Chapter 142: 8.7 – Descent into Tarin-Tiran

“I’ve just about got it,” Drev said, a look of concentration on his face as he stood with one hand pressed against the remains of the latest mosaic the party was investigating.

This one was in the ruins of a small temple. Robin had already ransacked the place for hidden caches of knowledge, but aside from a few small scraps of scripture carved into the walls he’d come up empty. Jhess had done slightly better, finding a nest of things that looked like winged packrats. Their nest had a respectable collection of shiny things.

Currently, the rogue was going through the pile, pocketing anything that looked truly valuable and flipping the worthless bits of glass and polished metal to Rerebos, in his magpie-cat form.

“There!” Purple-white motes of light danced along Drev’s fingertips as he managed to temporarily activate the runic structure behind the mosaic.

This image was the clearest yet. Nilsiir stood by the altar, restored to its full glory in the illusion. Robin’s eyes tracked the inscriptions around the base. In reality, they were cracked and worn away in many places. Here, they were intact. He filed it away in his memory, more scraps of the faith of Rhyth to add to his collection.

The High Priest stood panting by the altar, crouching behind it for physical shelter as much as he must be leaning on it for metaphysical and metaphorical support.

‘Ah, here comes—what was the name?’ Drev was watching an approaching figure, flanked by two sets of the hobgoblin mercenaries.

‘Melusk,’ Vance said, studying the figure. ‘Some kind of important political figure within the city hierarchy, I think.’

‘I still say he could just be a powerful merchant,’ Drev opined.

‘There is no reason he cannot be both,’ Savra pointed out. ‘Now quiet. They are speaking.’

‘It’s over Nilsiir,’ the illusory shade of Melusk was saying. ‘You have been run out of all your hiding places, and the city is under my leadership now, with the full support of the merchant council, Leivniz’s faction, and the priesthood of Urkhan.’

‘And I suppose you want me to surrender now, and act the part of defeated leader to legitimise your destruction of this city?’ The illusory shade of Nilsiir stood shaking their head sorrowfully. ‘You may have been the doom that came to Tarin-Tiran, Melusk, but you’ll have no satisfaction from it. The city’s treasures shall not be yours, nor shall the people bow down before you and your foul and petty tyrant of a god. I’ve hidden the treasures where you shall never find them, in trust for the city’s future renewal, and the people are even now fleeing your army. Your victory here will ring hollow, and though your god has seen his will done, you will see nothing beyond these four walls.’

‘Your pretty tricks can’t touch me,’ Melusk sneered. ‘I’m protected against all your magics, warded against the greatest tricks your mewling sorcery can muster.’

‘Ah, Melusk, you great, pompous pustule on the ass-end of idiocy, you’ve lived in this city all your life and you’ve not managed to pick up on any of the precepts of our greatest cultural art?’ Nilsiir stepped out from behind the altar, tossing a small bag of coins in their hand. It landed with a heavy clink each time they did so. ‘Never assume that the trick is happening where the magician directs your eye—‘ the illusion of the High Priest vanished, only to reappear as an army of duplicates, one for each of the hobgoblins surrounding the politician, ‘—and never, ever, forget that the true power of illusion is understanding the art of misdirection.’

Melusk cried out as the army of Nilsiirs all pulled daggers and began burying them in the politician’s body. The original illusion reappeared by the altar and shook its head.

‘Why would I waste spells on you when all it took was a pouch of gold and the promise that whosoever dealt you the fatal blow could have your old rank? Your little army may all be faithful to Urkhan, but does not your god teach that only the strongest hold power, and that if you fall it is only due to your own weakness?’

‘I will kill you,’ Melusk rasped, summoning a serious flare of hate to hold on to consciousness while the blades slammed into him repeatedly. That or the protections on the politician were truly impressive—though clearly no match for two squads of determined hobgoblins with spellbreaking daggers.

Nilsiir ran a hand along the altar and sighed.

