A/N: Here's how the story went on. :D Drop me a review, please, it is really nice to know that someone had spent some pleasant minutes reading about different worlds and magic and all we would like to see, hear and be. :D In the next chapter, we'll finally see what's that strange Avernon-l'Arque supposed to be and what it is that makes it so special... it and Idrielle both.
II. A Minute Difference of Our Worlds
It was raining.
The trees were moaning in the ruthless wind, their boughs creaking under the onslaught of the brewing storm. Autumn was definitely well on her way to the year's throne, a truth well marked by flames of red, orange and yellow burning in the forest's leaves. The sky was half overcast, clouds of dark blue and gray flooded by coppery light streaming from below. The sun was setting.
When Idrielle'd spotted the lonely inn at the border of a small cluster of houses, soaked to the bone and teeth chattering, he'd wished he could teleport himself the rest of the way right in that moment. But he couldn't. He'd had used up his shiivi teleportation magic just that morning by saving himself a tenday's worth of travelling to Cormyr's northern borders.
It wasn't the physical discomfort, however, that caused him to quicken his step, his hand firmly clenched in the dripping, heavy fur of Kay's back. It was that he simply couldn't afford to fall ill now.
He had never been exceedingly resilient and he knew it. Instead of denying something that was inherent to him, he recognized the risk of his condition and took it into consideration when planning for his strategy. The facts now were that he was beginning to feel a slight burn in his lungs and had been walking in the rain since sunrise, and if he didn't find a warm, dry shelter soon enough, chances were that he would faint somewhere along the way. In this weather, the roads were empty. Kay alone wouldn't be able to wake him. And that would definitely mean pneumonia.
He'd been forced to change his form back to human a few hours ago, when the land had become too populated for him to remain unnoticed. He wasn't happy about it, because he moved much slower at this rate and as a shiivi he wasn't as susceptible to common illnesses, but he had to reach Damara in time for the autumn entrance examinations, and neither random conflicts with authority nor fever would get him there.
He climbed the last muddy bank and stumbled to the door, leaning on its frame for a little while. Kay, after lightly leaping up the slope, halted beside him and looked at him with those concerned pieces of sapphire that passed for his irises.
"You act injured. Your eyes are glistening. I smell pain."
"I will be fine."
"You're slurring. I can't understand you. You want to meet a strange pack like this?"
"I can't stay outside."
"Then I will be with you. I'll protect you."
Idrielle put his shoulder against the door and let his weight push it open. Kay slipped inside and crouched low, an imperceptible growl rising at the back of his throat.
The common room of the inn was large and bursting at the seems. The air was heavy with talk, warmth and blurry, drunken comradeship, a faint whiff of perfume and wine drifting to the winter wolf's sensitive nostrils. Mirroring his master's unspoken but profound dislike of similar places, he clung to Idrielle's side, mistrustful and alert.
The moment the door closed behind them, the hulking inkeeper turned to greet any newcomers with a passing glance and a fleeting smile. Then his look registered the telltale snowy fur and icy blue eyes of Auril's sacred hunters.
He took half a step back and the smile melted off his face.
"Young master, you can't bring a winter wolf in here!"
His exclamation drew a handful of stares their way, and a few whispers ran among the tables. Most of the people, however, didn't even notice that someone had arrived above the laughter and clanging of cups. But two or three of the more well-travelled guests marked the austere black robes Idrielle was clad in and merely nodded their heads, all too familiar with the unfathomable ways of wizards.
"Good evening to you, sir. He is my bonded familiar. He won't do anything I wouldn't do myself."
It must have been Idrielle's voice. He never spoke loudly, his tone always polite and calm. The innkeeper couldn't see his eyes well enough through the long bangs reaching halfway down his nose, but there had been a subtle glint of that kind of quiet confidence that somehow manages to feel intense without appearing arrogant.
Also, he suspected, the wording had not been exactly random. An indistinct uneasiness settled over him.
"Well, then… if you say so… I'll just have to believe your word, won't I?" The large man tried a friendly smile, and although the young mage bowed his head slightly in return, perfectly gracious, the taverner hurriedly turned back to his business again.
Idrielle walked across the room with his back straight, his step brisk, as if there wasn't a healthier person on all the Prime Material. Only when he practically fell into a seat at a table in the far corner of the hall did he allow his head to rest against the old wooden wall. The hearth crackled brightly just next to him.
Kay gave him one glance, then glided his way through both the animate and inanimate legs. He stopped in front of the bar where the innkeeper was pouring a large pint of foamy ale to a red-bearded merchant dwarf sitting nearby.
