Author's Note: Welcome back. Kelsi, Martha, and Zeke fans, your time is coming. The next chapter will return to their storylines. Please enjoy this one as it continues to tie up some loose ends.
Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical. I don't own Baldur's Gate. I don't own a moped, either, although I did want one when I was little.
Too late, Jason realized that getting hit with lightning would hurt, and that he should probably get out of the way. Luckily for him, he didn't have to worry about that, because today was not the day that deep-fried Jason would appear on any local menus.
What did hurt, though, was the back-on collision he had with the street. He landed hard, and his savior, a mass of brown and gold, weighed more than he thought, taking Jason's breath away sharply.
Garrick rose to his feet within seconds, withdrawing his sword from his scabbard and advancing on his former employer. It only seemed to anger her further.
"So, my witless bard, you've allied yourself with the fool! Then you shall meet your end together!" she screeched. Her staff whirled as Garrick's first strike connected with it, the resounding crack ominously filling the summer air. Words were again on her lips, strange and foreign to Jason, but they seemed to be familiar to Garrick, because his eyes widened as he struck faster.
It didn't help. Each strike was met with the blur of the staff, and after a deep green flash, there were suddenly four Silkes moving as one, each clustered around one another. Jason could scarcely believe his eyes.
It seemed that Garrick couldn't, either, but he kept striking haplessly with his sword, hoping to catch the woman off-guard. The four shapes moved as one, blocking his strikes almost effortlessly. More words came to the women's lips, and just a few moments later, three pink spheres flew out from them and into Garrick. He staggered backwards, crying out in pain; Jason saw blood dripping from his midsection onto the street.
Something about Garrick's scream of pain seemed to snap Jason out of his funk. Recharged, he found himself on his feet all of a sudden, his bow in his hands and an arrow notched. His mind returned to him, and for a second he hesitated.
Then the woman started chanting again, and he knew that nothing good came of that, so he released the arrow and watched it fly. It landed in one of the Silkes' necks, and just like that, she vanished without a cry. Realizing the trick, Jason hurriedly notched another arrow as Garrick clumsily moved forward with his sword, desperately trying to keep Silke busy.
The arrow flew true again, and another illusion vanished. Garrick, somehow finding the strength and smarts to swing his sword high and use the momentum to go low, brought Silke to the ground, ending her chanting abruptly and dispelling the last illusion. Jason held his arrow back as Garrick stabbed down at her with the sword, relentless in his assault, but Silke was just as relentless, rolling away and onto her feet.
She lashed out with two quick blows, and the feint caught Garrick; her staff smacked into his bleeding midsection and he fell, sword clattering to the street. Silke raised her staff high, ready to crush his windpipe with one precise blow.
Jason didn't let her have the chance.
The arrow flew soundlessly, unerringly, towards his target. Staff poised above her head, Silke never noticed the arrow until the surprised gurgle issued from her bloody throat. It pierced her jugular. She never had a chance.
Down she went, slowly, like a falling tree in the forest, crumpling onto her side, the staff rolling out of her hands.
The battle over, the three men---the supposed "thugs"---suddenly rushed to help, and as they returned to Jason's vision, so did the sounds of the world. Without warning, the clanging armor of three guards running towards him assaulted his senses. A young girl was crying in the doorway of a cottage. The "thugs" were yelling for medical assistance.
And Garrick, who couldn't be any older than Jason himself, was screaming, his lifeforce oozing out of him and onto the ground.
Although Jason heard the voice assuring him that everything was going to be all right, he didn't listen to it. He saw the "thugs" attending to Garrick, eventually lifting him onto a massive shield borrowed from the smithy, but he didn't perceive it. The bow was lifted from his hands and he was led behind Garrick's carriers, but he felt none of their guiding gestures. He didn't notice the absence of the weapon, the pebbles in the street crunching underneath him, the whispers of the townspeople at the peculiar sight, the opening of the door to Feldepost's Inn, the scattering of the patrons, or the trip up the stairs to the room where they finally laid Garrick, gently depositing him into the bed. Jason watched, a mere observer, as the clerics that were led in worked on his savior.
"What about this one?" a man in blue robes asked, having exhausted his resources and poultices.
"He's fine, just a bit frazzled. Do you have...?" one of the three "thugs" trailed off.
"I can try," the man replied, and bent down to meet Jason's gaze. He started to chant, and although Jason didn't recognize it, his mind sparked to life, the image of Silke flooding his brain, the sight of lightning striking before his eyes.
He lashed out, but arms were ready, holding him still as he kicked and struggled with all of his might. Then, the chanting stopped, and so did he.
The image of Silke and the blood dripping from her throat still pervaded his mind, but he could control it, now, could push it away with effort and finally loose his tongue to speak.
"How is he?" Jason croaked, staring into the blue-robed man's eyes, searching for clues. The man smiled benevolently, obviously pleased that his remedy had done the trick.
"Your friend is going to be just fine. My associates are just bandaging his wounds now. He'll have to stay off his feet for at least a day or so in order to let his body heal, but he should be up and at 'em after that," the man promised.
