Underkeeper

Getting the dwarf out of the Paladins’ Hall discreetly was difficult, but they managed. At least, nobody raised any alarms and nobody tried to stop them. Discretion was important in a case like this – the paladins likely would have objected to a demon, its weird mage handler and a warlock apprehending an enemy warlock in their basement. Once they were out, they simply walked the dwarf out of the Temple District while Jori followed more discreetly below street level.

The prisoner, who still seemed to be completely under the control of some kind of demon, was surprisingly cooperative once he’d surrendered. When they reached the Solicitors’ building, Josie let them in through the side door and led them down a set of steps to a small series of cells, two of which were occupied. After locking the prisoner inside one of the open ones, she held a small healing potion out to him through the bars and offered a small mocking bow.

“Drink up, whisperer! Compliments of the Solicitors.”

The dwarf took it wordlessly, and she turned to go.

“Uh, where are you going?” Bernt asked, eyeing the prisoner as he drank the red liquid down. He didn’t like the idea of being left alone in here – not if the prisoner could talk again and especially not if it could mean experiencing whatever had happened to Josie out there earlier.

“I’m going to fetch Solicitor Radast.” Josie explained without slowing down. “Don’t worry, the cells are enchanted. He can’t do anything. Just stay here for a minute.” Her steps stopped and she called back down the stairs. “Uh… don’t talk to them, though – they’re dangerous!”

Bernt looked around. It seemed like an unnecessary warning. None of the prisoners looked especially talkative – they were huddled near the backs of their cells, in the shadows. With a shrug, Bernt pushed up his sleeve to check on his arm. It looked completely fine. There wasn’t even any scarring. But he hadn’t been able to cast.

“What’s wrong with it?” Jori asked, peering at the hand. He could feel her worry – she’d probably felt him get burned.

He shrugged at her. “I’m not sure. I think that other warlock did something to me when he burned my arm.” Hellfire alone wasn’t supposed to have this sort of effect, as far as Bernt knew. Granted, it usually did a lot more damage – there shouldn’t have been an arm left to heal. He shivered at the thought of how close it had really been. But his cold fire had weakened the attack somehow, or changed it. He couldn’t really be sure exactly what happened.

Hesitantly, he tried casting his torch spell – the easiest cantrip he knew. Visualizing the spellform felt normal. A small, bright flame flickered to life over his open hand. It worked, but even as the light kindled, a bone-deep ache radiated up his arm. It hurt to channel more than a trickle of mana out through the arm.

This was bad. He needed to talk to Syrah or maybe Ed or Iriala. Somebody who might know what happened and how to fix it. This was the second time his casting had become impaired from his dominant hand in just over a month – not counting the alchemical poisoning he'd suffered in the limb. But that couldn't be related. Could it?

Bernt’s train of thought was interrupted when the door opened and Radast stepped inside, followed closely by Josie. Quickly, he dropped the sleeve and stepped back to let them by.

The head solicitor spared a quick glance for Bernt’s spell, which still burned brightly over one of his shoulders, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he stepped directly up to the bars and eyed his new prisoner dispassionately.

“Good afternoon,” he began in a calm, businesslike manner – neither hurried nor patient. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about your presence and purpose here in Besermark – and Halfbridge in particular.”

The gray eyed dwarf stared back at him expressionlessly for a few seconds before answering. “I am contractually bound not to reveal any information about the Duergar Empire or my pacted partner.”

His voice was dry and emotionless, just like his face.

“Hmph. Well, at least they have some kind of contract.” Radast sniffed, turning away. “Still, I would have thought that a civilization as old and respectable as the Duergar Empire would have more sense than to allow its warlocks to surrender themselves to possession.”

The dwarf didn’t answer or give any indication that he’d even heard.

“Ah well, it was worth a try.” Radast turned to Bernt, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “Underkeeper Bernard. Do you mind if I borrow your light?”

Bernt nodded, and the warlock pulled a dense bundle of herbs from his pocket. He held it up to Bernt’s torch spell until it caught fire, then extinguished the flame again with a practiced flick of his wrist. An unpleasantly acrid herbal smell filled the room.

Wafting the smoke around in an odd circular motion, Radast chanted in an unfamiliar language. As he did, the dwarf’s previously dead face began to twitch oddly before settling into a deep frown. Brown bled into the creature’s eyes until they were left dark without a hint of their previous gray. The warlock hadn’t done any magic, not directly. Bernt would have been able to sense it if he’d actually channeled and shaped mana himself. But whatever he’d done had worked. Was this ritual magic?

“Now, then. Let’s try this again,” the warlock said pleasantly, though his expression was nothing less than predatory. “What’s your name?”

The dwarf looked around nervously and frowned up at Radast. “My name is Ksandr… who are you?”

“Ah, isn’t this better?” Radast smiled. “My name is Solicitor Radast. You may call me Solicitor, or Solicitor Radast.”

“You have done a foolish thing, taking me as a prisoner.” Ksandr said, eyes narrowing. His Beseri was quite good, though he had a fairly strong guttural accent. “They will know, and you will die. Nuros commands many silent watchers – shades, eldritch eyes, and eaters of memory.” The strange dwarf's voice grew increasingly strained as he talked and foam started collecting at the corners of his mouth. “If none see, my own demon will deliver his knowledge of you when it returns. None may know our purpose, and so you will die.”

Radast rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure that’s very interesting. Who is Nuros? Is it a general? A duergar prince?”

