Chapter 2- Execution: The Final Stage

~~~

The thumbnail had yielded results, of what nature Renfield struggled to discern. Of what value it held for him personally, was anyone’s guess. He had begun to feel he had little wick to burn before the wax would cover all things. Since escaping the dungeons of Dirvlish Prison decades before, Renfield had cultivated a lifestyle for himself of avoiding the familiar burn of time’s passing. He had reached a point in which, in his mind, he was very much the candlestick on which things rested. Not involved, but adjacent. But he could see now drippings of things, and felt covered- uncomfortably so- in the hardening wax of things beyond his complete control. He was becoming a part of a dying candle and would be discarded in the same way. It was the last thing he wanted to be, but alas here he was.

When a knock on the door had interrupted Renfield earlier his heart had skipped in its rhythm. His tool had been poised to do its work, the question had been asked and was hanging in the air with delightful heaviness. He was wrenched out of the precious moment by the sound of knuckle on wood, and was forced to open the door. He peered out from a small opening, a shaft of vision to see the source of the intrusion.

He stared blankly at green eyes, at a man’s head with red hair.

“Yes?”

“Yes, hi. Specialist uh... sir, we have a situation.”

“I’m dealing with a ‘situation’ myself at the moment, under strict orders by the highest official in Ripple. Tell me, what sort of ‘situation’ emboldens you to interrupt me in my dealings.”

Renfield noticed the man cringe at the use of the word ‘dealings’, he wrapped his fingers on the door frame impatiently.

The ginger soldier did his best to rush, but his mind tripped him up. The result was a cascade of words strung together with very little care.

“The man, that is, there’s a man. At the main entrance… he, uh, well he says he was sent by the Mayor… he wants to see the prisoners. And seeing as how you, you know, are technically the highest ranking man here… at the moment that is. Well, I’d like your clearance. If you could come with me…?”

Renfield watched as the words stopped sputtering. The soldier cocked his head, awaiting an answer.

“No. Please leave me be.”

The man protested.

“But we…”

Renfield held up his hand and spoke through a tense, clenched jaw.

“The comings and goings of bureaucratic thugs doesn’t concern me. If I’m the high ranking man here, then I order you to fuck off and deal with this ‘situation’ yourself.”

The guard’s face displayed his surprise, then a disappointed acceptance. Renfield slammed the door abruptly.

Then he had tried his best to return to his precious moment. But it was tainted by a new element of a rushed timeline. Renfield had hoped to have hours to extract the things he needed from these Dwarves. Brave as they are, foolhardy is another word, it would not be an easy task under ordinary circumstances. Now, potentially, Renfield’s own executioner awaited clearance into the building and no doubt, in a matter of moments, would be at this door again. Same knocking, different results. He would gain access, would wait for Renfield to finish, and then he would finish Renfield.

His twisted mind practically clicked with paranoia.

He looked up to see Abe peering at him, grin fixed to his face.

“Something wrong, Inquisitor? You look distracted. Is someone here to see us? That was awful rude of you to turn away a guest.”

“I daresay we are better off without him. Enough from you.”

Renfield moved back to his position behind Finn, he snatched her fingers in his, then without warning or a question- he ripped the nail loose.

Finn shouted in surprised pain, as Stauch screamed.

“You fucking bastard, I’ll kill you. You hear me, who ever you are? You leave her be or you’re a dead man.”

Renfield slapped him hard in the face. The blow was not enough to hurt the raging Dwarf, but it did grab his attention.

“Silence, please. I have a question I need to ask.”

He re-fixed his attention on the leader of the group.

“Who do you work for? Answer that question truthfully, quickly, or I take another nail.”

Finn had regained her composure and was breathing in slow and deep.

“Don’t tell him anything, I’m fine.”

Renfield shook his head.

“I haven’t even done the worst part, your nail remains hanging by a single nerve. In order to remove it completely, I have to do this.”

He took the hanging thing in his hand, and twisted it. The pain shot down Finn’s arm, up her shoulder, and into her face. Her cheek spasmed, as she struggled not to scream. She succeeded.

Abe cleared his throat.

“We don’t know his name.”

It was Finn’s turn to shake her head.

“Abe, don’t…”

“There’s no harm in it, this gives them nothing. We received letters, we showed up somewhere, now we are here. No name signed to the letter, just an abbreviation. V.B.”

“Do you have the letter with your possessions, could I see it?”

Staunch had stopped his yelling and ranting, and was following Abe’s lead.

“We burned it. We were told to, in the letter.”

“Where were you told to meet?”

Abe responded again; his tone was flat, but his eyes burned of murderous intent. Renfield was not a man easily scared, but this made him sweat under his cowl.

“Some tavern, at the Gate to the Shadows.”

“Helfguard? Why?”

Finn sighed.

“We don’t know, it didn’t say. At least mine didn’t. Only said ‘A great and dreadful force is approaching, this is your chance to help prepare for its inevitable landfall.’ “

“Have you received other letters, since then I mean? Any further reasons?”

