Triden leads us through several white marble hallways throughout the sepulcher. It's strange after being in the darkness of Mournewood to see so much light. Soon we reach the grand hall. All of us except Rhys stare up at the intricate and masterfully painted ceiling high above us. Tall windows line the hall, each stained with a depiction of a historical event. The first witches emerging from The Shroud. The formation of the rebellion and their many triumphs. A tall woman clad in shining armor, wrapped in rose red fabric. Leans on a table at the far end of the hall. Several other high ranking members accompany her, offering council. One of them is speaking to her, I only catch the end of his remark.
"--Running out of magic. We need to replenish the stores, lest our most faithful members--" The woman quickly raises a hand, silencing him.
"We will speak of this later. For now, we have guests to attend to." She straightens from her place at the table, standing a full head taller than most of the men around her. Including myself. "Welcome Soren. Your uncle has spoken very highly of you. A pleasure to meet you." Her voice is beautifully etherial. Long platinum hair drapes over her armor. Shining gold eyes looks down at me, studying me. She might be the closest thing to a real God I have ever seen. I bow deeply and address her.
"Thank you Arator. I'm grateful for the kind words, and that you have granted us this audience." She does not respond. She waits patiently with a soft smile on her face for me to continue.
"We've come seeking your aide. We're looking for a woman named Natasha. She's a witch of the cult, do you know where we can find her?"
"Yes. But tell me... the Matriarch of the Black Rose Coven, a mortal enemy. Assigned you this task. Why come to me for help? You stand before me unscathed because of your uncle has told me your alignment lies not with the them, but with us. Is this true?"
"Yes, your grace. I do not wish to serve the Black Rose Coven. Though it is a matter of life and death that we find Natasha."
"Oh?"
"I'm... dying your grace. The Matriarch of the Coven had sent us to investigate the cult. We were ambushed and I was injured." I pull my shirt up to reveal my wound. It's gotten worse. Dark ink-like lines have spread far from the wound's origin. The Arator's councilors gasp in horror, and whispers I cannot understand make their way through the hall. The Arator's expression is unaffected.
"I see... very well then. I will lend you aide. But of course, you must do something for me in return." Of course I do. She motions for us to follow her to the table. "The Vrythe have a settlement near Saldihar. A settlement that the Cult has a keen interest in obtaining. I fear they will overtake it and infect the Vrythe into their ranks." The Vrythe, a race of peaceful forest creatures. I have run into several of them on my travels, though none of them seems particularly useful. Why does the cult want them?
"My forces are far too occupied defending our own to send reinforcements to our allies. I need you to protect them. A simple task for the Rose Knight no? In return I shall tell you where to find Natasha." Just like Nyx, playing games with us. I'm sick of being a pawn, but I'm in no position to argue. I'll be dead within the year. I don't have time to wander Noxland looking for her.
"I will, your grace. You have my word." I bow my head and put my fist to my heart.
"Mors Ad Rosum" Death to the rose. All members repeat the adage, stomping a boot into the marble. The echo rumbles through hall. "Triden, take them to the smith. I have urgent matters to attend to."
"At once your grace. This way please."
"And Rhys darling." We stop and turn back to face her. Why does she know his name? I look at Rhys confused, but his gaze if fixated on The Arator.
"Yes your grace?" He asks, his voice soft and reverent.
"I must speak with you..." Her eyes drift between us. "Privately." Rhys nods to us and makes his way back towards her. As we continue towards the exit I hear Durin's faint mumbling.
"Oh lad... what the hell have you gotten yerself into."
---
The smithy is a stalky, fire haired dwarf with a peculiar physique. His arms put Ivar's to shame. With each and every muscle visible through his skin as he swings his hammer. But when he turned to greet us, the breadth of his belly nearly sent his anvil plummeting to the floor.
"Durin? Is that you ye old fart?" He lifts the goggles up onto his forehead and squints at Durin.
"Fodden, what the bloody hell are you doin here? Last I heard you were up north, tryna stick yer prick where it donna belong." The two share a hearty chuckle.
"Aye aye. The women in the north are easy on the eyes, but bad for business. Damn things nearly drained me dry, in more ways than one." He winks at us and waits for a laugh. Though only Durin joins him. He waves us off and continues. "Anyways. I was out a money and out a job. So when I heard these Mortus Rose were calling for the best smith in Nox. I answered."
"Oh yer bums oot the windae! You couldna forge weld your own ass cheeks together."
"Fodden," Triden says interrupting the two old friends. "These three need new equipment, courtesy of The Arator. I trust you'll do them well?" Fodden's joyful expression hardens, his eyes becoming serious.
"Aye I will."
"Good. Soren, before you leave come see me." He nods to me with a smile and leaves the room.
"So laddy. You're the long lost nephew Triden's always whinin about eh?"
"I am. Though I find it hard to believe he talked about me much. Was always a guarded man."
"That he is, though I've a way of openin people up. Wether they like it or not. That and I've known the bastard for fifty years."
"You knew him before he joined the rebellion?"
"Aye, knew your father too. Good man, may he rest in peace. I worked as the smith for King Alaric way back. That is until he canned my ass the knob-head." He shakes his head cursing the king. "Went my own way for a while, till I heard rumblings of these Mortus Rose folks needing some help and payin well. By the time I got here, littel ol' Triden was already a captain!"
"They never spoke of you."
"Can't say that I blame them. Livin in that castle was hard on those lads. But, reminiscin is fer women, let's get some new steel in yer hands!" He shouts some dwarvin insult to Durin who quickly rushes him with a fist to the nethers. Fodden folds over onto the floor hacking out a laugh. Durin picks up his friend and the clash and clang of hammers on hot steel fills the forge. I find a seat on an old workbench and watch the two work, silently laughing at the banter. They're strange people, but good people.
"What of Rhys?" Ivar asks me. I jump, startled. I was so focused on the forge I didn't see him lean against the bench beside me. I glance around, and lower my voice.
"What do mean?"
"He is a member of this rebellion, yet he has resided with the coven for years. What of his intentions? If he lies to them, what makes you think he does not lie to us?"
"What does he stand to gain Ivar?"
"You are this... Rose Knight. A valuable. A commodity to some. Did he lead them to us?" This hadn't crossed my mind. When my uncle mentioned spies in the coven. I never thought they would be so dangerously close to the Dcera.
"I'm not sure... keep an eye on him, we don't want any more surprises." He nods.
"And the witch?"
"It's her. She bears the mark." Replacing the void in my memory of the killers face with hers fills me with anger. Every fiber in my being wants to leave this place and hunt her down. He nods silently.
"We will find her Soren. ek sver þat."
