The Other in the Grave

    Diving back into the Chain turned out not to be as harrowing as he’d feared. The flaming condemnation was nowhere to be seen, but neither was the map-like vision that Sean was used to seeing when he assessed his realm. Instead of that overview, with its landmarks, biographies, and statistics, he was presented with an unadorned black stone pedestal. Upon that pedestal, stood Mordren.

    His retainer looked much the same as when viewed through normal eyes, but there were certain aspects that were highlighted. His scars, for instance, now glowed either purple, grey, or white. They also included not only the ones Sean could see on Mordren’s face, but also those hidden by his robes.

    Sean shifted his attention to one of the purple scars, a large mass of twisted tissue in the elf’s midsection. Immediately details of the event resulting in the scar became clear to him: this damage was inflicted during an ambush on ‘Aster’ that was foiled when Mordren used his own body to trap the assassin’s blade. 

    Information resulting from the assassin’s interrogation, the poison used on the blade, the outcome of the resulting blood feud; all this and more blossomed out from the inspection.

    Sean was interested to note that he could intuit more personal details about the scar. The action had bought time for Mordren’s subordinates to take the killer into custody and had earned him a gift of limited healing from his master. It was one of the few times the elf had been directly recognized for his contributions, and even now the memory brought him pride.

    Where the information veered away from the attendant’s history, however, some seemed incomplete. Aster’s name in particular felt fuzzy. Its place in the anecdote was a mirage wavering in Sean’s mind, a trait shared by other elements closely tied to his host’s involvement.

    He tried to drill into the name and see what might lie beneath, but he was thwarted by some opposing force. Whenever he tried to focus on one of the shimmering details he would be gently, if insistently, shunted towards a different one.

    He found this applied even more fully to the white scars, including the one on Mordren’s face. The disfiguring mark was so indistinct that Sean had a hard time remembering it was even there unless he made a conscious effort to look at it.

    Frustrated, he turned his attention to the gray scars. These were straightforward, but even less helpful. When examined they imparted the simple fact that their origin was unknown.

    I wonder if that means he doesn’t remember how he got them, Sean wondered, or if this is some limitation of the Chain?

    It seemed clear to him that some magic was shielding aspects of Mordren’s history, oath or no, from the Chain’s influence. Sean began examining the rest of the man for clues, trying to ascertain whether the source of the blockage might be visible to him. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for.

    Not so much purposefully hidden as easily missed beneath the elf’s heavy robes, Sean found white gold torc wrapped tightly around Mordren’s throat. It flickered in the same way as his scars, refusing access to its secrets.

    While the torc’s presence had concerning implications, they were somewhat allayed by a trio of dead, grey links hanging off the back of the jewelry. The third and final link was cleanly severed, halved and hanging loosely from its neighbor.

    Hopefully that means Aster’s not holding the other end of his lead anymore. I suppose there’s a way to test it.

    Sean briefly detached his attention from the Chain, turning it towards his companion.

    “Mordren,” he asked, “do you have any jewelry from Aster? Any token of fealty that he might have granted you?”

    The other man shook his head. “No, he was not one to bestow baubles on his oathbound. His gifts always leaned to the practical on the rare occasions he deigned to give them.”

    Sean let one eye focus back on the Chain, the other still fixed on Mordren.

    “Can you try to tell me what other names Aster might have used in the past?”

    The retainer’s brow furrowed as he tried to speak, only managing a strangled grunt. In the Chain’s view, the torc flashed bright against his skin. The dangling rings didn’t respond at all, however, and their lack of response brought Sean some measure of comfort.

    “I’m afraid I cannot, I apologize for my failure.” Mordren said, his voice tight after struggling to force the words from his throat.

    Sean nodded, his mouth turning up at the corners. “You did great big guy, thanks for trying. I learned exactly what I needed to.”

    He paused, thinking back to the first scar that he’d analyzed. “What did you do for Aster, exactly?”

    “I was the captain of his home guard, in charge of security for his holdings in Thairis.”

    Flick’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline. “I’ve seen folk discard garbage with more care,” she said, “he didn’t even blink when he transferred your service to the lad.”

    “Flick!” Sean admonished.

