Broken Bonds

In the chilled, dark cave underneath Echlion's castle, Alfrenzo stood, arms crossed, observing the wind mage bound to a solid, iron chair. She was called Velsha at one point, an elite amongst the secret guard Dragon Duke Siegfreed commanded. Velsha was beaten, bound and bloodied: her lips were torn but she remained defiant.

Alfrenzo leaned in and calmly whispered, "You can now talk... or I can let the beasts from Frostwood have you. They trained them well." His voice was disturbingly calm. Lyssari looked away in horror and even the guards appeared uneasy. 

Velsha weakly chuckled, "You think I'm scared of threats of beasts? I've seen worse. I'm still here after surviving Nags' training." 

Alfrenzo's smile did not leave his face. He pulled her hair back, yanked her head backwards and slammed it against the wall. A small trickle of blood slid down the side of her head. He then slapped her hard across her rear, the sound concussively awakening the stone walls. "This is your last chance," he said evenly. 

Velsha spat blood. "Go fuck yourself."

As Alfrenzo left her there, he ordered, "Take her to Telmar." 

In the next room, Telmar was standing next to the knight, Youma, who was being held up by heavy chains. His body was covered with bruises and deep lash marks. His arms hung from the ceiling, dislocated and tremored on occasion. His mouth was gagged, but tears streamed down his cheeks. His feet dripped blood from where his nails had been removed. 

When Velsha saw her companion, her smile faltered. As Telmar held a scalpel in one hand, he turned to Alfrenzo and asked, "She still won't talk?" 

"No." Alfrenzo replied coldly. "But she will." 

Telmar turned back to Youma and stabbed a dagger into his chest, all in one fluid motion. Youma gasped and went still. The knight hung dead. 

"You bastard!" Velsha's voice screamed through the room. 

"Then talk." Alfrenzo said. 

Physically and psychologically broken, Velsha said, "We were not there to attack. We were ordered by the Duke to spy on Duskwatch. The auction was a convenient cover."

Telmar turned to Youma. With one swift motion, Telmar thrust a dagger into the knight's chest. There was a gasp from Youma, then stillness. The body hung lifeless.

Velsha yelled, "You bastard!"

"Then talk," Alfrenzo responded.

Velsha had fallen apart first. "We weren't there to attack. We were ordered by the Duke to spy on Duskwatch. The auction was just a matter of convenient optics."

"Why?" Telmar said.

"The duke thought Winsor could turn. We were directed to report any signs of rebellion . . . especially from merchants with odd names like yours."

Alfrenzo nodded slowly. "Put her in the dungeon. Take her pride away . . . but keep her alive. For now."

As we walked up from the dungeon, Faren asked, "How are we supposed to fight the Duke?"

Alfrenzo stopped. He removed his mask slowly. "With allies. Allies who once swore loyalty to House Sureva."

____

The early morning sun illuminated the roofs of Velltorra. The capital of the Marquess Mellon, and home to the seat of his vast mountainous domain, Velltorra was a hub of commerce and industry, with its complex roads, active markets, and the ever-productive mountain forges said to turn out some of the best armaments in all of Ruthenia. As the cold wind blew down out of the peaks, three cloaked figures exited a small merchant carriage.

The first of few moments ahead of us, Luenor Sureva descended from the carriage and adjusted the long coat worn to cover the bandages wrapped under his shirt. The last couple of days had been quiet—almost too quiet he thought but it still wasn't the time to think about the silence of the Duke. This was a different battlefield, one of information, diplomacy, and secrecy.

The crates carried something of greater value, the Skyshard blades and various enchanted loot from the black market of Duskwatch.

Next, Dion came off of the carriage carrying one of the crates of goods and following him was Arwin, standing with his hands resting casually near his belt in reminder of the steel he could draw if he needed. They looked like humble merchants delivering "rare minerals" from the northern mines. Most locals would see them as just another merchant party.

They approached an empty warehouse bordering the trading district. The boarded-up windows and dust-coated frames suggested abandonment, but that was why they chose this one. Luenor headed in first, and Dion followed him inside and pulled the door shut, creaking it into place.

"Unload and keep it tidy. Don't open the crates until I come back," he said to Dion.

Arwin rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah, yeah. As if I'd let Dion break anything," which Luenor found very funny and chuckled under his breath.

Luenor turned toward the narrow alley that disappeared into the deeper parts of Velltorra, and disappeared into the winding paths. Hunter had already broken from the group earlier, so he was next posing as a traveling arms dealer. His priority was to secure a reputable inn to set up base of operations and keep tabs on the strange movements, especially the local knights who patrolled the city and crawled like shadows.

As they were unloading the crates in the warehouse, Arwin opened one of the crates to have a peek at what they had. "These blades... they hum," he said, as he touched the edge of a Skyshard sword.

"Mana-infused, like Telmar said," Dion said. "They vibrate to the pulse of the ambient mana. All of these were purchased from an auction."

"Well, then this Marquess Mellon is likely hiding a slew of smiths capable of crafting these." 

Back on the street, Luenor weaved through the narrow alleyways, observing the hustle and bustle of carriages and merchants. He scrutinized the signs that hung from building to building as he walked, and finally approached what he was looking for: a library-archive in the stone cliffside, a building that had likely stood for centuries. Ultimately he was hoping that parchment from the underbelly of Duskwatch might have some of the intel about Skyshard forging within its aging sheets. Or at the very least, someone who could point him in the right direction. 

He entered, stepping into a dimly lit room littered with tomes and scrolls that were piled haphazardly from floor to ceiling. A withered man with ink-stained hands lifted his eyes from a desk and gazed at Luenor. 

"Looking for something, young merchant?" The library-man croaked. 

"I'm actually looking for ancient records on mana-infused metallurgy. I'm hoping they have the documents associated with Mellon's private smithing history," Luenor said with the deft charm of a merchant hiding a power behind his voice.

The old man frowned. "Those records aren't public. They belong to the House of Mellon."

"I've heard," said Luenor, setting a pouch of gold on the desk, "But knowledge should flow free. Agree?" 

The old man eyed the pouch, then sighed and nodded slightly. "If the guards ask, you were looking for old mining maps."

As Luenor struggled to exhume the dusty scrolls, there was only one word that kept popping up—Mount Caldras, a volcanic range that lay under Mellon's territory, said to have rare mana veins. This was also where there was supposed to be a fortress-forge owned by a private group of Mellon-affiliated smiths, believed to manufacture high-tier mana weapons, particularly Skyshard blades, in secret.

After an hour of unearthing scrolls, Luenor stepped out into the street. The sun had shifted, and bathed the city in orange shades. He balled his fist around a copied map he had obtained, and his thoughts raced.

They were going to have to go to Mount Caldras, if either in secret, or with Marquess Mellon's permission.