A Few Loose Ends...
Okay, so I can't resist:
**
The Tower of Owls – the tallest of the nine spires of the Castle of Trempa – lay near the largely neglected southern wing of the Ducal Palace. The topmost floors had long ago rotted and collapsed to form a single, ruined space, which, exposed to the elements and left unattended for three generations, had attracted a number of birds which lent the tower its name.
Below the upper wreck, the tower had eight stories in somewhat more serviceable condition. The lowest five were used to store various oddments which had, over the years, been accumulated by the duchess and her forebears: old paintings, items of now-unfashionable furniture, rusting weapons, carpets, faded tapestries and broken toys amongst them. Layers of dust covered everything. It was a standing joke amongst members of the ducal household that, whenever something had outlived its usefulness, it would be "put in the tower."
The irony was not lost on the succubus Nehael – otherwise known as Lady Despina – who, sitting on her couch within the confines of a diagram inscribed by Mostin the Metagnostic, was firmly anchored to the spot. She had been closeted upon the eighth floor, in a cold, round stone room, barred from below by an iron door guarded by Eadric’s squire, Tatterbrand. Although Tatterbrand had made an attempt to make the place comfortable, and constantly reassured Despina that she was confined for her own protection as much that of others, his efforts were largely wasted on the succubus.
"I am a demoness, Tatterbrand. I am impervious to the elements."
"Yes lady, of course," said the squire, continuing to stoke a small fire in the hearth, which produced more smoke than heat.
"I could seduce you very easily, Tatterbrand," Despina said softly.
"Yes, lady," Tatterbrand replied, a look of total openness on his face, "I’m sure you could. But I’d really prefer if you didn’t. It would cause all sorts of problems, and I’m sure my master would be very upset."
Despina sighed. What strange creatures mortals were.
"What would you do, Tatterbrand, if you were in their position?"
The squire laughed. "Lady, that is why I am content to remain a squire and not become a knight. I have no interest in bearing responsibility or acquiring power. It makes life too complicated."
"Do you have no goals? No aspirations? No dreams?" The succubus asked.
"No, not really," Tatterbrand confessed. "To eat, to sleep. To act when appropriate. To do as my master bids."
"But is there nothing that you desire to possess, to have?"
"Well," Tatterbrand said, as if about to divulge a great secret, "between you and me, I’ve always wanted to keep bees."
Despina arched an eyebrow. In terms of exercising dominion, it seemed a rather modest goal.
**
On top of another tower, fifty miles distant – the "Steeple" at Eadric’s Castle of Kyrtill’s Burgh- the Paladin, together with Ortwin, Mostin and Nwm, sat and relaxed, watching the sunset.
"What happens now?" Ortwin asked. "I mean, we have the pearl, but what do we do with it?"
‘We should consider that it is still vulnerable to interference – magical or otherwise," Mostin answered. "We must be cautious."
"We lock it away, somewhere very safe," Nwm said. "We ward it with powerful runes, and bury it deep."
Mostin agreed. "Give me a day or two," he said wearily. "I need to master the ‘Permanency’ spell, and one other."
Nwm nodded.
Together, the Druid and the Alienist wrought a series of potent spells to ensure the safety and security of the pearl which contained the Balor’s essence. With the looking glass of Urm-Nahat, Mostin scried and located a suitable site: an isolated cyst in the continental bedrock, seismically stable, and sixty miles below even the deepest reaches of the Underdark.
The remote pocket was sealed by a seamless ‘Wall of Stone’ so that even the smallest fissures in the rock were blocked.
Nwm Hallowed the chamber, and tied it to a Dimensional Anchor cast by Mostin. Now, only the Alienist and the Druid could use extraplanar travel to access the cyst.
The pearl was placed in a small casket in the centre of the chamber, surrounded by a permanent Wall of Force. Magic Mouths were placed on the walls, to warn those who might, by some strange fortune, discover the hidden pocket in the rock.
Finally, upon the casket itself, in phosphorous and mercury, Mostin inscribed a Symbol of Insanity.
"I’ve bled my finances dry, and even my life-essence for him now," Mostin said to Nwm. "He owes me." He was speaking of Eadric, of course.
The Druid nodded grimly. "He will not forget it," he said.
"Nor will I," Mostin replied.
And, even in the Abyss, after long eras, the name of Rurunoth faded into memory and was finally forgotten.
Mostin decided it was payback time.
"So, technically," mused Eadric, "if I did remunerate you for every spell that you had cast since your arrival, as well as your time, components and so forth, how much would I owe you Mostin?"
Mostin produced a small notebook, and made a quick tally.
"Eighty-eight thousand two hundred gold crowns, give or take," the Alienist announced.
"Holy sh*t," exclaimed Ortwin, "I’m in the wrong business. Can you cover that, Ed?"
"No," the Paladin replied, "not unless I sell my lands and castle, and even then, - given the Burgh’s condition - I’m not convinced that would be enough. Fortunately, this is church business and they should foot some of the bill."
"SOME of the bill?" Mostin inquired sarcastically.
"They will pay for direct monetary loss, recompense you if you have invested some of your reservoir of permanent magical energy, and also make a small payment against your time and efforts. Incidental expenses – for example the clause here," Eadric pointed, "where you require one thousand eight hundred gold pieces for a ‘magical rapier, undervalued in exchange’ will not be considered. They assume a degree of philanthropy."
"Philanthropy," Mostin repeated slowly, as if hearing the word for the first time.
The revised sum – thirty six thousand five hundred gold crowns – was less to Mostin’s liking, although he agreed nonetheless. Nothing was more demeaning to a wizard than a bankruptcy which forced the touting of magical items to all and sundry.
"So should we go to Morne, to arrange for approval?" Mostin asked brightly.
"Oh, no need for that, Mostin," Eadric replied. "As an inquisitor, I am more than qualified to release the money to you. I’ll just write you a check to draw against the temple funds."
The Alienist’s mouth dropped open in an expression of disbelief. Here was such an enormous potential for financial abuse that his mind boggled.
Then again, thought Mostin, that’s probably why he’s the paladin and I’m not.
.
