IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 12B: A PARTY AT CASTLE SHARD

December 2nd, 2007
Harvesttime in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

HANDSHAKES – ELVES & OGRES

Agnarr glanced around, looking for the biggest guy in the room. He spotted a stocky man with black hair pulled back into a pony-tail and piercing blue-grey eyes – not tall, but with a muscular build and a weathered face. He headed in his direction.

Tor, with one eye on Agnarr, also noticed the man. Tor recognized him as Sir Kabel Dathim, one of the knights of the Order of the Dawn who had ridden at the Harvest Tournament that afternoon. He noticed that Sir Kabel was headed directly towards where Rehobath and the Commissar were standing.

Agnarr interposed himself in Sir Kabel’s path and vigorously shook his hand. Kabel clearly wasn’t quite sure what to do about the massive barbarian’s enthusiastic greeting, but Tor slid calmly to their side, offered his own introductions, and congratulated Kabel on his performance during the tournament.

Sir Kabel thanked him for his compliments, and apologized for his brevity, but said that he had business to attend to. Making his excuses he brushed by them and continued on his path towards the Commissar and Rehobath. Agnarr made to follow him, but Tor caught him by the arm and shook his head.

Tee, meanwhile, had seen another elf among those assembled – a tall, slim, and exceptionally beautiful elven maid. Both her hair and her eyes were a captivating, shimmering silver. She wore a dress of dark blue silk and silver-embroidery. Around her neck, on a golden chain, she wore a golden cross of Athor upon a field of crimson. (Tor, noticing her from across the room, recognized it as the heraldic emblem of the Knights of the Golden Cross.)

As Tee approached, the elf introduced herself as Kaira Swanwing. “It’s an honor to make you acquaintance, Mistress Tithenmamiwen,” she said. “Master Doraedian has spoken well of you.”

Tee wasn’t quite sure what to make of Leytha Doraedian speaking of her, but she thanked Kaira for the kind words.

“And what brings you to a party at Castle Shard?” Kaira asked.

Tee smiled demurely. “The same thing that brings us all – an invitation from Lord Zavere.”

“Ah,” Kaira said. “But what brings such an invitation?”

“We performed some small service for him.”

“What type of services?”

“Discrete ones.”

“Ah,” Kaira said again, smiling with appreciation.

Ranthir, somewhat at a loss in this type of gathering, wandered up to them. Introductions were made, and when Kaira asked Ranthir what brought him from Isiltur to Ptolus, Ranthir began to ramble about his researches into etheric disturbances.

Kaira seemed genuinely interested in what Ranthir had to say, although she was sorry that she could give him no assistance in finding proper equipment to continue his researches here in the city.

Elestra, meanwhile, had spotted a tall, handome man dressed in white leather with a shirt of black silk. On his shoulder was a small white dragon. She headed over in his direction, intent on finding out why this fellow had been allowed to bring a dragon when she hadn’t been able to bring her viper.

The man turned out to be Lord Kirstol, Merchant Prince of House Dallimothan (which some people referred to as “House Dragon”, but never to their face). His dragon was Emkra, a female white.

Elestra mentioned Daersidian and his dragon mount. Dallimothan’s complexion darkened – he didn’t like to see a dragon, no matter how brutal, enslaved by a collar like the one that Daersidian used. Emkra had been raised in captivity and was quite gentle. (Elestra, who kept getting her fingers nipped by the dragon, wasn’t so sure about that – but she was too busy trying to figure out how to flirt with Lord Kirstol to voice her skepticism.)

Dominic, meanwhile, hadn’t moved from the entrance. He awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, uncertain of what he should be doing and feeling very out of place. His uncertainty was disturbed by a booming voice behind him, “Pardon me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dominic turned… and found himself face-to-chest with an ogre standing nearly eight feet tall. Despite his immense height and breadth, the ogre’s pale blue features were filled with immense gentleness. His tusks had been filed down to shapely bluntness. He wore an outfit of red and black leather and carried a halberd of burnished brass. A holy symbol of Itor hung from a silver chain around his neck and a number of small gemstones flew in an orbit around his head.

Seeing Dominic’s own holy symbol, the ogre smiled broadly. “A man of the church! My name is Urlenius, and yours…?”

“D-Dominic,” the priest stuttered.

Agnarr, having been rebuffed by Sir Kabel, was looking around the room for the next largest man… and was delighted to spot the ogre standing with Dominic over by the staircase. He came over and boisterously introduced himself. His hand was completely engulfed by the ogre’s.

“You have flying gems!”

“I do!” Urlenius laughed, plucking one of them out of the air. “This one here was captured by Sheva Callister for me. I think you know her, do you not?”

