A/N: Well... The first thing about this story is that I'm not its author. It belongs to thisperson (www. diary. ru /~Fatalis). I've been so excited, having read it for the first time, that I've decided to translate it, so that more people could read it (and I sincerely apologise for not asking permission to do that. Sorry, no offence meant!)
The second: I've been studying english forso many years, but had a little practise, so if there are any grammatic, punctuation or other mistakes, please, tell me and I'll try to fix them (as soon as I'll have a stable access to the Internet). Also I hadproblems with interpreting some specific words and expressions from russian into english, and translating the verses really was a pain in the ass, but I hope the result is not as bad as I imagine.
And the third: the story has three chapters, BUT the second and the third chapters are actually the alternative endings (as far as I understood).
Soo, enjoy I guess, and please review... It means the world to me... ^_^
Chapter 1: "We shall pay for everything… "
- We must return to the Crossroad Keep at once! – Casavir insisted again.
- Don't worry, we'll be there in time, - said Neeshka, embracing crying Elanee's shoulders.
- We must report…
- Shut up, paladin, - Bishop snapped, - the only thing we must do now – is to revenge Shandra's death… or maybe it hasn't touched you at all, huh?
The sand lying near the Heaven's walls sang it's song, and Amon Jerro, bound, with his eyes shut, kept on repeating his granddaughter's name…
The Squire of Neverwinter was standing on that very hill where they killed the meditating shaman… now she took his place, looking at the sand-colored sky, and the wind was drying every single tear dropping on her armor…
- Shandra…
The air caught the name and carried it away to the geyser…
- Forgive me, girl…
The road back eased the grieve for the loss a little, but they still looked at each other with awareness and mekancholy.
Neeshka said that there's going to be a fair at Highcliff soon, and they should be there by all means. She said it will help to distract from the grim thoughts… she said that Neverwinter doesn't need rag-doll heroes, and soon they will be obliged to forget this pain in order to go further…
Noone argued, except for Casavir…
To Highcliff then…
Some days after, the sea and the familiar houses appeared on the horizon.
As soon as she entered her room at the tavern, she shoved her sword to the farthest corner and took off the pressing armor.
Then she dug Shandra's portrait out of her bag and peered at her yellow hair and gentle features until the evening came…
It was quite noisy in the main hall. Peasants were drinking and dancing, resting after a hard-work day.
Two bards were tuning their lutes, preparing to sing. Grobnar was going to join them but Neeshka along with Khelgar held him still, having sat him at the table with a mug of ale.
- You'd better rest, my dear, - the tiefling purred, - you had a hard day.
How much she had already drunk? She didn't notice. After the third mug Shandra's face has lost it's mournfully-suffering expression and became quiet and even smiling slightly. After the fifth it became alive and flew away somewhere to the left, to the roaring sea of human hands, legs and laughter.
"They're so cheerful" – the warlock thought with envy, - "And all what's left to me – is just to sit here and drown my fears in this disgusting ale…"
- More ale! – she shouted and, turning her glance away from Elanee and Casavir, finally dropped her head on her hands, apparently gathering to burst into tears.
"No. No… no-no-no-no… Damn, I'm strong, these people are following me 'cause they believe me to lead them to a victory… but I'm only able to lead them to the green fairies' glade born from that damned ale…"
She looked around helplessly and, having wiped the tears with a sleeve of a dress, dropped her head again.
Her slightly green hair scattered on her shoulders, closing all those pieces of the outer world she still was able to see.
"Wish I could return to my good old West Harbour just for one day… to have fun at the fair and to explore the Mere with Amy and Beevil…"
Behind her closed eyes the past was reviving itself… there were no responsibility, no doubts and… no fear. Fear, yes. In that very fear, so animal-like and primitive, she gains her powers and strikes the orcs and skeletons. It's the fear, that gives her courage and a sharp ordering voice:
"Attack!"
And then –
"Gods, I will survive! I will survive, will I?....."
And she's the first, always the first with the The Nightthief's Claw in one hand and the Eldritch Blast steadily gaining it's power – in another. Save the gods even to touch the pale-skinned Sand or silly Elanee, which being now at the form of a badger or a bear, is actually out of help in a real battle, but still she does her best assured that she stands for all that's good and just, what's even worth… dying?
