Soder's Treasure

In the ornate chambers beyond the doorway, a human girl is staring at them with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. It's hard to tell her age; she may be anywhere between fourteen and forty. She's sitting with a worn book on her lap and a look of shock on her pale and unlined face. More bookshelves line the room, each of the books looking like it has been read innumerable times.

Malachite snaps around the doorway to the left, dropping instinctively into battle stance with his blazing sword Karthos out and ready for an attack. The other Defenders move in well-practiced formation behind him; Mara and her holy mace Lightbinder to the right, Galthia and Stone Bear in the middle, Agar and Velendo safely behind the protective wall of battle-hardened muscle. Burr-Lipp's bulging eyes watch the rear as he takes rearguard position next to a deep gnome too short to see what's in the suite of rooms anyways.

Not seeing any other immediate enemies, Malachite points his sword at the girl. "Who are you?"

"I'm. . ." Seeming huge in her heart-shaped face, the girl's eyes are as colorless as night mist. Hair, skin, eyes, clothing, her whole body seems to be pale and without tint. She flushes slightly as she catches Malachite's gaze, though, and the look she gives him is both fearful and adoring. "You've come!"

"What do you mean we've come? How did you know of our coming? Who are you?" His voice is harsh and staccato, demanding answers and expecting a trap.

"I don't have a name." She folds her hands primly in her lap and sits up straighter. "My father knew you were coming. It seems strange to see you in person. I've never really seen actual proper people before."

Mara blinks. "You haven't? Who's your father?"

The girl glances at her, and returns her riveting gaze to Malachite. "My father is Ambassador Soder." Everyone stiffens, and the girl quickly explains, the words pouring out like water from a tap. "He's not my real father! But that's what he makes me call him. I hate him. I tell him that, but he just laughs at me." Her face twists with anger.

Velendo steps forward. "You've got Soder for a father?" He grimaces. "You have our pity. What's your name, miss?"

She looks surprised. "I don't have one. On days when he's in a good mood, he sometimes calls me his precious treasure." Everyone exchanges a look.

"What's he call you on days when he's not in a good mood?" wonders Agar.

It wouldn't seem possible, but the girl goes even paler. "I try to avoid him when that happens." She catches sight of Priggle through the tangle of legs. "Say, you're a svirfneblin! I've seen you before!"

Priggle cautiously moves closer, magical pick held ready. "You have?"

The girl's voice takes on a pedantic tone, as if reciting from memory. "Svirfneblin. See deep gnomes, gritsuckers, lost gnomes. Name originates from a bastardization of terran and gnomish. Despite a natural tendency towards independence, these deep gnomes can be trained as superb slaves. In fact, it's estimated that more svirfneblin exist as captive drow and illithid slaves than eke out an existence in the squalor of their own cities. Their wiry builds and natural coloration make a broken svirfneblin ideal for a number of tasks, including. . ."

"Erp!" exclaims Priggle. "That's not right!"

"I'm not surprised. It was a drowish text," apologizes the girl. "There are bound to be inaccuracies. It said quite a bit about your culture, cities and proclivities, though."

"Of course it did," groans Priggle.

"It's very exciting to meet one of you in person, Mister Svirfneblin. I'd love for you to tell me where it's wrong, and to give me actual facts. I must say, you look quite a bit nicer than your flesh-puppet." She smiles helpfully, then glances over at Mara. Her eyes narrow slightly when she notices the paladin standing near Malachite. "Not as much for you, though. I think your living form has more scars."

"What?" asks Mara. "What are you talking about, 'flesh-puppet'? Where is this thing?"

The girl gets lithely to her feet and turns to Malachite, swaying slightly when she realizes he's more than a foot and a half taller than she is. She gathers her baggy and shapeless dress around her and points. "Through there," she tells him, totally ignoring Mara's look. "The door on the far side of the bedroom. In Soder's closet."

Malachite spins. "That's Soder's bedroom?" He smashes open the door with a sharp kick, expecting the worst, but is rewarded with no immediate peril. The group moves in to search, a few people staying outside to keep their eye on the girl.

"Not much of a bed," comments Mara. The purple coverlet of the bone bed is clearly unused except for an odd and dusty depression in the middle. Malachite glances at it.

"That's almost certainly where he kept his mortal remains. . . skull, a few bones, maybe. It's gone now. We'd need it to truly destroy him."

"Gone? Where to?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it went with Teliez when he ascended."

Mara starts to lower her voice, changes her mind, and speaks over the mindlink instead. "Do you suppose that girl is Soder's greatest treasure? I checked her; she didn't seem to be evil. I don't like her, though. She seems a little odd."

"You'd be odd, too, if you had to grow up here," interjects Velendo. He pokes a piece of artwork made out of fused bone.