Abe looked at him pointedly.

“Yes. One. Also destroyed. I believe we were to find our own reasons.”

Renfield thought on this truth, he had so many more questions now. The confusion caused his scar to flair again. He fought the urge to remove his gloves, his mask, and rip at the skin.

Abe spoke with honesty in this matter, that was clear to Renfield, but it made no sense.---Three dwarves who appeared- based on their clothing and accents -completely different. They came from different regions, from different levels of wealth, and presumably were leading dissimilar lives; they all received the same letter and just got up and went, leaving their lives behind for an unknown cause. How were they selected? Why these dwarves? Were there others who received the letters, and ignored the call? It was possible that these were the only recipients foolish enough to accept. Somehow Renfield doubted it. There was some sorcery here, a magical connection that remained obscured from view.

Renfield had to choose his next questions carefully in his dwindling time alone with this ragged group of wanderers. He was not gathering the type of information that he had hoped for, found nothing useful to his own escape in these answers. A noose was tightening on these proceedings, and Renfield had few precious moments left to see his neck slip free before things went taut.

He returned to Finn who remained still in her chair. Her eyes were closed, squeezed shut in concentration as she inhaled and exhaled deeply. Renfield remembered the alien feeling of nudity that had followed the pain, the peculiar coldness of the air on the now naked nail-bed. It contrasted delightfully with the stinging burn that was raging in the severed threads of ripped nerve endings. He managed a smile, despite the dire situation. He deftly slipped his tool under another nail, this time the smallest one. Renfield had squirmed the most when losing that one. He wondered why that was…

“What were you doing in Wave then? What did you find in the tower? What’s on those scrolls?”

Finn was muttering something under her breath, indiscernible to the others in the cold, concrete tomb.

Abe spoke again, eyes still burning murder into Renfield’s skull.

“You know about the tower, or at least your handlers do. They know what was in it, otherwise they wouldn’t have known to associate the scrolls with the damn thing. We left those rooms in cinders, so they clearly knew what was in the tower to begin with, and they’re looking for something. You know who I am, you figured it out. What makes you think they don’t know as well? Who are we? What were we doing in Wave? I don’t understand the motive of this questioning. Your bosses know more than they’re letting on, they feign ignorance. What’s the point in speaking? We are dead either way, just kill us quickly and be rid of the problem. Your masters won’t let us free, little doggy, so I grow tired of your yapping.”

Abe closed his mouth, eyes still fixed on the Inquisitor, and spoke no more.

Renfield fought to ignore the truth in the words. He couldn’t.

The mayoral title is only tasked with keeping the peace in Ripple. It had little, to nothing, to do with these people. They came through Ripple and transgressed on the wrong side of the local law very little. Finn was apprehended doing minor mystic arts. Frowned upon in Ripple, surely, but it was hardly the first time that had happened in the city's past. A summary judgment is normally rendered quickly, and punishment is served. Instead they let her go, & let the party leave for Wave. Why? To see what they would do? They attacked a tower of some sort, Renfield had no idea there was even a tower near Wave. Surely not one which anyone in Ripple would take interest in. It didn’t garner this much attention from a man who was commissioned with the duties to protect the city. There was no cause for many of these questions. ‘What they were doing in Millquad, how they came in possession of a hammer, the tower, Wave,’ none of it was pertinent to the stoney walls of High- Ripple. Why risk the loss of resources, of time, of an effective Inquisitor like himself? Besides all that, why risk an all out war with a powerful Dwarven Kingdom in the far North. There was something else pulling the puppet strings here. A matter of great importance- beyond Ripple- was a target for someone who had the power to demand things of the mayor. The mystery of whom remained enigmatic, just as did the identity of the person who wrote the letters to his fellow captives.

He left Finn’s little finger unscathed and returned the tool to it’s place in the bag. He removed a long dagger from the kit. Its edge was fine, sharp to the slightest touch. Renfield circled around the room- thinking to himself, pacing about while eyes followed him.

So we were upon it. He had one more question, and then the three dwarves he was drawing breath with would leave the mortal plane. Their bodies would become property of the city, and their corpses would face one of two fates.

Renfield gave no mind what happened to the carcasses of Finn, or Stauch. From what he could tell, there would be nobody of great import coming for their bodies. Abe, however, would have to be a different consideration for the bureaucratic minds of High-Ripple. Either Abe’s body would be returned to the hallowed halls of Frostforge Keep, in following with the Dwarven tradition, and Renfield would be made scapegoat. Offered up as sacrifice for the peace of the city. In this case, Renfield would have to reduce any signs of torture on the noble prince. He would have to eliminate him quickly, and run. If there was no physical manifestation of torture involved, at least, it would be very difficult for the liars of Ripple to blame an inquisitor who clearly asked no questions of the royal prisoner. If it went well -very very well- Renfield would be able to return to his life adjacent status after a brief interval.

