land of the living if I had kept one. I did, however, misplace one of the shards. They're such small things after all."

"Where?" His eyes were like saucers.

"Somewhere difficult to get to. From me, that's saying something."

"Do you have any idea of the value..."

"Do I look like an idiot to you?" Syr lifted her eyebrows with a grim smile. "Uncle isn't very happy with me at the moment. You think I'd risk that for something I could pick up in a field?"

"No Di-My Lady." The avarice in his eyes was everything she could have hoped for, but then he narrowed his eyes, "The threat to bring Vezar Edra was hollow."

"No. I can call him if I need him." She offered wryly, "As long as I don't do it too often. Vezar is a quick one, he can get around Uncle better than I can. I'm required to go when Vezar calls me though. He can handle most things, but I tend to make the job easier."

"I imagine you do, Lady. Are you planning to... do anything interesting during your stay in Withia?"

"I want to have dragon's fire on hand before I start making firm decisions." Syr gave him a broad grin and he swallowed before nodding and fetching more vials and pouches to lay on the counter, there were far more than what she needed.

"I know the theory of dragon's fire, but I've never seen it made. Some say different powders..."

She began looking through his offerings. "In a dwarf mine, you can find almost everything you need but this was always the best place to get the last few ingredients." Picking through the powders, she also set aside two of the thick viscous liquids. "If you have a ceramic bowl to mix it in, and you don't mind clearing the rest away, I'd like to test your ingredients. Zylius always said never to leave your dragon's fire until you need it. Make sure your ingredients all work as they should and your skills don't atrophy."

"Zylius... that's a name I haven't heard for some time."

"I imagine not. Is Agust No-legs still alive?"

"Ha!" The mage eyed her with amusement. "No, Lady. But he trained a few competent mages despite his... affliction." He took away the excess ingredients and fetched a wide, flat-bottomed ceramic bowl. "I believe all of my ingredients should meet your standards, but I will not pass up the opportunity to-"

The door of the shop opened as she began to mix the powders carefully.

"It's a rare thing for priests of Imos to-"

"We are the White Hands, you will be silent, mage. Servant of Evil, you will return what you've stolen."

The feeling of profoundly unfriendly eyes on her back didn't make her hurry in her task. "I haven't stolen anything from Uncle Imos in a very long time. I expected you to be here to escort me to the nearest temple to pay my respects. I did promise to visit the last time I saw him."

"You will turn and face me when you speak, Servant of Evil." The sound of a weapon being unsheathed and the tingle of magic made her give the nervous mage in front of her a smile.

Syreilla picked up the bowl carefully, turning and holding it in front of her almost as an offering. "Firstly, Hevtos isn't evil, a little wicked now and then maybe, but that's almost a family trait." The two men glowering in front of her were dressed in fine white cloth, aside from their weapons they could be easily mistaken for priests. "Secondly, if you put away your weapon, I'll put away mine. There's no reason for this to-"

The one with his shining sword drawn stepped forward to strike the bowl and she stopped speaking to blow across it, waking the dragon's fire as she launched it at him. As he screamed, she murmured the words to the old siphoning spell and drew the power from his weapon, unleashing nearly all of it as a concussive force through her hand as the second one charged her. The blow wouldn't have done much without the power behind it, with the power his chest crumpled as he struck the wall by the door, knocking it open.

"Well... Uncle Imos is definitely not going to be happy to see me. Whatever it is he thinks I did, this is probably worse." Turning back to the mage, he dropped to his knees behind the counter.

"Divin-Lady..."

"Get up, please. If you have some sturdy pouches for the supplies I just used I'll take what you have of them. And I'll take a few of those bowls, or smaller ones like it, if you don't mind." She lifted out the purse, "How much?"

"Anything you require, Lady, take it, please! I won't trouble a goddess for something so trivial as gold!"

"I'm not-" Syr stopped herself and tried not to sigh, "I am the Golden Rook. If you don't want my money, I'll give you whatever I can find off of the priests here. I was going to look over their corpses while you gathered my goods."

"The-the fire, Lady!"

"Ah! Sorry, I'm so used to using it in places I can just let it burn." Drawing on the diminished power from the sword she quashed the flames with a muttered spell. The ash of the man's head and torso, surrounded by his mostly intact limbs and sword, billowed. The thick black smoke inside the shop was being drawn out through the still partly open door, she used the same spell to give the suffocating mix of smoke and ash a push, slamming the door open and helping the room clear. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you, Lady." He was gathering pouches and larger vials and packaging them carefully in a large satchel with a half dozen ceramic bowls of various sizes.

"This shop used to serve thieves, you know. Istion was very good about that."

"That ended when they came in to steal the book he'd been writing on ingredients and their uses. He was extremely knowledgeable..." The mage looked at her speculatively. "If you wanted to find the book and return it I would be willing to open the doors again. I doubt they'd take it twice if you were the one to return it."

"It was probably a job done for a mage. Istion was liked, even the elves who came in were respectful, and for a half-elf that took more than you know." She looked at him thoughtfully, "Did he die in the theft?"

"Yes, Lady."

"Then it was either an idiot novice trying to make a name for himself or someone moonlighting. Assassins have been known to dabble now and then if the price is right, and if a mage asks for a book and the writer to be killed, he gets referred to an assassin. Clean jobs are what we take pride in. Odos sticks his hand in now and then to keep it that way." Syr frowned, taking a deep breath of the still slightly smoky air. "Was there anyone particularly interested in the book?"

"A mage by the name of Messus commissioned it, he demanded the advance he paid back when it was stolen." He offered her the satchel.

"I'll look into it." Glancing at the corpses she added, "If more of these come looking for me, I won't be offended if you tell them whatever they need to know, as far as what I bought is concerned. If you send them to find Messus first that would be annoying. I hate it when people are waiting for me to come out after I do a job. You might send them to Tirnel Acharnion's instead. Let the elf wonder and worry."

The mage began to laugh. "Yes, Lady. When you return, perhaps you would consider allowing me to record some of your spells. I would love to have my name spoken as fondly as you speak Zylius' and Istion's." He bowed low.

"You'll have to tell me what it is first." She shouldered her new bag.

"Riman, Lady Rook." He bowed again.

"Take care of yourself, Riman. I always liked this shop." She gave him a grin and pulled up her hood, "You won't object if I leave through the old door will you?"

"The old..." Riman fell silent as she stepped behind the counter and into the back.

The old corner of recipes had been allowed to get dusty but the hidden door still worked. Syr pulled it open and moved into the darkness beyond it, "There was a reason this was supposed to be kept well dusted, Riman. Certain customers don't like leaving through the front door."

"I will see to it, Lady." The amazement in his voice suggested the old door had been forgotten. Hopefully, it still had an exit.

The door closed and, as she carefully made her way down the ladder in the dark, Syreilla wished she'd had the foresight to hunt down another gem like the one she used to have. A small light flared into life in front of her as she turned at the bottom.

"Little rook, you should be more careful in speaking names." Master Odos was looking at her almost sternly.

"How many eyes are on us right now?" She came closer to ask quietly.

"We're concealed for the moment," the corners of his lips began to curve upward.

"I'm aware that speaking names gets attention, when they have a mind to give it. I'm also aware that when you mix lies and truth liberally, no one can tell them apart. When I speak a name it's deliberate, Master Odos."

"You're playing a dangerous game. How can you do what you were sent to do..." Odos began to grin. "My little rook. If you succeed you might just impress a few of them more than you upset them."