Ghaji felt like grinning but wisely restrained himself. It looked like the letter was going to work its own special brand of magic for them again, but then Bersi gestured at the Zephyr and said, “Tell me how a pair of university scholars can afford passage on an elemental vessel?”
Diran and Ghaji exchanged looks, then Diran said, “Research grants, of course. The university is fortunate to have a number of wealthy patrons who are only too glad to fund expeditions like ours.” He leaned closer to Bersi and lowered his voice, as if about to share a secret. “Armchair adventurers for the most part, you know, but their money certainly comes in handy, right, Ghaji?”
Ghaji hated it when Diran decided it was his turn to talk during these sorts of deceptions. He could never think of anything to say.
“Money is good.”
The dwarves looked at him as if he were feeble-minded, and Ghaji kicked himself mentally for playing to their stereotype of a dumb orc.
Bersi turned to Diran once more, as if deciding it would only be a waste of time to speak with Ghaji. “What is the specific purpose of your visit?” the dwarf asked.
“We’re in the process of compiling a new biographical study of the life of Erdis Cai,” Diran said. “We’ve been led to believe that one of his former crewmembers lives and works here, an artificer by the name of Tresslar.”
Bersi’s only reaction to hearing Tresslar’s name was a slight narrowing of the eyes, but that was enough to tell Ghaji that the dockmaster was surprised, and Bersi didn’t strike Ghaji as a man who was overly fond of surprises.
“An artificer named Tresslar does indeed work here and has for forty years or more,” Bersi said. “He’s nowhere near as skilled as the artificers of House Kundarak, of course, but he makes himself useful by helping to maintain the enchantments on the inmate cells. I’m not aware that the man was ever a sailor, let alone that he traveled with someone as famous as Erdis Cai.”
The dockmaster exchanged glances with the three guards, and it was clear they found the notion of Tresslar being a former adventurer amusing.
“Perhaps the information we gathered was incorrect,” Diran said. “Even so, we’d still very much like to speak with Tresslar. We’ve come a long way to do so, and research is about uncovering the truth, whatever it might be. If it turns out we confirm that the man never sailed with Erdis Cai, then we will have learned something of value from this trip.”
Bersi looked at Diran for several moments, as if considering the “scholar’s” words. Ghaji was beginning to think that the dockmaster was going to deny their request, when the dwarf reached into his jacket pocket and removed a metal token embossed with the seal of House Kundarak-a winged manlike beast flanked by flames. The dockmaster handed the token to Diran, who accepted it with a gracious bow.
“The guards will escort you to the main entrance. This token will gain you passage into the cellhouse. After that, you’ll have to show both the seal and your letter to the sergeant. He’ll be the one to decide whether or not you’ll be able to make your request directly to Warden Gizur. It shall be he who ultimately approves or denies your request to speak with Tresslar.”
“You have our utmost thanks, Master Bersi,” Diran said. “You’ve helped make a significant contribution to the always vital pursuit of knowledge.”
The dwarf waved Diran’s words away. “Just doing my job.” From the tone of his voice, Bersi sounded secretly pleased.
Diran and Ghaji then fell in with the guards-one in front of them, two behind-and the armored dwarves began escorting them to the cellhouse. It looked as if they’d found their way in, Ghaji thought. He just hoped they’d be able to get out again.
CHAPTER
“Tresslar?” Diran asked.
The man was middle-aged and thin, almost painfully so, with shoulder-length white hair and a close-cropped beard. He wore a gray tunic with a black belt and sandals, the standard uniform for prison staff who didn’t serve as guards. He was kneeling before a cell door, running his hands across the bars and frowning in concentration. A dwarf guard stood next to him, holding onto a crossbow that was cocked and ready. Inside the cell, a tall broad- shouldered man with black hair and sky-blue eyes sat cross-legged on a sleeping pallet, glaring at the older man as he went about his work. The prisoner wore a tunic that was so white it nearly glowed. All the prisoners in Dread-hold wore the same uniform, the bright color making it both easier to spot inmates and far more difficult for them to hide.
The older man didn’t respond to Diran’s question. He continued moving his hands over the bars and softly muttered to himself.
The guard that the warden has assigned to escort Diran and Ghaji during their stay in Dreadhold cleared his throat. “Tresslar, you’ve got visitors,” the dwarf rumbled.
Still the man didn’t look up.
“Tresslar…” the guard repeated.
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time,” the older man snapped, “but visitors or not, I’m in the middle of examining the ward-spell on these bars, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disrupt my concentration any more than you already have.”
“If you possessed more than a modicum of skill, Tresslar, you wouldn’t be bothered so much by distractions,” the prisoner taunted.
“Shut up, Jurus,” Tresslar said through gritted teeth. “If brains were dragonshards, you wouldn’t have enough to power an elemental nail trimmer.”
The cell was standard size for Dreadhold, nine by five feet, with a sleeping pallet, a wash basin sitting on a small wooden table, and a chamber pot. Not exactly the most ostentatious of accommodations, Ghaji thought, but it was better than being executed, though perhaps not by much.
“Tresslar, these two have come all the way from Morgrave University to talk with you,” Diran and Ghaji’s guard said. “Why they’d bother I don’t know, but they have, and the warden wishes you to speak to them. Now.”
Tresslar continued working for a moment before finally sighing and removing his hands from the bars. “As usual, when Gizur wants something done, he wants it done yesterday.” The artificer stood, interlaced his fingers, and loudly cracked his knuckles. “Very well, then.” He turned to the dwarf holding the loaded crossbow. “I’ll return as soon as I can. If Jurus so much as takes a step off his pallet, skewer him.”
“You don’t need to tell me my job, artificer,” the dwarf said, his gaze fixed on the prisoner.
“Just do what I say. Jurus, despite all his posturing, is a skilled artificer in his own right. We can’t afford to give him the chance to neutralize the wardspells on his cell.”
Without waiting for the guard to acknowledge his warning, Tresslar turned toward Diran and Ghaji. “Come with me, you two.” He glanced at their escort. “I see only one guard has been assigned to you. Gizur must not consider you much of a threat if he only ordered the one guard to keep watch over you.”
“Well, we are only scholars,” Diran said.
Tresslar looked them up and down, truly seeing them for the first time. “Scholars, eh?” He then turned and started walking down the corridor at a brisk pace. After a moment’s hesitation, Diran and Ghaji hurried after him. However, the guard assigned to them by the warden walked off in a different direction. Ghaji figured that now that they’d found Tresslar, there was no need for them to have a personal escort, not when the cellhouse was crawling with dwarf guards, all of whom were no doubt keeping sharp eyes on their visitors.
After gaining entrance to the cellhouse and being taken to see the day sergeant, Diran and Ghaji had been permitted to speak to Warden Gizur himself. The dwarf recognized not only the seal of Morgrave’s chancellor but also his handwriting. Gizur granted them permission for a two hour stay at Dreadhold, after which the scholars