They did, and spent the next few minutes chatting boisterously with the ogre. Urlenius, it turned out, was the Star of Itor – considered to be a living saint by the Imperial Church (although he laughed that off). He was interested to learn that Dominic was an itinerant in Ptolus and had not yet formed any connection with the local church.

“But what brings you to Ptolus?”

“I was seeking help for my village,” Dominic said. “But I think it’s too late for that now.”

“Your village?” Urlenius said. “And where was that.”

“Seyrun.”

“What happened?”

“It disappeared.”

“It disappeared?”

“Mine, too.” Agnarr put in.

“The same village?”

“No, a different one.”

“And it disappeared?”

“Completely. I was out hunting. I came back. It was gone.”

Urlenius pondered this for a moment and then laughed. “You two are strange!”

Which — coming as it did from an eight-foot tall, blue-skinned ogre – was a rather strange thing in itself.

Urlenius held out his hand. “Mead.” A glass of mead appeared.

Agnarr’s eyebrows rose. He held out a hand, “Ale.” A mug of ale appeared there. He held out the other hand. “Ale.” A mug of ale appeared there, too.

Agnarr grinned. He just… grinned. And quaffed.

“Aoska!” Urlenius exclaimed.

Dominic and Agnarr turned. Coming up the stair behind them was a statuesque woman nearly as tall and as striking as Urlenius. Her skin glimmered silver and gold. She was bald except for a pony-tail of gold-and-emerald hair. Her face was strikingly beautiful, but also eery – with pupil-less eyes that glowed with a soft white light. A fluted unicorn’s horn extended from her forehead. She wore a breastplate of gold inset with ivory, leggings of gold, and a skirt of white silk.

Behind her was a stone golem carved with magical runes that glowed a faint blue. As Aoska stopped to speak with Urlenius, the golem smiled gently at the group and then moved past them into the ballroom.

CONFRONTING DORAEDIAN

On the other side of the crowd, Tee had wandered away from Kaira and Ranthir. Kaira might be intrigued by whatever Ranthir was talking about, but Tee could barely understand it.

“Ah, Mistress Tee!” Zavere’s deep baritone called out to her. “Perhaps you could help me talk some sense into Leytha Doraedian.”

With something of a sick feeling in her stomach, Tee turned. It was true. Doraedian was standing there with Lord Zavere. He had a look of absolute surprise on his face.

“Tee?”

Tee curtsied. “Leytha Doraedian.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Attending a party.” Tee smiled sheepishly.

Zavere had a bemused look on his face. “Ah, so you know each other. Excellent. Tee, Leytha Doraedian and I were just discussing the issue of the Balacazars. I was arguing, once again, that the efforts of the Commissar are shamefully negligent. And I think the events of this afternoon prove that: An entire burrow of Rivergate massacred.”

“And I am sure,” Doraedian said, “That the Commissar’s desire to avoid complete chaos in the streets is more than justified. Weakening the Balacazars now would only lead to even more violence between them and Killraven’s men.”

Zavere dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Neither should be tolerated. But what do you think, Tee?”

Tee fought to choose her words carefully. She didn’t really want to be talking about the Balacazars at all. “I think that Linech Cran was hardly an innocent, so I don’t know if the incident in Rivergate means anything. But the Balacazars are clearly dangerous.”

Doraedian’s eyebrows shot up. “You know who the burrow belonged to? I didn’t think that had become public information.”

Tee cursed herself inwardly. All she wanted was to get out of this conversation, and now she’d dug herself in even deeper.

Zavere interjected. “It doesn’t really matter who the burrow belonged to. This type of violence has a way of spilling over onto innocents.”

At that moment a wiry elf – slight almost to the point of gauntness – came up to them. His sunken eyes and pallid complexion seemed devoid of emotion. “Lord Zavere, if I might have a word with you?” He took a deep draw off the long, thin smoking stem held loosely between his fingers.

Zavere turned. “Of course, Moynath. If you would excuse me?”

Zavere moved off with the elf… leaving Tee alone with Doraedian. The elder elf turned his attention fully to her.

“Tee… You are certainly full of surprises. What brings you to a party at Castle Shard?”

Tee grinned weakly. “The same thing that brings us all? An invitation from Lord Zavere?”

She knew that was unlikely to satisfy Doraedian. Her mind was whirling, trying to figure out what he could tell him.

Doraedian arched an eyebrow. “And what would earn you such an invitation, Tithenmamiwen?”

Tee opened and closed her mouth several times… and then a man she didn’t know approached Doraedian and quietly asked him to come and speak with the Commissar. Doraedian nodded and began moving off, but not before giving Tee a friendly smile. “We’ll have to discuss this later, Tee.”

