What’s Lost is Found

“Oh man, it’s good to have my stomach full again!” Nat sighed. When they’d returned the missing marine to the Sable Company at the Great Tower, Commandant Endrin had insisted they eat at the Company’s mess, and had given them several days rations to tide them over until things settled down. All the marines had been excited to see their returned comrade, and had slapped the party’s backs and congratulated them on his rescue, but Nat had noticed that none of them spoke to Tomas; in fact, they wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. He wondered what that was all about.

But for now, all he cared about was getting off the streets. They were making their way back across town from the Great Tower to Madame Zellara’s. They were in the nicest area of the city, literally in the shadow of Castle Korvosa, but there was still evidence of recent violence, even if things were quiet now. Shadow stopped at a street corner, and the rest of the group halted with him. “You know,” he said, pointing down the street, towards the castle, “the jeweler who made that brooch we found at Lamm’s is just up this street. Maybe we should go there and see what he can tell us about it.” Nat still wondered how Shadow knew where the Queen’s brooch had been made, but he didn’t ask. He’d decided there was probably quite a lot about his new comrades he’d be better off not knowing.

Everyone else exchanged looks and shrugged. They could think of lots of reasons that might not be wise, but they’d already learned that Shadow tended to do what he wanted, regardless of what they thought. They followed the half-elf down the street, to a small building nestled in an elegant row of shops. A sign above the door showed a golden ship sailing in a sea of diamonds; it read “The Diamond Sea” in gilded script. The front window was boarded over, perhaps broken in the recent rioting. Inside, a portly halfling with an elaborately waxed and curled mustache was hastily stuffing jewelry into an iron strongbox, accompanied by a trio of burly Shoanti guards armed with spears. When he saw the scruffy looking party peeking in his door, he let out a screech. “Looters! Stop them – don’t let them rob me!”

His guards spun and lowered their spears menacingly, assuming a defensive posture around the halfling, but made no move to attack. “Settle down there!” Shadow said, raising his palms and trying to reassure the terrified shop owner. “We’re not here to rob you. In fact, we found something we think might have come from here – a certain brooch?”

The halfling’s attitude shifted from terrified to suspicious. “Show it to me!” he demanded, and nudged one of his bodyguards forward. Shadow slowly removed the brooch from his pocket, being careful not to make any sudden moves, and handed it to the Shoanti, who passed it back to his master. The halfling pulled a jeweler’s loupe out of his vest pocket and examined the brooch carefully. A look of relief washed over his face.

“My stars, you’ve found it! Thank goodness! I won’t even ask where you found it – I don’t want to know. For all I know, you’re the ones who stole it in the first place. But you’ll be wise to return it to the Palace. The Queen is offering a generous reward, far more than you’ll ever get trying to fence it – indeed, more than it cost to begin with. I understand she’s overcome with grief after her husband’s death, and the sentimental value of this bauble exceeds its true worth – at least for the moment.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Horatio Plumbottom, goldsmith to the King. Er … I guess to the Queen now. I made this for His Majesty as an engagement gift for his then bride-to-be, our new Queen. About a week ago, the clasp broke, and one of the Queen’s handmaidens brought it in to be repaired. A few nights ago, someone broke into my shop and stole it, along with a number of other less valuable pieces. But I’m guessing you already knew that. If you happen to have come across any of the other items that went missing, I will pay market price for them, no questions asked.”

A quick pass through their inventory revealed that several items they’d recovered from Lamm’s hideout were indeed loot from the jewelry store heist (although not everything that had been stolen). Nat wanted to dicker for a better price, but Shadow quickly silenced him. “Look around,” he hissed, pointing to the other shuttered shops. “Do you think we’re going to get a better price anywhere else?”

Wren was uneasy with the idea of taking the stolen brooch back to the castle. “Could you write us a note or something, saying we didn’t steal it?” she asked, but Plumbottom hastily demured. “Oh no! That might make it appear as if I had something to do with its theft in the first place. I’m not sure the Queen would care, but that old seneschal, Kaleopolis – he’s a suspicious old goat, and I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. The palace has made it clear they’re offering a reward for its safe return.”

“Yeah, they’ll reward us by throwing us straight in the dungeon,” Jax grumbled, but his concerns were overruled, and the party set off for the castle.

Castle Korvosa’s long shadow loomed over the city as a terrifying testament to the power of those who dwelt therein. A magnificent achievement of architecture, the castle walls and spires rose high into the sky above the city it ruled. The entire structure loomed even higher because of its ancient foundation — a Thassilonian monument in the shape of an immense flat-topped pyramid. Although one corner of this impressive foundation had fallen into ruin ages ago, the additions built onto the sides by eager and talented Korvosan masons have created one of the most recognizable landmarks in all of Varisia.

The area around the base of the palace showed signs of heavy fighting. Hastily constructed barricades of furniture and overturned wagons blocked many streets, and these barricades and the walls of surrounding buildings still bristled with the shafts of arrows and crossbow bolts. Dried blood stained the cobblestones, and in some places the cobbles themselves had been pried up, presumably to serve as weapons. At the base of the ramp leading up the mastaba a heavily armed contingent of Sable Company Marines and Knights of the Nail stood guard, but they allowed the party to pass when they heard their errand; they had instructions to allow anyone returning the missing brooch to pass.

