Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 233
It was an awful neighborhood, far from the docks and the fresh breeze that came in off the bay. The houses on the surrounding hills were nicer, far nicer, but those same hills kept the air in the slums hot and stale with an assortment of foul stinks.
There was no one in view as the four companions made their way down a narrow, twisting street, but they could all feel the presence of the hidden eyes that marked their progress. They hadn’t seen a member of the Watch since they’d entered this maze of sagging buildings and close alleyways. But they all felt a sense of urgency, alarmed by Kalasien’s elaborate precautions designed to ensure that they remained out of view of the powerful factions in Li Syval. That was why the Arreshian agent and his men were not with them at the moment; they were making a scene elsewhere, hoping to draw any watching eyes away from the searchers.
Bredan, Glori, Quellan, and Kosk were all armed and fully equipped. The dwarf again looked uncomfortable in his unaccustomed garb, this time the boiled leather breastplate and dirty tunic of a mercenary warrior on hard times. A sword hung from his hip, though he had not as much as touched it since he’d put it on. Bredan considered him as they made their way deeper into the warren of the slum. Was this how the dwarf had looked back in the days when he’d still been a criminal and bandit? Was this the true nature of his friend?
“Hey, you with us?” Glori asked.
Bredan flushed and nodded. She gave him a stern look but then turned away, her own hand resting obviously on the hilt of her sword. They’d finally found the weapon lying on the bit of roof that jutted out from the bottom story of the inn. Bredan accepted his admonishment—she was right, this was no place to let one’s mind wander.
Quellan was leading them, moving at a brisk pace. It would have been more prudent to be cautious, but his spell only lasted ten minutes, not much time to search even part of one of Li Syval’s sprawling neighborhoods. Many of the streets and alleys in this part of the city twisted back on themselves or came to abrupt dead-ends, a design that might have been deliberate or just the result of centuries of slow but continual growth. The cleric was already on his third casting. The first two had failed completely, but this time he had finally gotten a hit, after they’d relocated to the next district on Kalasien’s list of potential locations. The spell guided the half-orc unerringly toward his goal, but he had no way of knowing how far away the target was.
They turned down a narrow street that could barely accommodate the cleric’s broad shoulders. That led them to an alley that in turn deposited them into a small courtyard. The surrounding buildings rose only two stories, but they all seemed to lean slightly into the open space as if considering giving up and collapsing. All of the doorways and windows that faced into the courtyard were boarded up, and the only distinctive feature was a small well, partially covered by a thick slab of wood, that looked as though it hadn’t seen any use in some time.
Quellan began to circle around, but his attention was quickly drawn to the well.
“There?” Glori asked with a dismal look. Quellan nodded, his own features equally grim.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s dead,” Kosk pointed out. “There could be a secret door or something.”
Quellan unslung his shield and mace and handed them to Kosk. “I should be the one,” Glori said. “You’ll barely fit down there.”
“I am the one with the spell,” Quellan said. “I only have another minute or two left, so I must hurry.”
Bredan had already taken a length of rope out of his pack. He and Kosk quickly rigged it to a post on the edge of the courtyard that looked like it could take the cleric’s weight. Quellan pulled the lid of the well aside and peered down into it. A nasty odor rose from inside, but he didn’t hesitate as he clambered up over the lip and dropped into the shaft.
The others gathered around, careful of the taut rope. They could hear a splash as the cleric reached the bottom of the well. “You okay?” Glori called down.
“It’s not deep,” Quellan said. “It’s a bit of a mess. Give me a moment.”
The others shared a look as they listened to the cleric probing through the cistern. A minute passed, and then two. Finally, Quellan called, “Pull me up.”
With Bredan and Kosk pulling on the rope it only took a few moments for Quellan to rejoin them at the top. He was covered in slime, and the foul odor of the well surrounded him. “Well, we don’t have to worry about any locals bothering us now,” Kosk said.
“Anything?” Bredan asked, as Glori helped Quellan up over the rim of the well.
In response, the cleric held up his hand. A small object caught the light and gleamed in his hand.
“Xeeta’s amulet,” Glori said.
“She’s not down there,” Quellan said.
Bredan sagged against the edge of the well. “Now what do we do?” he asked.
