Faramir stood in the shadows of the tunnel watching the panel as it slowly slid back into place. The shadows deepened to near pitch darkness and Remedy silently back stepped several feet from her. He had darkvision, but it wasn’t the best. A shifter would have been able to see in these conditions as clearly as if it were a bright moonlit night. He could barely make out Faramir’s form and the stone walls, and all details were completely obscured. He couldn’t even tell what expression she had on her face. He listened intently as the faint scuff of her boot sounded on the floor. She was walking at a quick pace and to his vast relief it was away from him. Had she chosen to walk toward him there was no way he could have avoided brushing against her, the tunnel was simply too narrow.
With grim determination he fell into step and tried to keep up with her as best he could. Once again he found himself wanting to trade places with Vaze. Vaze could see in pitch black better than even a Shifter. Which brought another interesting point to mind…Faramir shouldn’t be able to see clearly in darkness either. With the pace she was setting she could either see perfectly, or she had been this way so many times it was familiar. Either way it was unsettling. Faramir was a powerful member of the Fionaveir council and Symphony’s chief advisor. There was no reason someone in her position should have been skulking through tunnels. If it was spying on the ranks of the Fionavier than she should have had an underling she could trust enough to do the job for her.
They walked for what seemed an eternity, though Remedy knew it was likely closer to half an hour before Faramir stopped once more. He shuffled silently to a stop and shook his head in disgust with himself. He had nearly walked into her back before he realized she was no longer moving. He could barely make out the outline of her hand as she raised it to a wall and once more a panel slid open. Dim light flooded the tunnel and once more he could see Faramir’s face clearly. She had a thoughtful expression on her face as she stepped from the tunnel and he followed briskly after her. He had no desire to be locked away in her tunnels, no matter how useful it might be to explore the extent of them. He was more interested in her agenda than exploring at this point.
The room he emerged into was a cramped one. A small bed, barely more than a pallet sat against one wall with a table and two chairs a few feet away. The walls were rough stone without the glossy finish the rest of the palace had with no sign of any door beyond the one they had entered through.
The most interesting feature was the woman seated at the table however and the expression of pure malice she had on her delicate face as she regarded Faramir. Her hair was long and chestnut brown and her skin was swarthy despite her obvious lack of sun. The dress she wore was simple and from the looks of it could use a good washing. Remedy gazed around the small room and back to the woman and wondered how long Faramir had kept her prisoner here, or who she was for that matter. He had been in the business of knowing all of the power players of Sanctuary during his time on the Fionaveir council, and this wasn’t someone he recognized.
“Good morning Azashy how are you today?” Faramir’s voice was overly pleasant as she spoke and the woman’s glare intensified in response.
“May you burn in the Darklands while the crows feast on your corpse Myth.” Azashy responded coldly.
Remedy’s breath caught at her words and he felt himself pale as he regarded Faramir silently once more. Myth, that explained so much of what he had seen, but he didn’t understand how it was possible. His throat tightened at the thought of who he was truly stalking and he swallowed heavily. Faramir had made him nervous, Myth terrified him. Myth was a Changeling and had been alive for countless centuries. There was no telling what a creature like that was capable of or what power she possessed.
“Not likely Azashy sorry to disappoint you.” Faramir responded casually as she settled into the chair across from the woman. “I need information Azashy and you are going to provide it.”
Azashy shook her head slowly and turned her eyes away from Faramir to settle her gaze on the grey stone wall.
“Do we really have to go through this every time I visit Azashy?” Faramir sighed with annoyance. She leaned forward on the table and crossed her arms as she stared at her prisoner. “You know I don’t like hurting you or those you care for, but I’m limited on my patience today. I need information and I warn you if you lie to me again as you did last time I will make it a lasting pain that you will never forget.”
“Do what you will Myth, I will not help you destroy the world any further. You are evil!” Azashy snapped and shook her head quickly, though it was obvious to Remedy that the woman was scared. It was a bluff she was showing and in the end he knew she would cave to Myth’s demands. His heart went out to her and he silently promised to help her when he could, but for the moment he didn’t dare interfere. Not only did he need to know what information Faramir was after, he didn’t want to be forced to fight her. He wasn’t sure he could win.
“How many fingers do you require for your spell casting Azashy?” Faramir asked nonchalantly. She smiled as the other woman paled slightly and nodded her head slowly. “A wise person would say ten, but that would be a lie. I know you don’t require all ten.” Faramir paused and pulled a dagger from her belt then laid it quietly on the table between them. “You don’t require two eyes, two ears, or a nose for spellcasting either.” Faramir continued casually as she raised an eyebrow at Azashy who looked on the brink of tears.
She must be very young Remedy realized as he studied Faramir’s captive closer. She was Elder Blood he was sure of it, but he couldn’t decide what house she must be from, or why someone as old as Myth would require her to do the spellcasting. From what he had seen of Myth in the past few days the woman should be able to manage any casting herself.
“It will be so difficult to make it in the world beyond without your beauty. You could of course hide your disfigurements with magic, but that could be dispelled. You could have it healed too of course, but then healers ask questions about such wounds and what would you say? That you were a prisoner of war perhaps, but then they would want details that you wouldn’t have, wouldn’t they?” Faramir continued as she spun the dagger in a slow circle on the table.