Previdya: Best Left Buried
Some Secrets can kill you. Others might even try.
Errant Collegian, Velera of Esper, via twin-book fifty six. Reporting from the ruined tower on the road to Larwood.
I took the Great East Road north through Mor Malithoy and west, but my mount went lame outside Kethguard. I left the doe and a few silver sterlings with a farmer to pay for a replacement.
The new Capra was a huge young wether with long and yellow waves and horns that curved tight ‘round his ears. The farmer named him Silver — a terrible choice. Maybe the goat was grain colored once, but now he was the color of old straw or stale urine. The man swore he was trained to carry a pack, rider, or plow and I didn’t notice any tells, so he’ll have to do. I just hope the farmer wasn’t stupid enough to sell me a fainter.
I know you’ll cover my expenses so I’ll keep a tally. I’ll be on the next leg of the journey as you read this.
I choose to trust your wisdom in sending a premier errant to make a house call, and not take this task as a demotion or comment on my ability. Care to share, High Warder?
End.
#
You’re among the best Collegians today. That can change with a stroke of my pen. Watch your tone and don’t piss off your allies, Errant.
This sorcerer came to us. May be risky if he’s failed to check in. Stay alert, Velera. Stay alive.
End.
#
Yes ma’am. Thanks for the clarity.
I’m reporting from my private room in the Brier Haven Inn. The closest Hearth Temple is in Mor Veth so I’m making due with this rustic old oaken giant. It had a double crescent moon carved next to its name over the front door for the gods’ sake. It’s so old they’re not even sure whether the name came from the inn or the standing stones outside.
They call this place a town, but it’s really more like a giant hunting lodge with a few huts and a general store. I’d assumed the scholars cleared forest and built a village, but this reminds me of a Callor Dallan tree-house.
The road was shaded all the way through. I had to drive that piss-colored goat with a carrot from my pack and we barely made it before nightfall. The canopy doesn’t even part in town except around the inn’s thatched roof and inside that triple circle of standing stones.
In fact, that circle is the only clearing anywhere nearby. The stones are covered in moss and lichen, but nothing bigger than weeds can grow inside the second ring. The bramble-letters wind down the stones like vines, but it’s just some timeless lock waiting for the right key.
Anyway, scenery aside, I spoke with the lead researcher. He was pleased to receive an Errant Collegian until I told him why I’d come. He called our missing sorcerer, Eddis of Silver a “self-important little upstart with delusions of grandeur and competence.” I sense a hint of the same from the lead researcher, so I’m not sure yet what to think. Once he realized I wasn’t interested in his findings, the frail old sorcerer turned up his hooked nose and shut me out. He dismissed me with a wave of his knobby old hand and gave a halfhearted promise to update me if he learns anything. I doubt that tree bears fruit.
The graying old innkeeper, Oris, was more helpful. He laughed about the man’s wife and daughter following him to Brier Haven, but that’s probably already in your records. What you might not know — he left Brier Haven with his family late last month to build a cabin further into the woods.
Oris says he was excited to go, despite stories of fey deeper in the trees. Actually, the reports might have excited him more. The woman seemed nervous though. The big old man was surprised she didn’t pack up her daughter and meager estate to go find a better prospect. Oris planted his meaty hands on the counter, shook his head with a frown and told me “Ain’ right, draggin dem behind ‘im like dat. Dem woods ain’ good fer hones’ folk. Yer clever folk — check on ’em fer me?”
Local color, eh? I think he might be right this time. Fey in the woods is one thing, living among them is something else.
Oris says there’s a marked path so I won’t get lost. I leave in the morning. Hopefully Eddis just lost track of the days and I can give him a good tongue lashing for wasting my time.
End.
#
I’m writing from a log cabin about a league southwest of Brier Haven, built on the edge of a shallow ravine. I wish I had better news for you, but from what I’ve found, Eddis and his wife are missing. The door hangs from the upper hinge and most of the furniture’s either destroyed or tipped over.
I found a girl unconscious with hands over her mouth in an overturned cupboard. Commonborn, about ten years, thin, jaw length brown hair. Sounds like the sorcerer’s daughter. She’s sick from want of water. I’ve done what I can for her, but she won’t improve much until I get her back to town.
