Chapter Seven Hundred And Twenty Two - 722

Atar shuddered as weakness ran amok through his chest and limbs. He was thankful he’d taken a seat at his workbench when the notification had arrived, because he wasn’t entirely sure he could stand. Power had fled him, leaving him momentarily bereft and lesser somehow, but the sensation passed quickly. “Essence and something else…lost. Just like that.”

given away, Flame corrected.

The mage frowned. “Felix is my friend, but I expected you to fight that, Flame. It’s not like you to willingly give up power, and less like you to be at peace with it.”

there is no peace beneath the eyes of a predator.

“Explain.”

Within his cage, Flame shuddered. candles cannot contend against the stars.

More pointless riddles. Bah. At least this time Atar hadn’t screamed his head off. Thankfully. He’d feigned checking over the manacles he’d inscribed for their final duty together, hoping Isla wouldn’t notice his lapse in awareness. For a moment, it was as if Atar had been transported to a throne room in the dark of night, standing before a man clad in alabaster stone.

Blind gods, Felix. What are you doing out there? For all its abruptness, the experience had been oddly pleasant, owing perhaps to the strains of song he could almost still hear. The memory of it was like a summer’s breeze against his neck, or the warm kiss of the desert sun, or—

“Are you done fiddling with your scripts?” Isla asked, an edge to her voice.

“I am.” Atar rose, tucking the manacles away. He cleared his throat. “Ready when you are.”

“I’ve been ready for a glass, Glyphmaster.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “We’re almost done. Through those doors is the key to this entire exhausting plot. You know your role, and I know mine. Do not deviate, and we shall end this little partnership with haste.”

“Gladly.” Atar fixed his collar. “After you.”

The Glyphworks were a far cry from their recent haunts, and the polished floors echoed against his boots as he walked to the entrance. For Atar it was a wonderful change of pace—he had grown quite sick of squatting in drafty inns and renthouses, waiting for their targets to manifest out of the dirty city streets. Here at least, they had been able to wait in comfort and even get some work done. He’d quietly sent his apprentices home, telling them nothing except that he needed the space for a large array he was developing. Then it had just come down to waiting.

As always.

Now that night had fallen, they were free to move. Atar lifted a hand and cast Woven Silence on them both before he eased open the door. Beyond, the landing and staircase were empty.

“Come,” he said.

Together, Isla and Atar crept down the stairs and into the steady light of the Beacon at the center of the common area. One of several, it was a Primary Beacon, through which every crafter transported and stored their goods. It stood like a Manalamp, made of an odd metal and crystal, and lit up the common area between the three Crafting Halls.

After interrogating the Chanters, they learned that Rodrik Beltane had been under their noses the entire time. The man worked in the Forge and was no doubt using their resources to help him produce the explosives.

Atar climbed the steps to the Forge entrance, walking slowly despite his muffling spell.

“Hurry up, we cannot let him get away,” Isla snapped.

This better go right. I’m gonna scream if I have to keep working with Isla. Still, Atar quickened his pace. She was right, unfortunately. This was their final lead and they couldn’t afford to lose it.

Atar needed to know the plan behind it all. He didn't believe that blowing up a few buildings in this city was the extent of their machinations, or even who “they” were. Isla had already told him that the factions of Chanters that Anguin, Sima, and Gauruk all belonged to were opposed to Felix's rule over them specifically. So was this all a build up to a coup? How? From his readings on history, Atar knew that violent Revolution worked but except for some extreme cases, it required more than a handful of arsonists. There had to be a plan…and that meant a leader.

My money is on Anguin. Any friend of Isla’s is sure to be dangerous, not to mention a pain in the ass.

Just as before, Atar eased open the door to the Forge with stealth and as much subtlety as he could manage…but he needn’t have bothered. The Forge was very active. Apprentices scurried to and fro, and the noise level was simply incredible. Sparks flew and hammers bashed into metal and stone and crystal, all of them adding their own special flavor to the din.

"There," Isla said. "The big one."

Across the forge, near one of the smaller workstations, was a large man wearing a thick winter cloak and holding some sort of pack. His hood was up, but there was no denying that his frame was familiar as he manhandled straps and ties. He was bustling from end to end, grabbing what looked like tools and paper-wrapped food, before stowing them in an increasing pile of bags and totes.

Atar dropped Woven Silence.

"Let me guess: spring cleaning?" Isla asked him as they strode into his space.

Rodrik spun, panic clear in his Spirit and face. For a single moment, they stared at one another. Then he tried to run.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Stop," Isla growled, and vines ripped from the ground to tangle the man's limbs. He was big, but he wasn't big enough to tear those. His cloak fell forward, tangling his head and further binding him in the vines.

"You aren’t allowed to run anymore," Isla told him. With a gesture, the vines lifted him back to his feet and kept on lifting until he was suspended in the air. “Can’t have you reporting back to your masters, now can we?”

"This looks like he was gonna flee the city." Atar looked to the packs. "That's more packs than one person needs to carry. You're a big guy, but that's not all for you, is it?" Rodrik didn’t answer except to struggle against his bindings. Atar sighed. "I can't see anything with this cloak over him. Can you pull it back, Isla?"

