The Tears of Kas̆dael

Abandoning any attempt at subtlety, Ihra rammed her shoulder into the door and flung it open. She held her misericorde ready as she charged into the room and scanned it for the source of the crash they’d heard from the other side. Where are we? The barracks? The castle?

What she found was an old man cowering against the wall. His formerly white tunic was covered with large blotches of oil spattered from the pot he’d shattered, and his hands shook as he raised them above his head. “Please…don’t harm me,” he spoke with a wavery voice.

As Ihra hesitated, a shoulder rammed into her from behind as the Corsyth healer darted forward. “Ardîl? Is that you?”

“Asâta?” The trembling in the man’s limb stilled as he slowly rose and wrapped his arms around the healer in a warm hug. “What are you doing here, child? I thought you were with the durgū.”

“We were,” she replied, returning his embrace. “But there’s something wrong with Lord Sarganīl, isn’t there?”

The old man looked troubled by the question and released her. “I…I don’t know,” he stammered out. “Lord Sarganīl doesn’t seem like himself anymore. But that is all the more reason why-” He grabbed her hands and stooped slightly to look her in the eyes, “you must leave this place. It is not safe here. The day after you left, Lord Sarganīl rounded up all the priests.”

“But you’re here,” the woman protested.

He looked puzzled for a moment, and then his brow cleared. “And where do you think we are, Asâta?”

She glanced around at the small, cramped room filled with crates and shelves. “When I saw you, I assumed we must have come out in the temple's lower floors. Are we not?”

Ardîl shook his head. “We’re in the dungeons of Dūr-Sulmu.”

“You don't look like a prisoner,” Ihra interrupted him, "nor does this seem to be a cell."

The man tore his eyes from Asâta’s to look at her and, after a moment, cocked his head curiously. “It’s rare to see an elf brave the lands across the River.”

Ihra frowned, unhappy that her disguise had been pierced so easily. “What gave it away? I thought the hood covered everything up rather nicely.”

He seemed reluctant to reply. “A feature of my class; nothing you need worry about,” he finally said. “And you are right, lady elf, this place is not a cell. Captain Maras̆s̆amas̆, the commander of Dūr-Sulmu, is a pious woman. Although she dared not ignore Lord Sarganīl’s commands to detain us, she has given us considerable freedom in the dungeons. I was returning the oil after refilling our lamps when that door,” he pointed toward the tunnel through which they had come, “suddenly appeared out of nowhere.”

“You mean the others are with you,” Asâta gasped. “And Master Babbānu? Is he here too?”

“Yes, child, we are all here.”

“Then we can get you out of here.” Seizing the priest’s hand, she tugged him toward the tunnel, but the old man slipped his hand out of hers with surprising dexterity.

“No, child, we cannot leave.”

Confusion danced across the healer’s face but she ceased her struggle. “Why not?” she asked. “Are there guards? He can take them,” she added, nodding at Erin, who squirmed uncomfortably at her swift promise of violence.

But Ihra understood the priest’s reticence. “You’re worried about this captain.”

Ardîl inclined his head toward hers. “Indeed, my lady. Captain Maras̆s̆amas̆ has done us a great favor. She allows us to wander freely between our cells, has provided us with far better beds and food than any prisoner would usually be granted, and has ensured that the guards do not bother us. As I said, Asâta, she is a pious woman, and if we escape - what do you think will become of her?”

“She could come with us-” the healer started to protest, but the old priest shook his head.

“No, with Lord Sarganīl’s newfound capriciousness, it is all the more important that people like Captain Maras̆s̆amas̆ remain in command to save those they can. Without her help, I fear our situation would have been far more dire.”

“But-”

“No,” he placed a gentle finger on her lips, hushing her. “We must remain here, but that does not mean there is nothing you can do to help others in the city.” His gaze turned to Ihra. “And why are you here exactly? If you’ve come to break us out, I’m afraid I must disappoint you, but somehow I do not think that was your goal.”

She hesitated a moment, unsure if she should tell the old man, but it was clear Asâta trusted him. “King Kabāni is concerned about Sarganīl’s recent behavior. He sent the durgu prince to keep an eye on him, but Sarganīl refused to allow him into the city. We’re here to see what he's hiding. Is he plotting against the king?”

“I don’t know,” the priest admitted candidly. “Over last year, Master Babbānu and I noted that Lord Sarganīl seemed…” he hesitated, searching for the right word, but could not find it. “Not quite himself. He’s always been a skilled warrior and has provided adequate support to the temples, even if he’s never shown any true devotion, but something changed. He became more demanding, taking far larger shares of the potions we prepared for the people than he had ever required before, and forcing us to send our acolytes, like this one,” he added, patting Asâta on the shoulder, “on missions with his troops.”

“A bit greedy, but not that unusual.”

“True,” Ardîl agreed, “but though the man performed the duties to the temple his position required of him, he possessed no personal piety, and we priests rarely interacted with him. If you wish insight into his changes, you must ask those who saw him most - his troops and commanders.”

“Captain Maras̆s̆amas̆?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “If you’re willing to wait, I would likely be able to get in contact with her.”

Ihra frowned, unease sitting in the pit of her stomach. Although the old priest seemed sincere, she knew his offer could easily be a trap. If she let him leave, he might just go and rouse the soldiers - and a flight through the tunnel would hardly be an easy escape. “Asâta?” she asked.