If I don’t finish the search now, I may lose the information we need. So I’m writing now in case whatever tore this place apart finds me before I get back.
What wind passes the broken door has been scattering his notes, so I’ve been picking them up and stowing them in my bag. What little I’ve read suggests he decoded some of the Maker’s Bramble on the standing stones. I’ve found notes about dragons, towers, and a tunnel. I think he was looking for something out here, and from the state of this place, he may have found it.
The cabin has a cellar accessible from outside. I haven’t explored it yet, but the door was wide open. We know fey live underground near the big cities; I don’t see why it would be any different out here. I’m on edge. I’m not looking forward to this.
Silent Lady save me, High Warder Jessa, if you get me killed on a check-up I’d better wake in Spinna’s Vault. By Her broken pen, I’d kick in Korpo’s blackened testes and haunt you otherwise.
I’ll report when I have more. Wish me luck.
End.
#
Errant Collegian Velera, if you don’t make it in, we’re serving the wrong goddess. The lucky make their own. Don’t die on me out there.
End.
#
Well, I’m not dead. Not yet. Deep-one might remedy that before we reach Brier Haven. Had to rest. Writing from some log under a road marker.
Sorcerer found something. Cellar was just a small packed dirt pit under the cabin with a hole in the side where he exposed old masonry. Broke through the bricks. Found an inky black cave on the other side. There was a dark stain on the dirt at about chest high on the other wall. Five little holes in the mess, and marks where something slid to the floor. Hoped it was wine at first. Too thick. Too sticky. Blood.
He’s dead. Girl was still there, mother wouldn’t leave her. No more blood though. Must’ve taken her. Girl’s an orphan. A corpse if I don’t make it back.
He had a work table with notes. One page had a phrase in Maker’s Bramble- “Digging High.” He guessed they use the same word for ‘far from ground level’ — so “High Tower” means “Deep Hole” too. He guessed trees didn’t grow inside the stones because of the stonework.
Looks like the bastard was right about everything else, why not that too. Better check it.
Other notes too. Like Maker’s Bramble, but rougher work. Like a sharp chisel but no patience.
Was looking at that when the short hairs at my scalp stood up. Turned, saw yellow eyes, slit pupils, in the hole. Scaly brown hand with foot long claws reached through the hole and gripped the ruined brickwork.
I pulled a knife, brought it high, turned to the hole, closed my eyes, prayed The Lady broke her silence.
Heard a rasp, somebody whispered “now,” and I stabbed down hard as I could.
It hammered into my ribs. Dashed my head on the ground and saw stars. Something sharp clamped around me and a fire burned somewhere in my right side, but I was awake.
Forced my eyes open. Herapethi’s little eye glared up over pink folds and little yellow hooked teeth. Its long claws were both buried up to the joints in the packed dirt on either side of my head. It chewed at my midsection like a kid does a pacifier.
My knife stuck out behind its yellow eye like a horn.
Lodged there. Expected some gray or orange colored blood, but was red as mine.
We slid an inch. Realized I wasn’t laying down, just pinned to the wall. From how my hair stuck, it was the bloodstain. Must be how they caught the sorcerer.
Wondered how I lived. Coils splayed out behind, but wasn’t moving — besides chewing up my clothes. Broke its spine.
Tried pull my knife, no leverage. Could tell it hurt though.
Tried pry open the teeth, too sharp, too strong, too angry. Wouldn’t let go ‘till I killed it.
Pushed out the claw left of my head and we swung. Right hip struck the table and my side burned but the brute held on. Needed to kill me since I killed it. Neither ready to die, so we hung from dead left arm.
Pawed at the tabletop for something to use, then a thought. Fished up its free hand. Claws felt like bone, or shell, but they had a sharp edge. Took its hand in my left, it longest claw in my right as that yellow eye got wide. Twisted the damn thing off. Stabbed to death with its own claw.
Stowed his notes. Grabbed the girl. Lovely goat. Rode away.
Not bleeding much, but my side burns. Venom.
Hard to breath. Hard to walk. Hard to Ride. Not sure how close. Think I’ll live if I can just make it back. If not, here’s to the vault.
End.
