were expected to promptly depart the island, and the warden had made certain to emphasize the word promptly. The time limit shouldn’t prove to be a problem, Ghaji had thought at the time. After all, how long would it take to ferret out the location of Erdis Cai’s location from Tresslar?
As it turned out, quite long.
Tresslar may have agreed to speak with his two visitors, but that didn’t mean he intended to make it easy on them. He never once stopped working. He hurried down one corridor or another, checking bars, examining locks, running his fingers over the stone blocks of walls and floors, forcing Diran and Ghaji to keep up with him. Ghaji would have preferred to grab the front of the artificer’s tunic, lift him into the air, and shake the location of Erdis Cai out of him, but the corridors of Dreadhold were continuously patrolled by dwarf guards who would no doubt take a very dim view of such an action.
As they scurried throughout the prison, Ghaji got a good look at the inside of Dreadhold. The prison had been designed for security and efficiency, not beauty. Gray stone walls, black iron bars, all straight lines and right angles. Everbright lanterns lit the prison, but no amount of light could lend warmth to these cold and forbidding stone corridors. The prison was solid, sturdy, grim, and implacable, just like the dwarves of House Kundarak who’d built it.
While the inmates of Dreadhold represented every race on Khorvaire, including some warforged, the prison staff was primarily made up of dwarves. Tresslar was one of the few non-dwarf staff members they’d seen, and from Tresslar’s constant complaining, this was something of a sore point with him.
“This is what my life is like here, day after day, year after year. The artificers of House Kundarak think they’re the finest in the world, just because their house carries the Mark of Warding.
They are skilled and powerful, I’ll grant them that, but they lack subtlety, a feeling for the more delicate ways that spells function, as well as how they can be disrupted. Dreadhold contains the highest percentage of mystically abled prisoners in Khorvaire, like that braggart Jurus you saw me putting up with earlier. They’re constantly testing the wardspells on the cells, trying to lift them or at least alter them enough so that they can escape. That means I constantly have to run around this gigantic stone tomb all day and double-check the dwarf artificers’ work. I can’t tell you how many escapes I’ve prevented over the years, but am I recognized for my contributions? No, I am not! I’m not a dwarf; I’m not a member of House Kundarak! Go back to Morgrave University and tell them that, why don’t you?”
Tresslar was ranting through his third variation of this screed when Diran finally interrupted.
“It’s obvious that you’re an exceptionally busy man, Master Tresslar, so let me tell you the purpose for our visit. My colleague and I are doing research on the life of the explorer Erdis Cai.”
Tresslar didn’t move, and for the first time since they’d met the man, he didn’t say anything. The old man’s shoulders sagged in what seemed like defeat, but when he turned to face them he was perfectly composed.
“I don’t see how I can help you. I’m an artificer, not a folklorist. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to Jurus. While I enjoy making him sit on his pallet and wait for me, it’s unwise to push him too far.”
Tresslar started to walk past them.
“You are the artificer who sailed with Erdis Cai, aren’t you?” Diran said. “We have only one question to ask you: where is Erdis Cai’s home port?”
Tresslar stopped. His eyes went wide and he shook his head.
Diran stepped forward and gripped the man’s shoulders. “You must tell us! People’s lives are at stake, perhaps even their very souls!”
“Guards!” Tresslar shouted.
There was no need for the artificer to shout twice. A half dozen dwarves in Stonemeld armor came running toward them from all directions. Diran glared at Tresslar, but he released his hold of the man.
The artificer brushed the front of his tunic as if contact with Diran had somehow soiled it.
“What’s wrong, Tresslar?” one of the guards asked.
“These two gentlemen were granted permission by the warden to speak with me.” Tresslar fixed Diran and Ghaji with a steely gaze, but the half-orc detected more than a little fear in his eyes as well. “We’re finished.”
Ghaji was about to protest when Diran said, “We wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” He inclined his head to Tresslar. “You have our thanks for your time, Master Artificer. You’ve been most helpful.”
