Most of Mavri’s scrapes and bruises from that strange ordeal healed by the middle of the month, but the gash on her thigh started to show signs of infection. Normally, the healing of such a wound would be handled by one of the senior magicians in the Company: Master Kelren, Relis, or Eltha. With the former two absent on a secret mission, the latter had her hands completely busy. Mavri’s treatment fell to a lesser spellcaster from the ranks, a mercenary named Arrela.
When she wasn’t sucking down some awful herbal tea or lying on her side for Arrela to focus on the tendrils of infection spreading from the wound, Mavri was limping around her forge. The Storm Fort Smithy was a large structure adjacent to the Keep—one of the largest on the grounds. It was worked by four blacksmiths and two apprentices, but in Mavri’s absence her own workspace had seemingly been plundered by the others.
She eventually sought out their Master Smith, Caraldar, to help sort out what had happened in her absence. It seemed a rush order had been arranged for the very mission undertaken by Master Kelren. Mavri absently wondered if their endeavors concerned that strange gemstone-embracing device he had showed to her before Velend’s Grove.
Ruggen came to visit her twice as her healing continued. He was staying with a friend—and keeping a low profile where the law was concerned. It seemed his exploits in Eastpoint had warranted his exodus—which had, in turn, led to his allegiance with the late bandits who had attacked Mavri on the road. Fortunately, the East Storm Company had no discomfort with criminals unless someone had paid them for it.
At Ruggen’s urging, Mavri again spoke with Eltha, the accomplished mage who had deemed Mavri’s injuries too costly on her time. Eltha was sitting at a desk amid cluttered books and documents. Mavri could only guess what sort of work a magician of her calibre would handle between missions.
“Ah, Mavri, right? Again?” Eltha asked. She had a scalp covered in bead-braided hair, a few scars on her forehead, and a tattoo of a skeletal hand over her own. She barely looked up when Mavri shuffled into her small office.
Mavri nodded, but realized Eltha wouldn’t have seen the gesture. “Er, yes. I was wondering if you had looked into that ruin?”
“Ruin?” Eltha asked, finally looking up. “Oh yes, the one crawling with reanimated? Year by year they’ll grow more still, more rotten, and less dangerous.”
“I understand that—but if a sorcerer did this, what if there are more such place? More dangerous ones, even?” Mavri asked. She fumbled in her satchel and withdrew the parchment she had brought. “I’ve sketched the crest I described. Perhaps it would help?”
Eltha snatched it from Mavri, unrolled it, and blinked. Mavri had a good hand for such things—after all, many works in the forge required diagrams or schemas. The magician smiled. “This is the crest of the royal house of Dralagar.” Seeing the blank expression on Mavri’s face, she went on: “The Kingdom of Dralagar fell…about four hundred years ago, though it seems unlikely the reanimated that you encountered have walked those halls since then. Likely someone made a hideout for themselves in the ruins. This—” she passed the parchment back, “—is little to go on.”
Mavri sighed. “Perhaps we should look into any accounts of similar attacks?”
“Mavri, it’s not a contract, right? It’s just something that happened,” Eltha exclaimed. “Heal up, then get back to work. If a Councillor or a wealthy merchant wants us to investigate, we will when they pay us.”
“Right,” Mavri said, then muttered a curse beneath her breath as she stepped out of the office. She had been afraid of that seemingly inevitable response. Maybe Ruggen would have better luck than her, asking with his own contacts in the city for similar ‘tall-tales’ of the undead. Eltha was right on one thing, Mavri realized as she grimaced on her way down the stairs. I do need to heal up.