    Mordren stared down at his timepiece. “She is correct, sire. After this disaster my replacement will have already been arranged, as I was readied before my predecessor’s dismissal.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Twenty cycles of flawless service, blown away by a craftsman’s error and a cloud of dust.”

    “When we return to Aiane, I could release you from your oath you know. You could return to Aster’s service.” Sean said tentatively.

    The large elf chuckled bitterly. “In the City of a Thousand Delights, second chances are the one thing that can’t be found. No, I swore my oath knowing what it meant. I am your man, Sean, until you too find reason to release me.”

    A creak of strained brass emitted from Mordren’s timepiece, his grip tightening as he turned to the window. “If it pleases you, sire, I really must concentrate on timing the next pulse.”

    Sean glanced helplessly at Flick, who gave him a sad shrug. Trying to clear the sympathy from his mind, Sean fell back into the Chain.

    Now that he knew roughly how it would interact with Mordren, Sean dug into the man’s memories of Aster’s holdings. Where his queries to the artifact drew to near to their host, they became uniformly indistinct, but it seemed like the blocks on what Sean could access directly were less strict than on what Morden could discuss.

    The workshop, it turned out, was one of many Aster controlled in the lower city. Mordren had never visited this shop personally, so he only had a rough idea of how it might be laid out. Each manufactory was operated by a team of skilled artificers, although Sean couldn’t see the details of exactly who they were or what they were skilled in specifically.

    In line with that level of professional care, there were countermeasures in place at each workshop in case of emergency. Countermeasures that Mordren, as Aster’s former head of security, was very familiar with.

    The first of these had apparently already failed. Each workshop was ringed in protective amulets that would have sent up an alarm at the first sign of a dangerous mana spike. Given that they hadn’t given enough warning to mitigate the damage, Sean guessed that either the first explosion had been as sudden as it was catastrophic, or that the alarm had been ignored.

    The second measure should have been for the foreman to trigger the runes of containment that were built into the workshop’s walls and foundations. In the case of an accident, the runes were meant to strip all of the mana out of the workshop and to channel it into the ley lines that fed the city’s infrastructure. Doing so would have led to the destruction of any other artifacts within the shop, but it would also have prevented the core from going out of control.

    Maybe we can still use them? He wondered. It might be too much for the lines to handle, but a blackout is better than a bomb going off every so often.

    A bleaker thought occurred to him. Assuming the amulets had gone off as intended, the fact that the runes weren’t made to fire automatically suggested Aster was more than happy to encourage fatal hesitation as long as the inventory remained safe. 

    This was the reason for the ownership clause Flick had objected to. Aster had known there would still be items he could salvage at the site. Sean’s distaste for the man grew as he dug into what looked like a third and final option.

    Finally, each shop possessed a heavy coffer, lined in mana suppressive materials, that was designated to sequester any high-risk artifacts for transport. While the vessel was meant for trade rather than emergency containment, Sean got the sense that it would work for their purposes – as long as they could get close enough to the core to move it.

    A low hum took him out of the Chain’s embrace. It was coming from the crystal of the lift’s windows, each pane vibrating as the dust storm below impacted their spire. He cracked his neck, stiff from sitting on the elevator floor.

    “I’ve got good news. It looks like there are a couple of ways we can go about this. Of course,” Sean looked at Mordren, “I guess you already knew that.”

    The man nodded. “I did, but I’m glad you were able to retrieve that knowledge. It makes what comes next easier if I do not need to communicate complex ideas through gesture.”

    “Were you able to time the last pulse?”

    “Aye, lad.” Flick responded. “Mordren has it down to the second with that fancy gewgaw of his, don’t you Mordren?”

    “Nearly. I estimate that we have thirty-four minutes and seventeen seconds to get from the lift to the workshop and to engage whichever measures remain available to us. There remains some margin of error, however, as I did not time from the exact moment of the pulse and we cannot begin our descent until the dust abates.”

    “Plenty of time if we run, by my reckoning. That workshop can’t be more than a mile out, maybe less.” Flick said enthusiastically. “If we don’t’ find what we need, we can just dip out and make the run back here to the lift. Then it’s up to safety and a new plan.”

    Sean stood, his legs shaking with effort. He looked at his wobbly knees, and then back at his companions. “I think,” he started with a weak smile, “that might be more difficult than you imagine.”