Again, she had so many questions she wanted to ask. But she forced her mind to the most present worries.
“What does any of this have to do with God Cores?” she asked. Everyone knew Varnell had taken the Guild in the direction of seeking and destroying Cores ever since he became master. Yet now it turned out he’d actually been allied with one—and an evil one at that. “I know the churches claim they’re blasphemous, dangerous, and a bunch of other things. But I’ve seen the purple Core. It saved my life. It’s benevolent. It’s a god of gnomes. How many others like it have you murdered? That you’ve been destroying them all without distinction is nothing less than an atrocity.”
“Oh, get off your high horse. You think I don’t know that? For the longest time I was simply obeying my patron’s will. Mela K’or wished for all God Cores to be found and reported to him. After every report, he ordered the Cores to be destroyed, and so I destroyed them.”
“Why?”
“His punishment for disobedience was swift and terrible.” His hand went to his chest unconsciously, and his face fleetingly took on a haunted look. “I wished to avoid retribution, and so I quashed any moral qualms I had and focused entirely on the task.”
“You still haven’t explained why you’re so fixated on the purple Core.”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. She noticed for the first time the shadows that hung beneath them, the streaks of gray in his hair.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but when my patron and I first established our covenant, we shared memories. They were fractured, messy, hardly more than vague impressions, but decades later and hundreds of hours of meditation allowed me to recall some of them clearly. One of the most powerful—and most recent—included a purple soul gem. For some reason, he is desperate to locate it.”
“And thus so were you.”
“Only so I could find it first,” he said vehemently. “I realized that his insistence on receiving a report of each Core before confirming the order to destroy it meant that he was searching for one in particular—one he did not wish destroyed.”
“The purple Core. But why?”
He scowled.
“You don’t even know,” she realized.
“I know enough,” he shot back. “I know that if he wants it so badly, it can mean nothing good. I know that destroying it will hurt him.”
“And the gnomes? What of them?”
“They’d never have known any different if Grimrock hadn’t failed. Typical god—he let his pride rule him. He toyed with the new Core, tried to use it to further his own power—he believes he is the only one who can rid us of Melakor, naturally. Not that I blame him. He has many a bone to pick with the bastard after all these years.”
She thought again of Ar’bek Kitt’s account; of the remains of those who’d fought at Bone Gorge. A small group of night elf skeletons surrounded by hundreds of light elves. Could it be… could it be that the dark elves were the victims and not the betrayers after all?
“I’d have recovered the Core myself weeks ago if I had the freedom to act,” Varnell snarled. “Instead I am forced to maintain my position, and rely on others—on lessers—to work on my behalf. All have failed until now.”
“Your magic comes directly from him,” she said. “That explains why you don’t use it. But what’s to stop you going out there yourself? You could have visited the purple Core—”
“And leave the Guild’s protection?” he scoffed. Noticing Tiri’s baffled look, he rolled his eyes. “The spells built into the foundations of the Guild itself prevent any influence or communication from outside sources—ancient gods included. As long as I remain within these walls, Melakor may only speak directly to me through a unique mirror in my tower.”
“But if you left the Guild…”
“My patron would be able to see through my eyes, sift through my thoughts. My intentions—to weaken him, that I might eventually free myself of his shackles—would be laid bare.”
“You want to be rid of your patron? But what about your power?”
His lip curled into a sneer, and she prepared for another patronizing reply. But then the fight seemed to go out of him. The scornful expression dropped, and he looked like nothing more than an exhausted half-elf, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of whatever burden he carried. He said simply, “I no longer believe that power is worth its price.”
She believed him. What was more, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“But Gardos said—”
His head jerked up. “You’ve met Gardos?”
“Indeed she has.”
The voice came from somewhere above and in between Tiri and Varnell, but both of them glanced at the demonic statue.
“Gardos?” said Varnell. He rose warily from his chair, still addressing the stone bust. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“I was listening. Forgive my eavesdropping, sire.”
Gone was the Core’s wry subservience. His voice now was bitter, scathing, and Tiri felt a ripple of unease.
“Tiriani and I had a little chat just before you arrived,” said Gardos. “It was brief, yet enlightening.”
The apple in Varnell’s slender throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Oh?”
“She informed me that you haven’t been entirely truthful. I see she was correct.”
Varnell shot her a venomous look. Tiri folded her arms. “He asked what I was investigating. I told him that I had reason to believe you sought to murder one of my friends—Benin Fitz—and that you’d been murdering pyromancers under your protection. You—”
“No, no,” Gardos interrupted. “Well, yes, that’s part of it. You might have told me, you know, Varnell?”
Varnell swallowed yet again. “I thought, given your former identity, you would have found