“A general,” the dwarf answered, voice turning raspy, “A prince of sorts, perhaps – an ascending star of the fifth circle. He is a servant of Varamemnon, the Devouring Maw.”

“Hail the Devourer.” An unsteady voice rattled out from another of the cells.

“Deeply he drinks from the well.” The last prisoner said in a smooth baritone and with a ritualistic cadence. He was a tall, powerfully built man. He’d come right up against the bars to hear the duergar warlock’s words, but he was staring at Jori with feverish intensity.

A shiver ran down Bernt’s neck, both at the creepy display, and because he had an idea of who this might be.

Jori had seen him too. Her face contorted with rage and she summoned a fistful of sulfurous red hellfire, but Radast made a quick gesture with one hand and his shadow flickered forward to fall across Jori’s body for a moment. The flames simply vanished, as if extinguished under a heavy blanket. Jori hissed and shook out her hand. The shadow had stung her, somehow.

“Well, well. This is interesting. Finally we’re getting somewhere with all this,” the solicitor hummed, seeming completely unruffled. “Underkeeper Bernard, Dzhorianath – I believe it would now be appropriate for you to go and be debriefed by your superiors. Archmage Thurdred will wish to learn of our findings and have an opportunity to speak with our guest himself. I will see to it that Count Narald and other relevant stakeholders are informed. Please relay our compliments to the Archmage and reiterate to him that, as per our agreement, he will enjoy our full cooperation in all matters pertaining to the current situation.”

Bernt had questions, but this seemed like a bad time and place to argue. He needed to talk to someone about his arm, and he wanted to get Jori out of here and away from the tall man. She was afraid of him, and her fear was making him uneasy in turn.

So, instead of saying anything, Bernt just nodded and headed for the door, picking up a shivering Jori and carrying her out in his arms. As he passed her, he noticed Josie giving them a strange, bemused look.

–-------

Bernt and Jori went to find Ed first, at the Underkeepers’ old headquarters. Bernt explained what happened as quickly as he could, including the apparent spiritual damage to his arm, with Jori adding both helpful and not-so-helpful details to better illustrate her role in the day’s events. Ed’s scowl deepend as they talked, though he looked more thoughtful than upset.

“Hmm. Well... there’s not much point in speculating about your arm right now. Just rest it for a few days and see how well you recover naturally.” He rose from his chair and began collecting his things. “I need to go visit with the Solicitors. You should go home. You’re not even supposed to be working today, fool boy.”

He was nearly out the door when he stopped and turned back to him. He met Bernt's eyes for a second, and gave him a considering nod, followed by a firmer one. "You did good today, both of you. This is going to win you a bit of goodwill, facing down an enemy warlock out in the open like that. The rest of us, too. The paladins aren't going to like being saved, especially by the two of you and the solicitor girl, but they aren't ingrates, either. Mostly, anyway."

He nodded one more time and turned away. "Alright. Now go on and get out of here. I need to lock up."

-------

By the time they returned to the Undercity Gate, night had fallen. The pleasant yellow-green light emanating from the tunnel ceiling gave the place a warm, inviting air, not at all like the sewer-based dungeon entrance that it had been just a few weeks before.

Bernt’s spirits lifted at the sight and he waved to Palina, who was once again manning the guard station and sipping on a steaming cup of tea that she raised to him in reply. Everything looked calm and peaceful – the only indication that anyone had been flinging hellfire around here just a few hours ago was a few square feet of smooth, glassy-looking cobblestone that had melted slightly in the unnatural fire’s incredible heat.

“I thought you already worked the day shift,” he asked as they got close enough to talk.

Palina shrugged. “I’m filling in for one of the gobbos – signed myself up for a bit of overtime. The poor little guy took a spear right in the stomach. That healer you showed up with took care of it, but she said that he should lay down for a day or two to be sure. Gut wounds are always a mess. Someone will be around to relieve me soon.” She leaned forward, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow. “I heard a rumor that you and the solicitor girl dragged the other one of those warlocks out from under the Paladins’ Hall.”

Bernt shrugged. “Uh. Yea…” He didn’t realize that word would get around so fast, though it made sense. They’d pulled Ksandr the warlock up out of the window right onto a public street.

“I snatched his alchemical bomb right out of the air!” Jori said proudly, making a snatching motion to illustrate. “He was going to burn down the whole building, probably, but I stopped him.”

“Really?” Palina asked, eyebrows rising as Jori nodded emphatically. “I suppose it’s a good target. They’re relying pretty heavily on their warlocks. What did you do with the bomb?”

“The solicitors took it,” Bernt replied, “and good riddance.” It had been a fragile little thing – a thin vial with three separate chambers, each of which were filled with some kind of liquid. It wasn’t hard to guess what would happen if it broke. He hadn’t wanted to touch the damned thing, and Josie had been only too glad to carry it. The Solicitors would probably want to study it. In his professional opinion, it was an inelegant and dangerous way to harness fire. A fireball wouldn’t just go off accidentally and roast him where he stood if he tripped.

Palina looked nonplussed at his response, but didn’t question it further. “Well, I’m glad we had Jori there to fight the big bad warlocks for us. Word’s getting around about the fight here on the plaza, too. I heard a couple of dwarves talking about it on their way down below about an hour ago.” She winked down at Jori. “You’re getting famous!”

Bernt snorted and waved again as he started making his way down the tunnel. Jori was always going to draw attention, but it remained to be seen whether that would ultimately work out well for either of them.