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“Wait,” you whisper back to Gratia, gesturing for her to stay her hand. For someone who was scolding you about sparing one earlier, she seems to have changed her mind very quickly. You kneel down a short distance away from the older man, so you can look him in the eyes. You won’t get any closer, just in case he has some kind of nasty surprise waiting for you, but you can do him this courtesy at least.
“Your lost master,” you ask, “Who is he? Kalthos?”
“The Great Pale Wanderer. Yes, Kalthos,” the man nods slowly, lowering his voice as he says the name, “Great Teacher Kalthos, whose lessons break the shackles imposed upon the strong. I am but the latest in a long lineage, those who have inherited his wisdom. Yet, men are forgetful. The secrets we keep today are but the faintest echoes of what he once taught us. That is why we sought him out.”
That’s not exactly the straightest answer you’ve ever heard, but at least he’s cooperating. It’s strange, comparing this man with the fiend you met in Amaryllis. The Facilitator seemed spiteful, mocking, the kind of man who savours every bit of anger and frustration he spreads. This man here seems calmer, as if he’s made peace with his failure. Perhaps he’s realised that if he dies today, he won’t have to face the coming horrors. There might be some comfort in that.
If he’s cooperative so far, you reason, he might be worth keeping around. You don’t want to deal with him, but you know someone who might.
“We’re taking him alive,” you announce, giving Gratia a stern look, “I think Cato might want to speak with him.”
“If you say so,” Gratia answers, her expression unreadable.
-
You make sure to pocket the broken stone fragment before you leave, dragging the old man behind you on a makeshift leash made from a belt taken off the dead man. A strip of cloth ripped from the same corpse’s garb serves as a makeshift blindfold, just so your prisoner can’t see where you’re taking him. As unwelcome as the idea seems, you might need to keep him at the estate until Cato is able to fetch him.
Leading the prisoner up through the Demesne is a slow process, made worse by the cold, stilted mood amongst your companions. Normally you might be able to talk a little, perhaps even share a joke despite the solemn environment. Now, you don’t dare break the silence for fear of giving the prisoner something that he might use against you. More and more, you start to wonder if you should have just fed him to Gratia. At least that would get it over with.
The stairs are the worst part, but eventually you manage to emerge above ground. A thin rain falls, pattering against the canopy of trees above, but that sound can’t quite hide a louder rustle coming from the distant undergrowth. All the while you’ve been in the Demesne, something has been out here. Waiting for you.
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