Dres must have the resolve and fortitude of a hundred hunters, she thought, to face these things on a daily basis. But then, Dres never really found out what had happened. Shouldn't find out. Eli lowered her head and rode on. Taking a deep breath, she banished her demons and tried to calm herself amid the confining walls and rigid lanes of the populated city. She felt a mild claustrophobia away from the open grassland of the Reach. The eyes of Brookhollow's citizens seemed to bore into her as they stood alongside the route of the hunters, silently casting fethra petals in front of the horses' hooves. The scattering of the flowers before the host of hunters was a sign of dark times, as if saying the petals were useless and the faithful sought the blessings of their leaders. Eli noted that the onlookers threw down the petals, but each home kept a bundle of the dried leaves by the door in preparation for the growing sickness and the debilitating fever that was no doubt coming.
The sky was an impenetrable pitch beneath the singular tower of Jhareat. Though small globes of bluish light floated in a wide circle around its base, Khaemil did not need them. His eyes were well suited to the absolute darkness in the ruins and forest beyond. He flexed his fingers, still numb from Morgynn's interrogation, and approached one of Talmen's wizard-priests from behind. The mumbling man, lost in the trance of spell and prayer, paid no attention to the canomorph. The priest's face was hidden behind a mask resembling a bone devil. The skeletal image was pressed close to the tower wall as the priest carefully and feverishly inscribed the runes that tied the storms to the tower in knots of magic. The metal stylus he used dripped with an acidic ink that burned the symbols into the aged stonework. The scratching sounds it made, in tandem with others who worked alongside him, caused Khaemil to imagine the knuckles of the long dead clawing at tomb walls for escape. He sighed, memories of Thay and its skilled necromancers bringing a horrid smile to his lips. He looked to the forest, feeling the fevered stares from between the trees, and thought wryly, We've come a long way from dancing bones and playing in the dirt. "Did you tell her? Does Morgynn know we demand the blood of the Hoarite?" Talmen appeared at Khaemil's side, following the canomorph's gaze into the forest's depths. "Lady Morgynn has more things on her mind than petty vengeance, Malefactor Talmen. Especially concerning the death of Mahgra." Khaemil did not favor Talmen by reacting to his sudden and silent approach with anything less than nonchalance. "Our Order is weakened and Morgynn does not react?" The Gargauthan was angry. There were few friends among those of his faith, and the death of a powerful ally was not to be taken lightly. "Mahgra was a fool, Talmen. He had a pack of gnoll warriors and his own formidable magic.
A single man tore apart Mahgra's foothold in Targris. Is this the ally you wish vengeance for? I had no idea loyalty was so strong among your kind. It borders on-compassion." Khaemil said the last to needle Talmen's growing suspicion into a more logical frame of thought. What he said of Mahgra was true, but Talmen need not know the ghostwalker was drawn into the matter purposely. "It is not loyalty I speak of, but caution. One man did cause Mahgra's fall and the loss of Targris.
Imagine what else such a man might do." "Hoarites are not known for their heroics. They kill when they are called and move on. He is likely miles away by now." "We don't know for sure, do we? We have no idea who he is, and we are unable to scry upon him if he walks the shadow road. How can we be sure the oracles have not seen him-and Targris, or even Logfell?" "You worry too much, Talmen." "Do I? I've watched too many of our plans in the past become foiled by overconfidence and missed details. Why should this be any different?"
"Because this time, we do not hide." Talmen looked around in confusion at the ruins and the forest, and huffed an incredulous reply. "I'd say we are smack in the middle of hidden, canomorph." Khaemil smiled, enjoying Talmen's ignorance and paranoia. "The oracles, Talmen." "What of them? Why are you smiling?" Khaemil enjoyed baiting Talmen with mysteries. The malefactor was nervous and easily pushed to anger.
"They know already. That we are here, and that we are coming." The Gargauthan's eyes grew wide behind his mask. He was speechless at this news. Khaemil chuckled deeply as thunder boomed overhead. "All of our work has been for naught! We might have just as easily charged in as barbarians from the north! What good has creeping into these ruins done?" Khaemil watched him curiously, wondering how the Gargauthan had managed to survive among the devil-god's faithful for so long. He looked ridiculous pacing about in his hideous mask, gesticulating wildly as he mumbled to himself. "This is a dangerous game that Morgynn plays at. The Savrathans may appear complacent, but they are visionaries! Seers! We cannot surprise them or catch them off guard.
They will anticipate our moves!" Talmen pointed at Khaemil and then to the east, roughly in the direction of Brookhollow and the oracles' temple. He yelled above the noise of the chanting wizard-priests and the grumbling storms they gathered. "Precisely, fool," Khaemil answered calmly, but irritation in his voice let slip the hidden growl of his bestial nature. Before Talmen could respond to the insult, both of them became aware of a vibration on the air, a voice that rose above everything else. Looking up at the tower, flashes of light could be seen in Morgynn's window as her voice navigated the winding corridors of magic, becoming a slow shriek of mind-numbing power. Red mist spilled from the window like a living waterfall, taking flight and dancing in a crimson ribbon around the top of the tower. Its sinuous movement matched the singsong quality of Morgynn's spell, and the cloud began to ripple with its own lightning. Talmen stood in thrall to his lady's voice. Khaemil admired the calming effect Morgynn had on the malefactor, and waited for Talmen's attention to return to the present matter. Morgynn's voice faded away, but the red mist remained, settling in a halo around her room. Without looking away, Talmen finally responded. "We are all fools, are we not? We follow her where she leads, and only Gargauth knows where we'll end up." He shook his head and turned to Khaemil. "Why, then? Why do we stand here in plain view of our enemies? What does she expect they'll do?" Khaemil returned his gaze to the forest, spotting the skinned carcass of an untainted fawn hanging from a branch at its edge, an old tradition when fiendish parties desired parley with potential allies. He raised a hairless brow at the sight and turned toward it, then stopped. He looked at Talmen over his shoulder. "Nothing. She expects they'll do nothing at all."
The majority of the assembled hunters packed into the sanctuary and surrounding halls of the inner temple, awaiting the Rite of the Circle and the appearance of High Oracle Sameska. Dreslya stood at the front of the central altar, with Lord Hunter Baertah taking the foremost position in the crowd before her. The lesser oracles were arranged in a semicircle around Dreslya, their heads bowed as they prepared to channel the opening spells of the rite through the acting Sibylite. Elisandrya knew Dreslya did not particularly like the title of Sibylite or the amount of attention it drew to her as the primary figure in the ceremony until Sameska's arrival. Dres had always been shy and reclusive, but tradition demanded this role of the most senior of the lesser oracles. Other churches devoted to the All-Seeing One referred to all those beneath the high oracle as Prophets and Sibylites, but the Hidden Circle considered the terms archaic. The use of the title of Sibylite was used only when tradition demanded it. Eli watched from the upper balcony, proud of her sister, but still fidgety and eager to leave the crowded sanctuary and all that it represented.