54

Notes: 1) If you see

this

version of the story anywhere other than Literotica it isn't supposed to be there. 2) Because of shorter chapters, this is being posted in chunks.

*****

*Forty-seven*

Kwes paced the cell with a scowl. They'd stripped him of everything and given him a piece of cloth to tie around his hips. Cyran, in the cell across from him, hadn't been stripped at all. The man was sitting there looking chagrined as if it were somehow his fault.

"Cousin?" Cyran tossed his jacket across as best he could and Kwes cursed himself for not having had the foresight to keep some tools in it.

Still, he put it on. A loose, soap-filled jacket was better than nothing.

"Why do I have the feeling that this is your fault, Cyran?"

The man flushed.

"What did you do?"

"Stealing from temples is wrong."

"At least you remember that much," a sour voice heralded the approach of a man who bore a strong resemblance to Master Odos, if he'd spent a few years sucking lemons.

Kwes folded his arms, studying him and the stunning blond woman at his side.

"Father-"

"You will not call me that!" The man turned away and glared at Kwes. "And you, son of Odos, where is your sister?"

"Be gentle, Imos." The woman placed a hand on his arm. "The child needs love and guidance. He is not to blame."

"That's very sweet of you-"

"I was not speaking of you, son of Odos." She gave him a sour look.

"I'm aware. My cousin isn't the sharpest or the most reliable but he's not a bad man. His father on the other hand has taken up lying, murdering his kin, threatening-"

Imos raised his hand with a look of fury on his face and Kwes felt his throat close up. Stars began to explode in his vision. He was vaguely aware of an argument going on and then suddenly he could breathe. Cyran was kneeling over him with a hand on his face.

"Where did you learn that?" Imos sounded annoyed.

"You sent me to learn from Syreilla, she taught me to draw from what I can feel around me to heal and protect."

"You were sent to learn from her?" The woman sounded surprised.

"I would not have him speak-"

"Leave, Imos. Your warnings were appreciated but you have been a rude guest."

There was a moment of silence and then she asked again, "You were sent?"

"Before she learned what he had done to Syreilla Hammersworn, yes." Cyran turned to give the woman a concerned look, "The divinity has strayed from what is right and just, I wish to bring him back to it. Syreilla the Rook is the goddess of righteous vengeance and the protector of gentle souls. I believe she still serves Hevtos but she does not hold me accountable for the harm my-the divinity has done. She asked Hevtos to be kind to my brothers; she would have been more lenient with them if she had known who they were."

"That sounds like a child of Odos." The woman smiled ruefully. "They have their good qualities but they're infuriating. She must have your grandfather's temper if she became a goddess of vengeance."

"My sister..." Kwes sat up carefully and cleared his throat, "She has a nasty temper but she's good with children. They're not afraid of her."

"They have no reason to be." The woman's smile was warm and dazzling, he gazed at her for a moment feeling oddly warm and refreshed before she began to laugh.

She turned her smile on Cyran, "Why do you say your father has strayed from what is right and just? Even if she was his niece, executing a thief-"

"He commanded me to harm a child. Syreilla had taken a boy under her protection. Edun had been sent from his home by his angry mother and because of the cruelty my cousin endured as a child, she was incensed. The boy was returned to his home and his mother was made to understand that what she had done was wrong. But... to strike at Syreilla he commanded me to murder the child."

The woman paled.

"The boy was utterly innocent. I refused and he has been angry with me since."

"Ask Isca." Kwes managed to come to his feet with Cyran's help. "Syreilla spoke with her about it, I think, and the goddess of war stepped out of her way in Brosa."

The woman turned away for a moment and when she turned back she looked a little nervous, "Her eyes burn like her grandfather's when she's angry. Imos was cast out of Brosa and he flees in fear of her because she is strong and he is not as he should be."

"Yes." Cyran inclined his head. "I want to help him return to himself."

"You're a good son and you'll become a god of honesty and healing, in time, I have no doubt." She beckoned for them to leave the cell. "Do you know why she wants the stones?"

"I'm not wholly certain, but it has something to do with our grandmother." Kwes remembered Odos mentioning her to the Rook in Withia.

The woman smiled ruefully and inclined her head. "If your grandfather didn't have such a temper I would lend her the stone. I was fond of Zyulla."

