Dryad Eyes #55
1,603.
Two days late. Arrrgh! I'll have to do better.
As she and her two companions searched the opulent rooms of Mistress Alga‘s home, Treyp found herself wondering exactly what it was that made a woman like this do the things she did. In the bowels of this little building that the witch woman had commandeered were animals, and the remains of animals, all twisted into things they were never meant to be by her mystical powers. The three of them had found at least four human corpses so far. Now, in what appeared to be the main iving and work space, Treyp trailed her hand along the edge of a marble countertop along which were arrayed a series of strange trinkets that she did not recognize.
“Treyp” Matthew spoke sharply. His hand closed on her wrist and pulled it away from the smooth marble. “Don’t touch things.”
“I-- what?” She scowled at him.
“It is very dangerous.”
Annoyed, but not inclined to get into an argument, she jerked her arm free of his grip and walked away. It was apparently not his intention to let go of her just then, but much of her strength had returned. Finally, she was beginning to feel like herself again. Perhaps it was the cold, crisp, fresh air they had breathed on their way over here, or perhaps it was having a purpose that was not almost exclusively running away from a demon she had no way to fight back against.
Entering a large bedroom, which was probably where Kurik and Lithia had escaped from considering the swordsman’s description of the place, Treyp once again began to consider the nature of their quarry. She did not think that ‘Alga’ was her real name. It was a hunch. From what she could recall, and Geran who was far better read than she was had confirmed, ‘Alga’ was the name of a historical person from around the time of Malor the Usurper. She had been a sorceress devoted to the protection of Camelot’s royal line. This fact, along with the Witch Woman apparently being behind Erek’s demonic assault on Keeper’s Gateway’s collective peace of mind, had Treyp thinking that this was personal somehow. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe the anti-dryad sentiment that had been sown so thoroughly--
Geran stepped into Treyp’s path as she walked further into the room, barring her progress and interrupting her thoughts. Although she was impressively tall for a woman, as Dryads tended to be, he was far bigger still. Rather than simply step around him, which was her first intention and one that she figured he would still intercept, she looked up at him with quizzical eyes.
“You don’t want to be in here, Treyp.” He said, deliberately keeping his voice gentle. “There are things… it isn’t pretty.”
She rolled her eyes, and then narrowed them. “What, no flowers or scented candles in the torture chamber?”
“What…?”
“Never mind.” Turning around, fuming, she walked away from her perplexed Uncle. Not since before his public admission that he was a Dryad, and acknowledgement that she was his niece, had she been quite so put out with him.
“Geran!” Matthew called from yet another room. “I’ve found something!”
Turning his attention away from Treyp and his attempt to mentally work out whatever it was that had caused her acid tone, Geran made his way back across the main room on this floor to enter a doorway that the assassin had left open behind himself. There he found Matthew crouched beside an overturned dresser, running his fingers along the wall. “What is it?”
“Hidden doorway.” Came the smaller man’s answer. “I can only just make out the seam.”
“Good work, Matthew.” Geran spoke as if he expected nothing less. He moved alongside the assassin to study the nigh-invisible edges himself. “We’d better wait to open it until we can get Ganatal or Kimera down here. There is no telling just what surprises this ‘Mistress’ Alga might have left for--”
“HAH!” From nowhere, Treyp launched her foot in between the two men, kicking the door square-center. She staggered back from the impact. From within the wall came a deep, loud snap, much like the sound of a breaking bone. Then, with the sound of stone slowly scraping on stone, the very solid door slowly slid inward and fell back onto the narrow, hard steps behind it. With a thunderous boom it landed, and lay in a fractured ruin before them.
Both Geran and Matthew were glaring at her, their expressions shocked and angry. They did not have to explain to her what a risk it was to be anything less than careful in a place like this. She had lost her temper, which was probably not a good thing, but one that would cause her to call her Uncle a hypocrite if he made too great an issue of it.
