'Tresslar,' Solus interrupted. 'Something is happening.'
Tresslar looked to the psiforged, but before the construct could explain further, the conversations in the room rose in volume. The voices not only got louder, they took on a harsh, angry edge. Soon the gathered artificers were shouting at one another, gripping tools in clenched fists and waving them about as they yelled, almost as if they intended to wield the objects as weapons.
Tresslar felt a wave of anger wash over him. He was about to rebuke the impertinent psiforged for interrupting his conversation with Illyia, but before the artificer could speak, the emotion faded, though it didn't completely vanish. Tresslar still felt irritated, but his level of anger had diminished to the point where he could handle it.
'The Fury is growing stronger,' Illyia said. The enchanted spheres that formed her dress began to glow, and Tresslar knew their magic was protecting her against the curse of Kolbyr.
'Why would it suddenly get worse?' Hinto asked. 'You likened the Fury to weather, Illyia, but it can't be like a storm that blows weak one moment then strong the next… can it?'
'Not in this case, my friend,' Solus said. His artificial eyes shimmered with green light, and the multicolored crystals embedded on the surface of his body pulsed with psionic energy. 'Diran and Ghaji are confronting the creature responsible for the Fury, and it's fighting back-not only by striking out at our friends, but by attacking the entire city. Illyia has her magic to protect her, and I can continue to shield the three of us from the worst of the Fury, but that's all I can do.'
'If Diran and Ghaji are in trouble, then we should go to the palace and help them!' Hinto said.
Tresslar regretted splitting off from the others to go in search of his dragonwand. The mystic object was undeniably powerful, but in the end it was just a thing. Diran and Ghaji were good men, good companions, good friends, and they mattered far more than any number of magical artifacts ever could.
'You're right,' Tresslar said. 'We might not be able to reach the palace in time to be of any assistance to them, but we have to try.' He turned to Illyia to make his farewell to her, but his words died in his throat before he could speak them.
The room had gone completely silent.
They looked to the artificers who had only moments before been arguing amongst themselves. Every man and woman now glared at them, eyes wild with hate, teeth bared in animalistic snarls. They clutched a variety of objects in their hands-mystic tools, magical devices, even metal rods that they gripped like clubs.
Then, as if obeying some unspoken signal, the artificers bellowed like mindless beasts and came running toward them.
Yvka didn't know how to respond to Zivon's pronouncement-more like a warning, really-that she was expected to deliver both Solus and Tresslar's dragonwand to the Shadow Network. She desperately tried to think of a way to stall Zivon until she could come up with an appropriate answer, but she was so stunned by this development that nothing came to mind.
Zivon popped a well-seasoned mussel into his mouth and chewed while he waited for Yvka to speak. She knew he would gauge her level of compliance and, more importantly, its sincerity by the amount of time she took to think before responding. She had only seconds to speak, and whatever she said, it had to be good.
'You ask a great deal,' she said. 'I'm not sure that simply remaining in the Network's good graces is payment enough.'
Zivon looked at her while he swallowed the last of the mussel. Then, though it appeared he was trying hard not to, he smiled.
'Spoken like a true operative. Of course, whether you mean what you say or are merely putting on a front to protect your friends'-he sneered as he said this word-'is debatable. But then, a little mystery is the spice of life, is it not?'
Yvka gave Zivon a sly smile before reaching across the table to take his wine cup. She raised the cup in a toast, then lifted it to her lips and drank. But as she started to put the wine back down in front of Zivon, she felt a cold, prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She'd worked many years as an operative for the Shadow Network, longer than a human lifetime, and that experience had sharpened her survival instincts to a keen edge. Now those instincts were screaming at her that there was danger nearby. She glanced quickly around the room but saw nothing that could account for her feeling. The sensation of danger didn't dissipate, though. Instead, it continued to grow worse, until it felt as if the threat were all around her, as if the Culinarian itself were the danger.
She looked to Zivon to see if he felt it too, but before she could broach the subject, the man bared his teeth at her, snarled like a wild animal, and lunged across the table, hands twisted into claws as he attempted to grab hold of her. Yvka leaned back in her chair, pressed the soles of her boots against the edge of the table, and pushed with all her strength. Though she was petite and slender, she was an elf and far stronger than she appeared. The table slammed into Zivon's stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Yvka's chair fell backward, and just before it struck the floor she performed a graceful reverse somersault and finished standing on her feet.
She reached into the pouch that dangled from her belt and withdrew what seemed to be a simple goose feather with tiny arcane symbols etched into the quill. Zivon still sat, face red, gasping for breath, but despite his discomfort, he continued to glare at her with undiminished hatred. She knew that he intended to kill her and that nothing would stop him-nothing except the mystical weapon she held in her hand.
Anger took hold of her. How dare Zivon attack her like that? He might rank higher on the Network hierarchy than she, but that didn't give him the right to treat her with such disrespect! She was Yvka w'Ydellan, member of House Phiarlan by birth, now member of House Thuranni by choice. She allowed no one to lay hands upon her person-no one!
She began whispering the charm that would activate the poison-tipped quill-dart and send it flying straight into Zivon's heart with all the swiftness and force of a crossbow bolt. But before she had gotten halfway through the spell, her voice died away. She saw that the room had descended into total pandemonium. Diners and servers alike were attacking one another, using utensils, bare hands, even morsels of food as weapons. They fought with wild-eyed ferocity, yelling with incoherent fury as they struck blows frenzied and savage.
Where had this sudden rage come from? It wasn't like her to become so emotional, especially in the midst of a hazardous situation. It was her ability to think calmly and rationally during moments like these that had kept her alive for so many years. How…
Then it hit her. Sudden rage.
The Fury.
Something had happened to make the Fury intensify, and she had a good idea what: Diran and Ghaji had reached the palace of Baroness Calida and had begun their attempt to remove the curse on the House of Kolbyr. If that were the case, and the Fury was this intense here, how much worse would it be in the palace, the center of the curse? She feared for Diran, but most of all, she feared for Ghaji.
Gods be with you, love.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that her anger was false, forced upon her by foul magic. Perhaps it was the cool rationality that she had cultivated and relied on for her entire life. And perhaps it was simply concern for the safety of the man she loved. Whichever did the trick, the Fury lost its hold on her, and she no longer felt a burning desire to send a mystic missile shooting into Zivon's heart.
Unfortunately, that didn't mean that Zivon had abandoned his desire to slay her.
The man had caught his breath at last. He grabbed hold of one of his utensils-a fork-and with a growl, he overturned the table, leaped to his feet, and charged.
Armed only with a magical quill she no longer wished to use, Yvka steeled herself to meet his assault and wondered how-or even if-she could stop Zivon without killing him.
The man in the ragged cloak stood in the street outside the palace home of Baroness Calida. He had tracked Diran, Ghaji, and Asenka here, but-as he had no excuse to allow him entrance-he had been forced to remain outside. He'd overheard enough of the three companions' conversation as he'd followed to know what Diran intended to do, and he also knew that Diran, strong as he was, would have difficulty dealing with the evil that dwelled within the halls of the palace. And so he waited outside, bow in hand and strung, quiver slung over his shoulder, waiting for the moment his aid would be needed.
It didn't take long.