"Can you explain it to me?" Kwes frowned slightly.

"Our grandmother gave two sons to our grandfather's brother." Cyran shook his head, "Syreilla said it was because of love but..."

"It wasn't my doing." The woman spoke up quickly. "I was the first one he summoned when he discovered it and he demanded to know if I had encouraged it. I knew nothing of it. In his fury, he locked Zyulla away. None of us expected him to keep her locked away for so long, or for him to allow your father to try to stomp out worship of Hevtos. I don't disagree that all of this has gone on for too long but... no one dares to broach the subject."

"If he and my sister have the same temper, I can understand why." Kwes inclined his head. "If Syreilla is on your side you don't have to be afraid of anything else, you might feel like you're going a little mad..."

The woman gave him a questioning look and Cyran spoke up, "She can heal as well as she can harm, she can be as gentle as she can be violent."

"She's volatile but reliable." Kwes nodded.

"She embraced the dichotomy." The woman's eyes widened, "Impressive for one so young. I want to speak with her. Come, we'll watch and wait for her."

"The dichotomy?" Cyran's brow furrowed.

"I am Eludora, the goddess of beauty and love, but the lack of those things also falls into my purview. If there is no ugliness, how can you find beauty? If there is no repulsion, how can you understand the connection of love? Syreilla the Rook has chosen to embrace all the fury and gentleness that come with both vengeance and protection. Gentle, innocent souls will have no fear in her presence, those who have any reason whatsoever to fear vengeance will feel dread."

"A god of honesty..." Cyran froze and frowned as if he were struggling with something in his head and the woman gave him a doting smile.

"It takes time, little one. That she has embraced it so young is impressive. You need time to think and understand."

"Odos would be the god of honesty." Kwes looked at them both with amusement, "He's the god of poets, that's honesty and lies rolled into one."

Eludora started to laugh and then sighed, "You're your father's son without a doubt, little one. Help me find your sister."

For a brief moment he considered telling her about the coin that was with his things, but as he glanced at Cyran something in the priest's concerned expression stopped him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get dressed first. You can take Cyran ahead if you'd like. I'll understand if you need to leave guards with me."

"Of course." She inclined her head and spoke to a guard quietly as he was ushered into a room to dress.

*Forty-eight*

Syr was watching Sirruil talk animatedly to his siblings as they ate, about the ways he'd seen into the treasure rooms with the circlet on. Most of them weren't ways a dwarf could take but he was certain he could swim into the back through one of the flooded shafts with the circlet.

Orefinder moved closer, into the spot that Kaduil had vacated. "I had my concerns when you took him outside."

"The air vents are a vulnerability. Just because no one has taken advantage of it yet doesn't mean that they won't. I wanted him to see it." She turned her attention to the dwarf next to her, "No nasty tricks means no nasty tricks. I wouldn't have attacked you outside of the mine, you're safe until our business here is concluded. As long as you act like a dwarf and not a human mage you should remain that way."

He narrowed his eyes and after a moment he asked, "Why did you choose the dragon? I would expect you to be better suited to a dwarf."

"We were granted a boon. Grandmother let us have a glimpse of what would happen either way if we chose either Kaduil or Vezar. And then she let us see what would happen to the one we didn't choose. We couldn't let Vezar be alone with his misery, chained up in a hole any more than we could let Kaduil keep searching for us, alone with his heart breaking.

"When we asked if it was possible for her to split us in two and let us walk both paths, she said it was. That's the choice we made."

"But why did

you

," he pointed at her, "go with the dragon?"

"He's 'the Undying'. He needed the immortal part of us, and we thought that Hammersworn might be more cautious, having been warned she would be a little slower than we were together, and that might make her a better wife to Kaduil."

"I would never have called that woman slow." Orefinder sat back in his seat with a small smile. "In some ways, she might have been quicker than you."

"I spent a hundred years or so mostly locked in a hole, Orefinder. I have dust on my feathers. Teaching helps show you the gaps in your own knowledge, it helps you grasp things more fully, or so the mages always said. It's why they taught others, knowing they were probably going to murder their students or be murdered themselves. Teaching Sirruil, and even Cyran, is almost as good for me as it is for them. But, of the two, Sirruil is less likely to try to murder me." She gave him an impish grin and he snorted.

