And if the paper was somehow related to the murderer, what spell or potion were the ingredients for? He knew chameleon skin was a component used in a spell to obscure objects from scrying, but could such a spell be used to obscure a person? Is that why the Keeper’s wizards had been unable to locate the killer with their magic?
Thinking of the Keeper brought Andri back to Greddark’s contact. Who could it be? Someone high up in the local Church hierarchy, that much was obvious, but who? Not Maellas, surely, but someone close to the Bishop-Xanin, perhaps? The thought disturbed Andri. It was further evidence of the corruption that ran through every level of the Church like the silver veins in its ubiquitous black marble. Though he had to admit, in this case the evil had served a larger good-or would, if they caught the killer.
But while the information the dwarf provided painted a clearer picture of that killer, it raised more questions than it answered, and the murderer’s motive still remained obfuscated. Why would an old werewolf from Shadukar want to kill Throneholders in Aruldusk, especially when the murders were being blamed on the same shifters that were trying to protect him? Was his supposed madness really enough of an explanation? If anything, wouldn’t Quillion want to kill followers of the same Flame that had burned him so awfully so many years ago? Why attack people who wanted the Flame to gutter and die out just as much as he did?
“I don’t know if the political affiliation of the victims is really that important,” Greddark said, scooping up a spoonful of the egg mixture and spreading it over a slice of vedbread. He took a bite and chewed as he thought. “Most of the murders occurred in or around the Garden District. Maybe the location was the important factor, and the victims were mostly Throneholders because that happens to be where most of them live.”
“But that still doesn’t make any sense,” Irulan argued, washing down her own mouthful with a swig of water from her canteen. “The Garden District is practically in the middle of the city. Why wouldn’t Quillion-if it is him-have chosen a location closer to the gates, where it would be easier for him to escape?”
“Look at this,” Greddark said, pulling out one of the maps of Shadukar he’d gotten from Ostra’s tracker. It showed the city’s Cathedral complex and surrounding environs. “Shadukar had a Garden District, too, only it didn’t house nobles. It was the neighborhood where the Cathedral was located. And this”-he indicated a large open square in front of the Cathedral-“is probably where they set up the stake whenever they burned a lycanthrope. If it is Quillion, maybe he’s somehow reliving his past, seeing Aruldusk as Shadukar and hunting his enemies in the same place where they hurt him so badly. Or maybe it’s just the easiest place for him to teleport to, because it is so similar to the layout in Shadukar.”
Andri considered the dwarf’s conjecture. It did fit the facts, but so did any number of other theories. The only one who knew the truth was Quillion.
“Well, there’s only one way to know for sure,” Irulan said, echoing his thoughts. She climbed up from her spot by their small fire to take the first watch.
“What’s that?” Greddark asked curiously.
The shifter shrugged. “Find him and ask him.”
They reached Angwar Keep the following night, just before the gates closed. From a distance, bits of broken glass in the keep’s high windows shone gold and carnelian in the fading light and made the battered fortress seem to shimmer, like some otherwordly bastion of Thelanis. Closer up, though, it was evident that this was just another forgotten outpost languishing in decrepitude. Debris from the War still littered the fields around the fort, including the charred remains of what looked like a Karrnathi siege engine. The keep’s central tower was missing half its roof and listed so far to one side that Andri thought a strong gust of wind might blow it over.
Beyond the crumbling outer wall, however, he could see that the old fort was actually in much better condition that it first appeared. The stone walls had been reinforced with heavy wood and steel beams, the gatehouse had been completely rebuilt and was manned with alert archers, and two catapults sat loaded and ready in the middle of the well-kept courtyard.
Angwar Keep was known throughout eastern Thrane as the Stubborn Shieldmaiden, because it had never fallen during a hundred years of war, despite frequent attacks from both Cyre and Karrnath. It looked as though the keep’s new inhabitants, monks though they were, fully intended to keep that well-deserved reputation alive.
Once inside the gates, the companions were welcomed by the fort’s monastic warforged, who gave them a hot meal and beds in the keep’s old barracks, which had been refurbished into a communal sleeping area. The monks were self-styled disciples of the Redeemed, an elite cadre of warforged who defected from Cyre and had devoted themselves to the defense of Thrane and the precepts of the Silver Flame. Now that the War was over, they were rebuilding the fort as a haven for other warforged who followed the Flame and desired a simple life of labor and service to others. A haven they would have no problems protecting, should the need ever arise.
Andri appreciated the opportunity to pray in their makeshift chapel and found himself kneeling beside one of the warforged in front of an abstract rendition of the Flame formed by fusing together whatever silver the monks could find-jewelry, goblets, combs, even weapons and pieces of armor. The curving tip of the stylistic Flame was an upended hunting horn. Andri admired the ingenuity of these devout warforged, working with what little they had to honor their faith. Would that some of the Cardinals shared their mindset-Thrane would no doubt be a much improved place.
He bowed his head and willed his mind to stillness. Images of Zoden’s staring eyes, Ostra’s grief, and Irulan limp beneath the hands of the wight flashed through his thoughts, followed by darker visions of his parents and their gruesome deaths. He did not flinch from the memories, but allowed them to run their course, reciting the Prayer of Cleansing over and over again until the images had been bled dry of guilt and regret and were simply colorless, emotionless scenes from someone else’s life. Only then did he begin Tira’s Prayer of a Paladin and the Nine Miracles of the Silver Flame.
When the time came for mentioning his own intentions, he revisited those scenes that plagued and tormented him, beginning with his mother’s death. He prayed that she had found peace within the Silver Flame and that she had been able to forgive him before she died. He prayed for Zoden, that his soul was likewise at peace, wherever it was. He prayed that Ostra and Leata would be comforted in their grief, and that the shifter leader would use this hard-learned lesson in honesty for the betterment of his persecuted people. He prayed for Irulan, that she would find justice for her brother and a place for herself. He even prayed for Greddark, for he suspected the dwarf blamed himself for Zoden’s death. Lastly, he prayed for himself, that he would have the wisdom to discern Quillion’s guilt or innocence when they found the werewolf and that he would not be led astray by his own prejudices. That he would be able to solve this mystery and bring the killer to justice before anyone else died. That he would somehow be worthy of the enormous faith the Keeper had placed in him.
He did not pray for his father.
When he made the sign of the Flame and opened his eyes, he was surprised to find the warforged still kneeling next to him, his own head bowed. Andri rose quietly, so as not to disturb the monk’s prayers, but as he was leaving the chapel, the warforged spoke.
“You will make her proud.”
Andri turned quickly, but the monk hadn’t moved. Had he been praying aloud? Andri didn’t think so, but sometimes when he was alone, he would murmur his prayers, just to make the solitude a bit less lonely.
After a moment of watching the motionless warforged, he began to doubt that he’d actually heard anything at all. Shaking his head, he exited the chapel and made his way back to the barracks, where he quickly found his bed and fell into it.