Chapter 6

Dances with Devils

The fight swirled like a sandstorm, whipping all around her in some mad dance she couldn't begin to fathom. Her ears rang from the clash of steel and from the screams. More thugs hurtled in from the dark maze of the docks, screaming with weapons raised. Some slammed into the flanks, but most hurled themselves into that central battle, trying to overwhelm and overbear Mook, Aleria and now the Lord Corthala. Bolts of light and fire flashed around and men fell. It seemed as if the very hells had burst free through the streets and now threatened to swallow her in their flames.

Yet somehow, in all this madness, she found herself an island. No one seemed interested in one little woman with a short sword. Her instincts screamed at her to take this chance, to find a nice safe place to and wait for all this to be over. Let those who were good at fighting fight, while those smarter that that could be someplace nice and safe and in one piece.

But she couldn't. She couldn't leave Mook alone, she couldn't let anything happen to Mook, not when there's something she could do to help. So, swallowing hard and hand tight around her short sword, she threw herself into the maelstrom.

Ducking a wild backswing, she slipped inside the guard of one long haired and putrid smelling man in leather. The smell really shocked her, not how bad it was, because she'd smelt worse, but because she noticed it. She just didn't expect that, she figured she'd be too busy to notice that while fighting for her life. And yet she did.

A line of fire burst along her left arm. Screaming, she looked down to see a gash in armor and blood, - blood - flowing down her arm. Blinking, she turned her shoulder to get a closer look at her arm. She really had been cut. The cut was deep too.

Sensing more than seeing the incoming blade, she twisted out of the way, the blade slicing past her back. Looking up, she found herself face to face with a snarling half elf with a wicked looking scimitar. He growled and swung again, and Sime just managed to get her sword up to block the swing. Sparks flew and a jolt raced down her arm from the impact.

Grimacing, she danced to the left to avoid a wide overhand swing. The follow-through carried the half elf far forward, exposing his side. Gritting her teeth despite the jangles still running through her arm, she lunged forward with the point extended.

The point found a seam in the man's armor and slid in like a knife through silk. A gush of blood, hot and sticky, spilled over the hilt onto her hand as the half elf turned his head to look at her. Eyes wide with shock and mouth gaping, he lifted his sword to strike. She tugged hard on the blade, but the wound seemed to have closed over the steel like a vice. Unable to free it, she twisted it with all her might.

A soft, strangled cough escaped his lips and his sword arm trembled as her blade pulled free with a sickening, sucking sound. Light blue eyes fixed on hers, still wide with shock. His sword tumbled from his hand and he coughed again, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Then, without a further sound, he collapsed to the cobbles.

A coldness flooded through her stomach as the half elf collapsed lifeless to the ground. It chilled her to the core, an ice colder than a desert night filling her veins. She'd heard some of the others talk about the heat of battle, but there was no heat here. It was the same coldness that a deadly scuffle in an alley provoked, the same sickening smell of blood and fear. Charging into this had been insane.

Senses more aware than her brain, she spun, blade slashing out. Steel met steel and a very familiar voice cried out, "Sime, lass! It's me, Mook!"

Sime blinked, her mind catching up to her reflexes. It was Mook. Her face was blood-spattered and hair a sweaty mess, but it was her. Thank the gods. "Mook! You alright?"

"So far," she said with a small grin. "Now just try to avoid poking holes in me, okay?"

"Gotcha," she said cringing.

"No worries. First battles are always crazy. This one especially. The arm okay?" she asked, sparing her a glance and repositioning herself to meet any charges.

"A little too slow," she said, flexing her wounded arm. "But I'll live."

"My little one, surviving battle is what it's all about. Glory's for the others. Just make it through."

"That's my plan, Mook," she said, grinning back before making a defensive half turn.

"Mine too. And it should work, because it looks like we're going to win this one!"

Sime gave the battlefield a once over. A couple of fires burned merrily, likely from that wizard's magic, but it looked like the attackers were being pushed back. Jaheira was leading one countercharge while the Lord Anomen seemed to have driven off the harridan trying to kill him. Mook might just be right. "You're right Mook! We're winning! We're going to hold the warehouse!"

Mook clapped Sime on the back. "Not a bad way to finish off your first battle, eh Sime? A victory."

