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Chapter Ten:
Under Attack
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Quin came to with a groan only to find that he had a terrible headache, which seemed to be centered around the back of his head.
He failed to open his eyes at first, mostly because it felt as if there were anchors sitting on them, and so he merely listened to his environment for a moment and tried to figure out where he was. There was an awful smell, a sour, decaying odor that was far beyond offensive and made him want to gag.
He was in a sitting position, he knew that much, for his head felt heavy, there was something hard against his back that was keeping him propped up, as well as a hardness under his backside, and when he tried to move his arms, he found that they wouldn't budge. Something was securing them behind him, probably rope, and it dug into his skin every time he dared to move.
Quin could hear heavy breathing far to his right and then there was the most harrowing sounds of agonized and slightly muffled screams echoing from a distance.
The halfling remained calm despite the circumstances he currently found himself in. A Shadow Thief mentor of his had taught him the proper etiquette of capture and the first rule was never to panic. Of course, his mentor had been an enthusiastic teacher and Quin recalled the many, many times his teacher had him randomly kidnapped by other Shadow Thieves to test him. So, Quin was far from scared, presently. For him, it was just another test.
He opened his eyes to find that his drow kidnapper had placed him in a room surrounded by four stone walls, as well as had him seated in the middle of the room in a wooden chair with his hands secured and his legs tied together. His kidnapper was no where to be seen.
The room was dully lit by a small, wrought-iron chandelier that hung over Quin's head. To his left were numerous devices for torture, many the halfling could recite the name of, when it was constructed and who constructed it. His mentor had used them on him in an effort to create cold, hard and impenetrable mental and physical discipline in his pupil. That was the first things a potential Shadow Thief learned; taught to withstand torture of almost any kind, for rule number one among the organization was to never talk, never divulge information about the organization, no matter what was done to you to make you spill the beans. However, the halfling had never undergone drow torture, one of the worst kinds known to the Realms.
Quin looked to his right to see that wall lined with cells, three of them. He was a little startled to see a strange looking man in the middle one, secured in chains against the wall. He was large and muscular and there were strange green markings on his skin underneath all the blood, dirt, and sweat that marred him. The tattoos twined around his bulging arms and there was even a very elaborate one across his forehead. The man's head was hung, his long black hair hanging over his shoulders.
Quin wondered how he even got captured given his enormous size. He looked like he could snap a drow in half.
In the cell to the man's left, there was a woman chained up as well and by one arm, for the other was missing. She was dead. Her skin had gone an ugly, repulsive green and Quin surmised that the horrid smell in the room was coming from her. It looked like she had bled to death after having her arm severed; there was a large red stain under her hanging feet and it still looked moist. The missing arm was no where in the vicinity, so the halfling surmised that it must've been moved elsewhere.
Quin frowned. He didn't like the idea of having limbs severed. He needed them to do things.
He shifted his gaze toward the large wooden door in the room and then looked back at the man in the middle cell.
"Hey!" he hissed to him. "Are you alive? Can you hear me?"
The man groaned, but remained still.
Quin tried to rise up in his chair, failed the first few times and then was finally able to thump the chair legs against the stone floor. The sound made the man's head jerk slightly.
"Wake up!" Quin urged him in a harsh whisper. He was afraid of speaking too loud, in case there might be a guard on the other side of that door. If the sound of the chair had drawn attention, at least Quin would've had time to play unconscious. That would not be so if his voice drew attention. They would've known it was him, due to his higher-pitched voice.
Slowly, the man rose his head and there was agony all over his brutish face as well as bruises, gashes, scratches and dried blood. He was a lot luckier than the woman in the other cell. At least he had all his limbs, and, of course, he was also lucky to still be alive.
His haunted blue eyes fell on Quin finally and grew wide in what appeared to be horror to the halfling. Quin offered him a smile in hopes that it would ease him. It didn't.
"Keet!" the man screamed as loud as humanly possible, jerking violently against his chains.
Quin had no clue what he was saying, but the sheer volume and horror in his voice made the halfling blanch.