It occurred to her then, for just a moment, just how much like him she was. Then Treyp deliberately set the thought from her mind and shrugged. “Found a key. I guess it worked.” And with that she limped forward, crossing the debris in the stairwell.
“Treyp--”
“We’ll all talk about it later, Matthew.” Geran growled, moving to follow the younger Dryad. “For now we may as well keep up.”
The staircase they followed was long, narrow, dark and winding. It brought them around three times before opening into a broad basement somewhere beneath the building proper. What first assaulted their senses as they entered that space was the smell, foul as a caged Slepy. It was a putrid combination of the fumes from the various vials and flasks that lined the walls, amid drawings of demonic figures and instructions for various dark rites. If they had been looking for absolute proof that this Mistress Alga was delving into the blackest of arts, they had found it.
As Geran and Matthew parted ways behind her, to cover the room and begin searching it, something on the far wall from the entrance caught Treyp’s attention. It was a large, square and glossy piece of white cloth that hung suspended from two faintly glowing orbs that had been placed at its top two corners. A series of golden lines had been embroidered across its face, forming a familiar pattern that she had nearly forgotten.
The young dryad’s breath caught in her throat. Her pulse quickened. The memory of a dream bathed in golden light compelled her feet. When she reached her destination, she brushed the fabric with her fingertips and spoke in a sot voice. “Lencu…”
“Treyp.” Geran snapped. “Don’t touch--!”
“This is what we are looking for!” She cut him off, accompanying her words with a glare that she tossed over her shoulder at him. “Can’t you see it?”
Reminding himself that it would not serve to lose his temper with her, especially here, Geran approached her and studied the item before her. They would, however, have a long talk about this when they returned to the Keep. “It looks like some kind of spell form.”
“I think it is.” Treyp agreed. “But it’s more than that. See…” Tracing her fingers over one small portion of the diagram. “We live here. Your room, your former room, was here. This is the part of the city that is inhabited. This Keeper‘s Gateway.”
At first he was shaking his head, but Geran began to see it as she talked. It was massive, and if she was right, then the fortress was a hundred times bigger than he would have guessed. Finally, he reached out to trace his fingers along the cloth as well. “And these would be the abandoned tunnels I’ve been exploring, that extend beyond the mountain walls. Treyp, if you’re right, we’ve only seen the tip of this very large iceberg.”
“I am right,” the sometimes-blind girl insisted. “I know I am.”
“That begs the question,” Matthew spoke at last. “How do you know?”
Turning toward him, Treyp gave the assassin a pained, pleading look. “Matthew, don’t you remember… that thing I said I would explain later? When I had the words?”
“I do.”
“This is part of that. And I still don’t have the words.”
“Maybe you should try.” The assassin answered, folding his arms. “I found you floating above your bed in a pool of golden light. Because we were in a rotten situation, I did not press the matter, but it is beginning to worry me.”
“Treyp?” Geran asked.
“I don’t know!” The dryad girl exploded, thrusting her hands skyward. Her exasperation was extreme. “What do you want me to say? I saw things, the Keep, all of it, the shape of it, and I saw you, and Erek, and I was guided through it all by some woman who was so much like one of our people, but wasn’t. I felt warmth and love and I don’t know what all else.”
The Battle king studied his niece’s wild eyed face seriously for a long and quiet moment. “Have you dreamt of this woman before?”
Biting her lip to stall for only a moment, Treyp answered. “No… well, once, maybe. I had a dream about Papa right after I was wounded. It was a very real dream, and I think I caught a glimpse of her then too.”
“Hnh.”
“What ‘hnh’?” The younger dryad demanded. “Is that a good ‘hnh’ or a bad ‘hnh’?”
“Honestly, I haven’t a clue.” Geran shrugged. Then he reached up, and with one sharp tug, pulled the cloth with the embroidery on it free. “Come on. Lets get this back to somebody who knows what they’re looking at.”
