He listened as carefully as he could, his eyes flickering between
Salak and Alistair. Watching as the former made his way down the gangplank and noting the latter was…a frown tugged at
Edric's lips.
What was that?
Something was going on with his magic, the draw of it. Hesitant almost, at first, and then seeming to grow almost
ravenous. The Rogue's eyes bulged, and the two
Dreadlords would see a moment of panic flicker over Edric's face as he seized the reins of his abilities. Alistair’s cloak having the effect he sought, but almost by opposite means. Edric wrenching his own magic back and away from the two Dreadlords.
It had almost been as though Edric's magic had been eager, almost
determined to cannibalize itself.
”Don't! Don't…do that Al.”
Edric warned, though perhaps his old classmate would be surprised at the flicker of fear that rang through his tone. His boot softly thumping against the pier beneath him as he took another step back. His magic no longer drawing on Salak, Alistair, or even those aboard the ship.
A weary eye was cast towards Salak, the Proctor's words barely having reached him in his moment of panic.
”I can't tell you anything.” He said with a shake of his head, taking another step backwards. Drawing closer to the end of the pier each time he did. The water softly lapping below.
”I mean…I don't know anything.”
He offered with a frown.
”He has a dozen hideouts, but I've only ever been to two.”
Edric continued as he shrugged.
”One was in the Falwood.” Though knowing it did not narrow it down one inch. The Falwood was massive, hostile, and still mostly controlled by the
Elves.
”But I was only ever flown there or taken by Gilram himself.”
Meaning he had no way to even navigate to the place if he wanted to. A fact which he was entirely sure had been by the Archon’s design.
”The other was some shitty Island in the Bane.”
Which
Erodin and his lackeys had taken by force and the Republic had deemed too unimportant to besiege at this moment.
There had been others of course, temporary safe houses and locations of dead drops. But they all changed frequently. That was part of the trouble in all of this. Gilram wasn't some simple runaway, he was an Archon and had been one for nearly thirty years. The man was smart, far smarter than Edric.
It didn't help that the same could be said for half his followers.
”His associates? I don't know…there's Duncan, Mae, Ulrich…Erodin…”
Edric shook his head again, disgust flickering over his features at the last name.
”The fuck can I tell you that Vigilite don't already know?” The Republic had more information on Gilram and the others than
he did. Just a year ago they had all been loyal Dreadlords, each with a file of their own detailing personality, magics, and even personal relationships. Salak was of course after more specifics, the Rogue's individual movements, plans, perhaps even personalities, but Edric couldn't offer even that.
”I didn't spend much time with most of them.”
He and Duncan had spent hours together, the older Rogue helping Edric understand a great deal, and of course the lessons from the Archon himself. But those times had always been focused on him, not them. He was fairly certain that Chasmine actually would have been the one to question about…all of this, but there was no way in fuck he was pointing the finger at her.
Especially as he felt the cold chill of the amulet flickering against his chest. The panic he had felt earlier subsided, though just slightly, he was not possessing her.
”I’m not…exactly a strategist.” Edric said, glancing at Alistair so he could confirm to his partner that such was the truth.
”Gilram told me where to go, and I went. Just like I used to do for Vel Anir.”
Though his original intention had been to join Gilram to bring the others of his class who joined him home, his method had been all wrong. He'd tried to play the hammer, the role that Vel Anir has given him, but it hadn't been enough. He hadn't learned much, hadn't ingratiate himself beyond a certain degree, and had certainly failed to infiltrate any inner circle.
Why? Because he had no clue how to capitalize on the goodwill he earned by being the hammer. The Academy had trained him to be a killer, and not a spy. He'd been meant as a murder, and nothing more. It wasn't that he didn't have the capability, he simply did not have the knowledge, and as he'd spent more and more time on the other side…he'd realized that things were not as simple as he'd thought. To the point that he hadn't wanted to learn more.
Edric frowned at that realization. The failure was his own, in a way he knew, but in others not. That spark of anger began rising in his chest all the same.
”Now you can either let me go, or you can try to kill me.”
Edric said, though the words were an empty threat. He did not want to fight, not after what Alistair had done. He didn't understand it, but his magic had threatened to run rampant for a moment. Just as it had in the village with that creature.
He didn't want Peddlefoot to be another ghost town.
”And you can tell them I'm a threat or not.” Edric continued, taking yet another step backwards.
”But remind them, I'm a threat they made.”
Though he doubted anyone would care about the distinction.
