Chapter 16 - Part 6

Delegado watched Quinn go, and he hoped that nothing befell the man until Tharashk could catch up with him. Quinn was talented, and the House would be poorer without him. For now Delegado focused his attention on Greoche.

“Iron Orphan thinks you lied to me,” he said. “I told him House members never lie to each other. I’m wondering if I was wrong.”

Greoche tossed the dagger back into the open box and walked past Delegado, heading for the kitchen. He grabbed her arm, and she glared at him.

“I need a drink,” she said. “Then we can talk.”

Delegado considered this for a minute, staring into her eyes.

“No,” he said, dragging her forward and tossing her into the chair that Quinn had just vacated. “No poison for you. You’re not backing out of this so easily.”

“I would never!” she protested, but her face was ashamed, and he knew that she wanted the quick way out.

“Tell me the truth,” he said angrily.

She sighed, deflating. “Vestiol d’Phiarlan came to see me,” she said. “Brogan is being backed by Brelish money. Breland is paying Deneith to hire mercenaries of all kinds and make trouble on the Droaam-Eldeen border. At the same time Breland is observing a cease-fire with the Reaches and negotiating terms of a possible alliance, and Breland has also secretly been contacting Thrane for the same. With Deneith harassing Droaam from the north, Droaam has to divert some forces from their eastern front with Breland. With the Eldeen Reaches and Thrane coordinating their attacks on Aundair, Aundair will have to divert some forces from their front with Breland.”

“And with four fronts quiet, Breland builds up for a charge into Cyre,” Delegado said.

“Or perhaps Darguun,” Greoche said tiredly. “But the guess is that Beland wants to suddenly blitz into Cyre and wipe out as many warforged production facilities as they can in order to stem the tide. Those golem friends of yours are proving dangerous.”

“I’m only friends with one of them,” Delegado said, putting his thumbs in his belt. It was a deceptive pose, he could draw a weapon with ease if he needed to, but he suspected that Greoche was not going to give him any more trouble. “So the reports about my brother’s prospecting mission were forged?”

“No, they were real,” she said. “Additional security for the site has already been dispatched. All the documents I showed you were real, I was just selective about which ones to show.”

“So Brogan came here not looking for trouble, and you decided to stir it up anyway,” Delegado said. She nodded. “Why?”

She looked up at him with eyes that seemed to want to cry and laugh at the same time. “Delegado, it’s what the Masters of Newflesh would want,” she told him in the same tone that one would use with a small, particularly stupid child. “They would not want Breland to gain an edge, for Breland wants the war to end, and chaos above gives the Blessed Dragon Below its ability to act freely.”

Delegado felt like puking. “You are a cultist then,” he said with disgust.

“I would say that I’m devout,” she said. “You’re reacting to Gatekeeper prejudice.” She pointed to the blood-soaked upthrust floorboards. “Gatekeepers made that wood twist and dance, trapping Brode, helping their hirelings kill him.”

Delegado clenched his fists, then unclenched them. He had to keep control of his anger. “You spent House money on trying to prevent Brelish-enforced world peace, is that it?”

“I spent no money,” she laughed.

“You said you got this from Phiarlan.”

“I got it for free.”

A warning chime rang in Delegado’s mind. “Phiarlan never gives out anything for free,” he pointed out. “Any more than we do.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. “He said that it was professional courtesy between Houses, and he wanted me to find a misplaced letter for him.” She sounded as if she very much wanted to believe it.

“You lied to me,” Delegado found himself yelling. “You told me Brogan wanted to rob dragonshards, stirring up a f’testing nest of hornets, all because you believed something that an officer of Phiarlan told you for free? Are you an idiot, woman?”

She began to cry. “I – I had to believe him! I need to Masters of Newflesh to fix me!”

“You got Brode killed!” he yelled, jabbing a finger in her face. “Marlal d’Deneith is the one who sent the Gatekeepers here!”

“No!” she said, her face growing white. “No!”

“Sh!” he said, putting his finger to his lips. He had thought that he heard something.

“I didn’t mean to!” she was sobbing. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Shut up!” he snapped. Then he heard the lock in the front door click, and suddenly everything went pitch black.

Delegado fought down panic. Unlike a human, half-orcs and orcs were not used to real darkness, as they could see in normal dark. Therefore magical darkness unnerved them far more than it did others, and he stumbled forwards, knowing that whoever had cast the magical darkness would be on the other side of the door. He heard Greoche sob and stumble in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen again.

The door was swinging in, but he shoved it back the other way and had the satisfaction of hearing it hit someone who responded with a muffled elvish curse. Delegado yanked the door open and charged out of the shadow bubble, barreling into an elf wearing fancy clothing marked with the Phiarlan insignia.

“Vestiol, I presume,” Delegado said, swinging a fist at the elf.

“Indeed,” Vestiol said, ducking the blow and rolling away from the orc. Springing to his feet several fee away he produced a small hand crossbow from the hidden folds of his clothing. “Careful now, Delegado, the poison on the end of this is particularly dangerous to those of orcish blood.”

Delegado snarled, pulling out his longsword and moving sideways to give Vestiol a harder target. All those Wardens that had been outside not ten minutes ago had gone, heading to an indoor fire to beat away the mid-autumn chill, curse the luck. Delegado wasn’t sure if the elf was telling the truth about the poison or not, but he wasn’t taking chances. “So what’s the real story here, Vestiol?” the half-orc asked, keeping an eye on the elf’s trigger finger.

“What I told her was the unvarnished truth,” Vestiol said. “Except for the bit about me missing a letter. I made that up. But yes, Breland is setting up a situation that allows them to invade Cyre.”

