Chapter 10.2: Daren Thorne

Daren Thorne’s quarters were stark, much more so than Christoff had anticipated. Yes, the man had always held efficiency in high regard, but he still had had his interests: knives, Ascalonian history, and Elonian women—not that there were any women he disliked. Looking around this room, though, there was no sign of any of that. Just a fine-crafted desk and a couple of chairs stood near the far wall, beneath a barred window that looked out out on the central courtyard, where men and women were still busy at their various chores.

The only other object to speak of, aside from a pitcher of water and some papers on the desk, was a painting on the wall to their left. It was of a rather abstract style, but seemed to depict jagged flames rising around a pair of bipedal figures built entirely of triangles. One was dramatically larger than the other, and they seemed to lean into each other, embraced in some kind of struggle. In each of the top corners was another figure, much smaller and faded, as though far away, with darkened lines spidering out from behind their backs.

“It’s a lovely piece, isn’t it?” Thorne commented, noticing it had captured Veritas’ gaze. He stepped up beside his guest, resting his hands on his hips as he gave his attention fully to the painting.

“Indeed,” Christoff replied. “The angular lines imply a fierce motion toward this center point. And though I can’t place its inspiration, or its style, it feels strangely familiar. What is it?”

“It’s one of my own works, one I particularly enjoy,” he admitted, smiling as his eyes worked their way across the painting. He turned to Christoff and Remi. “It depicts the victory of Saul D’Alessio over the Charr invaders: the night our masters overcame Kryta’s greatest foes.”

Christoff returned his attention to Thorne, nodding slightly. “It is a very impressive piece, Daren. It does that historic moment a unique justice.”

“Thank you,” the slender man said with a nimble bow. “From you, that is high praise. You always did value the arts. Your father did well to instill that in you. Now,” he said, gesturing to the chairs before his desk and descending into a more casual tone, “have a seat.”

Christoff and Remi made a quick, wordless exchange before stepping forward to take seats across from their host. The two guards stayed put beside the door, and Daren Thorne made his way to the opposite side of the desk, gently settling into his own chair, directly in front of the window. Sunlight streamed in from low in the western sky, casting Thorne’s shadow long and dark over his two visitors and across the eastern side of the room. Bits of dust catching the light drifted aimlessly through the air.

Thorne poured a small cup of water from the tin pitcher on his desk, then raised it in offering toward his guest. “Thank you,” Veritas said, extending his hand to receive the cup. He took it toward his mouth, but just before sipping, he sniffed the cup, recognizing the evergreen scent and grinning in amusement. Thorne never was far from his liquor. “Here I expected water.”

Thorne smiled mischeiviously, handing a cup to Remi and proceeding to pour one for himself. “Water? Really Christoff, when there’s gin in the world, who has need for water?” He took his own cup and sipped it gingerly, clearly enjoying the sharp flavor. “Now, what can I do for you?” he asked, reclining in his chair. “What’s this information you’re after?”

Veritas leaned forward, elbows on knees as he began. “I won’t mince words with you, Daren. I’m looking for an Inquest cell that’s active in this area. As the chief here, I assumed you could help me track them down.”

Thorne stroked his chin absently. “Inquest, you say,” he mused. “In Vandal’s Claim?”

“No— well, not necessarily,” Christoff replied, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I don’t know precisely where in the Wildlands this cell is; it may well be in Vandal’s Claim for all I know. Wherever it is, though, we need to find it. If that means we investigate every one of their outfits in the region, so be it.”

“You traveled all the way from Queensdale in search of a group you don’t even know the location of?” Thorne’s brow rose in an arch. He inspected Christoff’s face without guile, but there was abundant curiosity. “And asura at that? You’ll pardon me saying so, but it’s a very strange quarry you hunt all the way out here? I understand how obnoxious they can be, but that hardly seems like something a Demagogue would have assigned you to, which means— you’re doing this on your own? What could they possibly have done to garner so much of your attention?”

Christoff went as rigid as the triangular D’Alesso. His mouth tightened and he rested both his arms on the armrests at perfect right angles, his cup still in hand. He looked at Remi, who’d thrown back his gin the moment it was in hand and was now silently watching him in return, as though awaiting orders.