Her whole body shivered, when the last word was interrupted by a silent insinuating voice:
- Milady, would you be so kind as to dance with the poor humble tracker?
She felt the cold creeping around. As cold as a touch of two Bishop's ice swords, for each of which all merchants of the Sword Coast were ready to give at least twenty thousand gold.
She shook her head.
It's not only death she was afraid of. To open up her soul to this impudently beautiful derisive man for her was as terrible as death. And she willopen up 'cause she's all now like a bared nerve covered by Shandra's ashes…
Stripped to the bones?
- Oh come on, milady, - he smirked, dragging her out of the table, - Our holier-than-thou friend is out for his important paladin-business and I have a chance to dance with a beautiful girl without the subsequent act of family jealousy.
She helplessly obeyed the force dragging her to the center of a raging crowd.
Two fat-belied bards standing on a small stage were splashing out their simple but touching music.
Memories and alcohol made her shiver again and again.
Bishop pressed her to himself simply and confidently, as if he has been doing it for all his life.
The wooden overlappings of a ceiling has turned to strange clumsy constellations which she observed so many times while they were spending their nights in the woods or a field.
The song was flowing into her head, making a resonance to her fear and power.
The twilight is creeping up again
The day didn't pass in vain
We're running away - you and me
Like two young beautiful steeds
The wind's blowing our manes
The grass is quietly whispering about us
We shall pay for everything
But not now…
Because the fields are shining like gold,
And our movements are so simple
And stones in the fields are silent as before
Hiding our traces…
- I've heard this song before, - Bishop suddenly spoke, - they were singing it in Sunken Flagon that night when you with the shorty and that slip of an elf appeared there for the first time… You made such a noise because of these damned shards, that I wasn't able to listen to the song and seriously thought to slit your throats at night. However… my intentions about shorty haven't changed much, - he added thoughtfully.
- I feel dizzy, - she moaned, not able to observe the endless run of the wooden constellations.
- No way, my dear Knight, you won't get rid of me so simply, - he added rigidly and began whirling her even more fierce.
- Why did you say that…..., - at last she tore her glance from a ceiling and dropped her head on his chest. The touch of his armor was pleasantly cool. Unlike all of them Bishop hasn't removed his heavy leather breastplate even here, in friendly Highcliff.
The ranger suspended his mad run.
- Afraid to lose the earth under your feet? But it's already crushing not only under yours, but also under all the people's feet of this blasted world.
She remained silent. Under her eyelashes the dead snow was melting and a huge fire rustling.
- Listen to me…, - he shook her up, - silly, don't you see that everything's going to Hells?
- Aaa… I'm just a weak drunk woman, who lost her friend a few days ago… what do you want from me?
He lifted her chin and forced her to look into his prickly cold eyes for the whole two infinite seconds. She would sober if she didn't want to get drunk with them even more
- Let's escape.
The chase won't get us
The city burns its lanterns in vain
The night will rise behind our backs
Do not look back, do not.
The unseen strings are torn, -
Everything will achethen
We shall pay for everything
No regrets… why should we regret?
Because the fields are shining like gold,
And our movements are so simple
And stones in the fields are silent as before
Hiding our traces…
- What?!.. I… umm…
- I know every track in the Mere and in the woods to the north from here. I shall lead you away to absolutely different world, where stupid dirty farmers won't spoil the night's silence with their croaking laughter, and idiotic paladins won't teach you how to live. When the King of Shadows overruns this land - and it will happen anyway - you see how powerful he is, - we shall leave the overrun land, and the fresh wind that hadn't been touched by elvish magic, won't carry the shouts of dying peasants any more. I'll show you the ruins of an ancient realms lost in virgin woods, and the old caves in which the cold air itself could likely remember the creation of this world. At night the fire will tell us fairy-tales, and wolves will eat from your hands - the hands that will never know the weight of a sword again. And you'll show the sun the greenish glitter of your hair, standing under OUR marble sky. And all stuffy taverns together with human stench will become the past… Perhaps, when all calms down, we'll even find the remains of YOUR friends. Nobody's gonna force me to say a farewell speech to Casavir or Elanee, but you can do it. And when everything, that kept you here, will finally be finished, we'll get lost on the invisible paths of the woods forever… come on, warlock! I've never offered this to anyone before, that's why you must give a proper answer…
- I… I…, - the words were hitting her not worse than alcohol, and he didn't release her glance so that she couldn't even take a breath.
