No Witnesses

He approached the heavy wooden doors solemnly, trepidation marking his steps. He paused before he knocked, "I could just run away now. They don't need to hear this from me specifically". He shook his head at the futility of the idea.  They would find him, they always found who they were looking for. His knock sounded as a portent of doom. He had been elected as the one to report the success of their task. In any other guild, this would not be a moment of terror, but here, one wrong answer and it would be the last you uttered. No answer came from within but the door swung open silently, easily, though no doorman was present. He quickly rushed inside before the fear caused him to collapse to his knees. 

"Is it finished?", asked a deep voice from one of the daises in the center of the room.

"Yes"

"And was it successful?", another voice asked.

"The target has been neutralized, though with the tumult of the attack we were unable to recover his body. The consensus was that it would be better to leave him in the alley to be found later, possibly robbed. This would draw less attention to you Masters"

"We care not if a single death would be tied to us. You are sure of his demise?"

"We are. No being can survive the three lightning bolts. Indeed the fall from the roof would have sufficed"

"And the others?"

"No witnesses, just as you commanded"

"And how was that accomplished, exactly?", a thin voice asked from another dais.

"We elected to show them the future that they would fail to prevent"

"You were successful in the ritual then?"

"Of course, Masters. They are even now experiencing the New Zarcharis, one marked by order, by an ironfisted rule. Your rule"

"Flattery does not become you, nor does it aid you here. Cease at once"

"Apologies"

"It would appear your team has fulfilled our expectations"

"Thank you, Masters. With your permission, I will take my leave". He turned on his heel and began to make his way to the door.

"Just a moment", a raspy, windless voice coughed from behind him, the words freezing him in abject horror. "There is just one more point of order". He slowly turned around to view the Pentad leader. He sat there on the central dais, staring at him, though the voice had not originated from that position. Before him sat a thrall, voicing the thoughts of the one who held him in slavery. "There was one dimension for which you have not answered for yet."

"I am sorry..."

"Indeed you are. On the matter of of witnesses. I am fairly certain we explicitly instructed that there were to be none"

"I can assure you there were no witnesses to the events. We coordinated an isolated position to remove us from prying eyes. No one knows what has transpired"

"You are incorrect in your assessment".

Beads of sweat began to roll down his face. He searched his mind for any indication as to what he was referring to, but nothing came to light. With a sudden movement the leader of the Pentad had crossed the room and stood before him.

"Impossible"

"No, we instructed that there were to be no witnesses, and yet, you seem to have a full report of the proceedings"

He backed away at the implied threat. He thought to run, but knew he could not outpace his attacker. He quickly brought a spell to his lips, began running through the incantation, but the words were cut off as his assailant fell over him hungrily. 

Where Do We Go From Here?

It had been a relief, at first.

Finally confessing to Ricin what they'd done.

But she hadn't expected him to just walk away when it was over.

It's easier to spill a secret if you know the person will bluster for a while and gradually wear themselves out.  The dangerous ones are those who steadily watched you open up and keep their silence.  Waiting.  Watching.  To pounce, when you least expect it.

Where was he going?  Would he be back?

He'd lain in a coma for weeks.  The group had debated the merits of sharing their secret with him.  Zorah hadn't wanted to -- they were already in a precarious situation.  In the end, however, she'd acknowledged it was probably for the best, and as they were afraid of his reaction, they'd told him together.  It wasn't fair to send one person as emissary when they were all to blame.

Zorah had braced herself for a psychic blow or perhaps a burning sensation when he searched their minds for confirmation, but it felt more like a breeze.  He flipped through their memories as if he were reading a book.

And then he was gone.

Zorah sat at the edge of the group, hunched over on an old wooden stool.  How was she supposed to feel?  Guilty?  Sad?  Properly chastised?  She didn't feel any of those things.

What she did feel was anger.  Anger at being abandoned.  She knew that what they'd done (or allowed to be done) was wrong.  They'd made a mistake and it had already cost someone's life.  Several lives, in fact.  And they'd paid dearly for it.  She'd been through hell and back, and the first thing Ricin did was walk out the door?

The others avoided Zorah like she had a storm brewing above her.  She heard them talking amongst themselves and wished she could join in like she had something to say.  But anger snapped her mouth shut and she decided to keep silent.  For now.

 

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