"As long as you stay out of the treasure rooms."

"It's a good thing I don't steal from dwarves." She picked up her cup and took a sniff before sipping the mead.

"I promised no nasty tricks, Rook. You can drink without worrying that I've poisoned your cup." Orefinder looked amused.

"It's a habit of mine around devious people, if no one else is drinking out of my cup I tend to-" Syr paused as the dwarf laughed and shook his head. "Have you met the old man? Never trust your cup. Any time I haven't given him half of it and I forget to check, there's never what I expect in it."

At that, the dwarf pounded on the table and roared with laughter. The three other dwarves at the table looked down at them curiously. She grinned and gave them a small shrug as Orefinder managed to compose himself.

"Remind me to tell you a few stories about the old man someday, Rook."

"I'd like that."

He gave her a satisfied smile and then shooed her, "To bed, Rook. You need to be rested for tomorrow."

She looked pointedly at Sirruil. The young dwarf didn't seem to understand what she expected him to do and she looked back to Orefinder, "He's going to make me repeat myself, isn't he?"

"He's young, Rook, and it's his first day of lessons."

"I suppose it's going better than my first day of lessons with the old man. No one's been stabbed yet."

"Who did you stab?" Orefinder narrowed his eyes at her and she gave him a broad grin.

"I didn't stab anyone. The thief I was learning from decided he didn't like the old man's tone when the matter of my education and housing came up and he ended up with his own knife pinning his hand to his shoulder."

"You did try to blind me."

"That spell isn't permanent even on humans. It doesn't even count as a scratch."

He snorted again, "It was rude."

"Yes, that ward you laid was rude." She arched an eyebrow at him and he broke into a grin.

"Sirruil, you need to look over the house and make sure things are in order before you go to bed. Your grandfather hates to repeat himself and the Rook seems to have inherited that at least."

"Yes, Master Orefinder."

"Check my room twice?" Syr gave him a playful blink, "From the way Orefinder just slightly emphasized 'nasty' in front of tricks a moment ago, I think friendly tricks are still on the table."

The dwarf next to her broke into laughter again. "You are your father's daughter, Rook. Lessons resume in the morning, we'll walk the inside of the treasure chambers."

Orefinder made his way out of the sunken seating and Rook did the same, waiting until Sirruil had gone over the house before making her way upstairs. The bedroom was clear, she checked it once herself, but even after undressing and lying in bed for a while, she couldn't settle into sleep. Feeling restless she put her kit back on and tried to be silent as she roamed the house with the red gem and chain wrapped around her hand. She looked at the figurines, each in its place, the bath was in order, the pantry, the dining room was clean and waiting patiently for breakfast. Making her way back up she cautiously opened each of the bedroom doors a crack to peek inside. Three grown children in their places. The only one not where he was supposed to be was Kaduil.

Syreilla couldn't help but go inside the room once she'd opened the door. It was... familiar, but not the same. Running her hand over the carved bed, she paced the room. This was why she couldn't sleep. Hammersworn wanted him in his bed where he belonged.

"Amad?" Kyrilla's soft voice came from the doorway calling for her mother in dwarvish.

"No." Syr turned with a rueful smile, "But she won't let me sleep. Your father isn't in bed where he should be."

"Our mother used to look in on us the way you did."

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"I sleep lightly."

"You keep watch while they sleep." She gave the dwarf girl a warm smile, "You took up part of your mother's worries. Do you walk through and make certain everything is in its place before bed?"

"Yes." Kyrilla smiled and stepped into the room before stepping back out and beckoning for her to come along, "It's too strange to speak to you in here."

"I understand. The room feels... it's so familiar but so different." Syreilla shook her head and came out, closing the door. "You know your mother isn't going to let me rest until I go find your father, yes?"

"I'll get dressed." Kyrilla sighed and disappeared into her room.

She decided to wait downstairs, looking over the figurines on display again. On close inspection, one looked as if it had broken and been carefully put back together with barely noticeable cracks.

"Sirruil broke it." The voice made her jump slightly and Kyrilla laughed. "Sorry, Rook. Our mother was away and that's the only time I've seen Father get angry with one of us. My brothers both sat with glue and put every sliver they could find back into place."