A quick death would look like an order, especially if properly executed. Having the wolves of Ripple nipping at his remaining good heel as a solitary predator in the night; that sounded preferable to having a great Bear from under the mountain lumbering after him as well. After all, he had seen the incompetence of the Guardian’s of Ripple firsthand, and he liked his odds if given a head start on the trail, even with his considerable limp. If he played his chances just right, the bear would chase the wolves away.

The other option was to burn the bodies, bury the witnesses, and deny everything. Renfield would be included amonst the buried, so the action in both scenarios was clear. Cut and run.

Also in both instances, he would need something crucial to survive- leverage. Being an interragater of men, Renfield had some already cradled in his mind. Tucked away facts heard through screams, hidden amongst pleadings and posturings. None, or next to it, that applied to his predicament, but he suspected his next question could lead to more.

“I admire you Abe, truly I do. You spoke to save your friend from the pain, despite the fact that she could easily handle it. You are honorable, loyal, and strong. That much is clear. So now the questions fall on your companions. Finn, and you too Stauch, pay attention- I will ask one more question, which you will answer. If you do so without further prodding, I will extend my mercy. If you do not…”

Renfield spun the knife around in his hand and clipped the threading on Abe’s wound. Abe didn’t utter a word, or grimace, or squirm. He sat unmoving, his head forward, his gaze fixed on the knot in the door once more. His shoulder gushed fresh blood as Finn hissed something and Stauch bellowed more idle threats. Renfield raised his dagger again gently probed the tissue with flat of the blade. The Inquisitor spoke up over the protesting of the two remaining dwarves.

“Abe the Bold, will die from this wound.”

They both grew silent. Finn spoke first.

“You are a coward. You said you’d help him before. Why should we believe your words of mercy?”

She shook her head with disillusion, in weary frustration.

“They’re empty, like you.”

Abe spoke up. His vision was blurring, but his voice was a booming tone, unabated by the pain that was exploding from his shoulder.

“Ask your question, and get on with this charade.”

“Thank you, Abe. I should say before I ask, I did help you. I have the power to take away my assistance, which I am. If you give me what I need; I can help once more.”

Finn responded, wearily resigned.

“What choice do we have?”

“Where, exactly, did you get Thorin’s Hammer? Where is the Lost Tomb?”

Abe managed to twist his neck around enough through the pain to meet Renfield’s eyes. What was there was a look of surprise, that Renfield took as unassociated with the agony Abe was feeling.

“How…?”

The Inquisitor scraped bone with a metalic scritch that writhed in the air with violent subtlety, remaining careful not to tattoo any evidence of further abuse on the wound. Abe went silent, this time he closed his eyes as tears fell from them.

“Answer, now.”

“2 days hike Northwest of Millquad.”

Stauch uttered numbly.

Renfield removed the blade. He listened intently.

Finn spoke in barely a whisper.

“ Follow the path past the silo at Lamben’s Crossroad. After a kilometer, head east at the dying birch, you’ll see the statue.”

“You removed that from its hand? The statue? How? Did you break it off?”

Abe laughed throatily. Phlegm and blood thrashed violently within the sound, it was unearthly.

“It released it to us. It fell before our feet, and the tomb opened up underneath it.”

Renfield was flummoxed. He knew from the handle of the great warhammer that it was enchanted. He remembered in vague detail a description of the legendary weapon, the source of the description was a scroll lost somewhere in his quarters. A large thing, it’s weight remained eerily light in the hands of the righteous, but when swung -it 'hammered with the impact of a hundred waves crashing on a rocky shore'.

Renfield had written off the tales as utter nonsense. The stories of it’s owner were similarly unbelievable. A great Druid Dwarf who made the forests, lived for a thousand years, and eventually was felled by a dragon of some sort over two-hundred years before. Since the supposed death of Thorin, many rich men paid handsomely to find the Lost Tomb and the treasures that lay within. All returned empty handed, with no sign of such a place. It had been written off as folly by many historians since. And yet… here was the hammer. Renfield recognized a peculiar feeling when he had touched the handle of the beastly thing. It was alive. Green and mossy like a growing sapling in the deep forest, moist to the touch. It was a thriving limb. The feeling had filled him with unease.

Renfield just stood, his blank face betraying none of the thoughts racing through his head. His eyes traced light patterns in his mind, but to the dwarves he looked gone away.

Stauch growled in frustration at the crippled inquisitor.

“Hey! Quit standing there, you said you’d help.”

Renfield returned from his trance state, and blinked in the light of the room, such as it was.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

