"Ah," the duke said, breaking the silence, "Maelani."
The girl smiled and fluttered to a stop before the two men.
"Father," she said, dipping into a shallow curtsy.
"Regdar," the duke said, touching the fighter on the arm, "late of the Third New Koratia Comitatus, and a good friend."
The girl smiled, showing straight teeth of almost blinding white, and said, "Regdar…"
"My daughter," the duke continued, "the Lady Maelani."
Regdar bowed, feeling a bit on display under the girl's embarrassingly precise gaze.
"My lady," he said.
"My father has told me a great deal about you, Regdar," Maelani said. "Your efforts in defense of the duchy are…"
She seemed to be searching for a word, and the duke said, "Most appreciated."
Maelani's cheeks flushed red and she looked away.
The duke laughed and said, "My daughter studies well and often, and will soon enough comport herself like the duchess she's destined to be."
Maelani either couldn't or didn't bother disguising the irritation in her face.
"She's lovely," Regdar broke in. His face flushed red with embarrassment, and sweat trickled down his chest.
The comment that Regdar so regretted made the duke laugh and Maelani blush again. She smiled at the fighter, who looked away.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness…L-lady…" Regdar stammered.
"Surely you've heard that my daughter's hand is the most sought-after prize in the duchy, if not the world," the duke said, and again Maelani showed her irritation. "She is reaching the age where a marriage is possible, and I am reaching an age where her marriage is necessary. She is my only child, Regdar, and I love her deeply. She is also my only heir, and I love Koratia at least as much…though in a different way," he added hastily.
Regdar nodded, still too embarrassed to follow what the duke was trying to say.
"Maelani," the duke said, "I would suspect that we'll be seeing more of Regdar in the coming weeks. I hope that prospect pleases you."
Maelani, whose future husband would eventually become the Duke of Koratia, smiled and nodded. Regdar began slowly to understand. He felt the color drain from his face, and his forehead went damp and cold. His mouth was dry. He tried to clear his throat but instead made an unbecoming, weak, squeaking noise.
Surely, he thought, the duke remembers Naull and everything I went through to get her back.
"It does please me," the beautiful young woman replied with undisguised pleasure. "I would like to hear of your worldly experiences…"
Regdar's jaw went slack and he had to blink sweat out of his eyes.
"With the Comitatus, of course," Maelani added.
Regdar sagged with relief.
2
Though he wasn't the tallest of men, Vargussel's spiky hair brushed the rafters of the dark passageway. It was the easiest of prayers to Vecna that caused the tip of his staff to glow like a torch. Without it, he would have stumbled around in whatever inconsequential twilight seeped through the crumbling roof of the abandoned slaughterhouse. As it was, it was difficult enough to avoid the many deep puddles of fetid, vile water. Vargussel's long, green robe was already spattered with muck that obscured the wine-red trim around the hem.
The place was cool but humid, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he picked his way deeper into the dilapidated building. The corridors were designed for cattle, not men. When the place was abandoned decades ago, no one bothered to clean it. The smell was a constant reminder of how low Vargussel had been forced to sink at times in order to inevitably rise so much higher.
Vargussel breathed through his mouth, quickening his step so that he would reach his hiding place deep in the old slaughterhouse before he was overcome by the stench. Sweat collected on his chest and back, under the heavy, quilted tabard in a wine-red diamond pattern mimicking the heraldry of his family. It was an old pattern for an old family-a family that would die with Vargussel if he failed in the coming days, but he would not fail. For his family, all gone but him; for his liege, still waiting and watching from afar, he would Vargussel stopped. His foot splashed in a puddle of syrupy muck that slid over the top of his fine leather boot. Something was wrong. Something was different. Vargussel had come to the old slaughterhouse often enough, for long enough, that he could feel the change in the air.
He wasn't alone.
In front of him was an intersection, one he'd crossed a hundred times. He was a few long strides from the intersecting passage, so he couldn't see around the corners. The ceiling was a bit higher there, the walls close enough on either side that Vargussel could have reached out and touched both walls at the same time. There was no change in the heavy stench of decay. He heard no sound but the odd drip of water and the creak of an old gate hanging from one rusted hinge. The intersections had once been gated so the butchers could heard their charges in one direction or another. The other three gates were missing, long gone.
With his glowing staff still held in his right hand, Vargussel slipped two fingers of his left into a pocket of his robe. There he found a small bead of blue glass, a spell focus he carried, along with many others, everywhere he went. He didn't pull the bead from his pocket but just held it and whispered the brief incantation while closing his eyes in the precise way the spell demanded.
Without opening his eyes again, he could see. The lighting was different, more diffuse. His perspective was changed slightly, as if he'd suddenly become a few inches shorter. Concentrating on steady, even breaths, Vargussel altered his perspective by sheer force of will. Without actually moving a step-he stood stock still, his eyes still closed-he moved his sight forward, up, and around the corner to the right.
The spell showed him the dark expanse of the narrow side passage. Scanning it briefly, lingering on the ceiling, he saw nothing. The shadows were deep, however, and Vargussel wasn't entirely convinced that the passage was clear. Before risking the time to move his sight deeper into the right-hand passage, Vargussel willed his perspective to turn, then slide back to the intersection. He caught a brief glimpse of himself with the magical light on the end of his staff illuminating the crumbling brick, rotting wood, and stagnant mud around him.
He moved his sight into the left-hand passage. When he tilted it up to scan the ceiling, he saw something move.
It was a twitch, really, a shadow expanding itself in an unnatural way. He moved in a bit closer and could see the outline of something clinging to the dark corner where the sagging ceiling met the cracked wall. The thing was vaguely humanoid but skinny. It's elongated arms were more like tentacles and at the end of them dangled grotesque, five-fingered hands that, seen only in shadow, looked more like squids than hands. The thing shifted its head around and twitched its shoulders. It was becoming restless, probably wondering why Vargussel had stopped.
Vargussel let the spell effect fade to darkness. When he opened his eyes, he saw through them normally once again. He touched the medallion hanging from a heavy chain around his neck. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. The medallion was shaped vaguely like the head of a dog, with a long snout simply rendered and two large rubies where its oblong eyes would be. Letting out a small, silent breath, Vargussel willed the guardian to come.