"Did she ever tell you the story of how she got them and why?"

"No, just that she'd loved them since she was a child. After her death, one of the priests came into the house and said that everything she'd stolen should be given away and he picked up one of her figurines.

"Father explained to them that she didn't bring stolen goods back to the mine often. She did a job, got paid, and brought home her pay. Anything she stole was never stolen from dwarves, and what goods were brought back were given away as a gift, no one could fault her. They couldn't prove them stolen and I couldn't be forced to give them up.

"Oduil gave up a portion of his inheritance, though. Our mother had earned and saved enough money that he could give them something generous and still have a comfortable inheritance."

Syreilla nodded, Hammersworn was annoyed by it. Her oldest inherited her wealth, her daughter inherited all the household items she brought into the marriage, her youngest son would inherit any tools she had accumulated to pass down to him. That was the tradition.

"I'll tell you the story of how we came by the figurines if you'd like. You can consider them payment taken for services rendered. A year of our life was exchanged for them."

Kyrilla's eyes widened. "Tell me."

*Forty-nine*

The goddess' words resonated in his mind and Cyran couldn't pull himself out of their contemplation. Imos was the god of justice, of righteousness, he was supposed to put things right but according to the goddess it also meant he was the god of injustice, a god of wrongs... His desire to make his father do as he was meant to might be misplaced, being unjust and wrong may be as much a part of him as...

Eludora startled him by cupping his face. "Little one... I didn't mean to upset you. I should have known that a son of Imos would be troubled by that lesson."

"I thank you for it, Divinity, but I have so many questions. Can a god-can gods be..." He struggled to put them into words.

"You can still be a god of honesty. At times our... purviews overlap. Mabor and I..." She stopped and smiled, "That wasn't your concern."

"No Divinity. I wanted to help him return to himself but if injustice and wrongs are-" Cyran stopped as her perfect pink mouth formed an O.

"You misunderstood, little one. They fall in his purview but he is meant to uphold justice for those who worship him and give redress where he can, it's why they worship him. He should be able to see the lines clearly. I will speak to his father and he can be gently helped to become more himself again."

Her words felt like warm water on sore muscles and he relaxed, inclining his head, "I thank you, Divinity."

"Come with me, little one. Your cousin should be caught once she tries to take the decoy stone I placed above the nave. It holds some power and it should be enough to confuse her."

"And if it isn't?"

"My stone is safely put away in the room she didn't want it in." Eludora smiled mischievously. "Your father can listen to you as he pleases while you wear an object he's blessed. I know she intended to sneak in dressed as one of the hopefuls and I object to them being called whores."

He smiled ruefully, "Even if I hadn't prayed, you knew?"

She laughed again, "Yes. But your warning was sweet."

"You know about the-"

"-The sigil that she gave 'Magpie', as she calls her brother? Yes. But it isn't a true sigil. Either her father deceived her to protect her or she chose to deceive her brother."

"It would have been her father's doing, I'm certain. She wouldn't do that." Cyran gave the goddess looking at him curiously a small shrug, "You can rely on a Rook."

"Volatile and reliable, I'll try not to forget."

They went to wait in a room with luxurious couches, panels of colorful silk hung from rings in the ceiling and it looked as if the couches could be hidden from one another. He could hear a fountain nearby, making the room feel more pleasant and peaceful. After a short time, Kwes was brought to lounge with them.

"How did you know to expect us?" The half-elf eyed him with mild annoyance.

"His father can listen while he wears-"

"-That damnable armor!" Kwes narrowed his eyes, "Did you know?"

"No, cousin. Syreilla must not have known either."

The man's head tilted just slightly and he blinked, reaching into a pocket.

"Your sigil is a false sigil. It won't summon Syreilla the Rook." Eludora smiled and leaned forward slightly, "Cyran thinks her father deceived her, his sigil on the coin is true."

Kwes smiled bitterly, "No, she was insistent that if I needed help I should call on the old man. She expected us to get caught, Cyran. That's why she wasn't concerned about you bungling things or the lack of planning before we went in."

The goddess' smile faded.

"She knew about your armor. I would bet you a horse that the old man told her. My sister wouldn't let me get caught and be helpless, I needed someone's sigil-"