‘I’m afraid you’re already far too late. Even if you do manage to return from the dead somehow, I’m afraid you’ll find I’m already dead,’ Nilsiir said cheerfully. ‘I’m not going to let you wankers have any joy from this little catastrophic invasion, and my life was the price. I may be walking, but I’m just as dead as you’re about to be. Ta-ta!’

The image of Nilsiir vanished, but the illusory scene played on until Melusk’s torn and bloody body finally ceased moving. Then the hobgoblins—no long wearing the image of Nilsiir—fell upon one another in a mad scramble to seize whatever power was left up for grabs by Melusk’s death.

‘Well, at least we know the good stuff is probably still hidden somewhere,’ Jhess said cheerily.

‘That’s your takeaway from all of this?’ Drev looked at her.

‘What? Self-sacrifice spells are a big deal! Everyone knows that! There’s now ay a curse of that magnitude would be countered so easily. I mean look at this place! The wild magic, the living dungeon?’ Jhess shook her head. ‘There is treasure here, somewhere deep.’

‘And you think we’ll be the ones to find it? Why?’ vance looked intrigued.

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‘Because not only do we have a diviner on our side, but we’re not an invading horde, we do not worship any of the gods that any old ghosts knocking around this place might resent, and we have an actual bard and illusionist on our side.’ Jhess grinned. ‘Oh, and of course we have our own living dungeon as an ally. How could we not eventually find the hidden treasure?’

‘That reminds me,’ Vance said, ‘once we’re done here, we really need to round up some more monsters to lure back to Ruprecht’s killing grounds.’ He looked at Jhess, eyes dancing. ‘Our ally will need fuel if he’s going to help us delve as deep as we’ll likely need to.’

‘I can send Rere out to scout for some,’ Robin said, nudging his familiar mentally.

Rerebos yawned at him, but after the mental promise of more shinies, bestirred himself to flit out of one of the ruined windows to scout around for monster activity.

Robin moved to the altar and began to examine it carefully. There had been something about the script on it in the illusion that was tugging at his subconscious. He ran his fingers over the stone. Smooth, like cold silk.

‘What are you looking for?’ Jhess asked.

‘I’m not sure. I thought I saw something in that illusion,’ Robin crouched down and tried to follow the script based on the fragments that were still visible.

‘Nilsiir did say they were leaving stuff behind. Presumably they’d want the right sort of person to find it.’ Jhess hopped up near the altar to join Robin in searching.

‘And you’re just that sort of person, I take it?’ Robin smiled to take the bite out of his words.

‘Definitely! The exact right sort of person to take care of all that poor, orphaned treasure!’

Savra flipped her coin.

‘You’re right to keep looking,’ she said. ‘I can’t see if you’ll find anything, but…’

‘Bingo!’ Robin’s hand found the word he was looking for. He channelled a bit of magic into the spot, using [Lesser Phantasm] to make the word glow.

Nilsiir’s face appeared in the altar, the curving lines of script serving as mouth and two sockets where precious gems had long since been pried out as his eyes. Robin recognised this spell! It was one he’d been considering!

Tarin-Tiran must live again! So seek the silver star! You’re on your way, from the path don’t stray, but stop to pray where the brute holds sway!

The language was that of old Tarin-Tiran. Robin had found enough examples of it so far to recognise it. None of the others could read or understand it, and he’d let them know that he could follow fragments.

‘Something about a silver star, a danger—maybe a strong one, like, physically strong—and, something about keeping to a path?’

‘Well, we’ve been following the path laid down by Red, even if that’s not the path that was meant,’ Vance pointed out.

Savra flipped her coin.

‘Good and bad, in great measure, if we keep to it,’ the seeress said, ‘but I think it is the best course of action for now.’

Rerebos chose that moment to flit back in to the building and loose a triumphant meow. He’d found suitable prey for his friend Ruprecht, giver of shinies!

That was their cue!

‘Come on, y’all,’ Robin said, heading out, ‘we got some monsters to wrangle!’

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