"I checked her too," says Malachite, "or rather Karthos did. He says she isn't undead, but there's some odd sort of taint. I'm not sure she seems entirely human. I don't think she's dangerous, but we'll need to keep an eye on her."

"Her soul looks mostly normal," says Stone Bear. "Very strong, for something down here. She has a powerful spirit."

"I'm not surprised. I looked at her with arcane sight," says Velendo. "She's exceptionally powerful. It may be arcane magic, but I'm thinking that it's mental instead."

"Like the mind flayers?" asks Mara, dismayed.

"Psionic," agrees Velendo.

Galthia gives a curt shake of his head. "I hope she's not like the mind flayers," he says. "If she is, I'll have to kill her."

"I don't think it'll come to. . . Oh, Calphas." Velendo stumbles back from a painting in disgust. Stone Bear strolls over.

"Nice." His tone is amused.

"What is it?" asks Priggle from the other room.

"It's a great big painting entitled Old Friends," answers Velendo with a tremor in his voice. He sounds old. "Fantastic brushwork. It shows Soder sharing a friendly meal with Nolin, just sitting there and talking with big smiles on their faces. Looks just like them."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," says Agar hopefully.

"Yeah, except they're drinking wine out of cups made from Mara and Malachite's unflayed skulls, and their meal happens to be intestines yanked from my own body."

"Oh." Agar considers for a second. "Okay, I take it back. That is bad."

"That's Soder's favorite painting," says the girl. "He used to stare at it for hours and talk to himself. He had the best artist dead paint it for him."

Malachite turns to her. "Is that so?" He sounds discomfitted.

She nods. "That was on the days that he didn't have a tea party with you."

"What do you mean?"

"He has undead copies of several of your friends. He'd have me set up a tea party and he'd array each of your zombies around the table, then he'd jump from one to the other of you pretending to talk to himself."

Everyone looks appalled. "That's sick," says Stone Bear.

"Is it?" asks the girl. "It seemed a little strange to me. He was really looking forward to when you arrived, so that he could kill you and introduce me to his friend. I'm glad he didn't," she says shyly. She points at Nolin in the painting. "That's the one I was supposed to meet. Where is he?"

Everyone grows silent. "Dead," says Velendo heavily. "He's dead."

The girl looks confused. "You mean unanimated?"

"I mean dead. He gave his life to destroy the Ivory King."

The girl nods, looking sad and fearful. "Good. Soder told me you had killed His Majesty. I'm glad. He would demand to see me sometimes, and make me do tricks, and my father would have to get me away before the Ivory King lost his patience and ate me."

"Nice life," thinks Velendo.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"We don't know," says Mara.

"We'll figure something out," says Velendo. "Why do you ask?"

"I was worrying. Soder told me that he was giving me to all of you, because he had more important things to do and so he was leaving me behind." She shudders. "But he told me he'd be back for me when he was ready."

"That's horrible," says Agar.

"It is!" The girl nods at him furiously and then runs towards Malachite, brushing past Mara as she pushes forward. She stops just short of embracing the Knight, perhaps remembering herself in time. "You won't let him take me, will you?" Her voice hardens for a second or two. "I won't let him take me! Not again. If I . . if I can stop him." Her faint voice trails away, and Malachite reaches out one hand to take her by the shoulder. The girl looks up at him, her face an uncomplicated mask of hope. With his hand, Malachite firmly swivels her to face Mara.

"This is Lady Mara Thornhill. Like me, she is a Radiant Knight in the service of Our Lord Aeos the Lightbringer." His voice is stern. "You will show her all possible respect. You pushed past her just now, and that wasn't appropriate to her station." His tone is firm and unwavering. Mara looks a little embarrassed, and the girl looks angry and then remorseful.

"She was in my way!"

"Then you ask her to move. You don't shove past."

"All right," she says in a quiet, beaten voice. Next time I'll just seize her mind and make her get out of the way, she thinks to herself.

"Very good," says Malachite brusquely. "Now, where is this closet you mentioned?" The girl points, and Malachite and Mara move across the room.

Stone Bear gives Agar a meaningful look.

"I think he was trying to avoid future problems," whispers Agar doubtfully.

"It's not your place to comment," thinks Malachite flatly over the mindlink. "Not on this. It was a matter of showing Mara the proper respect. I won't have her mistreated just because this girl has fixated on me." He throws open the door to the closet and pinches the bridge of his nose. Along both sides of the long, narrow hall stand dozens of unmoving zombies. Male and female, elf and dwarf and human and giant, they stand there mutely waiting for Soder to inhabit them. Malachite can see an undead version of Mara half-way down the line on the left, and an undead Priggle next to her.

"What are these things?" asks Malachite to the girl, already knowing the answer.

"My father's clothes."