Lost & Found, Pt. 4

Lucinda cupped her hands, closed her eyes, and splashed her face with water from the basin. She blindly reached for a nearby towel to wipe herself dry when she heard the knock at the door.

Sprusba's gravelly voice carried through the wood. "Lady, there is a Mock here who wants to see you."

Lucinda calmly continued patting her face as she stared into the brass basin. Her reflection looked back at her, blue-eyed and blond-haired. She looked haggard, and she saw more worry lines etched into her features now compared to the last time she had looked, in Admae. That had been a week ago, but it felt like months. She was tired, having slept poorly the night before. The bed had been comfortable enough, she grudgingly admitted, but Marone was not friendly territory.

"Lady? You alright?" Sprusba pounded on the door again.

"I am fine," she said at last. She tossed her damp hair over one shoulder and shrugged out of the brown-itchy robe the inn's proprietor had gladly furnished while her other clothing was laundered. She left it in a crumpled heap on the floor. The man pretended he provided this service out of the goodness of his heart and that it was a courtesy afforded to all esteemed travelers, but Lucinda knew that the Freelance city of Marone remained Freelance only in name. It lay too close to Cs'e'erah's borders to not favor that Sister, and it catered to followers of the two Brothers only so that the illusion could be maintained, and that its inhabitants might play the factions against one another.

She smiled grimly at the thought of encountering a band of Maurcke's followers. The bloody debacle which occurred at Erron still haunted her dreams. Once she finished this mission, she would resume balancing the scales by slaying the members of Maurcke's hordes, one creature at a time.

Lucinda quickly dressed in her Elementalist's attire and draped her amulet around her neck. The weight of the blunt crescent that marked her as a Chosen of Cahllyn reassured her, and she felt the conduits linking her to her patron open. She flicked her fingers one at a time and tiny sparkles of energy flitted from their tips.

She crossed the room and opened the stout door. The Chubs stood before her, hands curled into great bony fists. Sprusba peered up at her with deep-set eyes and a rumbling growl echoed out of his broad chest.

"There is a Mock here," Sprusba repeated. "Will I remove it?" He sounded unsure of himself, and Lucinda could hear him grinding his teeth.

Lucinda pressed her lips together. "What does it want?"

"It says it has information you would find interesting. It would not tell me what."

"I have no time for a Mock's foolishness. Are we ready to move onward?"

Sprusba jerked his head downward in a quick nod. "Kravin got supplies like you said. He waits outside with our things."

"Then let us go. Our quarry's trail grows colder with every moment we dawdle." Lucinda strode past the Chubs, down the short hallway that led to the inn's taproom. She heard Sprusba's heavy footfalls on the plank floor behind her as he followed.

The inn had been functional. Not good by any stretch of the imagination, but far preferable to a night spent eating a meal of trail rations and sleeping on cold dirt. She saw the table the three of them used the night before, off in a corner away from the ebb and flow of the place's usual customers. They had received some strange looks--Cahllesque travelers did not normally come out this way--but no one had bothered them. That suited Lucinda perfectly. The fewer who knew about their reason for being here, the better.

She saw the innkeep, a human, behind the counter, counting money. He shoved the coins aside when Lucinda entered the room and his face assumed a fawning expression. "Ah, Judicator, you have awakened. I have taken the liberty of seeing the objects we had laundered delivered to your Soulweaver, for your convenience. He awaits you outside."

Lucinda nodded at the innkeep. The sooner she was finished with Marone's facile kindness, the better. The traitor could not be much farther off, and when he was captured, in spirit or in flesh, she could return to Imfera, to civilization, to a place where she need not worry about a Freelance Stalker who craved the prestige of killing one or more of Cahllyn's Chosen, or where Maurckian assassins could wait around every corner.

Lucinda stepped outdoors and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the bright morning sun. Kravin stood next to their packs, the palm of his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Marone's townsfolk passed by on the street, ordinary men and women going about their daily labors. They slowed to ogle the group of three only so long as it took for Kravin's or Sprusba's gaze to fall upon them.

The slender man inclined his head at Lucinda. He said, "We are ready to depart, soon as you give the word, Judicator," his voice a low murmur.

Lucinda raised a hand. "A moment, Kravin. Sprusba tells me a Mock was just here?"

The Mageslayer nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I saw the beast skulk away in that direction. It looked as though it was up to no good."

"Mocks never are," Sprusba grated. The Chubs Corsair snorted and picked up his heavy warhammer from where it leaned against his pack. "They receive their name for good reason. It is good it was not here when you came here, or we would not be rid of it, unless it was in a way that would upset the people here."