"Perhaps a victory, but one you will not live to savor, Mook," a low voice hissed from behind them. Both spun on their heels to face the same grey faced man who started the whole fracas. Somehow he'd managed to sneak up on both of them, a seeming impossible task except he'd managed it. He smiled, showing long fangs. "Your pet knights might have saved your warehouse, but it was not the only target. You are the Shadowmaster's strong right arm. We mean to deprive him of it."

"Hell you are!" Mook shouted, slashing at him with her sword.

The man ducked the blade and grabbed her wrist. Mook screamed as he twisted his hand, bending her wrist back and spilling her sword to the ground. "Now, don't struggle, it will only prolong the suffering."

"Mook!" Sime screamed, lunging forward. Her strike was crude, and the grey faced man easily avoided it.

"Foolish child," he hissed, and then almost negligently, backhanded her across the face.

The blow lifted her off her feet and sent her crashing to the pavement. Her sword clattered to the cobbles and her head spun from the sheet power of it. Blinking hard through the stars, she watched helplessly as the grey man twisted Mook's arm cruelly, bending her over. Mook yelped and her knees buckled.

"Ahh, Mook, it is unfortunate you are so loyal. My mistress prizes talent, and wished to have you come to us willingly. No matter, you will still serve."

"Hells I will, you bastard," she cursed, kicking at him, still fighting.

Sime's head started to clear and she managed to meet Mook's eyes. Pain flared through them, but they also begged her to run. To leave her.

"Oh, but you will, my sweet Mook," the grey man hissed. He reached down and grabbed the collar of Mook's armor and seemingly effortlessly ripped the leather open. Grabbing the loose leather, he hauled her upright. "You will. But only as a slave. A pity, but acceptable."

Turning away from Sime, he bit her, fangs closing over her neck. A scream filled the air, but Sime would never be sure it if was Mook's or hers. Or both.

Something inside Sime snapped. Mook was the closest thing she had to family, and by the gods, she wasn't going to let that bastard hurt her. Gathering up both sword and courage, she picked herself up and charged at the grey man's back.

Her sword sunk deep in the man's back as she threw all her might into the strike. The man straightened reflexively and he reached back clutching at the blade stuck in his back. He let Mook tumble to the ground and cursed. Twisting the blade, Sime snarled, "Die you bastard!!!"

The grey man spun amazingly fast, yanking the hilt out of Sime's hand. His eyes burning brightly, he reached behind him and pulled the sword out. He hefted the sword and laughed. "I already have. And a toy like this is certainly not going to stop me."

He tossed the unstained blade at her feet and laughed again. Sime stared at the blade in utter shock, floored that it had done nothing. A hand grabbed her chin, hauling her head up to face the cold grey man. His bright burning eyes drew her in, sucked her in, sapped her of her strength. She simply stood, rooted to the spot as his hand, his icy cold hand, wrapped around her throat.

Pulling her close, she looked into his terrifyingly handsome face. He laughed, bathing her in the coppery smell of Mook's blood. "But, my pretty little thing, that doesn't mean you are forgiven. I had meant to take one slave, but why not two? Especially one as pretty as you. And I will take my time teaching you the folly of striking me with such a paltry weapon."

"Then let us try this one, fiend!" another voice shouted.

There was a terrific flash of searing white gold, blinding her. The pressure around her mind and her throat slackened, and she collapsed to her knees, gasping. A thin, high keen filled the air, piercing deep into her skull, forcing her to clasp her hands to her ears in a futile attempt to block it out. The scream tore through her body, threatening to take her under.

As quickly as it started, it was gone.

Breathing hard, she looked up. A glowing figure clad in red knelt before her. Silvery light played across her form, caressing every inch of her with gentle divine fire. A bar of solid flame burned in one hand while the other hand closed over her shoulder. The hand was as warm as the grey man's had been cold, and a tremendous, delicious warmth spread through her. She focused on the vision's face, dominated by twin glowing emeralds. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, an angel descended to the earth.

She swallowed hard and screwed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the golden flames. After a moment, the light faded, and she slowly opened her eyes again. The golden flamed wreathed angel was gone, replaced by something far more human. A weary, sweat stained face stared at her from under a red and gold helmet. Bright green eyes studied hers and a hand shook her. "Sime? Sime, are you alright?"

"Lady Aleria?" she asked, mind swimming. Flames danced behind the knight, backlighting her bright light against the dark. Her massive, silver sword gleamed in the firelight. Visions began to make sense.