“And you didn’t charge her for that information because you’re on the Cyran payroll,” Delegado guessed, still circling. He wondered if Greoche was busy killing herself or if she would call the Wardens again.

“Not their payroll, just their lease,” Vestiol grinned. “You see, I know of Greoche’s religious leanings. I know lots of facts that my dear Thuranni cousin thinks are irrelevant. I simply told her in a casual fashion and let her do the rest. You dropping in on us was simply a wonderful bonus that accelerated things.”

“Nice to know I’m useful,” Delegado muttered. He waved his sword a bit, but Vestiol’s arm did not waver in its aim. “You know Brogan hired Kurse.”

“Yes, and due to the information that I fed Marlal through second and third parties, Marlal went to the Gatekeepers about your friend Thomas, and Kurse went looking for you,” Vestiol said. “It’s amazing what people will do when they are told the truth – select truths of course.” He smiled. “I take it that you killed Kurse? Wonderful. I’ve stymied Brogan already.”

“Aside from making me want to kill you, why are you bragging about your puppetmaster status?” Delegado snarled.

“Put the blade away,” Vestiol said, drawing careful aim.

“I don’t think so,” Delegado said. “As long as it's out you don’t dare take the shot, because if you miss, I come for you before you can reload.”

“Put it away or I will fire, Delegado, and what’s more I will hit,” Vestiol said. He flipped an empty potion flask towards Delegado’s feet. It rolled to a stop with its label facing up, and Delegado saw a target mark on it. “Truestrike potion,” the elf explained. “Now put the blade away. I don’t want to kill you.”

Delegado fumed, but put his blade back in his sheath. “You didn’t answer my earlier question,” Delegado said carefully. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because every grand villain reveals his plan when he thinks the hero is beaten,” Vestiol said with heavy sarcasm. He flicked his wrist and the hand crossbow disappeared up a wide sleeve. “Why do you think, Delegado? I’m a businessman. I buy and sell information, and I buy and sell the selling and buying of information.”

“That doesn’t tell me why you’re telling me all of this,” the half-orc said, taking a single step forward.

“Don’t,” the elf said, twisting his wrist to make the hand crossbow fall into his hand again. “Don’t try anything funny.”

Delegado took two steps back. “My patience isn’t great, Vestiol,” Delegado said.

“I know,” the elf said. “I was trying to explain myself before you so rudely took a step forward. Now, I am a businessman. I honestly do not care if the war ends or if it doesn’t or who loses. Neither should you. We are members of the great Houses, and what’s more we both bear a dragonmark.”

“You don’t flaunt yours,” Delegado noted.

The elf grinned. “Like you mine is on a – er, private area of my body,” he explained. “In any event, my lease to Cyre still stands. As such I can give you the information you need to sneak into Brogan’s camp, via two potions, one there and one back, that will hide you with invisibility. You get to get revenge on Brogan, I get another commission from Cyre. I’ll also give you a cut, and your House a cut. They’ll need it after tonight.”

“Why shouldn’t I avenge my House over this debacle?” Delegado seethed.

“For what?” Vestiol asked. “Think like a businessman, fellow! You discovered Blessing has double loyalties, and a cultist has been exposed and will be removed. You’re ahead by all counts. I think debacle is quite the wrong word.”

“Brode is dead,” Delegado snarled.

“For which at least one of the druids involved should face charges of conspiracy to commit murder,” Vestiol retorted. “You know their order frowns on that. Look, Delegado, I know you. I’m telling you all of this because I am being straight with you. I know that you hate forked tongues and doublespeak, so I am flat out explaining to you how I manipulated events.”

“You’re being straight with me in order to manipulate me,” Delegado said dryly.

“Exactly!” Vestiol laughed. “You do get it! Why else would I explain everything I’ve done? I know I can’t dangle and bait you, so I’m telling you exactly what I’m doing. You want Brogan dead. I want Brogan stopped. You need money. I’ll supply it. You need to pull it off without being caught. I can take care of that as well.”

“And I’ll just fall right in line,” the half-orc said, folding his arms. Seeing that, Vestiol relaxed his own grip, but only slightly.

“Well, keep in mind that Marlal has already told Borgan what happened,” Vestiol said. “You roughed that fellow up, made him bleed. That’s one proud half-elf. He’s not bright enough to realize when he’s being spoon-fed, but he is proud. And he’s Borgan’s nephew. And there are a lot of soldiers under his command. And I could make sure the right tidbits of information make their way to the Wardens of the Wood and get Marlal exiled permanently from the Reaches. Brogan dead, Marlal exiled, Deneith routed, it all lines up.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” Delegado said.

“Of course!” Vestiol said. “Now, are you in…” He steadied his crossbow hand. “Or are you out?” The second option was said in a colder tone of voice.

“I’m up, then down,” Delegado said.

Vestiol look puzzled, until Feather dove right down onto his arm, gouging it with his claws, and ripping the hand crossbow away. The hawk’s flight was so fast that Vestiol had no chance to fire the poisoned weapon.

Delegado charged, not bothering to draw his weapon, and punched Vestiol hard in the jaw. The elf wavered, falling backwards, and tried to hit back. He apparently had not been bluffing about the truestrike potion, because he was able to slap Delegado before the half-orc’s next two blows put him out, blood leaking from his broken nose.
Feather swooped back in and dropped the crossbow, then settled comfortably on the half-orc’s shoulder.

“Took you long enough,” Delegado told him. The half-orc picked the hand crossbow up and saw a dark paste on the bolt head. “Hm,” he said, thinking about just how truthful Phiarlan was. “We have to go see someone, Feather.”