3.10 - The Brugher

When Anneleigh returned to Gloamwood pines she was surprised to find Doctor Oswell continuing about his business as if nothing had happened.  In the back of her mind she was sure he would have heard his fraud had been found out – that he would be packing his belongings and trying to sneak off into Scarlet Gorge.  Instead, she found him in much the same position as before; tending to the infected and sick.

She knocked as she entered but did not wait to be welcomed inside.  Instead walked right up and stood beside the coughing patient he was tending to.

“What are you doing?” He asked her quizzically.  “This patient is infected!  You shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor.” Anneleigh mocked, “I am in no danger, as I am sure you already know.”

Doctor Oswell retreated to the wall and eyed her suspiciously.   “You ... how could you know?”

“The research team found out the hard way that planar wards are not always effective.   Werewolves, for example, can cross right through - especially when there is a greater force widening the openings for them.”

Doctor Oswell stuttered.   It seemed that his shock at her announcement rendered him unable to form sentences, or indeed, words.

“Tell me what you know, Doctor Oswell.  Start with the reports.”

“Please have mercy, Anneleigh.  It was never my intent to falsify my findings.  I was simply doing as I was told!  It was the burgher.”

“Who is that?” Anneleigh asked.  She remembered Drusk Nightclaw using that very name.

“The burgher?” Doctor Oswell asked, “Furtho Dragomir.  He forced me to lie in the reports.   The beast you killed in Greybriar Hollow was not the real culprit behind the attacks.”  He looked at her. “I see you already knew that.  I am certain Dragomir could see that in you as well.  He had me conceal this truth – I don’t know why.  If it’s truth you want, convince Furtho to give it to you.  He is at his manor atop Barrel Vault tree.”

Anneleigh turned to leave, but he caught her arm.

“Be warned, Anneleigh – his bodyguards will probably be there to keep you away and they won’t be nice about it either.”

Anneleigh smiled.  “I can handle them.  Haven’t I proven as much over the past few days?”

She left his office and started the long climb to the top of the high tree.  As warned, Dragomir’s bodyguards did attempt to bar her entry.    She did not find their attacks particularly challenging.  They were slow and heavy; she wondered if they have ever had seen a fight in their service to the mayor, or if he hired them purely for their imposing stature.  After wounding several in the legs and leveraging several others over the railings and into the lake below she noticed the others seemed more willing to step aside and allow her to pass.    She reached the landing in time to hear one of the men ordering the others to vault the door. 

She banged on the wooden door, hoping the mayor would see reason and come out to speak with her.  When that failed, she gathered several candles that lit the landing against the ever-present gloom and held them up to the door.  Within minutes the door fell into a pile of ash and timber at her feet, the fire slowing its progress as it began to eat away at the doorframe and tree.

“Enough!”  Dragomir called from inside his office.  “Do not sully my hall with blood!”

Anneleigh crossed through the burning ring and entered his hall.

“You are hear about the Gloamwood horror, am I right?”

“Yes, Burgher, I am.” She said, putting particular emphasis on his alias title.  “Tell me what you know.  No more lies.  I might still be able to help.”

The mayor sighed heavily.  “Yes, I told Doctor Oswell to mislead you while he worked to cure the afflicted.  Sadly, his efforts have failed.  The werewolves are the old families of Gloamwood, cursed by the Hag for desecrating the forest.  If the outside world knew, they would bring fire and panic.  My deception was to protect the families from persecution.”

“But they have been attacking other citizens of your town.  How can you stand up for the privacy of some and allow others to die?”  Anneleigh asked.

To her surprise he broke down into a quiet whimper.  It was such an unexpected reaction that Anneleigh had to fight the urge to comfort him. 

He did not answer her question but simply shook his head.  “Now that you know our secret, seek out the council of Gwyddon Duskenleaf.  His connection with the wood may yield answers.  Perhaps you outsiders may succeed where I have failed.”

He fell into a chair and continued to weep.  Anneleigh stood and watched for a moment, but when it became clear he had nothing else to say, she turned and made her way back down the tree and over to the apothecary.  When she arrived and knocked Gwyddon seemed surprised, but pleased, to see her.

Anneleigh lead him to a couple of chairs and they sat as she relayed the continuation of her story.  To his credit, Gwyddon remained silent until she finished. 

“I long suspected the Hollow’s Beast was no simply animal, as you know.  But this new development is shocking.  That the oldest families of Gloamwood have been cursed with lycanthropy, a secret kept by the burgher himself.”  He trailed off.

“Lycanthropy?” Anneleigh asked, “Is this a known medical condition?”

“No,” Gwyddon corrected, “It is not medical, at least, it never has been before.  I have heard tales of people believe in their minds they have been turned into a wolf.  A few have come to me to seek a tonic to cure them. “

“But these are actual wolves.” Anneleigh interjected, “I have seen them.”

Gwyddon nodded.  “No man, beast, or spirit knows the old magic of these woods better than Laria.  Have you been able to make contact with her?”

Anneleigh shook her head.  “Not since....” but she was interrupted by the appearance of Laria herself.  It seemed so out of place to see her in the dusty apothecary and not tethered to her Alter.  “How are you....” she began, but Laria halted her question.

“Bloody Jack is dead – I felt it the moment you crushed the last spark of life from his corrupted husk.” Laria said.

“Who?” Anneleigh and Gwyddon asked together, though Anneleigh was sure she knew the answer.

“When the ward fractured, the power of Regulos caused many atrocities whose evil still lingers, sapping my vitality.  In the Mathosian Mill, a logger named Jack Rens slaughtered his fellows, binding them to the Death God.   By diminishing the influence of Regulose, you have lifted a pall from Gloamwood and given me back a measure of my power.”

“It is good you have come, Laria.  We need your guidance and the matter could not be more urgent.”  Gwyddon said in a shaky voice.  Anneleigh only then remembered that her friend had not spoken to the forest guardian before.

Laria nodded.  “I fear I may be indirectly responsible for the fate of these people.  I will tell you what I can.”

The two elves sat down once again and listened to Laria’s story.

“Years ago, my sister and I lived happily in the woods.  Then the Ward was breached.  I fought the rifts while my sister bent them to her will.  Twisted by death energy, she blamed the people of Gloamwood when I died, rather than the power of Regulos.  This curse has the feel of her work.”

“Do you know where I can find her?” Anneleigh asked.

Laria nodded. “Deepwood Cottage.”