“Let’s just say,” Christoff said blandly, turning back to Thorne, “they came into possession of something particularly precious to me, and I’d like to recover it.”

Thorne was one of only a handful of other overseers he would have trusted with any amount of truth in this matter, but with so much jockeying for authority between the cells in recent decades, he knew he’d gone as far as he could in trusting even this man. It was a bad idea to reveal a plan this early in any game, especially when that game could cost not just your glory, but your life. If his mission turned out to be a wild-goose chase, the last thing he wanted was to be known among his peers as having wasted time and manpower on it. He would instantly be in the crosshairs for rising overseers hoping to take a gang for themselves. If he really did find what he expected to, revealing that too soon ran the risk of someone else intervening to claim credit for it. The Confessor was sure to honor anyone who could provide him with such a powerful, ancient tool as Christoff believed himself to have found. It was a fine line he had to walk.

“I see,” Thorne said with a nod and a thoughtful glare. His expression softened. “Well,” he said, shrugging and steepling his fingers, “there are a handful of Inquest agents here in Vandal’s Claim, but they only ever heckle travelers or run their strange experiments on the wildlife—odd, little people, those ones. We’ve had little contact with their sort, but I understand they’re associated with a post that’s set up east of here, outside of one of those skritt holes.” He paused as he thought, picking up his tin cup again and taking a deep swig to finish it off. He winced and smiled at the same time. “There is, I believe, another Inquest facility south of here in the moors, but I know little of what they do or if they have any reach into Kryta.” He began to pour himself another cup when he went on in a more absent tone. “Speaking of which, what took the Inquest to Kryta to begin with?”

With a twist of his lip, Christoff began gently stroking his scar. However casual he made it sound, Thorne was probing. “I have no idea,” Christoff said. “But the agent I captured left no doubt in my mind that they’re responsible. You said this other facility is in the moors. Is that the Duskstruck Moors?”

“Yes,” Thorne confirmed. “Duskstruck Moors. It’s about a day’s journey south of here. Are you familiar with it?”

“Our captive mentioned it in his interrogation,” Christoff lied. He saw no reason to mention the sylvari and his communique. “It seems a reasonable place to begin our search.”

“And some search it should be with such a large party,” the man responded. He gestured the pitcher, but Veritas raised his hand in a genteel refusal. “Are you so afraid of the asura that so many men were necessary? They’re clever in their own way, I suppose, but they’re so— small.”

That raised Christoff’s ire as much as his defense. Now Thorne was probing both his plan and his pride. “Please, Daren,” he said lightly. “I’ve traveled the northern expanse of this uncivilized region now, and the rumors are true. The Inquest are hardly the only danger out here. If I didn’t come with a force of my own, we could have run into trouble with any of a long list of potential enemies.”

“This is true,” Thorne conceded with a thoughtful nod. “Aside from law enforcement, I’d say those sylvari fiends are the worst the wildlands have to offer. The asura are self-serving malcontents, but the Nightmare Court— they’re zealots, and zealots are always dangerous.”

“A bit ironic coming from you, don’t you think?”

Thorne recognized Christoff’s meaning and couldn’t help but grin. The tension in the room unwound for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said, nodding his assent as he turned the tin cup in his hand. “But there’s a difference between a zealot on the right side and one on— well, any other side, really.” Both men grinned their unpleasant grins again.

“Now, returning to the matter at hand,” Christoff said, crossing one leg over the other as he took a more relaxed posture, “you say the moors are a day’s journey south?”

“Well, yes,” Thorne replied, now leaning forward slightly,” but you can’t go due south. The path requires a little knowledge of the landscape. I should send someone with you: a scout who knows the terrain.”

Christoff thought about that a moment. Though he’d have much preferred to avoid any complications with Thorne’s men, there were good reasons to accept the offer. Aside from the most evident benefit of having someone knowledgeable guiding them through territory they currently had nothing more than a map of, there was also the matter of maintaining Thorne’s trust. If he were to refuse the help of anyone in their order, he would be telling the other man in no uncertain terms that he had something to hide. Yes, Daren Thorne already knew that, but if nobility had taught Christoff anything as a child, it was the usefulness of maintaining appearances.