The party climbed the broad ramp leading up the pyramid to the base of the castle walls. At the top they were stopped by another group of guards, these dressed in the livery of palace guards, armed with crossbows and swords. Again, they stated their errand, and were told they could pass,  but only if they left all weapons at the base of the stairs – no weapons were allowed in the presence of the Queen. There was some complaining, but the guards were unyielding, and ultimately everyone deposited their weapons and wands into a large wooden box; the guards frisked them to make sure no one had held anything back.

Sabina Merrin

With a squad of guards leading the way, the party continued up a broad staircase leading up the side of the castle wall, passing through a pair of gatehouses before they reached the entrance into the third floor of the castle. There they were met by a stern looking woman in magnificent plate armor. She looked like she may have once been strikingly beautiful, but now a network of ugly puckered scars criss-crossed the left side of her face and mouth. “Who are you?” Nat gulped involuntarily.

“I am Sabina Merrin, the Queen’s bodyguard,” she replied with a curt nod. “I understand you have something that belongs to the Queen.” Everyone looked to Shadow who pulled out the brooch and handed it over (for once, without a word). Sabina looked at the brooch carefully, then may have smiled (it was difficult to tell with her disfigured face).  “You may return to your posts,” she said, dismissing the guards. “These people pose no threat to the Queen.” Not sure whether to feel honored or offended, the party followed her into the castle. She led them through a pair of anterooms, and then into the throne room of Castle Korvosa.

The throne room itself was an immense open area with a vaulted ceiling, stained-glass windows of past kings and queens looking down from the eastern wall, and crimson tapestries hanging along the other. The room was pristine but strangely empty. An immense fireplace offered additional light and heat to the hall, and a silk carpet provided a gently arching path to a raised dais at the far end of the room. Atop the dais was the famous Crimson Throne of Korvosa.

Queen Ileosa sat upon the Crimson Throne, a vision of beauty despite the black mourning dress and veil she wore in honor of her husband’s death. With the party in tow, Sabina Merrin crossed the throne room to the foot of the dais. With a short motion for the party to stop, she climbed the stairs and knelt at the foot of the throne. “Your Grace, these citizens have recovered your missing brooch.” She handed the brooch to the Queen with a flourish, then rose to take up a position at the Queen’s left side.

Queen Ileosa held the brooch for a moment, gently caressing it. When she looked up, her eyes glistened with tears. “This brooch was an engagement gift from my late husband. It was stolen from the jeweler who was repairing its broken clasp. I had not expected to see it again, truth be told. And yet, here on my darkest day, you come before me with kindness. The return of this brooch is much more than an honorable deed. It is inspiration. It is hope.

“I love Korvosa, as my husband did before me. His death has shocked the city as it has me, but I will not see his legacy destroyed in death, and I shall not see his city - my city - torn apart. All Korvosa stands at the precipice of a disaster wrought by her own citizens — these riots cannot continue. You have already done my heart a great service in returning this precious heirloom to me on this dark day, and you shall be rewarded. Yet perhaps you can serve your city more.

“The Korvosan Guard is stretched thin, and it could certainly use the aid of honorable heroes such as you. If you so choose, I shall have Sabina see to it that you have letter from the Crown when you leave here. If you take it to Citadel Volshyenek it will recommend your services to Field Marshal Cressida Kroft.”

“Um, we’ve already been sort of working for the Guard,” Wren said softly.

“Of course you have!” Ileosa said with a smile. She turned to her bodyguard. “You see, Sabina? I told you there were more honorable people in this city than wicked ones!” She turned back to the party. “You renew my faith in this city, and its future. But now, I need to retire to my chambers — my grief has drained me. Again, I thank you for the kindness you have shown me, and I hope your days of serving the Crown are only just beginning.”

She nodded to Sabina Merrin, who picked up a silver chest that had been sitting at the foot of the throne. As the Queen left the chamber, her black silk dress billowing behind her, Sabina presented it to the party with a slight bow. “Your reward,” she said simply. Jax took the chest, and was happily surprised at how heavy it was.

Despite the fact that they were already working for Kroft, Shadow insisted on getting the document the Queen had promised. “If they won’t give us badges, at least we’ll have a document with the royal seal!” he explained.

The sun was setting by the time they left the castle, and they made it the rest of the way back to Zellara’s without incident, although as they descended from the Heights into Midland they began to once again see gangs of torch-bearing thugs roaming the streets.

Wren woke them all early the next morning. “I’m going to take Zellara to the Temple of Pharasma, to have her properly interred,” she explained as she placed the jar containing the seer’s head back into her backpack. The others agreed to join her, and they set out.