Lucinda gathered her own gear. She felt a familiar tingle of crackling energies as her hand closed around her staff, a five-foot length of blue-tinged metal topped with a square-cut piece of amber. She felt the power pulse in her chest, amplified by the magical rod. She did not fear the physical presence of one of the cat-beasts, but she did fear the attention their incessant yammering could bring.

Lucinda pointed at the black smudge which peeked over the horizon. Staxal, the cursed mountain, an unmistakable marker of the boundary where the ostensible neutrality of the Freeland gave way to the tainted realm of Cs'e'erah.

Anxiety filled her, and she resisted the urge to release it. Imfera was far, too far, away. "We continue to the southeast."

Kravin rubbed at his freshly shaved chin. "If he has crossed over into Cs'e'erahn land, what then?"

Lucinda's eyes were hard. "Then we follow. We shall catch him and deliver him, dead or alive."

Lucinda did not look back once they were on their way.

Lost and Found, Pt. 3

Kathan stood before Im-Slatner when the Minion opened his front door. The feline creature, who was covered in short blue-gray fur except for the brilliant white-blond ruff about his shoulders, glanced askance at Im-Slatner. Before the Minion could ask what the Mock was doing here, it had writhed between Im-Slatner's legs and the door frame and into Im-Slatner's home.

"It's abuzz, all of it!" Kathan purred in delight. "Oh, things will happen soon!"

"What things? What is happening?" Im-Slatner shut his door and glared at the Mock with his slender hands curled into fists.

"The Cahllesque group! Ke-he-he, not just a group passing through, no, but one here, led by the Lady Lucinda!"

Im-Slatner stiffened. "What could she want here?" he asked, keeping his tone as conversational as possible. He prayed the Mock could not detect the apprehension that tugged at his body, the chilling tingle centered at the base of his spine.

"She's chasing an outcast of some sort. I guess an ex-Corsair, one that swore off Cahllyn. Usually they can't be bothered with that, right, but this one has apparently done something that met with great disapproval." Kathan chortled and swished his tail back and forth.

Im-Slatner could not keep fear from creeping into his voice. "Was his name mentioned? Did you manage to get a name?"

The Mock's eyelids lowered and his mouth curved into a sly smirk. "Worried, are we? Does the Cs'e'erahn fear that he unconsciously brought the ire of one of Cahllyn's finest Judicators upon his head in the regular course of business?"

Im-Slatner had no time for Kathan's games. The Minion snapped out a long-fingered hand and released his breath in a low hiss. A green haze spread from his lips and twisted around the Mock, who had fallen back in a servile cringe.

Kathan mewled pitifully for a moment before breaking into a fit of hacking and coughing. His forelimbs pawed at his head in desperation, trying to push away the foul miasma Im-Slatner had invoked. "M-ahl-Morris! Maurice! Ghak! Some-hek-thing!"

Im-Slatner cut the invisible bonds of power linking him to the Dread Sister and his incantation faded moments later. Not the Corsair Lars, then. Well, likely not. The Mock would not have lied. The craven species blustered and reveled when they held positions of power or possessed some sort of leverage, but quickly turned to fawning when exposed to any real threat. Though Kathan was an infamous purveyor of rumors around Marone, even he could be wrong.

"How would you like to earn some coin?"

Kathan's ears perked up. Mocks were greedy, too. "Will I have to something dangerous?"

"Perhaps. You are to deliver a message on my behalf."

"To the Cahllesque woman." Kathan sat up, straightening his back and puffing out his mane.

Im-Slatner pressed his lips together. Mocks were selfish cowards, but they were not stupid. "Yes."

"This message will be a deceit."

Im-Slatner goggled at Kathan, who gave a high-pitched giggle. "Your skill lies in Cs'e'rahn magics, Bonedaddy. Mine is in this thing which you ask me to do."

"It will not be a complete lie."

"No?"

"Inform Judicator Lucinda that Sister Ophelia was just sighted in Marone."

Kathan's lips drew back from his pointed teeth in a feral grin. "The devastation holds the potential to be phenomenal."

"Indeed it does." Im-Slatner reached into the pocket of his robe and and retrieved a pouch. He tied a long leather thong around its neck and held it out for the Mock. Kathan crept forward, eyes wary, and snatched the bag to inspect its contents. They apparently met his satisfaction, as he purred in contentment. Im-Slatner pulled open his front door so the Mock could leave.

"I was under the impression that Cs'e'erah stood neutral in the war between Cahllyn and Maurcke," Kathan said as he stepped outside.

I'm-Slatner said, "The Dread Sister loves her two Brothers equally. She simply loves herself far more."