"Yes Sime."

"The … man?

"The vampire found my blade less than to his liking. Thankfully, he decided to gloat long enough for me to get here. Are you alright? He did not bite you?"

Sime clutched at her throat. "No… no," she said softly. "But he would have. I couldn't fight…"

The hand tightened on her shoulder. "One of the vampire's power is to mesmerize to make it easier to take their victim."

The word victim rang with the deafening cacophony of her homeland's tower bells in her head. "Mook? Mook! He bit Mook!"

She twisted out of the knight's grip and scrabbled across the pavement to where Mook had fallen. Her face was grey and ashen, her lips near purple. A spider's web of black veins spread from the ugly red wound on her throat. Despite the ghastly wound, only a slight trickle of blood oozed from it with each rasping breath. "Mook!" she screamed, wrapping her arms around her chill form.

With the soft scraping of her armor on the rough cobbles, Aleria knelt next to her. "I will do what I can…" she said, a tremor in her voice betraying a worrying lack of confidence.

"Please! Please! You have to!" she cried, clutching to Mook like a lifeline.

Aleria nodded and reached out; gently pressing her hands to Mook's wounded neck. She began to chant in a low, soft tongue, her eyes closing. Clutching Mook's tightly, she watched lines of strain crease her face, highlighting the hollows under her eyes and a usually near invisible long, shallow scar on her cheek. As she prayed, the knight looked decades older, careworn and tired, but also so very vital and alive. She couldn't understand it, and before she could think more on it, the chant reached its crescendo.

She'd seen healing before, but not like this. A soft blue glow spread from Aleria's hands into Mook's body. It coursed over Mook's skin like living fire, setting her own skin tingling as it flowed around her arms. The fire chased the black veins down her face and neck and color blossomed on Mook's cheeks. Her body stiffened and her eyes snapped open, their piercing blue now masked with a thick, milky veil. She gasped wordlessly before slumping back into Sime's arms.

Aleria's bowed head raised slowly. The green fire behind her eyes was banked, and she sighed softly. "I am sorry Sime. This wound… this wound is beyond the powers gifted to me."

"That can't be!" she cursed, sobbing. "You have to do something! That's what you do!" The black lines were quickly spreading again. Her whole left cheek was covered with the veins and color drained from her face. Her eyes opened and seemed to fix on hers even as her breathing slowed. Reaching out, she gently stroked Mook's dirty, sweaty hair. "You're supposed to be some sort of hero... you're supposed to help. And you can't..." She looked up and glared at Aleria, eyes stinging from the tears. "And since you're no good, since you're useless... you can at least leave us alone."

"I am sorry Sime, if it were within my power..." Aleria's voice trailed off.

"I get it. You're sorry," she hissed, her voice cracking. "Now leave us be. Leave us in peace."

"It is not within my power... but perhaps..." A hand closed over Sime's shoulder. "Anomen! Anomen! I need you!"

The ring of mailed boots hurrying over cobbles filled her ears as she looked up at Aleria, hope starting to flood back. The knight had an idea. Aleria had an idea.

"Hang on Mook, please," she whispered. "Help is coming."

A metallic crunch signaled the arrival of Sir Delryn, as he knelt down beside them. "Yes, my Lady?" he asked, still sounding deferential and proper despite the exhaustion evident from his heavy breathing.

"Anomen," Aleria said quickly. "Has Helm granted with you any prayers of restoration today?"

Sir Delryn nodded quickly, leaning in towards Aleria. "The Watcher has so gifted me. Did one of those foul creatures bite you?"

"Nothing more than a few scratches, Anomen. I am well. It is Mook, she was bitten. I tried to stop the spread of their cancer, but I have not the grace. You do."

"For Mook, my Lady?" he sputtered. "This is no mean prayer to dole out for thieves and brigands."

No different. No different at all. They might wear fancy metal armor and prance around in parades, do things for 'honor' and 'glory' instead of just good business, but they weren't an ounce different than any of her guildmates. Unless there was something in it for them, most would walk right past you in the gutter. Some probably would make sure you didn't get up. Even through blurry eyes, she could see on Sir Delryn's face that same thought. Same sentiment.

But she still had to try. Maybe there was something she could offer, something he'd want that she could trade for Mook. She had to try.