"I won't do you harm, human," he said when he saw the apprehensive glimpse out of the corners of the landlord's nut-brown eyes. "Send mulled wine to Master's table. White. And send him game… food. Also, give me the keys of a suitable den for tonight."
The innkeeper - whose name was, by the way, Ilmar Brett - had been an inkeeper for the better part of his fifty years old life. He had seen his share of adventurers in his time, and had talked to many seasoned travellers. He knew that winter wolves' breath forced stones to crack and that they could even speak two languages…
He had never expected to be ordered around by one in the middle of his own inn.
----
The weather had been steadily growing worse for the past two tendays. Wind, cold, some of the roads north were reported to be rendered impassable by land-slides and uprooted trees.
And it had been raining.
The day Idrielle'd left Iriaebor had been the last warm, dry day of the year. Since then, his journey to Avernon-l'Arque had been considerably slowed down by the rain. Even his shiivi senses could not navigate him well enough through some of the storms.
He pondered this as he stared into the fire in the hearth, calculating how much time he had left until the entrance tests for this term were over.
He had to heal himself somehow.
"Hi there, sweetheart. Yer looking really wasted. Are ye alright?"
He lifted his gaze from the fireplace to find a pretty young waitress smiling at him. She had curly red hair, white skin and seemed to be sincerely curious about his answer.
"Actually, not all that much, good miss. I do not seem to bear this weather well."
Her grey eyes were bright with curiosity, and as she received no rebuff from this silent young man, she sat down opposite him, her work forgotten just for a little while. Just for a little while, she could pretend she was someone else, a great lady or a stalwart adventurer, utterly used to conversing with wizards, perhaps planning some important scheme even now…
"Oh! I'm sorry for that, sir. Where are ye travelling?"
Kay lay under the table, sleeping, one ear twitching at the sound of the conversation.
Idrielle had problems to concentrate on her words. The room was swimming in and out of focus all around him, the crackle of flames deafeningly loud.
"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't realize… yer truly ill, aren't ye, and here I go jabbering… can I help ye somehow? Should I bring ye something? Perhaps ye should be sleeping…"
Idrielle managed a weak nod.
"I'll help ye into yer room, okay? Let me…" She put her arms around his shoulders, relishing the feel of hot, firm muscles underneath the black turtleneck and robe, pulling him to the staircase.
In the shadows out of the common room, however, she headed to an inconspicous side door leading to the back yard of the inn.
Idrielle didn't react.
It had stopped raining sometimes during the night, but the sky hadn't cleared by any means. The clouds hung heavy and low in the sky, threatening to spill their vengeance upon the world soon.
The air was chilly.
"Boys," came a whisper from the red-haired barmaid. "Hey, lads, I have a real something this time. A spellslinger, can't stand on his feet. Bound to be riches for all!"
Her harsh whispering drew a small shadowy bunch of about six men, quickly slipping out of their various hiding places near the door.
"Are you nuts, Maejrie?" one of them hissed. "A wizard! As if that paladin you dragged out the last time wasn't enough!"
"He was more than enough!" Maejrie snapped. "Yer living from the drunken hypocrite's gold even today, Ian Farrey, so shut up and rob this one blind!"
Idrielle reached up and touched Ian's forehead.
A silent cry burst out of the mugger's mouth as the dark lifedraining magic that no-one else remembered those days instantly established a bridge between their essences and umercifully yanked the robber's health forward and across.
Idrielle felt a surge of new life-energy hurtling through the gate of the link, clearing his senses and burning the fever away.
That was the moment when he took a knife stab into his left shoulder blade. He sensed it coming, however, and threw himself down, saving his spinal cord in the process. There was no time to cast another spell and his old rapier had stayed back in the inn with his bag so that he would appear even less threatening to the waitress.
He hit the ground back first and kicked out, effectively snapping his opponent's left kneecap, then rolled up mere few feet away, but it was enough. The man crumbled with a howl of pain, startling the other four who were very much inexperienced in the ways of true combat, buying Idrielle those much needed few seconds.
A shiivi's silvery fangs glistened in the soft, fragrant rain.
Maejrie tried to scream, but her throat was promptly ripped out, her life-force following the flow of her blood into the demon's essence.
Four to go.
The remaining thugs tried to run for it when they spotted the actual consequences of their rash choosing of victims, but there was no being on the Great Wheel that could outrun a shiivi.
Later that night, the stars were finally bright.