Grand Game 503: Old Nightmares Rekindled

For an unaccountable time, I stared unseeing at Shael. 

Saya dead? Impossible.

“That can’t be right,” I said inanely.

The bard cackled bitterly. “Ah, I wish it were so, friend, but it’s true.” He made a shooing gesture with his hands. “So run along and find somewhere else to stay tonight. Because the rooms in this here tavern of death are all full up tonight.”

Rising to his feet and uncaring of the chair that fell flat behind him, Shael staggered up to the bar and rifled through the contents. Searching for another bottle, I suspected.

“Tell me how it happened, Shael,” I ordered woodenly.

Maybe it was my use of his name or something in my voice, because the next moment, the bard jerked upright, bottles forgotten. “Do I know you?” he asked, squinting at me.

“It’s Michael,” I said softly.

The bard’s reaction was not what I expected.

“Again?” he scoffed. “You’re trying this again? What the hell is wrong with you!”

My brows furrowed. “I don’t—” 

Moving with surprising quickness, Shael picked up an empty bottle off the bar counter and flung it at me.

I ducked the projectile easily enough, but that didn’t stop a message from the Adjudicator unfurling in my mind.

Violation of safe zone protocols detected. The player Shael has taken hostile action against you. Do you wish him punished?

Ignoring the Game alert, I glared at the bard. “Damnit, Shael, stop!”

“Go away, witch!” he roared. “Haven’t you done enough already? Just leave me alone!”

“I don’t bloody know what you’re talking about!” I roared back. “Now, are you going to shut up and explain, or do I need to beat some sense into you first?”

Shael picked up another bottle.

“Don’t,” I warned. “It really is me—Michael.”

The bard hesitated. “You don’t look like him.”

“Nor do I sound like me,” I agreed. “But I’m a deception player. Hells, you are one too. And you know as well as I do, faces are malleable.”

Shael lowered the bottle. “Prove it. Prove you’re Michael.”

“How?”

The bard thought for a moment. “Where did we first meet?”

“That’s easy. At the feet of the Adjudicator in Nexus.”

Shael relaxed fractionally. “What’s the first thing you paid me to do?”

“That’s trickier,” I allowed. “Do you mean the message I asked you to carry to the Shadow Quarter? Or the information I purchased from you about Nexus’ dungeons.”

The half-elf dropped the bottle. “It is you,” he breathed.

I nodded grimly. “It is. Now, sit down and tell me where the hell Saya is.”

✵ ✵ ✵

“I told you,” Shael said softly when we’d seated ourselves at one of the tables. “Saya’s dead.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe that.”

“Believe it,” he said bitterly. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

I stared at him searchingly. There was no denying Shael was a mess. There were bags under his eyes, his hair was disheveled, his clothes were torn, and he stank worse than a sewer. Worse yet, the minstrel’s most prized possession—his flute—was nowhere to be seen. 

All signs pointing to someone lost to the bottle.

Or in the throes of grief.

I closed my eyes. No, it can’t be.

“Tell me,” I demanded.

Shael shrugged despondently, his hands opening and closing as if searching for the comfort of a bottle. “There’s not much to tell. You showed up here, convinced Saya and I to leave the safe zone with you, then killed her.” He shuddered. “Over and over.”

“I showed up?”

Shael nodded. “Someone wearing your face anyhow.” He fell silent for so long I didn’t think he would continue. “It was the envoy,” the bard said finally.

“Whose envoy?” I asked sharply, but I knew already. Deceit and trickery had been employed in the attack, and only one Power in the valley was known for that.

“Loken’s,” Shael said in damning confirmation.

I rocked back in my chair, keeping a tight rein on the rage, anger, and grief boiling inside me. If I let it go… 

No, I can’t do that. 

Exhaling slowly, I reviewed what I knew of Loken’s envoy, which was little enough. Other than knowing she was likely a woman and a deception player, I knew naught else. The one time we’d met—after she’d laid a compulsion on the dire wolves—the envoy had managed to hide nearly everything about herself, including her Marks, face, and level.