Swallowing hard, one arm tight around Mook's body, she reached out for Sir Delryn's hand. To his credit, he didn't pull back, lurch away like she was some sort of leper. But he still looked discomfited. Sniffling just once, she fell back on the training of her youth. "Please," she pleaded. "Please, if you can help her, please do. She's... she's all I have in this world. And if you help her, if you help her all I have is yours. Name it, whatever it is, please[/i] just help her."

Sir Delryn looked up and looked at her, and that hard sneer cracked. His lips drew back and his shoulders tensed. She could see the indecision in his face as he looked from her to Mook to Aleria.

"Please Anomen, help her. Undeath is no fate for anyone, no matter what their sins."

"Please. Please," she begged, feeling the warmth steal out of Mook. Her eyes stung as tears started to roll down her cheeks. She didn't care. She was losing her. She couldn't lose her. So what if he saw her cry. Stroking her cheek, she looked away from the knight and into Mook's graying face. "She's getting cold. Oh gods, please."

She heard Sir Delryn sigh heavily. "I... I will help her if the Watcher will so allow."

Her head snapped up, staring incredulously at the Helmite. He said he would help. Mook, Mook might make it! "Thank you! Thank you!" she gasped.

"Do not thank me yet, Sime. But I will make the attempt. Please, lay her flat on the ground so that I may work."

Gently she laid Mook down on the hard cobbles, folding Mook's hands over her chest before moving back to give the Helmite priest room. Sir Delryn moved to Mook's right side, removing his helm and setting it down across from him. His hair was matted and blood and sweat mingled on his left cheek where something had struck him. He twisted his neck back and forth and slipped his left hand out of his gauntlet to smooth back his hair. As he bowed his head, that hard, sneering mask he wore like armor softened, exhaustion and something else shining through. Taking a deep, slow breath, he swallowed hard and laid his gauntleted hands, one atop the other in the center of Mook's chest.

He began to chant, low and rhythmic. His voice, denuded of the harshness and disdain that colored it, was melodic. He either had formal training, which seemed odd for the joyless Helmites or he had a natural singing gift. Accompanied by the right instrument, it would be beautiful. An odd thought for the moment, but true, even as his chant quickened.

His brow knitted and sweat beaded on his skin. Jaw tightening and shoulders stiffening, he chanted faster and louder. The sweat began to pour down his face, dripping off his nose and beard as he leaned in further and closer. A gold white flare of light burst from his gauntleted hands, swallowing both Sir Delryn and Mook in its corona. Sime fell back and covered her eyes, the light blinding, piercing. It was like ten thousand eyes staring at her at once, peering through every ounce of her being.

And as quickly as it came, it was gone.

Sir Delryn rocked back onto his heels, breathing hard. He reached out to steady himself, swaying drunkenly, but before he could fall, Aleria caught him and steadied him. Still feeling the shock of that light, Sime was silent as Aleria asked, "Was your prayer granted?"

"Yes," Sir Delryn replied breathlessly. "The Watcher granted the favor. She will heal, but she will be weak for some time." Chest heaving, he turned towards Sime woozily. "She will need bed rest and nourishing food. The flesh nearly failed and will need help in recovering."

"As will you my friend," Aleria said, wrapping her arms around the Helmite's chest and helping him to his feet. "Keldorn! I need your assistance here!" she shouted over her shoulder as she propped him up.

"You will take care of her?" Aleria asked.

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much, both of you!" she gushed, rushing to Mook's side. The paleness in her face was gone, the black veins retreated. She wrapped her arms around Mook, hugging her tightly, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

She heard both Aleria and Sir Delryn say something, but her attention was only on Mook. Mook was going to live. Mook was going to make it.

"Oof. Lass, you're squeezing the life out of me," A very familiar if painfully soft voice said.

She loosened her grip around her Mook. "Sorry... sorry about that, Mook." She kissed her forehead, tears dripping down on her.

"Now I know how the coffee pot feels when I scour it with my copper brush," she moaned softly. She tried to sit up, but slumped back into Sime's lap. "What in the Nine Hells just happened?"

"You just had your life saved by a Helmite priest."

"You mean that arrogant pimple of a man? The one whose codpiece is three sizes too small?"

"Aye," she said, grinning and sniffling. "You owe him... I owe him a great debt for bringing you back to me."

"Vampires, heroes and being saved by Helmites," Mook said, shaking her head softly.

"Aye."

"Way too old for this."