Few alive remembered that the Keeper had been a great Inquisitor in her day. Down the years of her rise to the highest position in her Order, she had increasingly affected the roll of a withered elven matron. While it was true that her skills had diminished over time, it was not nearly to the extent that even her closest associates in the Order thought. She held them against those times when it was necessary that she travel alone.
This had become one of those times.
It had all gone wrong. She first knew it when reports came back of entire gnome cities being massacred by Iblisi Quorums in the Vestasian wasteland. Jukung had been her choice to quietly contain the problem; he became her mistake, and she could see that now. She thought his passion would give him strength to do the job; instead it consumed him to the point where he forgot what the mission was about. The surviving members of Jukung’s Quorums whom she questioned confirmed her worst fears. He had substituted his own orders for hers. Now Jukung was dead, and all the Empire, it seemed, was talking about how the Iblisi had been hunting a human named Drakis. . and succeeded only in killing everyone they met except him.
This disaster was bad enough-but not enough to bring her out of her lair. Ch’drei had come north for her own reasons: One of the Assesia she interviewed had given her a message from the one person she had no wish to hear from.
Soen.
He seemed to have vanished almost the moment after he had killed Jukung in some obscure human coastal village. The Codexia could not say where he had gone. They had followed rumors of an elven Iblisi tracking a manticore eastward along the Thetis Coast; there were other reports of him among the mud gnome cities, or passing east into Ephindria, or bartering for a ship in Menninos. None of it could be confirmed. All that remained was the message given her by the Codexia.
“Tell the Keeper I leave my answer with the Caliph of Yurani.”
She stopped and looked up at the foot of the throne.
At the sight, Ch’drei straightened at once, tossing back the hood from her head.
The Keeper of the Iblisi stood staring at the form of Argos Helm, the former Caliph of the Dje’kaarin and now a rapidly rotting corpse impaled on the top of his own throne.
“You always were a clever boy,” Ch’drei breathed through clenched teeth.
No wonder the town was celebrating. Argos Helm was a despot of the worst kind, but he had been a despot the elves could easily control. Now it would be only a matter of time-days perhaps-before the warlords of the Dje’kaarin threw the region into an uproar over which of them would be dominant. The guards outside were undoubtedly making their coin letting the jubilant citizens in for a peak at this freak show that. .
A mark on the frame of the throne caught her eye. It would have been invisible to anyone else, but those trained in her Order had it so ingrained into them that it would call their attention even without an active search.
Ch’drei moved quickly around the throne. The blood of Argos Helm had dried down the back of the throne, but she paid no attention to it or the rotting corpse. She pried at the back board. It came away in one piece exposing a hollow space.
Within lay a vellum scroll tied with a brightly colored ribbon.
Ch’drei snatched it from its place, pulled the ribbon free, and unrolled the vellum. The writing on it was in an ancient script known now only among the Iblisi and used generally for messages intended for their ranks alone. She recognized the concise and careful hand that wrote it at once.
My Respected Ch’drei;
I always repay the kindnesses shown me. As you can see, I have done so with the Caliph-and all he ever did for me was to lie.
How ever shall I ever repay you?
Soen Tjen-rei
Ch’drei looked up at the broken form of the gnome Caliph. The sounds of laughter and music, muffled and distant, filtered into the hall.
“So it’s begun, Soen, you fool” she murmured to the empty hall. “And you do not know how terribly it will end for us all.”