Chapter 14: Gurnag's Head continued
Fitz sagged into the ornate chair. Blood and grime clung to the edges of his armor and nestled amongst the creases of his robes. Magnus described their struggle in the lower levels of Gurnag’s Head. Always long with the talk and, in this specific case, trying to press his importance upon both the Lady and her advisor, Dekk. The young mage fumed and paced. Fitz shifted, resting some of his burden against the high back of the chair.
The chilling rays of the northern moon reached through the large window, slipping its icy fingertips between the heavy black drapes to caress a dozen empty crystal goblets. From lip to stem, the crystal glowed with a blue brilliance that cast the empty dinnerware and even the simple seeming chest into shadow.
Motega’s dark stare held tightly to the chest. The Rornman’s hand was clamped around the key for the chest. Drake towered beside Motega, fists clenched and lip curling into a sneer.
“A chain devil? Are you absolutely sure?” Dekk crossed his arms and glowered.
“Yes, a chain devil,” Magnus solidly replied. “Perhaps mages from your lands are not as well learned in differentiating between the many varieties of fiends but, I assure you, my mentor did not fail in his lessons. I know what we faced.”
“Perhaps.”
“It was a chain devil,” Fitz affirmed. Dekk turned to regard the weary priest. “You may doubt his judgment because of his youth but I have had the additional training and experience afforded to a Cerian priest. That thing in the depths of the tower was a chain devil. There were altars for fiendish worship and sacrifice, as well.”
“This is all very disturbing,” Dekk murmured.
Drake harrumphed. “Yet, you do not sound too surprised.” The Gordian’s hands slipped to the hilts of his sickles.
Dekk stepped back, closer to the Lady. His hand drifted to a leather pouch of components; he fingered the drawstring.
“We all need to take a deep breath and relax,” the Lady asserted. “Perhaps I should fetch some wine to calm our spirits.”
“That,” Magnus replied, “would actually be quite wonderful. It is a grand idea.” She stepped toward the kitchen.
Drake’s arm shot out, snapping shut around the Lady’s arm. He spun her around. “That is not so great an idea. You will wait here, with the rest of us, until this is all figured out.” Magnus’ face turned a violent shade of red. Dekk’s hand clenched some component within the pouch. “Where are your daughters?”
“I have sent them away with my man-at-arms.”
“WHERE?!”
The Lady cowered like a dog accustomed to beatings. “I told him not to tell me or anyone else. I figured that would be safest for my daughters in the event the four of you could not return with the key. But here you are, you have. And I can hand the key and the chest over to be rid of this dreadful nightmare.”
“What is in the chest?” Motega had finally pulled his eyes from the table. He settled his dark, hungry stare on the Lady.
“As I told you before, I do not know,” the Lady whimpered. Drake released her arm. His hand returned to his hilt. “It was my husband’s.” She tugged at a stray strand of hair. “If the tower is as you say, it must be something foul. I never thought him a…he was a good man. I thought. He must have been mixed up in something dark.”
“You have lost much this day. Let us not add to your grief by leaping to that conclusion.” Magnus stepped beside the Lady. He groped her shoulder comfortingly. “Why don’t you fetch us that wine now?”
“She is not going anywhere,” Drake spat.
“That is not for you to decide,” Dekk boomed. “She is the Lady of this manor. You are still her servant!”
“Open the chest,” Motega demanded. He extended the key to her. “We must know what is in the chest. Open it.”
The Lady shook her head profusely. “I will not. I do not care to know what my husband was mixed up with. I only wish my daughters safe. I will fetch the wine now.” She lifted her dress and stepped back.
“You will not leave,” Drake swore. The sickles slid from their sheaths.
“You will NOT COMMAND HER!” Dekk snapped.
Drake ducked low, sickles lashing out against the mage. The first blade bit deeply into Dekk’s wrist. A second slash opened the mage’s gut.
Dekk’s hand fell from the pouch. The Lady screamed. Motega stood dumbfounded. Magnus summoned arcane energies.
Fitz shook his head sadly and reached for his wand.
Drake lashed out again. His sickle dug low. The tendon split easily. Dekk toppled, unconscious.
Drake stopped his last blow a hair’s breadth from Dekk’s throat. Blood spilled across the hardwood floor, reflecting the light of the moon. A shuddering, labored breath heaved itself from the mage’s ribcage.
Drake dropped the sickle and reached for his pack.
“What the f*ck are you doing?!” Motega hissed.
“He moves again, he’s dying,” Magnus answered. Arcane tendrils snaked around his hand.
“Trust me,” Drake begged. He withdrew and opened a vial. Drake dumped the vial into Dekk’s mouth.
“I can’t…I need,” the Lady stuttered, “a drink. I’ll…I’m going to get the wine.” She spun away from the carnage, rushing for the doorway into the kitchen.
Confusion tripled as Dekk’s wounds closed under the potion’s power.
“No!” Drake bellowed as the Lady fled.
“Raise your blade against her and I will not hesitate to kill you,” threatened Magnus. He stepped into Drake’s path.
“Maybe he has a point,” Motega hoped aloud. His keen eyes watched the Lady disappear through the swinging, wooden door.
A scream echoed from the kitchen, followed by the crashing of pans.
“Fools,” muttered Dekk.
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If Tobias leaving the party was the beginning of the end for the party, then this was the first ringing of that death knell. We're now in a full downward spiral...the end is so close.
That all said, I hope you all have Happy Holidays 