Two days late. Arrrgh! I'll have to do better.
As she and her two companions searched the opulent rooms of Mistress Alga‘s home, Treyp found herself wondering exactly what it was that made a woman like this do the things she did. In the bowels of this little building that the witch woman had commandeered were animals, and the remains of animals, all twisted into things they were never meant to be by her mystical powers. The three of them had found at least four human corpses so far. Now, in what appeared to be the main iving and work space, Treyp trailed her hand along the edge of a marble countertop along which were arrayed a series of strange trinkets that she did not recognize.
“Treyp” Matthew spoke sharply. His hand closed on her wrist and pulled it away from the smooth marble. “Don’t touch things.”
“I-- what?” She scowled at him.
“It is very dangerous.”
Annoyed, but not inclined to get into an argument, she jerked her arm free of his grip and walked away. It was apparently not his intention to let go of her just then, but much of her strength had returned. Finally, she was beginning to feel like herself again. Perhaps it was the cold, crisp, fresh air they had breathed on their way over here, or perhaps it was having a purpose that was not almost exclusively running away from a demon she had no way to fight back against.
Entering a large bedroom, which was probably where Kurik and Lithia had escaped from considering the swordsman’s description of the place, Treyp once again began to consider the nature of their quarry. She did not think that ‘Alga’ was her real name. It was a hunch. From what she could recall, and Geran who was far better read than she was had confirmed, ‘Alga’ was the name of a historical person from around the time of Malor the Usurper. She had been a sorceress devoted to the protection of Camelot’s royal line. This fact, along with the Witch Woman apparently being behind Erek’s demonic assault on Keeper’s Gateway’s collective peace of mind, had Treyp thinking that this was personal somehow. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe the anti-dryad sentiment that had been sown so thoroughly--
Geran stepped into Treyp’s path as she walked further into the room, barring her progress and interrupting her thoughts. Although she was impressively tall for a woman, as Dryads tended to be, he was far bigger still. Rather than simply step around him, which was her first intention and one that she figured he would still intercept, she looked up at him with quizzical eyes.
“You don’t want to be in here, Treyp.” He said, deliberately keeping his voice gentle. “There are things… it isn’t pretty.”
She rolled her eyes, and then narrowed them. “What, no flowers or scented candles in the torture chamber?”
“What…?”
“Never mind.” Turning around, fuming, she walked away from her perplexed Uncle. Not since before his public admission that he was a Dryad, and acknowledgement that she was his niece, had she been quite so put out with him.
“Geran!” Matthew called from yet another room. “I’ve found something!”
Turning his attention away from Treyp and his attempt to mentally work out whatever it was that had caused her acid tone, Geran made his way back across the main room on this floor to enter a doorway that the assassin had left open behind himself. There he found Matthew crouched beside an overturned dresser, running his fingers along the wall. “What is it?”
“Hidden doorway.” Came the smaller man’s answer. “I can only just make out the seam.”
“Good work, Matthew.” Geran spoke as if he expected nothing less. He moved alongside the assassin to study the nigh-invisible edges himself. “We’d better wait to open it until we can get Ganatal or Kimera down here. There is no telling just what surprises this ‘Mistress’ Alga might have left for--”
“HAH!” From nowhere, Treyp launched her foot in between the two men, kicking the door square-center. She staggered back from the impact. From within the wall came a deep, loud snap, much like the sound of a breaking bone. Then, with the sound of stone slowly scraping on stone, the very solid door slowly slid inward and fell back onto the narrow, hard steps behind it. With a thunderous boom it landed, and lay in a fractured ruin before them.
Both Geran and Matthew were glaring at her, their expressions shocked and angry. They did not have to explain to her what a risk it was to be anything less than careful in a place like this. She had lost her temper, which was probably not a good thing, but one that would cause her to call her Uncle a hypocrite if he made too great an issue of it.
