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Azzanadra reappeared on Wahisietel’s doorstep later in the week, this time having assumed a very different form.
“This is a business call,” he said by way of greeting. The twin feathers on his hat bobbed emphatically.
“At least you’re a human this time.” Wahisietel let him into the house, eyeing his outfit up and down with amusement. “What kind of human, I’ve no idea, but you blend in marginally better than you did as an eight-foot-tall skeleton.”
“Very funny,” deadpanned Azzanadra. “I am posing as an archaeologist.”
“You look more like an archaeological exhibit.” Still in his own human form, Wahisietel raised a scholarly eyebrow. “The colour palette screams ‘Second Age’. And is that scarf samite?”
“Wahisietel.”
“Alright, alright.” He suppressed a grin. It was good to have company.
“So what do you want?”
“I need to borrow one of your agents. Someone trustworthy and resourceful. Preferably known to the Archaeology Guild.”
“Let me see... I might have someone in mind.” Wahisietel pulled a folder from one of the bookcases on the wall and began to flip through the files. “And you'd be sending this human to locate the old temple for you?”
“That will not be necessary. I have already been to the temple myself.”
Wahisietel paused, looking up from his task. “I was not aware.” He studied Azzanadra's expression, contemplating how far it would be safe to probe. “How was it?”
“The temple is buried underground, but structurally intact. Which is surprising, considering the state of...” Azzanadra made a vague, expansive gesture of the hand. Everything, it said. “And, of course, the furnishings and iconography are long gone; blame the invaders for that.”
Wahisietel felt no need to mention that it was Senntisten’s residents who had stripped the temple of its ornate trappings when they’d converted it into a makeshift field hospital. He simply nodded.
“Worse still,” intoned Azzanadra, “the odious fools at the Guild will not allow me to begin restoration efforts. They claim that I lack credentials, that not just anyone can waltz into the ruins and start hacking away at the remnants of ancient Saranthium.” His eyes flared with rage, the unnatural amethyst radiance visible even through his archaeologist’s disguise. “If I have to hear that accursed name one more time, I am going to raze the Guild to the ground and not have to bother with their permission ever again.”
Wahisietel winced. “Look, I get it. I do. But – and I cannot stress this enough – blowing your cover would endanger us both. You’ll just have to find another way.”
Azzanadra took some time to consider this. Slowly, gradually, the bright violet of his irises faded back to a human shade of amber. “I suppose the consequences could be inconvenient,” he conceded once his temper had cooled.
“That’s... something of an understatement. I hope you bring that confidence to the Ritual.”
“This again, Wahisietel? I’ve told you already: you will be fine.”
“I don’t think I’ll be the sacrifice, at least. But I suppose I knew that even before your return.”
Azzanadra blinked in surprise, but then smiled gently. “Good. The others should learn to fear your strength and ingenuity.” Something like affection and something like pride flickered in his expression. “It is about time you gave yourself some credit.”
His disarming sincerity, so unusual for one of their kind, could be utterly devastating.
“It’s nothing like that. They have a weaker target this time, that’s all.” Wahisietel found the file he was looking for, and set it down on the table without reading the words. “They were informed of Jhallan’s hiding place the day he went back into hibernation.”
Azzanadra seemed to process this. “I am sorry to hear it,” he said. “But I do not see how they could have known so soon, unless...”
There was a protracted silence.
“Help me understand.” It was somewhere between an entreaty and an order.
Wahisietel was defensive. “If they hadn’t found Jhallan, it would have been me. I was completely isolated. And as hard as I have been trying to keep up the charade, I can feel their attention on me as our numbers dwindle.” He could not help the note of dread creeping into his voice. “I think they know.”
“And so – just to be clear – you had Jhallan returned to stasis, then sold him out while he was at his most helpless?”
“I was at my most helpless. There is a point at which considerations of honour become irrelevant.”
“Perhaps. But Jhallan is an ally. A friend. We would do well not to forget our decency.”
“Right, decency, because that’s a trait our lot has in abundance –”
“No. But I know you do.”
Despite the admonishing tone, Wahisietel relaxed slightly. Of course Azzanadra was still the same, would not think worse of him for this. Trust, once granted, was seldom ever revoked. It could be a frustrating attitude to deal with, but today Wahisietel was grateful for it.
“I don’t want to argue,” he said. “I did what I thought I had to in order to protect myself. My conscience might not be clear, but after countless centuries behind enemy lines, I am at least still alive.” He summoned all of the honesty he could muster. “It hasn’t been easy.”
Azzanadra regarded him. “I cannot condone your action. But... I suppose I can accept the reasoning behind it. At any rate, if Jhallan is as weakened as you say, there is nothing either of us can do to help him now.”
They both quietly acknowledged this.
“That being said,” Azzanadra continued, “given that there is now a designated sacrifice, why are you still worried about the Ritual?”
Wahisietel thought of Lucien and the Siphon. Zemouregal and Arrav. His own human agents, some of whom had inklings about the Ritual, none of whom knew who he was. The reveal of his identity, which would have to be arranged perfectly. The odd movements he was picking up via his network, hinting that something bigger was about to happen, though he couldn’t quite put the pieces together yet...
“There are a lot of moving parts,” he said. “I do intend on filling you in, but that can wait until your current business is complete.”
He pressed the file he was holding into Azzanadra’s hands. “Have this one. I’ve sent them on missions in the past. They’re young, even for a human, but competent. Tell them who you are, if you need to, but for all intents and purposes I am human and my interest in obscure old ruins is purely academic.”
“Yes, this will do.” Azzanadra scanned through the file, nodding to himself. “That should be everything, then. When you see your agent next, please direct them to a Dr. Nabanik at the Varrock dig site.”
“Understood. And, before you go, how are things?”
Azzanadra’s brow furrowed. “I have already told you about the state of the temple, and the restoration work I plan to perform.”
“Yes.” Wahisietel gave him a meaningful look. “But how are things?”
It was no secret that Azzanadra did not like to be fussed over. He had always seemed mildly uncomfortable receiving attention outside of what was required for his job – so deeply had he subsumed his identity into his duty. But Wahisietel had never failed to recognize the person underneath.
At present, the question seemed to have caught Azzanadra off guard. “What? I don’t know. Keeping busy.” He paused briefly in consideration. “Doing a bit better.” Then, his voice suddenly grew loud and gruff. “There is no need for you to worry –”
“Oh, who said anyone was worried?” interjected Wahisietel airily. There was a light, playful undertone to his words. “Anyway, I’m sure you have a lot of work on your plate, Dr. Nabanik. Better get to it.”
“...Right,” said Azzanadra. And then, “Thank you.” He teleported away.
Wahisietel’s gaze remained fixed on the space where he had been. “I probably do worry too much,” he said to the empty room. “But I can’t help it. Not when it comes to my safety. Certainly not when it comes to you.” The confession echoed, unheard, off the sandstone walls.