“Ardīl was below only Master Babbānu and Kadrâlmatti. He will not hurt us.”

She hesitated briefly, her worries not entirely assuaged by the reassurances of the healer that she hardly knew, but decided to take the risk. If they were indeed in a dungeon, their only other option, after all, was to turn around. “Fine. We will wait to see if this captain can help us.”

Although she had decided to gamble on Ardīl’s honesty, that didn’t mean she couldn’t take any precautions. After the old man had left, she had Erin morph some of the crates and shelves that lined the room into a barricade in front of the storeroom’s door. It wouldn’t hold together forever, but it would give them enough of a head start that they could hopefully escape through the tunnel.

It was hard not to get paranoid as the minutes slowly stretched into an hour without a sign of the man’s return, and she began to fear the worst. When the second hour dawned without his return, Ihra had nearly decided to give the order to leave when the sounds of footsteps approached them. The door swung open, and Ardīl appeared, casting a puzzled glance at the barricade blocking his way. “What’s this?”

“Just a little insurance,” Ihra replied, moving closer to the entrance. “Did you bring her?”

Another voice answered her question, as a woman dressed as a guard gently pushed Ardîl to the side. “You say you work for the king?”

Maras̆s̆amas̆ was not what Ihra had expected from a pious devotee of Lord S̆amas̆. A mixture of brawn and beauty, the captain dwarfed both her and the door and if her size had left any doubt as to her heritage, the lilac hair that fell around her shoulders was a clear indication of a quite recent troll ancestor.

Ihra choked the comment that almost sprung to her lips and forced a smile. “Not directly, but we’re helping one who is. Are you aware of the durgu prince Lord Kabāni sent to reinforce Lord Sarganīl’s garrison?”

The woman laughed mirthlessly. “Aye, I’ve heard of him. They came with that woman, Takklāta. Unfortunately, she and Lord Sarganīl didn’t see eye to eye.”

“Is she imprisoned here as well?” Ihra asked.

“No. Despite the priests’ presence here, Dūr-Sulmu is not usually a prison,” the captain answered. “The priests are only here because Dūr-Asīr is already full with Takklāta and her men, plus anyone else who’s dared to disagree with Lord Sarganīl in the last few months.”

Her brows knit. “There’s another castle?”

“There’s several other fortresses and all of them now hold prisoners,” Maras̆s̆amas̆ replied with a sour smile before returning to her original question. “So you are working with this durgu? Is he trustworthy?”

“I don’t know him well yet, but he's done his best to protect the villagers while our liege does nothing.”

“Good. At least someone’s trying to help. My guards have been smuggling out supplies, but there is little else I can do from here.”

“Ah, so the guards we found were yours? They were, uh, dead - I don’t know who killed them,” Ihra started to explain but stopped as the captain frowned.

“No, they were not. Ardîl told me of the tunnel you emerged from, but I was unaware of its existence. Do you mind letting me have a look?” She gestured at the barrier that prevented her from coming closer, and Erin looked to Ihra for instruction.

Oh, how I wish I had Jasper’s truth spell, she groaned. Thus far, the captain seemed well-intentioned, but Ihra was slow to trust.

Maras̆s̆amas̆ noticed her pause, and the captain’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with my kind?”

“What?” The accusation threw her off, but Ihra quickly shook her head. “I don’t care about your ancestors. Erin,” she looked over to the scout. “You can clear the barrier.”

The beams sprang to life as he twitched to his fingers, slithering away like wooden snakes and the captain stepped through, followed by the old priest. Ihra was relieved to see no one else was waiting for them outside the door and felt a little bad for her mistrust.

Maras̆s̆amas̆ pushed past her and examined the door pensively. “Where does this lead?”

“To an island in the River. Asâta said it used to be a prison.”

“I know the one,” the captain said, nodding curtly, “but I was not aware there was a tunnel leading there, a tunnel underneath my very nose.” She swung around agitatedly. “You said there were guards over there?”

“Guards and supplies,” Ihra answered. “There were cots for 12 men, but the amount of supplies they had gathered was enough for a much larger party.”

“And they were dead?”

“Two were, with no obvious signs of struggle. They’d been covered with blankets, though, so there must have been at least one more with them, perhaps an ally. I see no reason why an enemy would bother to cover them,” she added.

“And they were guards from here, from Birnah?” the captain questioned.

“I assumed,” Ihra shrugged, “but I’m hardly an expert on your gear. They did have an emblem Asâta found strange though.”

“Twas a red sun with black lines running down it,” the healer spoke up. “Though I can scarcely guess what they were supposed to be.”

“Lightning.” The priest spoke with a quiet confidence born of familiarity, and Ihra cocked her head.

“Are they your men then?”

“Selene’s grace, no,” the old man replied, seeming shocked by the question. “But I am surprised you did not recognize the emblem, child,” he chided the healer.

“Should I?" Asâta's cheeks flushed. "It did not seem familiar at all.”

“Well…it has been a long time since the group was destroyed, so perhaps the tutors no longer speak of it. But a red sun marred by black lightning is the emblem of the Sidhe lord Duluḫḫû, the defiler of minds.”

“The defiler of minds?” Ihra asked. “As in a mind mage?”

“Aye,” Ardīl replied. “And if his followers live again, it would explain much of Lord Sarganīl’s behavior.”