When the voluptuous form of the Valsharess materialized in her mind's-eye, Brin actually sighed in relief. At least her dreams would be free of spider venom and unending darkness.
"Vendui, surfacer. I greet you. Are you aware of who I am?"
Brin's skin crawled as Halaster's geas leached from her bones and into her brain. Her fingers itched to blast the drow's pretty head from her shoulders. "Oh yes. I could not be unaware, could I? You're such a frequent visitor to my dreams, I feel I should be offering you tea and sweetcakes."
"Oh, you needn't bother," smiled the Valsharess, sweetly. "You could just offer me your name."
"How about I offer you a dagger in your eye instead," Brin countered, words laced with poisoned honey.
The drow shrugged, and pouted charmingly. "There's no reason for such hostility, my friend. I'm the one here to make offers. I will admit to be somewhat … surprised by your resourcefulness, but I'm a pragmatic woman." Her smile sharpened like a glittering knife's edge. "I know how to use power to its fullest advantage. You and I could rule the world, my friend."
Even had this not been a dream, Brin would have laughed. "You? You would share power with a half-breed surfacer? You overplay your hand, Valsharess. I am not so stupid as to believe that! You have nothing to offer me."
For a disorienting moment, space seemed to shift and the Valsharess was beside her, lips whispering into her ear. "Do I not, my pale friend? Don't be so sure. I can smell the fear and frustration that oozes from you, your soul blackens with it. Why do you continue to allow yourself to be led around by the nose? Grab hold of your destiny and make your own choice!"
The Valsharess' breath drifted past Brin's ear and coiled around her throat. I think I spoke to soon about not having spider venom in my dreams.
Reality shifted and spun as the beautiful dark-skinned elf spoke, showing Brin the futures that could be – legions of soldiers clamouring to do her bidding, wealth and magical secrets at her fingertips, the mad wizard Halaster at her feet and grovelling for mercy, her mother her mother! gazing at her with adoration and respect, men waiting in line for a kind word from her lips …
Her pale hand streaked through the air, and Brin held the Valsharess by her jaw. "Didn't you hear me? You have nothing to offer me!" she hissed. "Take your empty promises and leave me be. I need some sleep. I have a battle to fight in the morning."
The drow's full lips curled into a parody of a smile and she wrenched herself from Brin's grasp. "Yes, yes you do. You might even win, you know. You might take me down and save that damned Seer's life."
Brin's eyes narrowed in suspicion, waiting for the trick.
"I'm sure you've already calculated that it may cost your life? You surfacers are so pathetic … so predictable … with your noble self-sacrifice. You'll throw yourself into the breach and your name will live on in glory, or some such rot. After all, you have been ordered to lead this army, have you not?"
Again, Brin's head – or was it everything else – began a dizzying vortex as battle scenes raged around them. She saw herself leading the charge against a balor, she saw it fall under the might of her power. She saw herself fall, crushed, but the gate held.
"You're so tired, aren't you? It seems like maybe your final rest isn't such a bad idea. And they'll all mourn you. The Seer will say pretty words about your strength, your loyalty, your sacrifice," spat the Valsharess. "And they'll carry on with their lives."
Brin saw the tattered remains of the Seer's army, rebuilding the walls, rebuilding their homes, burying their dead, burying her …
"And what do you think will happen to your precious friends? The Seer cares no more about their lives than she does yours."
She saw Nathyrra, brave and swift, battered against the stone wall by a casual sweep of a pit fiend's arm. She saw Valen scoop up her body and run, his back already riddled with the stinging poisoned crossbow bolts of the Valsharess' army.
A low, soft chuckle made the hair on the back of her neck rise. "Do know what will happen to a demon-blood tiefling after death, surfacer?? No rest, no glory … just slavery, battle and pain …"
Valen fell, Nathyrra still in his arms. He looked up at her, his eyes begging for help. Forgetting the dream, forgetting the Valsharess, Brin called the power to her fingertips and found … nothing … The power – gone! The world caved in on her, and she watched as a devil's clawed hand smashed Valen down.
"You think you'll have the power to save him? Maybe, O Great General, you could just order him away from the danger. Won't that just grate on his warrior's ego? Replaced by you and commanded – by you – to the back lines. Isn't that the kind of man you love?"
The drow caught Brin's startled eyes.
"Oh, please. You positively stink of it … it reeks of weakness. This is why you'll never have real power, why your magic deserts you in the dark. You don't have the spine to walk away from the ties that bind you down."
Brin reached for the Valsharess' throat, but her fingers brushed smoke and air.
"Ah, my strange friend, you think I'm lying. You believe I'm trying to fool you, but your Seer doesn't have the only truth around. I have prophets, too. They warned me about you, didn't they? I know that I'll almost surely fall if you don't join me. So, that leaves me with the option of making sure that everything … every one … you hold dear goes down with me. My seers, as incompetent as they are, have assured me that this, at least, is well within my power."
Dark-skinned fingers, delicate and stained with blood, reached out. "Without you, the army will lose heart. They will scatter and run. Your tiefling is smart enough to run with them. Nathyrra, my dear traitor, is a survivor. She'll know how to stay alive. They may hate you, my friend, but they'll live. Come with me, surfacer. Fight the battle on your own terms. Fight for something you desire for once."
Eyes wide, teeth clenched and bloody from where she'd bitten her tongue, Brin took the offered hand.
She was so warm.
She sighed and wriggled and buried herself in the languid heat that wrapped around her. Only when she tried to brush a strand of hair from her cheek did she realize that she could not move.
Her eyes flew open, but all she could see was flame. Twisting away from the cheerful campfire, she heaved her restrained body up until she could glare her full fury on Valen Shadowbreath.
"Let. Me. Go," she snarled.
He didn't reply, but only returned her glower with his own solemn stare. He sat across the fire from her, in an easy warrior's crouch, chewing his lower lip as he watched her, as if contemplating what to do with a particularly troublesome criminal.
She tilted her chin up in defiance, tossing her claret hair out of her eyes. If he noticed the trembling of her lips he made no comment. Tied soundly in the very same rope she'd used to bind him, Brin couldn't even move her fingers enough for a spark cantrip, let alone any useful spell. All she could do was to hold his gaze, refusing to give an inch.
Time stretched and swirled around them, locked in this strange battle of wills. Their very breath seemed to synchronise as the regarded each other.
Finally, "I would have an explanation, Brin. You owe me that, at the very least." His voice was rich and deep and washed over her like cream. The accusation she had expected was there, but so was his love, unmistakable.
Her breath hitched in her throat and she bowed her head to keep her eyes from the sea of his.