I needed to know more. Much more.

“Explain,” I rasped.

The bard raised eyes, bloodshot and swimming with guilt, to meet mine. “Haven’t I done so already?” he demanded. “Loken’s envoy tricked us. And I, like a gullible fool, fell for it. What else can you possibly want to know?”

I leaned forward. “I want to know the details. For instance, how do you know it was Loken’s envoy who lured you and Saya out of the safe zone?”

“Because that’s what she named herself!”

But what’s to say she was telling the truth? I wanted to ask but didn’t. Letting the issue lie, I moved on. “You said Loken’s envoy killed Saya—” I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat—“‘over and over.’ That was the exact phrase you used. How did she manage that?”

After her first death, Saya would’ve been reborn in the safe zone, and I knew the gnome was smart enough not to fall for the same trick twice.

“She did it by taking us elsewhere,” Shael said, his shoulders sagging. “The moment we crossed the safe zone’s boundary, the envoy revealed herself and teleported us to another sector—one controlled by Shadow.”

That would do it. 

Still, I refused to believe. “You said ‘we’? Does that mean you were captured as well?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked softly. “Did you escape?”

Shael laughed. “Escape? Hardly. I’m only here because the envoy needed someone to bear witness and carry her message.”

I stiffened. “What message?”

Reaching into his pocket, Shael pulled out a thin slip of paper and laid it on the table between us. Looking down, I read what it said.

The tavern keeper is not dead, but she will be soon. 

If you want her back, meet me where you and she first met.

The note was unsigned. But I knew who it was from. Loken’s envoy. Or the trickster himself.

“It’s all lies,” Shael said stonily.

I raised my eyes to meet his. “What makes you say that?”

“I told you. I saw Saya die. Five times over.”

Hope rekindled. “Five times? You’re sure about that?”

“Of course, I’m sure,” Shael retorted, looking outraged. “Do you think I would ever forget something like that?”

“There is no way Saya had five lives remaining,” I murmured, ignoring his own question.

Shael’s brows drew down. “What do you—” He broke off, his eyes widening. “Are you saying it was all an illusion? More deception at play?”

“It must have been,” I muttered. It had to be, because if it wasn’t, I wasn’t sure what I would do.

“But why?” Shael demanded, the momentary glimmer of hope in his eyes fading. “It makes no sense. Why convince me Saya is dead, then send a note saying she is alive?”

“When does any of the trickster's actions ever seem to make sense?” I asked morosely. “Loken could be simply toying with us or trying to force my hand.” 

And get me to act irrationally. 

Which admittedly I was on the verge of doing. And that was the damnable thing about Loken’s ploy. Even knowing what he was about, I was finding it hard to pull back from the precipice, from dashing after the envoy to rescue—or revenge—Saya and damn the consequences.

Shael stared at me tight-lipped for a moment. “Then you think this is Loken’s doing?”

“Perhaps,” I allowed. “Or it could be his envoy acting alone.” 

Weirdly enough, I found myself hoping it was Loken who was orchestrating affairs. The trickster would not kill Saya, I was fairly sure of that, and it was not because I didn’t think he was capable of cold-blooded murder. Loken was certainly capable of such. No, it was because, in my experience, the shadow Power was always one to leave the door open.

Killing Saya was too… final. 

There would be no hope of reconciliation between me and Loken after that. And the Power knew me well enough to know that would be the case.

Feigning Saya’s death on the other hand… leaving me tied in knots and wondering if she was alive or dead, that was Loken through and through.

However, when it came to the trickster’s envoy, I did not know enough to guess at her motivations. The woman was certainly ruthless, cruel even. Was she capable of killing Saya out of spite? Definitely. Had she done that? I didn’t know. And at this stage, I could only hope she hadn’t.

