Chapter 381: Treasure Hunt
Treasure Hunt
Unlike hearing a sound, Martel could not tell the point of origin when feeling the relic. It was a sensation that slowly built up inside of him, but he had to guess the direction; he only knew he had chosen right when the sensation increased and grew stronger while moving. This led to the odd spectacle of two monks, one trailing the other, walking in awkward circles around the entrance hall. Fortunately, neither guests nor guards questioned them, and eventually, Martel could discern that they had to go outside.
The flow of arriving celebrants had slowed to a trickle, and the two monks had no trouble making their way outside, even against the stream. Looking at the front yard, they saw a variety of carriages, all waiting for when their owners would leave the feast. Martel frowned a bit, wondering if the relic might be in someone's wagon; that felt a bit too unlikely, though.
Perhaps it had simply been transported through here? He knew from the shrine that it left a lingering presence long after its removal. On the other hand, the artefact had also rested in that place for years, decades, perhaps centuries; perhaps that had an effect, building up said presence over time. If so, the relic simply moving through the place should not leave sufficient trace for Martel to notice; this was guesswork, admittedly, but he was beginning to feel convinced that Stars-damned hand was actually somewhere on the premises. The question was where exactly.
Martel tried to think where one might feasibly hide a stolen relic. Unfortunately, he had no experience nor ability to really imagine it. Buried somewhere in the dirt? Unlikely. The area was open; easy for someone to spot a thief digging a hole, even at night. While the servants had their quarters in the back of the estate, the stables lay in front along with some huts that he assumed provided living quarters for the stable hands. Further beyond, stretching down the sides of the main building, lay orchards and gardens; plenty of area to search.
***
"Well?" asked the Keeper after a lengthy silence where the mage had not made any movement either.
"Hold your horses," Martel grumbled. Before he began combing through the area, he still hoped to get a better feel for his goal. The sensation of the relic tickled him, like the sense of something sweet teasing his nostrils, yet he could not track it.
Horses. Stables. Martel looked towards the buildings. It seemed a profane place to leave a holy object, but obviously, the thief had little reverence for such matters. Ignoring the odd looks from the various drivers by the carriages, Martel walked towards the stables.
The smell of equine creatures, already present outside, became pungent. It was dark inside, and Martel almost summoned a flame on reflex before he remembered his disguise.
"In here?" his companion said questioningly. "I suppose the less likely, the better when it comes to hiding places. Still, it takes audacity to hide something of such value in so lowly a location."
Squinting and waiting as his eyes adjusted to the dark, Martel walked down the aisle between the stalls. Most of them contained a horse, but one in the back stood empty, which almost seemed to call to him. Martel was grateful to be drawn towards the one unoccupied; he had little experience with horses, which seemed skittish creatures to him, in turn making him nervous.
Martel entered the empty stall. He felt the relic more strongly than ever, but he saw no places to hide it. Hay covered the floor, which seemed the only option. He crouched down and pushed it aside, revealing the dirt beneath. The Keeper followed suit, staring at the ground. "Fascinating."
"You have a lot of opinions for someone contributing absolutely nothing." Using his body and sleeves to create as much cover as possible, Martel summoned a tiny flame to provide light. The dirt had been disturbed. Recently, even. "I don't believe it." After all this time, they were too late. This had to be some kind of cosmic jest.
"Someone else beat us to it."
"How?" Martel felt frustration rising. He did not even care about the bloody relic, but being denied this close to the goal felt like the Stars were mocking him.
"Lady Pearl and her henchwomen have the same knowledge as us. We're not the only ones making use of this night," the Keeper speculated.
That meant they had arrived too late by a matter of hours, perhaps even minutes. Extinguishing his light, Martel stood up. He could abandon the search, but something in him wanted resolution. Answers. He looked around. Was every stable hand celebrating as well? If one of them had been present, they might have seen who took the relic. Else the drivers outside ought to have noticed someone enter.
Making sure he had not missed anything, Martel extended his sense of magic around him. Something grabbed his attention. Plenty of heat inside the stable, with all the animals making it their home; each of the horses felt like a lighthouse in the dark. Yet unless four-legged beasts had learned to climb a ladder, someone human lay on the hayloft. The source of warmth was certainly too big to be a cat or the like.
The ladder up to the hayloft stood by the entrance. Looking in that direction, up towards the dark, Martel spoke out. "I see you up there. Come down. We wish to talk to you." Hopefully this particular stable hand had enough reverence for men of the cloth to tell them what they needed.
If confused, the Keeper quickly adapted. "In Sol's name, we are pious men who require your aid." Martel hoped that, whoever was up there, they had not spotted him summoning a flame, or else their little charade would already be unmasked.
A moment passed. Martel began walking towards the ladder, wondering if he would have to climb up; if their bad luck continued, it was some stableboy snoring in the hay, having missed everything that happened below them. They would have to question the drivers instead, in that case.
A shape jumped down from the loft. Flickering light from the yard outside briefly illuminated the person before he ran out of the entrance. By his clothes and age, Martel would indeed have taken him to be a stableboy; by his facial features, the wizard recognised him to be an islander. With a curse, Martel set into pursuit.
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