To betray Nasher? And the Greycloaks that trust her selflessly? To betray Khelgar and Neeshka, Casavir and Sand? To betray her distressed village? And Shandra's memory?
But if she refuses to fight, then… then this girl died in vain… But these eyes… She would willingly believe this man was related to demons…
Bishop peered at her face tensely.
At last she managed to turn her glance away and squeeze the words out:
- I… I can't… I must…
- Must? - the ranger laughed cruelly, - you even mustn't pay that innkeeper for the ale, understand? The one who has the power is the master. Somewhen I'll pull that paladin's tongue out and push it back to his own throat so as he won't act himself a fool and confuse the others… Listen… - he leaned closer, - you must choose: duty or freedom. Soon, when things get really bad, I shall repeat my question. And don't you dare to give the wrong answer…
The twilight is crawling again
The day will end, for certain
We're running away again
The two free young archers
The city will shut its doors
It will remember us for a long time
We shall pay for everything
But not now…
Because the fields are shining like gold,
And our movements are so simple
And stones in the fields are silent as before
Hiding our traces…
Casavir entered the tavern and noticed them, casting a look around. His face's expression became mournful and stony, and Bishop grinning impudently squeezed her even more and began whirling her through the hall almost tearing her off the floor. She had no strength to push him away, and in fact she didn't want to. Tomorrow… tomorrow they'll head to the Crossroad Keep to search for allies and prepare for war, which was forcing her heart to tremble with in horror for its inevitable conclusion. Bishop knows how much she's afraid now. More than she could imagine. But tomorrow everything will be different. Having put on her armor, she'll gather their little group and lead them straight ahead. And they will follow her. Because they believe. She also would be glad to believe in someone strong and reliable, but, alas, there's noone of that kind around here, and so it's necessary for her to be strong so that someone else could feel himself a hero.
In that distant tomorrow Highcliff will be ruined by the lizardfolk, the air will choke with screams of Greycloaks dying on the fortifications, the Ironfists will find the new king, the Mere of Dead Men will cover them with suffocating web, and the ancient dragon at last will achieve his long-awaited rest…
All of this will be tomorrow, and for now she has forgotten even Shandra's death and gave in to the music, alcohol and the hands whose scars don't prevent their owner to sow death and pain with his ice blades.
Yesterday's ale obviously wasn't making her existence a holiday, but she somehow came to senses having taken a bath in the ice-cold sea and feeling the weight of the Nightthief's Claw in her hand again. Their small group kept on joking, trying not to remind each other of Shandra; Bishop went forward, far away from them, searching for the shortest road to the Keep; Casavir was throwing gloomy glances at her, and Grobnar was discussing yesterday's bards performance.
She felt herself confident and easy again. They will revenge Shandra. They will destroy the King of Shadows. They…
But if not?
Brrr…
No. No doubts.
She won't give up.
No way.
Never.
No.
…
No?...
She walked looking at the ground beneath her feet and listening to Sand familiar's complaint miaowing.
If only…
Maybe…
Though…
She shook her head, trying to get rid of Bishop's voice.
"And you'll show the sun the greenish glitter of your hair, standing under OUR marble sky…"
From a dark smoky tavern she took the brightest memories for the last months.
She struggled inside her cage, and only Khelgar, whose heels she kept on stumbling, could notice something…
"You must choose: duty or freedom…"
Oh gods, that piercing Neeshka's laughter… somebody… make her shut up…
"And the fresh wind that hadn't been touched by elvish magic, won't carry the shouts of dying peasants any more…"
Mom? Mommy… what should I do…
The crystal-pure skies weren't reflecting absolutely anything. Sand was talking to Elanee enthusiasticly about how to make a potion of Barkskin. She was smiling and looking in his eyes trustfully.
Qara observed them grimly, playing with a small piece of a flame on her palm.
- … perhaps… But sometime we shall pay for it, - Casavir replied gravely to Khelar's retort.
She shuddered and lifted her head.
Shall we pay for it? Yes… no doubts, we shall… But not here… And not now.
And her glance, not touching the tops of Casavir's and Khelgar's heads, flew forward, trying to find Bishop's cloak among the thick foliage…
The invisible strings are torn, -
Everything will ache then.
We shall pay for everything
No regrets… why should we regret?