I inhaled deeply to calm myself again. “What I don’t know,” I went on, “is why Loken or his envoy would do something like this.” 

While matters between me and the trickster were tense, we had an understanding of sorts. More importantly, he needed me. Unless I was completely misreading the situation, Loken would not upset the status quo until after I stole Paya’s damn chalice for him—or he learned the truth of my bloodline, and there was nothing to say he had. 

I had also made a deal with Loken’s envoy to broker peace in the valley, and she, likewise, had no reason to capture or kill Saya either.

Then again… 

I had no concrete evidence that it was Loken or his envoy behind matters—my gaze shifted to Shael—nothing beyond what the bard himself had seen and heard, and I, of all people, knew only too well how truth and reality could be twisted. 

I studied the bard anew. As befuddled by grief and besotted by drink as Shael was, he was far from a reliable witness. And that assumes he is truly what he appears. 

“Did the envoy say anything?” I asked.

“She said plenty,” he replied morosely. “And asked plenty too.” 

Then he was interrogated too. My eyes narrowed. A confused person was easier to question. Had the envoy only pretended to kill Saya to weaken Shael’s resolve? It seemed plausible, but I was reaching, I knew—searching for reasons to believe the gnome alive despite everything.

“When did this all happen?” I asked.

“A month ago.”

A month. A month ago, I was still stuck in Draven’s Reach. But according to the deal Loken’s envoy and I had struck, she’d given me four months to resolve matters in the valley. Why had she reneged on our bargain so quickly? 

“What changed a month ago?” I wondered aloud.

“The war resumed,” Shael said flatly.

I looked at him.

“No one knows who struck the first blow, but one day the Light and Dark armies were camped in the center of the valley at relative peace with each other, except for the occasional skirmish, and the next day, they were trying to obliterate one another.” Shael sighed. “It was soon after that that Loken’s envoy turned up at the tavern. She came twice, in fact.”

I stared at him. “She came in person?” That was out of character for the mysterious envoy.

He nodded. “The envoy came cloaked of course, so no one got a peek at her face, but she came asking after you.”

“Then what happened?” I asked intently.

“Saya spoke to her—on both occasions—and informed her that we had no idea as to your whereabouts. The envoy didn’t believe her and got angry.” He barked a laugh. “That’s an understatement. She was so furious I thought she’d attack Saya there and then. Instead, she started spouting nonsense about wolves, and went on about how since they were gone, it was Saya she would hold responsible.”

“I see,” I said hollowly. And I did. 

Loken’s envoy must have feared I’d betrayed her somehow, and with the pack absent there was no one for her to take out her anger on. No one except Saya.

“I admit the envoy’s words confused me,” Shael said. He stared hard at me, the dull look in his gaze disappearing. “But I can tell they come as no surprise to you. What’s going on Michael?”

I sighed. “I will tell you everything, but first I need to know two things.”

Shael’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“Do you want to be part of this?” I asked bluntly. “You can walk away now, and we need never see each other again. Honestly, it will be better for you if you do. You won’t walk away empty-handed either. I will recompense you handsomely for your time and… suffering.”

The bard’s face twisted in disgust. “Recompense me? By the Powers, no! Whatever is going on, I want in. I may not have known Saya as long as you did, but she was my friend. I cannot—will not— walk away!”

My own expression did not shift. “Even if it means tangling with Loken?”

“Even then,” he retorted, glaring at me.

I inclined my head. “I had to ask.”

Shael’s anger did not abate. “What’s the second thing?” he demanded.

“How many lives do you have remaining?”

Consternation flickered across the bard’s face. “What?”

“Answer me,” I said, nothing bothering to explain further.

“Three,” he replied, “but what does—” 

I didn’t let him finish. Recalling the waiting Game alert, I replied in the affirmative to the Adjudicator.

Your response has been noted. The player Shael will be punished for violating the safe zone protocols. 

A split-second later, the bard sitting across me exploded, splattering me and everything else nearby.

Shael has died.