~~~

Salvic grumbled to himself as he marched down the hallway. His boots tapped loudly with each stride.

“Didn’t ask for this shit. Don’t want any part of it, but here I am stepping to it. Good fucking soldier boy I am, off to do some other inane task. It never ceases…”

He turned a corner and nearly ran headlong into Tilum, whose face made no expression. The two men stood face to face for a moment.

“Well, what the fuck are you looking at? Step aside, idiot peasant. A Sergeant of The Guardians of High Ripple demands it.”

He spit out the words with particular venom, not even making an attempt to hide his contempt for the title or the job.

Tilum stepped aside silently and made a motion with his hand to pass, Salvic looked at it for a moment.

“Oh, why thank you. So fucking kind of you.”

Salvic continued along his path, and his grumbles faded from earshot.

Tilum never felt emotions to any great degree; if he had such tools at his disposal, he would have been quite relieved. Such as it was, he had been prepared to spear the man in the face if he made the wrong move. Instead he had left as quickly and loudly as he had appeared. Tilum blinked once, then turned the corner.

Down the hall he went, passing several doors and getting to an open threshold at the end. Emerging through it, he was met with another set of steps which he ascended two at a time. The sabotaged tank beneath him was due to explode in exactly five minutes, if Bill’s calculations were trustworthy- which Tilum had no reason to believe otherwise. Tilum would have to find his brother quickly before the night turned to chaos.

Picking up his pace, he transgressed the next doorway and walked into the hallway on this new floor. His ears perked up. He heard voices. Not Bill’s voice, or Tilk’s. Bill had ran off into a different direction after they put the tailor to sleep. Tilum had been on his own to find Tilk, and he could feel that his brother was close. The voices faded in the opposite direction and he continued.

~~~

Tilk had found the items without much trouble. Lomin had not led him astray, and in a few minutes he found himself facing three large sacks behind a closed door. Removing the gauntlet from his toolbox, he fixed it onto his hand and began to sling the party’s wares onto his shoulders. The bags were heavy with objects.

A soft knock at the door, a pristine moment of reticence.

Tilk froze, his face twitched with nervous energy. He tried to sound normal.

“Yes?”

A familiar voice called faintly from the other side.

“I’m here.”

Tilk unlatched the door and opened it fully. Tilum entered and unshouldered his bag, removed his own gauntlet, and turned the gasket on the wrist. A small hiss escaped. He touched eyes with Tilk and smiled a vacous smile.

Words were unnecessary between the brothers. Tilum had found Tilk based on an innate instinct and Tilk knew it. His days wondering about the almost mystic connection between them were gone, instead he had grown comfortable in the thought that his brutish sibling could find him wherever he was- especially if he was in trouble. Tilk could feel it as well, but had ceased having to worry about Tilum’s well being by twenty years. Nobody quarreled with the beast who barely spoke and kept to himself. Not anymore.

Tilum reached out a muscular arm for the bags, and Tilk obliged- handing them over. Tilum took the burden with little effort, then shrugged. ‘What next?’

Tilk responded to the breathless question as if it had been voiced.

“I suppose we wait for the signal, then we unleash hell.”

Tilum flexed his gauntleted hand.

’Two Minutes…’

~~~

The man facing Aesop now was beside himself, for what reason he had no idea. Bishop matched the man’s frustrated demeanor, adding a little extra fervor to the attitude. More entitled to it was an Aide to the Mayor of Ripple than some lowly goddamn soldier. If this soldier ’Salvic’ gave him too much guff, he’s have to cuff him in the head- to make an example.

Instead the man had begun to temper his tone.

“…so you can understand the issue here.”

“Aide. Prescott. Do you have ears? I see you do, but perhaps they’re just for show. I am to be taken to the prisoners immediately. Or the proper authorities will hear about it, including your commanding officer.”

Salvic guffawed at that.

“He’s down at the dock’s getting wet between the legs of a dirty whore, but you’re welcome to interrupt him. Aide Prescott, sir.”