OLD FRIENDS & NEW FRIENDS

Tee suppressed a groan and did a quick scan of the room to see if any of her companions were digging themselves similar holes.

Surprisingly, they weren’t. Elestra was still chatting with Lord Kirstol Dallimothan. Tor, Dominic, and Agnarr were all chatting amiably with Urlenius.

Ranthir, finishing his conversation with Kaira Swanwing, had his attention drawn to the stone golem who had accompanied Aoska. The golem, who bore the unmistakable (and rather remarkable) marks of true sentience, was now standing by the column of purple stone in the center of the room. One of his hands was raised and placed gently upon the stone.

Ranthir made his way over to him. But not, wanting to interrupt, he merely stood and watched it for a long time – studying the strange and arcane runes scribed all over its body.

Meanwhile, back at the entrance, Sheva Callister had just arrived. “Urlenius, old friend! How are you?” She slapped him on the back and then looked around.
“Dominic? Agnarr? What are you doing here?”

“We got an invitation!” Agnarr said.

Sheva quirked her lip. “Fascinating.”

A hand of red glass dropped onto Agnarr’s shoulder: Jevicca Nor had come up behind him. Agnarr’s grin grew wider. “Ale?” he said, holding out a hand. “No, wait.” He switched hands. “Wine.”

Jevicca laughed. Introductions with Tor were made. The group would have most likely settled into an amiable conversation, but at that moment Commissar Urnst and Fatar Rehobath suddenly approached them.

“Master Urlenius,” the Commissar said. Urlenius bowed his head. “If I may present Rehobath, the Silver Fatar of the Outer Cathedral of Athor.”

Rehobath extended his hand. Urlenius took it in his. There seemed to be an air of diffidence there – but a polite one.

Rehobath smiled. “The Star of Itor. It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”

Urlenius hestitated for a moment, clearly considering his response. Then he nodded. “Of course, your grace.”

The two of them moved off together. The Commissar turned to Jevicca. “And if I could have your counsel, Mistress Nor?”

“Of course, Commissar.”

The Commissar inclined his head briefly to the rest of them, and then moved back towards the large group of rather important people gathering off to one side of the ballroom.

LADY RILL ARRIVES

Tor, whose curiosity was thoroughly riled, might have followed them immediately. But just then, a commotion began by the far stairway.

Turning they saw a woman of strange beauty. She was seated in a lotus position with eyes closed, and yet she floated through the crowd with serene purpose. A single great jewel seemed to be set in the middle of her forehead and she wore a dress of water which sensuously flowed across her form.

This was the Lady Rill, the second Lord of Castle Shard. The eyes of the room followed her as she came to the column of purple stone. She laid her hand upon it for a moment, then opened her eyes, unfolded her legs, and came gently to rest on the floor.

There was a smattering of applause at this, from some who felt that this might have been some kind of entertainment or diversion. But the lady simply turned and began an amiable discussion with Kaira Swanwing.

Rill’s arrival had even drawn the attention of the strange stone golem Ranthir had been politely studying. Now that the golem was no longer so intent in whatever study he had been pursuing, Ranthir felt free to introduce himself.

The golem called himself the Graven One, but he seemed more interested in talking about Ranthir than about himself. He asked if Ranthir was a member of the Inverted Pyramid, and seemed glad to hear that he was not.

GREAT ONES MUST NOT UNWATCHED GO

Now that the commotion surrounding Lady Rill’s arrival had died down, Tor decided to make his way over to the group surrounding the Commissar. He recognized the Commissar, Sir Kabel, Aoska, and Jevicca Nor. Doraedian and Lord Kirstol Dallimothan were there, too. (Tee and Elestra would later explain that the group had apparently included all the members of the Twelve Commanders – an elite advisory council established the Commissar – who were attending the party that night, along with several members of the Trade Circle and the Circle of Princes.

The group was debating the events in the Warrens that afternoon. Why had the Pale Dogs been killing ravens?

“The truth is none of us know,” the Commissar said.

“But isn’t that precisely the point?” Lord Kirstol said. “We don’t know because no one is there to see it.”

That might have forced the issue to its head, but at precisely that moment the room was suddenly filled with a blinding flash of light. Everyone turned at once to see the Iron Mage suddenly appear in the middle of the room.

While the rest of the room was still turning to look, Lord Zavere was already half way across the ballroom with a scowl across his face. “I have asked you before to never do that!”

The Iron Mage laughed. “Ethylassir doesn’t seem to mind.” Then he turned and looked around the room.

“Oh no…” Ranthir murmured under his breath. For, indeed, the Iron Mage’s gaze had ended as soon as it found him.

“Master Ranthir!” The Iron Mage cried, crossing the room towards him and resuming his scan of the room. “Mistress Tee! Agnarr, Elestra, and Dominic! Master Tor! To my side! I have an errand for you!”