Jason nodded, satisfied. The man turned to inspect his charges' work, then left, shaking the hands of each of the "thugs" as he did so, and giving Jason a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder.
"We're terribly sorry about this," the chubbiest "thug" began, biting his lip as he addressed Jason.
"You couldn't have known," he found himself replying quickly. He meant the words, but his voice was as hollow as the belly of a guitar.
"Still, we'd like to make it up to you," the tallest insisted, pulling out a small bag and setting it on the table in front of where Jason was sitting. "There are a few oils in there that we were going to offer to Miss Rowena as recompense for any ill will Master Feldepost may have shown to her," he explained.
"We also brought these," said the third quietly, the bearded one. He moved from his spot behind Jason to set Jason's bow, Garrick's sword, a small bag, a necklace, and a familiar silver staff alongside the bag of oils.
"That's all we could find on the scene. Is there anything you know of that's missing?" asked Bearded Man. Jason shook his head, never once tearing his eyes from the silver staff, the weapon that had almost taken an innocent life.
"Come, friends, let us leave them to rest," Chubby brusquely demanded, ushering the other two towards the door.
"The room is yours whenever you require it, free of charge, for our folly," whispered Tall before following his friends out.
The door shut quietly. Jason rose, fiddled with the latch until he was satisfied that it was locked, and flumped back down into the wooden chair. Garrick's light snores met his ears as he sat, staring at the staff until he fell into a fitful repose of his own.
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"The book's not evil, you know," Troy insisted.
Gabriella gave him a glare that could have withered a thousand apple trees.
"I know that, Troy," she replied condescendingly, turning back around to chop the vegetables with a renewed ferocity.
"You haven't touched it for a whole week, Gab," Troy started.
"I'm aware of that!" she snapped.
"It wasn't your fault, Gabriella. You made a mistake. We all do," Troy placated.
"Which is exactly what you're about to do if you let this conversation go on any longer," she sniped back, scraping a carrot with almost lethal force.
"All I'm asking is for you to read it, Gab! The spells only work if you read them out loud," Troy reminded her. The knife in her hand halted for a minute before it proceeded to chop the carrot.
"No, Troy," she insisted.
"Would you just think about it?" Troy pleaded.
"Fine, Troy. I'll think about it," she agreed, putting the carrots in the bowl with the rest of the salad.
"Thank you," Troy said, slumping back in his chair with a sigh as Gabriella dished salad out into bowls for both of them.
Dinner passed slowly, the scraping of forks in the earthenware and the occasional crunch of a vegetable the only sounds to fill the air. Troy ate slowly, struggling to find a good argument to convince Gabriella further. It wasn't as if he was entirely comfortable learning about things that could potentially kill people, but...
The way he saw it was like this: he was hurt, and Gabriella was going to be out there, in the wilderness, on her own. Say a wolf or a bobcat or something attacked her. She wasn't going to be able to outrun them, and she didn't know how to use the sword they had found here. This was probably the only way she was going to be able to defend herself in this place. It was like self-defense classes, except in book form.
The problem was, Troy didn't know how to get that across to her without coming off sounding full of himself. The last time he'd been a little pompous cost him nearly all of his friends, back at Lava Springs, and he swore he wasn't going to be that way again, no way, no how. So how could he could tell Gabriella that he cared about her safety without sounding like some dominating idiot who didn't think his girlfriend could take care of herself (which is what he did believe, but he didn't want her to know that)?
Plus, he could tell she still felt guilty about the whole Magic Missile thing. No words he could say would be able to smooth that one over; he had done his part and forgiven her (although there was really nothing to forgive her for, the way he saw it). Now it was time to wait for her to forgive herself.
He cleared the dinner bowls away for them tonight, despite her protestations. It was good for him to walk on the leg---the pain was becoming more of a nuisance and less of a hindrance, which he decided was probably a good thing. In a couple days, it would probably be gone completely.
Going fast as well was their food supply. A week had depleted what little was in the little house quickly, and they probably had enough left for maybe three or four more days, more if they managed to stretch it.
Troy knew they would have to leave this place soon and venture out into the wilderness. It was a beautiful place, but with no ability to procure more food, other than maybe berries, which they couldn't possibly expect to live on, they couldn't stay. They would have to find some sort of town---or, heck, even a road---and make their way back home from there.
Although this was the unspoken plan between them, Troy still felt this niggling sensation in the back of his mind that it was going to be a while before they would get home. There was no technology in the house whatsoever, not even a heating system of any sort, or even plumbing (Troy didn't mind using the outhouse, but he was confident that Gabriella detested it). That meant no phones (his cellphone was conspicuously absent, along with his wallet, mechanical pencil, and watch that he had on him at the time, although Gabriella was still wearing his necklace), and no way of contacting home.
He shook these thoughts aside and joined Gabriella in the living room. They would set out tomorrow to find a town, or some form of civilization, and then they would take things as they went from there. No sense in getting worked up over what could be nothing.
Author's Note: Like what you've read? Fabulous. Then please review.