Diran smiled at Ghaji, narrowing his eyes slightly to indicate he wanted Ghaji to speak. Ghaji turned to Tresslar, drew his lips back from his teeth, and without opening his mouth, growled. “Most helpful, indeed.”
Tresslar’s face turned whiter than his beard at the site of Ghaji’s orcish teeth.
“Y-you’re welcome.”
Seaspray coated his greenish skin, and when the night wind blew cold across the island’s rocky shore, Ghaji felt as if he were covered with a thin layer of ice.
So this is the Principalities in summer, he thought. I really hope we’re not still here come winter.
Of course, if the four of them were caught sneaking onto Dreadhold without authorization, they might get the opportunity to experience many, many winters here.
After leaving earlier that afternoon, Yvka had circled the Zephyr back to the island, and by the time they’d dropped anchor offshore, full night had fallen. They’d been careful not to use the elemental close to the island, lest the night guards spot the glowing containment ring.
They kept low as they made their way across the barren black rock toward the stone building that served as the staff quarters. Diran and Ghaji were in the lead, with Yvka and Hinto following close behind. Ghaji had been reluctant to bring the halfling along, given his emotional instability, but Hinto refused to be left alone on the Zephyr-and more to the point, on the water in the dark. Their plan was as simple as it was foolhardy. Diran and Ghaji had scouted the basic layout of the island’s facilities earlier, and Yvka knew enough about Dreadhold to confirm the location of the staff’s quarters. Presumably, Tresslar lived here as, unfortunately, did the guards when off duty. The four companions intended to enter the staff building, find Tresslar’s room, and urge him-forcibly, if need be-to tell them the location of Erdis Cai’s home port. Diran had seemed to enjoy planning their nocturnal visit to Dreadhold. // reminds me of old times, he’d said. Ghaji hated it when Diran said things like that, but the priest’s experience and training as an assassin came in handy far too often for Ghaji to complain.
Ghaji felt almost sorry for the artificer. Diran had been growing increasingly impatient in the hours before their return to Dreadhold. He was so close to finding out where the Black Fleet had taken Makala, and Ghaji knew that his friend wasn’t going to be able to stand any more delays. One way or another, Tresslar was going to give them the information they needed.
The island’s black surface seemed to absorb moonlight rather than reflect it, and the ground was uneven enough that four more irregular shadowy shapes in the darkness should go unnoticed. There was a paved pathway from the main cellhouse to the staff quarters, but they approached the building from the side, though even this carried risk. Unlike the cellhouse, the building containing the staff quarters had windows. Luckily, only a few lights burned behind closed shutters even though it wasn’t all that late. Ghaji wasn’t surprised. Dreadhold didn’t exactly seem like the sort of place to support a thriving night life.
When they were within a dozen yards of the building, Diran approached while the others hung back. The priest moved silently and swiftly, comfortable in the shadows. He moved from window to window on the first floor, checking to see if any of the shutters were unlocked. After making a complete circuit of the building, he looked over to where the others waited crouched low to the ground and signaled for them to join him. They made little sound as they walked over to Diran, and what noise they did make was covered by the sound of the surf breaking on Dreadhold’s shore.
Ghaji gave Diran a questioning look, but the priest shook his head, indicating that he’d found no unlocked windows. They’d anticipated that. This was, after all, Dreadhold, and though an inmate escape was unlikely, keeping the windows barred at night was a sensible precaution, but what about the windows on the second floor? That’s where Yvka came in. She stepped up to the wall, removed her boots, then placed her fingertips in the almost invisible seams between the stone blocks. She then began climbing. The elf-woman moved with almost preternatural grace, fingers and toes finding purchase where there should be none.
Yvka headed for a darkened window first because that had the greater likelihood of being an empty room. When she reached the sill, she tried the shutters, but they must’ve been locked because she abandoned it and