Isla gestured lazily, and a vine whipped the cloak away from the thief's face. Atar froze. Despite the beard and what looked like a solid amount of weight gain, he realized he knew the face beneath. "Dabney?"

"Rodrik?" said a voice behind them. "No matter what you say, I am not leaving with you—"

Atar and Isla spun. A woman stood less than thirty strides away, leaning on an ornate cane and clad in a dark frock and veil.

"Lilian!" Dabney croaked. "Run!"

"Lilian?” Atar’s eyes widened. “Lilian Knacht?”

“Blind gods, you idiot! Incendiary Scar!”

A slash of potent fire Mana ripped toward Atar and Isla, but it met a swiftly grown wall of roots that absorbed it.

“I can’t see—drop the wall, Isla!”

She did, and Atar rushed forward only to find startled apprentices and a wide-open door in the distance. He ran to the door, onto the landing and leaped down the entire length of stairway into the common area…and he found no trace of her at all.

“Burning ashes,” Atar cursed.

When he returned to Isla, she was busy talking to a pissed off, red-haired Dwarf. Rafny.

“—don’t come into your Crafting Hall and start a fight! What makes you think you could do that here?”

“I am a Chanter of the—”

“I don’t care if you’re the Autarch, lady! You—Atar! Can you explain why you came into my Forge and assaulted my workers?”

“Rafny, my apologies. We are working to catch some ill-intentioned individuals.” Atar steadied his breathing as he came to a stop next to the pair of them. “We had hoped to catch this one by surprise. We didn’t—I didn’t expect a second thief.”

“Thief?” Rafny narrowed her eyes, glancing from them to the still-bound Dabney. “What’s this lug been up to?”

“I’ll tell you about it later, but for now it’s…an evolving situation,” he said. “We just need to question him and then we’ll be on our way.”

“...Fine. You scared the Night outta me and half my apprentices. Next time, give me some warning, aye?”

“I will. Oh, and Rafny? If you see that woman come by again, I need you to tell us immediately.”

The Dwarven smith shrugged. “I can do you better. I know her name. She comes by this place all the time, visiting that one.” She pointed at Dabney. “Ophelia. She works in the Alchemical Lab.”

“Of course she does,” Isla said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Thank you, Forgemaster. I apologize for…any inconvenience.”

“Interim Forgemaster,” Rafny corrected. “I’ll be over here if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

They were left alone with the thief, still bound and now gagged by Isla’s vines. “Guess I didn’t need these manacles. Can you remove some of this?”

“Why? He’ll run, just like his friend.”

“Hard to question him if he can’t talk.”

Isla huffed a small breath before flicking a finger. The bundle of roots across his mouth withered away, and Dabney took several seconds to work his jaw.

“Hello Dabney. Haven’t seen you since Haarwatch.”

“Hrm.”

“Why are you and Lilian here?”

“Is it a crime to move cities? To get jobs?”

“No, but it’s a crime to explode houses,” Atar shot back.

Dabney went very still. “She hates you. All of you. For what happened.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Lilian, but I won’t say the hate is mutual. She was a friend once, and she’s Alister’s cousin. For a guy with no family anymore, that means a lot to him.” Atar shook his head. “Why’re you in Elderthrone?”

The big man set his jaw and didn’t answer.

“Ah,” said Isla. “You love her.”

A flush crept across their captives cheeks, just above his beard, but he remained silent.

“This line of questioning will get us nowhere, Atar. He’s protecting her.”

Atar scoffed, looking between Isla and Dabney. “She left you.”

“You scared her into running!” the man snapped back.

Atar groaned and ran his hands through his white locks. “Lilian is a selfish child! She always has been, and that only seems to have gotten worse. You said she hates us? Well it’s clear that she doesn’t care about you at all Dabney. So why are you protecting her?”

“I will find her.”

Atar raised an eyebrow at the diminutive Chanter, and Dabney just hunched his shoulders. “Perhaps not in time, perhaps she will execute her plans…but I am Master Tier, child. I will find her, and I will force her Mind into such agony that she begs for death…but I will not let her die. I will heal her from the brink, over and over until her Spirit shatters under the weight of it.”

Eyes wide and breath coming in ragged gasps, Dabney could only stare as the woman let loose her Spirit. Atar winced, feeling just the edge of it. Sweat beaded across their captive’s nose and brow. “You—you run the healer’s ward. You help people! You wouldn’t dare.”

Isla leaned in close. “Try me.”

From some those might have been simple words, but Atar could feel her Spirit as it was unveiled. A cold wrath coiled around her, a snake set to devour.

In that moment, she seemed ten strides tall.

“If I talk…will you spare her?”

“If you talk, I won’t kill her,” Isla promised. “So talk.”

“I…” Dabney stopped himself and swallowed. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

“What way?” Atar asked, leaning in.

“Elder Teine promised—”

“What?” Atar held up a hand. “Teine is here?”

“...Let me start at the beginning.”