They Masked One pushed open the door to the palace with a large blast of mana. He moved much quicker than Mourtis, who was struggling to keep pace, but a few moments later, he reached the main hall with a trail of dust and frightened men behind him.
He looked around the large, silent hall, observing everything. He noted the stained glass windows, which allowed the morning light to enter, barely lighting the hall, the thick pillars catching a few of the sun's rays. He walked down the hall on the carpet from the thrones to the main entrance, just a short distance from him. Dried blood and the smell of death ruled the air about them, forcing Mourtis to hold his breath at regular intervals to keep from vomiting.
The Masked One continued down the foul-smelling hall and went to the throne. He glanced over its intricate craftsmanship, noting every detail etched into it, while noticing the cushioned seat held a slight indentation from when Truls sat there.
Heavy bastard, he thought, quickly turning around to look in Mourtis' general direction, as he sank into the chair.
He placed both of his hands upon the armrests provided and leaned back. "I have waited for this day for a long time. You see, Mourtis, I also have my orders to follow like you. However, my agreement with the Undergod only requires me to retrieve him a certain something. He never specified how, when, or what I should do to get it," he began, causing Mourtis to feel a sinking feeling in his gut.
"May I ask what the point of you saying this is, my lord?" he asked sheepishly. "Autonomy is a fickle thing," the Masked One began. "On the one hand, you can do whatever you want, within reasonable expectations. On the other hand, you are given enough rope to hang yourself with. I gave you as much autonomy to do my bidding as the aforementioned agreement with the Undergod would allow. You, however, have taken your fair share of rope and tied yourself a fancy noose, priest," he said darkly.
"My lord, I don't understand what you mean by that. Surely you don't believe that I wanted the queen to run away?" Mourtis lied. "What?" his master replied curtly.
"I tried to get her to comply with your wishes. I tried to make her see that she is sinful, and that she should repent in hopes of offering up the key of her own free will to aid your success. I would never want to betray the trust you have given me," Mourtis lied again.
That's probably why she ran. No one likes being preached to by a hypocrite, the mage mentally sighed.
"Oh? And what of the men were you in command of?" he said, rising from his seat, walking towards the crooked man. "What are you saying, my lord? Do you think I ordered them to kill her?" Mourtis asked, taking a few steps backwards and spreading his free arm.
"Your little invasion would not have been possible without my help. If it weren't for me bribing the Guild to join our cause, you would have had an entire city full of guards and civilians trying to go against you," he raised his voice, making the Masked One halt momentarily.
"Do you honestly believe I wouldn't have killed them all anyway?" he began walking forward, causing Mourtis to backstep. "My invasion would have happened with or without your help. The only reason I had to invade was to ensure that no force could hinder what I came here to do. As if your mind were as crooked as your body, the queen and her key would still be here if you had only done what I told you," the Masked One barked.
"She must have fled through an unknown passage," Mourtis began. "None other than the royal families know everything there is to know about the palace," he said shakily as the Masked one continued walking towards him. "That is why you had your minions try to gather all the information they could on the palace, was it not?" he asked.
Mourtis tried to speak, but no words came out of his juttering mouth.
"Why, then, did I give you the runestone to use during the council meeting to provide me with information? Why were you in that room in the first place? Do you remember that? Can you answer me? Do you even know?" the mage asked, accentuating each step with a question.
"Decisions, Mourtis, to abuse the blindness of human perception; something I have long since tried to overcome in my pursuit of knowledge. You keep making these excuses, trying to cover for your subordinates, but you also fail just as miserably. The only thing you have done is kill a few useless people, and allow the one thing I actually needed from this gods-forsaken continent to escape. However, as a result of your failures, your men will pay the price," the Masked One said, his tone growing increasingly heavy, shocking Mourtis to his core.
"You… tyrant!" Mourtis shouted angrily. "You have treated me as little more than the scum beneath your boots for decades, and I have never wavered in my loyalty to you! I should have trusted my gut. I have always known, deep down, that you were a little more than the monster others make you out to be. You will never find what you seek without my help," he seethed.
"We'll see about that, priest. You have lined your pockets well enough with the coins stolen from those who gave their all to your church. Your men will die, but you will be banished from this country altogether. After all, I doubt you'd make it very far," the mage growled, flaring his mana.
Mourtis was taken aback, but quickly gathered what little composure he could under the weight of the mage's aura. "I-I will take what I own and leave this place, praying I never have to deal with the likes of you again in my remaining years," he managed. "Years? You don't have seconds if you keep talking," the Masked One flared his mana again.
Mourtis grimaced at him and spat on the ground, turning on his heel before descending a passage that led to his quarters. The Masked One watched the slow man's figure disappear into the hallway, followed by his remaining men.
It's a shame he is such a shriveled weasel. Decades ago, he was much more valuable as an asset. I should have taken the information and killed him after all, he thought, angry at his decision to let the maggot live yet another day.
He turned to the throne and began to reexamine its details. The armrests had been well worn over the generations of kings who had sat there. Wear and tear on the carpeting near where the king's feet would typically be was more than visible. He moved over to the queen's throne, her scent still strong enough to reach his nostrils as he ran his hand along the throne, hoping to find anything out of place.
His eyes flared a little brighter than usual as he got on his hands and knees to see what was beneath the thrones, if anything. He noticed a small lump in the carpeting directly beneath the king's throne.
"Interesting," he said to himself.
His eyes glowed as he drew again from the Underworld, casting the thrones against the wall with a mana blast. The carpet didn't budge in the slightest. He could clearly see the small lump in the carpeting and stepped away from it onto the stone floor. He tore the carpet from its lashings to the stone ground, tearing its bindings. Countless years of accumulated dust rose in the air about him, making things difficult to see.
There you are, he thought with a satisfied grin as the dust began to settle.