With the entire room watching them, the group hesitantly headed towards Ranthir and the Iron Mage.

The Iron Mage gave to them a letter written upon fine parchment. “This has been sealed so that it will open in a week and a day. Inside you will find all the instructions you require!”

“But what–?”

“And now I must go! For matters attend upon me elsewhere!”

And he vanished.

There was silence. The eyes of the entire room were on them now. This was the second time this evening that they had been singled out for unusual attention and approbation. It was clear that everyone there was now more than curious about them. None of them were sure exactly what they should do.

It was Lady Rill who broke the moment. She raised her hands, “And now is the time of just deserts!” And from her hands great flocks of brightly-colored birds flew out. Demonstrating their use, she plucked one from the air and it turned into a shower of sweets.

Rill laughed joyously, and many others throughout the room were now reaching and grabbing for the twirling birds.

THE MYSTERY OF RITHARIUS

The group took advantage of the distraction to break apart.

Tor headed towards Lord Zavere and asked after Lord Abbercombe.

Lord Zavere sighed. “The Lady Rill has bent all of her work upon it, but she has found no solution to the paralysis. It is not even clear to us what could have caused such a paralysis. But we remain more than grateful for your efforts in saving him. Certainly yesterday’s events would have either doomed him or left him in the hands of the Balacazars if not for you and your friends.”

Tor said that he was sorry to hear that Abbercombe was not improved and wished that there was more he might do to help.

Zavere smiled. “Perhaps there will be.”

“I was also wondering,” Tor said, “If I might ask what you know of a man named Ritharius?”

Zavere glanced around. “Let us not speak of this openly. Come with me.”

Tor followed him down the staircase opposite the one they had come up and through several hallways before they finally ended up back in the room of maps where they had first met Zavere earlier that evening.

Once the door was firmly shut behind them, Zavere turned to Tor. “Dominic told me of the letter Ritharius sent you. Do you have it?”

Tor did. After inspecting it, Zavere said, “I can confirm that this is, indeed, the handwriting of my friend.”

“But who is he?” Tor asked.

“He is many things.” Zavere smiled. “And they are largely his affair and not mine to share. What I can tell you is that he is a powerful arcanist – one very well learned in the lost lores of the world. Even moreso than I. And it is rare to find any who know more than a Lord of Castle Shard. Despite that – or perhaps because of it – he is not well-known in the annals of the world. Why does a man like Ritharius choose a man like you? I don’t know. Why does he concern himself with the affairs of your newfound companions? I don’t know. But he is a good man. And so, if he says you can be trusted, I trust you. And if he sends you to help your companions, then I trust that there is a cause – and a good cause – for it. I don’t know if that helps you or not.”

It did. Somewhat. “Do you know how I might contact him?”

Zavere shook his head. “I do not. He has slipped from view for the moment. But he does come to Ptolus from time to time, and it is rare when I do not hear from him upon such occasions. If I hear from him, I will let him know that you wish to speak with him.”

TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS

Meanwhile, upstairs, Tee had spotted Mand Scheben and headed in his direction to say hello.

During the course of their conversation, Tee mentioned the ancient orrery they had discovered beneath the city and their interest in selling knowledge of it to an interested party. Her goal was to see how likely Mand thought it that Lord Zavere or Lady Rill might be interested in it, but he made a different suggestion: Lady Peliope Erthuo was attending the party that evening. House Erthuo had one of the finest collections of rare books, antiquities, and artifacts of historical significance in this part of the world. If anyone would be interested in such an orrery, it would be them.

Tee thanked him for the recommendation. She figured that Ranthir, with both his knowledge of the orrery and his scholastic outlook, would be the best one to approach Lady Peliope, so she tracked him down and pointed him in the right direction.

Ranthir’s conversation with Lady Peliope was fruitful. She was intrigued by his description of the orrery, and recommended that he meet with Cordelia Erthuo, the member of the family responsible for overseeing the Merchant House’s many collections. After some discussion, it was agreed that Ranthir should meet with with Cordelia at House Erthuo’s estate on the 4^th of Kadal.

There was much else that happened that evening: Tor spoke voluminously with Sir Kabel on the subject of horses – the knight seemed quite eager to discuss such matters when he discovered that Tor was a horsemaster of Barund. Many of them spoke frequently with Lady Fransin Nagel, a woman with the appearance of a willow wand with a quiet air of desperation around her – for her husband, Lord Kurtlan Nagel, had recently been accused of murder and arrested. And more besides. There were many faces and many conversations.

It was not the evening that any of them had expected – it had been both more and less than that. But it was an evening that none of them would ever forget.

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