“That,” he finally said with a bow, “would be appreciated. It would be good to have a guide who knows the land.”

“Excellent. I know just the man. Not the smartest kid, but he knows this area like he was born here.” Thorne raised his hand and snapped at the men beside the door. “Alex, go get Sheridan. Tell him I have an assignment.” At that, the tall, boxy man to the right of the door nodded and stepped out of the room.

A few minutes later, the man returned with a wiry young man with a scruffy beard and sinewy arms. “You want’d me, sir?” he asked.

“Yes. Sheridan, this is Chief Veritas.” Sheridan looked at him and nodded respectfully, which Christoff reciprocated. Thorne went on, “He and his men need a guide into the moors. They’re looking for an Inquest cell.”

The spindly young man, his arms crossed stiffly, nodded his understanding as he finished picking something from his teeth with his tongue. “I know it,” he said blandly. “Big place. Lots o’them little know-it-alls. Even more o’their stone ‘n’ metal monsters.”

“See?” Thorne said with a flip of his free hand, “Sheridan knows more of the moors than I do. It pays to have good men.” He turned his attention back to the scout. “So you can take them there?”

“O’course I can, sir. But—” He looked uncertainly toward the pair from Kryta. “Why’re ya interested in them asuras more than any others?”

Thorne spoke before Christoff could. “It’s your job to get them there, Sheridan, not ask questions.”

“Pardon, sir,” Sheridan said with the first humble expression he’d worn. “Yeah,” he again confirmed with a subtle bow, “I can get ’em there.”

“Excellent,” the leader replied, raising his cup slightly. He turned his gaze specifically to Veritas. “Does this work for you, Christoff, or do you need more? I have plenty of men to spare at the moment. Women too, if that’s your preference.”

“Tempting, but no,” Christoff said straight-faced. He looked up and eyed the scout critically for a moment. He didn’t look like much, and he sounded like even less, but if he knew the way, that was all Veritas needed. “This is sufficient, Thorne. I’m in your debt.”

“Dont say that,” Thorne corrected with a smirk, “or I may just take you up on it.”

Christoff nodded before turning to address the guide. “Be ready at sunup. I don’t want to waste any time. Get us there, and we can do the rest. It might get ugly, so my people will handle it from there, and you may return.”

“O’course, sir,” the young man affirmed, clearly holding back his distaste for being ordered by a stranger. Veritas knew that feeling.

“For now,” Thorne broke back in, “I’m sure you and your men are tired and hungry from your travel.” He looked up over Christoff’s head and snapped again at the man beside the door. “Alex, take these men and their associates to the barracks.” He returned his attention to the guests before him as the man approached. “Go, get some rest or enjoy yourselves around the fort. Veritas, you’re welcome to join me at my personal table just after sunset.”

Christoff nodded with a polite smile as he rose from his seat. “I’d welcome a legitimate meal,” he said.

As Remi smoothed out the lower half of his coat, Veritas and Thorne gripped forearms over the desk before bidding each other farewell. Alex led the pair silently back across the room and out the doorway, passing the other guard as they went and disappearing down the spiralled staircase that led back toward the base of that tower and put them into the courtyard.

Daren Thorne watched as the two Queensdale men rounded the stairwell. Sheridan began toward the door as well, but Thorne stopped him with a quick grip on his arm, listening for the sound of the downstairs door slamming shut behind Veritas and his lieutenant.

“Veritas is up to something, and he doesn’t want to share,” Thorne said in a low voice. His eyes, half hidden behind his lowered brow, met those of the scout. “That makes me want to know all the more.” Sheridan nodded, and Thorne went on, “When you get them to their destination, appear to do as he says and leave, but stay nearby and watch before returning to me. Learn everything you can. I want to know it all.”

A smug grin spread across Sheridan’s face. He nodded his acknowledgement before silently stepping away and walking out the door.