It was an awful neighborhood, far from the docks and the fresh breeze that came in off the bay. The houses on the surrounding hills were nicer, far nicer, but those same hills kept the air in the slums hot and stale with an assortment of foul stinks.
There was no one in view as the four companions made their way down a narrow, twisting street, but they could all feel the presence of the hidden eyes that marked their progress. They hadn’t seen a member of the Watch since they’d entered this maze of sagging buildings and close alleyways. But they all felt a sense of urgency, alarmed by Kalasien’s elaborate precautions designed to ensure that they remained out of view of the powerful factions in Li Syval. That was why the Arreshian agent and his men were not with them at the moment; they were making a scene elsewhere, hoping to draw any watching eyes away from the searchers.
Bredan, Glori, Quellan, and Kosk were all armed and fully equipped. The dwarf again looked uncomfortable in his unaccustomed garb, this time the boiled leather breastplate and dirty tunic of a mercenary warrior on hard times. A sword hung from his hip, though he had not as much as touched it since he’d put it on. Bredan considered him as they made their way deeper into the warren of the slum. Was this how the dwarf had looked back in the days when he’d still been a criminal and bandit? Was this the true nature of his friend?
“Hey, you with us?” Glori asked.
Bredan flushed and nodded. She gave him a stern look but then turned away, her own hand resting obviously on the hilt of her sword. They’d finally found the weapon lying on the bit of roof that jutted out from the bottom story of the inn. Bredan accepted his admonishment—she was right, this was no place to let one’s mind wander.
Quellan was leading them, moving at a brisk pace. It would have been more prudent to be cautious, but his spell only lasted ten minutes, not much time to search even part of one of Li Syval’s sprawling neighborhoods. Many of the streets and alleys in this part of the city twisted back on themselves or came to abrupt dead-ends, a design that might have been deliberate or just the result of centuries of slow but continual growth. The cleric was already on his third casting. The first two had failed completely, but this time he had finally gotten a hit, after they’d relocated to the next district on Kalasien’s list of potential locations. The spell guided the half-orc unerringly toward his goal, but he had no way of knowing how far away the target was.
They turned down a narrow street that could barely accommodate the cleric’s broad shoulders. That led them to an alley that in turn deposited them into a small courtyard. The surrounding buildings rose only two stories, but they all seemed to lean slightly into the open space as if considering giving up and collapsing. All of the doorways and windows that faced into the courtyard were boarded up, and the only distinctive feature was a small well, partially covered by a thick slab of wood, that looked as though it hadn’t seen any use in some time.
Quellan began to circle around, but his attention was quickly drawn to the well.
“There?” Glori asked with a dismal look. Quellan nodded, his own features equally grim.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s dead,” Kosk pointed out. “There could be a secret door or something.”
Quellan unslung his shield and mace and handed them to Kosk. “I should be the one,” Glori said. “You’ll barely fit down there.”
“I am the one with the spell,” Quellan said. “I only have another minute or two left, so I must hurry.”
Bredan had already taken a length of rope out of his pack. He and Kosk quickly rigged it to a post on the edge of the courtyard that looked like it could take the cleric’s weight. Quellan pulled the lid of the well aside and peered down into it. A nasty odor rose from inside, but he didn’t hesitate as he clambered up over the lip and dropped into the shaft.
The others gathered around, careful of the taut rope. They could hear a splash as the cleric reached the bottom of the well. “You okay?” Glori called down.
“It’s not deep,” Quellan said. “It’s a bit of a mess. Give me a moment.”
The others shared a look as they listened to the cleric probing through the cistern. A minute passed, and then two. Finally, Quellan called, “Pull me up.”
With Bredan and Kosk pulling on the rope it only took a few moments for Quellan to rejoin them at the top. He was covered in slime, and the foul odor of the well surrounded him. “Well, we don’t have to worry about any locals bothering us now,” Kosk said.
“Anything?” Bredan asked, as Glori helped Quellan up over the rim of the well.
In response, the cleric held up his hand. A small object caught the light and gleamed in his hand.
“Xeeta’s amulet,” Glori said.
“She’s not down there,” Quellan said.
Bredan sagged against the edge of the well. “Now what do we do?” he asked.