As they neared Last Way, they came upon a wild-haired man in rags, standing on a wooden crate preaching to passers-by. “The Eye of Groetus has turned from the Boneyard to look upon Korvosa!” he screeched. “The end times approach, and Groetus will devour all!” Then he spotted Nat, and his demeanor shifted. “You!” he cried, leaping off his makeshift podium and pointing at the young wizard. “You were in my dream! You are the chosen of Groetus!” Nat was looking around, certain he must mean someone else, but the madman was closing fast. “You will be a mighty wizard, a master of the dark arts, but you shall fall victim to a terrible sickness, and your disease will spread to all Korvosa, and herald the city’s fall!” He had thrown his arms wide, and his broad smile revealed a mouth full of yellowed, rotten teeth. “Oh Chosen One! Let me share in Groetus’ embrace!”

By now Nat was running, darting this way and that to avoid the street-corner preacher’s attempts to embrace him. The man was surprisingly quick, and Nat was having trouble staying out of reach. Shadow was trying hard not to laugh, but took pity on his young comrade, firing off a Jolt of electricity that caught the madman in the backside. He stopped in his tracks, throwing his arms wide and tilting his head to the heavens. “Oh joy!” he cried, “I have felt the touch of Groetus, and his holy power still tingles in my being. Hey!” he suddenly shifted his attention. “Bring back my pulpit!” Someone was carrying off the wooden box he’d been preaching from, and Groetus’ disciple took off in hot pursuit.

The party reached the Gray District and the Temple of Pharasma without further incident. Wren’s fellow clerics were overjoyed to see her. “We had no idea where you’d gone,” said Sister Elanaina, who seemed to have been Wren’s mentor, “and when the riots started and you didn’t return, we feared the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” Wren apologized. “I was so upset when my friend was brought in, that I had to … go take care of some things.

Sister Elanaina said nothing; she’d learned long ago not to ask Wren too many questions. After a moment, Wren continued. “My friends and I … went after the people who had killed Jit.” She withdrew the jar containing Zellara’s head from her pack. “This was a medium who reached out to us from the spirit world, and guided us. She was murdered by the same people who killed Jit. This was all we could recover of her body, and I want her to be properly taken care of.”

If the clerics of Pharasma were startled to see the severed head of someone who had spoken to Wren from beyond the grave, they didn’t show it. Elanaina nodded solemnly. “We will ensure she is prepared for her journey to the Boneyard, and interred near your friend.”

“Your friend, Jit – she was brought here?” Erin asked. She had been unusually withdrawn since they had arrived. Wren nodded. “And she had red hair?” Wren nodded again. “Can you show me where she’s buried?”

Elanaina led them to a fresh grave, not far from the Temple. “We haven’t placed a marker – we didn’t know what name to give her.”

“I have a name,” Erin said softly, her voice catching. “Her name was Brigitte. Brigitte Nelsson.” She looked up at their questioning faces. “She was my sister.”

Wren gasped. “Does 34 Canter Street mean anything to you?” she asked softly.

“That was the house we grew up in,” Erin replied.

“I’m so sorry,” Wren stammered. “When I … when it looked like I might get away from Lamm, Jit asked me to go there, to tell her family that she hadn’t run away. I … I …”

Erin put her arms around her. “My parents died soon after Brigitte disappeared. There would have been no one there,” she whispered. The two women held each other, weeping. Jax dropped to his knees beside the grave, and sank his fingers into the fresh earth, clutching his fists as if they were wrapped around Gaedren Lamm’s throat.

Sister Elanaina watched in silence for long minutes as they each mourned for all they had lost. Finally she spoke. “For each of you to share such pain and to have found each other is miraculous. the Lady of Graves clearly has some greater plan for you.”

“Madame Zellara certainly did,” Wren said. She turned to face the older cleric. “I .. I have to leave here for a while. Our business isn’t finished yet, and I suspect you’re right, that the Gods have plans for us. I hope that’s alright.”

Elanaina smiled. “I told you the day you arrived, child, that you could leave whenever you wished. But you may always return.”

“There’s one more thing I have to do,” Wren said. “I’ll just be a minute – I’ll meet you at the gate back into the city.” She hurried across the Temple grounds to the monastery. Inside, she knocked softly on one door; there was no answer, but she could hear soft snoring from inside. She opened the door and found an old monk asleep in a rocking chair, a blanket across his knees.

“Brother Elmund,” she called softly, gently shaking his shoulder. He woke easily, and smiled as he recognized Wren. “Hello child. Is it time for my broth again?”

“No, I’m here to return something I borrowed.” Wren unwrapped a bundle she carried, and unfolded a set of rusty chainmail. “I needed this, but I’ve found some new armor, and wanted to give this back to you.”

The old man nodded. “I wondered where I’d left that. Put it back on the peg there,” he said pointing a shaking finger at the wall. “I’ll need it if the demons come back out of the Worldwound.”

Erin replaced the armor, then drew the mace from her belt. “I need to keep the mace a little longer, if that’s alright.”

The old man narrowed his eyes. “Are you using it in the service of our Lady Pharasma?” Wren nodded, and he smiled. There was something grim about that smile, and he suddenly looked forty years younger. “That’s what it was forged for. I hope it serves you as well as it served me.” He was back asleep before she had left the room.