Bishop glowered at him but remained speechless. Aesop wondered what this particular idiot’s problem was, to talk to a man of such stature in so rude a manner. For a minute Aesop was worried that Sergeant Salvic had seen through his ruse, but he had noticed belief in his eyes as he had read the forged order. Instead of covering his ass and complying, the guard was taking the opportunity to take his superior officer to task in front of an Aide of the Mayor.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to come here and help straighten things out, but more likely he’ll thank you for the interruption by loping your head off. So, you probably want to buckle down and deal with me. Who knows? Maybe we can find an end to this shit night that is something passing fucking pleasant.”

Salvic seemed a dog at the end of his chain.

Aesop held his tongue. So did Bishop, he unclenched his fists.

“Agreeable. Given the circumstances. What’s the question? Make this quick, please.”

Salvic fiddled with his shoulder armor.

“Pretty simple question, really. If I let you in, and take these prisoners away, am I done? I want to have nothing else to do with them. Do you hear? Last time I spoke to one of your Black Uniformed friends I was told to wait here until the Interrogation is over, now you’re here and I am sensing that, unless I put my shit covered boot down, I will be on the hook like a bastard fish being reeled into the next disaster. I’m done, do you understand? You take these prisoners, and you don’t contradict yourself an hour later. No showing up at my fucking door as I’m drifting off into the sweet arms of sleep, holding those fucking dwarves out to me saying ‘actually, plans changed again’. Am I clear on my part? This is the last order I take from a man not wearing these colors.”

Salvic finished the last and indicated at his hideously garish armor, partially incomplete. His boots were bare to the night. His two compatriots stood fully uniformed behind him and nodded silent agreement, almost proudly.

“Still means something here, despite how you lot have been treating me tonight. My name is Sergeant Salvic, and it’s time it’s remembered.”

Aesop made his best face of righteous anger, then stifled it, and Bishop nodded in agreement.

“Good lord, are you done? Fine, yes. Sergeant Salvic, I will take these prisoners off your hands and you will never see them again.”

The insufferable nit smiled a humorless, yellowed grin.

“Bout damn fucking time.”

~~~

It had happened so swiftly, and with a sickening lack of deference.

“Of course.” He had said, then he lifted the dagger, and in a quick motion- Renfield opened Abe’s neck from end to end. Blood spilled out onto his naked chest and down his trousers.

Finn gave voice to a wail, but fell silent. The sound caught in her throat and died there.

Stauch’s voice was barely audible to her, despite the fact that he was screaming at the brink of his abilities, pulling on his constraints. His words were a world away, and she was drowning in something. She tried to look into the face of her friend one more time, to see any sign of life in his eyes, his head was hanging forward. Motionless.

The Inquisitor took the dagger and sliced through the ropes tying Abe to the chair, his lifeless body slumped over.

“You fucking killed him! You said you’d help him and you killed him!”

Stauch’s throat was corded with veins, his voice thrashed the still air of the room. He was beginning to cry through the screams, the tears and spittle flew into the air and on the floor in front of him.

Finn was transfixed by image of Abe’s body on the cold ground. A large pool of blood was spreading quickly on the floor as it drained from him. It reached her foot, streaking the bottom of her boot in it’s hue. She released a gasp, a held breath from when it happened, and sobbed uncontrollably.

Renfield looked curiously at her, noticing her not moving her foot from the fluid that was flowing from her newly deceased friend. She looked up and quietly, almost meekly, repeated what Stauch was screaming at her side.

“Why? We told the truth, you were supposed to help him. You gave your word.”

“In the mouths of most Inquisitors you will find mostly lies and questions, but I am no such one. I said that if you didn't answer, the wound would kill him. I kept my word. It was not that wound that killed him. I ended his life quickly, it was the only help to be offered. To him. To any of you. I’m sorry for your loss, but perhaps you can find solace in the fact that you will join him shortly. In that, lies mercy. There is none here."

Stauch had stopped shouting at the top of his lungs, and instead simply snarled at the murderer that stood in the room with him.

“There was no honor in that. He was unarmed. He could have lived.”

Renfield felt sorry for the dolt, he walked behind him and yanked his head back by the long, brown hair.

“No. He said so himself, could you not hear over your own thrashing? There was no way out of this room. Not for him, and not for you.”

The blade touched Stauch’s throat, and for a brief moment he could feel the sticky heat from the blood still soaking the steel. Finn looked through bleary eyes at her friend’s face. And mouthed the words ‘no, please’. Her breath had left her for good.

Suddenly, a fist pounded on the door with such force as to rattle the bolt in it's chamber, three times.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Renfield startled, dropping the bloody dagger into Stauch's lap.

A voice commanded confidently from the other side.

“Specialist Renfield. Open this door. Immediately.”

Renfield felt the hope drain from him in a shot. He had run out of time.

What now?