It occurred to her then, for just a moment, just how much like him she was. Then Treyp deliberately set the thought from her mind and shrugged. “Found a key. I guess it worked.” And with that she limped forward, crossing the debris in the stairwell.
“Treyp--”
“We’ll all talk about it later, Matthew.” Geran growled, moving to follow the younger Dryad. “For now we may as well keep up.”
The staircase they followed was long, narrow, dark and winding. It brought them around three times before opening into a broad basement somewhere beneath the building proper. What first assaulted their senses as they entered that space was the smell, foul as a caged Slepy. It was a putrid combination of the fumes from the various vials and flasks that lined the walls, amid drawings of demonic figures and instructions for various dark rites. If they had been looking for absolute proof that this Mistress Alga was delving into the blackest of arts, they had found it.
As Geran and Matthew parted ways behind her, to cover the room and begin searching it, something on the far wall from the entrance caught Treyp’s attention. It was a large, square and glossy piece of white cloth that hung suspended from two faintly glowing orbs that had been placed at its top two corners. A series of golden lines had been embroidered across its face, forming a familiar pattern that she had nearly forgotten.
The young dryad’s breath caught in her throat. Her pulse quickened. The memory of a dream bathed in golden light compelled her feet. When she reached her destination, she brushed the fabric with her fingertips and spoke in a sot voice. “Lencu…”
“Treyp.” Geran snapped. “Don’t touch--!”
“This is what we are looking for!” She cut him off, accompanying her words with a glare that she tossed over her shoulder at him. “Can’t you see it?”
Reminding himself that it would not serve to lose his temper with her, especially here, Geran approached her and studied the item before her. They would, however, have a long talk about this when they returned to the Keep. “It looks like some kind of spell form.”
“I think it is.” Treyp agreed. “But it’s more than that. See…” Tracing her fingers over one small portion of the diagram. “We live here. Your room, your former room, was here. This is the part of the city that is inhabited. This Keeper‘s Gateway.”
At first he was shaking his head, but Geran began to see it as she talked. It was massive, and if she was right, then the fortress was a hundred times bigger than he would have guessed. Finally, he reached out to trace his fingers along the cloth as well. “And these would be the abandoned tunnels I’ve been exploring, that extend beyond the mountain walls. Treyp, if you’re right, we’ve only seen the tip of this very large iceberg.”
“I am right,” the sometimes-blind girl insisted. “I know I am.”
“That begs the question,” Matthew spoke at last. “How do you know?”
Turning toward him, Treyp gave the assassin a pained, pleading look. “Matthew, don’t you remember… that thing I said I would explain later? When I had the words?”
“I do.”
“This is part of that. And I still don’t have the words.”
“Maybe you should try.” The assassin answered, folding his arms. “I found you floating above your bed in a pool of golden light. Because we were in a rotten situation, I did not press the matter, but it is beginning to worry me.”
“Treyp?” Geran asked.
“I don’t know!” The dryad girl exploded, thrusting her hands skyward. Her exasperation was extreme. “What do you want me to say? I saw things, the Keep, all of it, the shape of it, and I saw you, and Erek, and I was guided through it all by some woman who was so much like one of our people, but wasn’t. I felt warmth and love and I don’t know what all else.”
The Battle king studied his niece’s wild eyed face seriously for a long and quiet moment. “Have you dreamt of this woman before?”
Biting her lip to stall for only a moment, Treyp answered. “No… well, once, maybe. I had a dream about Papa right after I was wounded. It was a very real dream, and I think I caught a glimpse of her then too.”
“Hnh.”
“What ‘hnh’?” The younger dryad demanded. “Is that a good ‘hnh’ or a bad ‘hnh’?”
“Honestly, I haven’t a clue.” Geran shrugged. Then he reached up, and with one sharp tug, pulled the cloth with the embroidery on it free. “Come on. Lets get this back to somebody who knows what they’re looking at.”