The High Priest put down his pen and went to the door. In the cathedral he could hear excited yips and shouts. Excited, not fearful, and not panicked like the youngster crouched down next to his desk. It wasn’t, then, the vermin descending on them en masse to finish what they’d begun at Dragonfell.
“Come, whelp.” He offered his hand to the cowering pup, who took it with only a moment’s hesitation. “The vermin are not to be feared. We teach the vermin to fear us. We are the Chosen.”
“Y-yes, Your Holiness.”
Zarfensis lead the pup from the rectory into the cathedral. He’d wasted no time in moving back into his traditional quarters after the coup and now the adolescents that he and Xenir had assigned to stand guard over the upper levels of the Warrens were streaming into the sanctuary in twos and threes. The High Priest was about to take them to task for leaving their posts when he saw Xenir.
“Your Holiness!” Xenir motioned toward the antechamber and Zarfensis nodded his understanding. He gently pushed the pup into the waiting arms of a nearby stripling. The adolescent stepped in front of the pup, his half-grown claws unsheathing as he took up a protective position.
Zarfensis bounded across the sanctuary, his metal leg ringing against the marble floor with each step. “Report, Warleader.”
“There are vermin in the upper tunnels, Your Holiness. The tunnel guards did exactly as they ought, took them by surprise from one of the blind tunnels and restrained them. They are holding their captives at the north entrance.”
“They’re not bringing them here?”
Xenir wrinkled his nose, his lips drawing back from his teeth. “No, I’ll not see the Warrens defiled by vermin.”
Zarfensis chuckled at the vehemence in the Warleader’s tone. He clapped him on the shoulder. “Very well, brother. Let us go greet our…guests.”
The Warleader snorted but said nothing. They loped easily up through the tunnels leading to the surface, passing knots of curious onlookers as they went. They passed a bitch, followed by a full litter of pups. Zarfensis held up a hand and the Warleader stopped. The High Priest turned to the bitch, who immediately bowed her head and went to her knees.
“Your Holiness?”
“Rise, dear sister. Why are these pups out of the nursery?”
“I heard there are vermin in the Warrens, High Priest.”
“Then why aren’t you protecting your charges in their place?”
“The pups must learn what the vermin look like, what they smell like, how they sound. Otherwise, how will they hunt them down as they grow?”
She tossed her head haughtily, refusing to drop her eyes from Zarfensis’s intense gaze.
“Well spoken, sister.” Zarfensis motioned for the Warleader to continue and called over his shoulder. “Just ensure their safety.”
“The day I can’t protect my pups from a few vermin, I’ll cut off my own tail.” She said as they rounded the corner.
Zarfensis shuddered. Losing a tail was the greatest shame a Chosen could be subjected to. The High Priest wondered if there were many other females with that same streak of aggressiveness.
“She has a warrior’s heart,” Xenir remarked. Zarfensis had often wondered if Xenir’s gift of foresight also offered him the occasional glimpse into another’s mind, but when the Warleader continued, the High Priest’s suspicion was allayed.
“Those pups are mine,” Xenir said without a trace of pride. “She’s not the only female with that kind of fire, either. I wonder if we might be well-suited by allowing them to become warriors.”
“One cultural upheaval at a time, Xenir. We’ve only just restored the Chosen to our rightful status, let’s not give the scant handful of elders who backed us a reason to overthrow us just yet.”
Xenir grunted and walked on. Before long, they reached the oval cavern that was used as the ready room for the northern entrance to the Warrens. Three dirty, pink vermin were on their knees, guarded by two pairs of Xarundi guards. Zarfensis was impressed with their restraint. None of the prisoners seemed to be mauled in any way.
“Only three?” Zarfensis remarked to Xenir. “Are these vermin suicidal?”
“You were at Dragonfell,” the largest of the humans said, nodding toward Zarfensis. “The quints gave you a right good beating.”
A meaty thud echoed across the cavern as the man’s head rocked back on his neck. The force of the High Priest’s backhand raised an ugly welt across the human’s cheekbone.
“Learn your place, vermin.” Zarfensis snarled.
The man hawked and spat blood onto the floor in front of him. “My place is where the most money is. We have information you may find interesting, for a price.”
Zarfensis marveled at the audacity of these vermin. They defiled the Warrens with their presence and then expected to be compensated for their information. They should be happy they were still breathing.
“What information could a lowly vermin possibly have that is of interest to the Chosen?”
The man smiled, showing a crooked row of bloody teeth. “We know where the Swordmage is. If I were you, I’d want my revenge. I’d want to see the bitch flayed alive.”
The High Priest glanced at Xenir. The vermin obviously had no idea how offensive his words were. To compare a human woman to a female Xarundi. It was disgusting. The Warleader’s gaze slid from his and Zarfensis suddenly wondered if he was seeing the Deep Oracle again.
There would be time to address that later, he thought. If these vermin actually did know the location of the Swordmage, that could be valuable.
“What is the price for this information?” Zarfensis raised a hand at Xenir’s protest. He understood the Warleader’s protest. No Chosen could ever be indebted to the vermin.
“Runedust,” the man said, longing creeping into his voice. “Six vials, two for each of us.” He nodded to his companions.
Dusters, Zarfensis thought, his skin crawling. Now that he looked closely at the vermin, he could see the signs. The tiny pupils, the drawn skin, the broken veins around the nose. These men had been consuming runedust for quite some time. They were desperate. He could smell their need.
Xenir’s nose flared and Zarfensis caught his eye. The Warleader flicked one ear. He had come to the same conclusion at the same time. Dire straits had driven these vermin into the Warrens. A duster with no regular source of runedust was as good as dead anyway. Trading their information for a small fortune must have seemed brilliant to the three of them.
The High Priest drew a vial of glowing blue crystals from the pouch on his belt. He held it level with the vermin’s line of sight, ensuring that the gentle pulse caught his eye.
“A show of good faith,” Zarfensis said, rolling the vial across the floor. The human snatched it up, pulling the stopper with his teeth and pouring some crystals into his hand before passing it to his companions.
Pressing his nose to his palm, the vermin snorted the crystals, not even bothering to pulverize them first. A moment later, the human’s eyes had taken on a pale blue fire that was far too similar to the Xarundi’s for the High Priest’s piece of mind. The tension in the man’s frame seemed to ease and he sighed deeply before speaking.
“There is a human settlement, a city outside the Imperium borders, a mage city.”
“I know this city,” Xenir said. “The vermin call it Ethergate. It is known to the Xarundi as the Hallowed Vale.”
“How do you know that?” The human was visibly startled.
Xenir snorted his derision. “Because, vermin, it was a Chosen city long before the humans moved into our ruins like the scavengers they are.”
The leader of the vermin paused as his companions got into a squabble over the division of the crystals left in the vial. Once they had consumed their portions, he continued.
“The Swordmage is in Ethergate. We found her on the road to the city and scared off her horse to slow her down, then we came here.”