Part MMCDXXXI: Lost upon the Road
Lost upon the Road
Twenty-Fifth Day of the Sixth Month 293 AC
You ponder the choice at length. The tangled weaves of gods and spirits are not ones you wish to thread if you can help it, but you wonder if can you truly afford to do so? There is something to this caravan of the damned, a mark of destiny, riddle you have yet to answer. How did they know so much of the goings on in Lyceos? Why had they and they alone been bound to this hellish existence? If nothing else might there be some way to end it, to give them peace? Through Varys' mind-voice you converse with the others and find most curious or sympathetic to the fate of those eternally lost upon this cursed path. Above all else, however, you speak to Malarys, as it is upon the fulcrum of his skill and his pain that this deception must turn.
"Can you do this, my friend?" the last two words come naturally, as easily as ever you have spoken them to Vee or Garin. With an inner start you realize that in this place under the scorched skies of Fallen Valyria you have finally come to consider the last of its children a friend as much as a vassal or companion in battle.
"I can," the answer acknowledges the concern, a thread of wordless thanks running through it.
***
Bedding down for the 'night' under the hellish crimson radiance is nerve-wracking. Every moment you expect Malarys' mask to slip somehow or the specters to suddenly see some glimpse of the truth around them. Your muscles ache from the strain of being ready to dive at any moment, fire licks the inside of your throat waiting to be unleashed, yet through it all the magelord plays his part masterfully. Imperious without quite being rude, charming without being verbose, you watch him take non-existent tea from charred cups and even 'unwind enough' to give legal advice for cases that had died four centuries and more ago. Usually petty things of course, trespassing and smuggling most prominent among them, but as the evening wears on the dead grow more restless, the spectral campfires sputter and spark with balefire, the beasts paw at dust and stone.
Finally 'Argaer' approaches you not half an hour after you finally deem it safe enough to abandon the skies for the pose of Malarys' young Lyseni cousin. "How do you think your cousin would feel if we asked him about something a little bigger than a touch of 'misplaced' liquor or 'forgotten' emberwood, for a friend of course?"
"And what sort of trouble has this 'friend' gotten himself into?" you ask, daring to let the guise of naiveté slip ever so slightly in the hopes of unraveling the traders' tragic tale.
As he draws close to whisper you can smell the scent of burning flesh upon his breath but you do not flinch. "Politics..."
"Ah, well as to that there's no more skilled help you are likely to get than my cousin. He's not one to keep his nose in the air to the troubles of common folk, and better yet he's not from around here so has no stake in whatever you... that is your friend is tangled in. So if you need an advocate's help..." you trail off.
For a long while there is silence broken only by the sound of your breathing, then finally, reluctantly, the spirit speaks, "Remember those kids we talked about?"
"Yes?" you prompt.
"Well..." another long sigh. "What we told you is the story going around Lyceos, but it ain't the truth. The Aedil's wife handed them off to us alongside two chests full of treasure. She said to take them north to Mantarys. The tutor apparently has it in for them, and he's 'not what he seemed,' though as to what that meant the lady didn't want to tell the likes of us."
With utmost care not to seem to eager you ask: "Are the children still with you?"
"The boy is but he's sick, or maybe just playing at it... the girl..." A look of confusion enters his eye. "You know, I'm not sure where the girl is..."
The fire hisses and sputters angrily.
"I'm sure they are both still right where you left them," you interject hastily. "Where else would they be?"
"Right, of course... they are in there," the spirit points towards one of the larger tents towards the center of the camp.
After signaling to the others where you are going again with Varys' aid, including a mentally grumbling Ser Richard, you step through where you are bid. There is no light inside and even the light of the cursed sun seems to stop at the threshold as though from some unseen command.
"How are you here? Are you alive?" The words echo as though from a great distance, spoken from unnaturally pale lips. A boy of perhaps ten stares back at you through bloodshot eyes. He had obviously been crying... and he was just as obviously dead, though you could see no mark on him.
As though reading your thoughts he says in a chillingly matter-of-fact-tone: "I took poison. I didn't want the flames to take me. Like they took the others, like they must have taken Aenie."
"Where is your sister?" you ask at once.
"She stayed with one of the farmers a few days back... before It. She said she had a dream had bid her stay, but mama said get to Mantarys since that was the only place that would be safe from Baegor-who-wasn't-Baegor."
The words spark a suspicion in your mind, though it is best to ask before assuming, given that the child seems to talkative. "What was he, then?"
"He looked sort of like a tiger..."
It seems you had found the Rakshasa, in a manner of speaking at least, though that does not take you any further into realizing how to break the curse that binds these unfortunate souls to their endless trek.
What do you do next?
[] Write in
OOC: Wow, Malarys is on fire, he got a natural 20 to follow up the other high rolls.
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