"Yam'ai ta keet!" the man sobbed, a great flood of tears coming down his face. "Ta keet! Ta keet!"
Quin cringed at the broken sound of the man's voice. Whatever this man was yelling at the top of his lungs, it was obvious to the halfling that it was some form of lament, and apparently, Quin had caused it. The poor man was close to losing his marbles. Quin had thought he might be of some help; it was apparent now that he wouldn't be. In fact, the man was causing trouble with his loudness.
"Look, be quiet, sir." Quin said gently. "Or you're going to get the guards in here. We don't want that, right?"
"Ta keet!" the man replied in emotional agony. "Ta keet!"
"What's this 'Takee' you keep mentioning?" the halfling inquired and then studied the man again. "Wait, are you a native? How'd you get captured by the drow?"
The man's eyes widened and the agony that had been there was replaced by volcanic rage.
"Drow!" he exploded, jerking his chains again, effectively causing the metal to cut into his wrists. If it hurt, he didn't show it. He didn't even notice the amount of blood that was running down his arms from the cuts. "Se drow cyld min kwi!"
Quin rose a brow. "Uh...I understood 'drow', but the rest went right over my head. Sorry."
"Min kwi!" the man shouted, his eyes glistening with tears again.
"Monkey?" Quin ventured.
The native's face contorted into a look of confusion. "Net, kwi. Min kwi."
"Key?"
"Kwi!" the man yelled angrily. "Kwi. Min kwi."
He jerked his head toward the cell with the dead woman in it and then looked at Quin in despair. "Min kwi."
"Er...the woman? But she's dead."
The native sighed deeply in what could only be described as frustration. He pointed a finger down at himself from their chained position.
"Min." he said slowly.
"Right." replied Quin, not understanding. "Min. Whatever that is."
The man pointed at himself again, roughly this time, making his chains jingle and cut a little deeper into his wrists. "Min."
Understanding finally dawned on the halfling.
"You? Min means 'you'...no, that's not right. Min means 'me'."
The native jerked his head toward the dead woman again. "Kwi."
"Right. That's woman. Kwi means 'woman'." Quin supposed, thoughtfully and then frowned. "Me woman? But that doesn't make any sense. Me woman...?"
He thought on it some more because there wasn't really much else to do. "Me...woman...me...hmm, do you mean my? That would kind of make sense. My woman."
The halfling looked over at the man, whose head sank again. Sadness surrounded him like a grim aura and suddenly, Quin understood what the man was trying to tell him.
"Kwi isn't 'woman'. It's 'wife', isn't it?" he said to the despairing man. "She's your wife. And those despicable drow did that to her..."
Quin shook his head, sadly. "I'm so sorry..."
"Tis ai yam?" the native asked, quietly. "Yam'ai yos ta keet."
"Sorry?"
"Yam." he repeated and pointed a finger at Quin. "Yam."
"Now you're just making me hungry." Quin remarked. "So, yam means 'you', I guess? What about me?"
"Tis ai yam?"
Quin sighed. "Look, we can't communicate. There's no way. I can't understand you and I've no time to play Charades. I've got to think of a way out of here."
Quin scanned the room once again, looking for some way out. There wasn't any other exit other than the wooden door. There were no windows, nothing.
"Vayam'ai kichung du wen, yam bishsta?"
Quin's head snapped around to the man in surprise.
"Did you just say Bishop? How do you know him?"
"Vayam'ai kichung du wen! Tonya'et yam bishsta?"
"This is getting us no where."
"Wendus! Wendus! Bishsta? Wendus!"
"Quiet!" Quin snapped at the man out of frustration. "I'm trying to think here and you're not helping by screaming nonsense at me."
"Ai yam herkung du men?" the man demanded angrily.
Quin shot him a whithering look. "Don't get that tone with me, sir. I'm trying to think of a plan. And what're you doing? You're just hanging there, screaming at me. Do you want to end up like her?"
It was cruel, Quin knew, but he was getting frustrated by the second with this man.
"Hwa?" the native responded, questioningly.
The halfling nodded his head at the dead woman and said very slowly "Do you want to end up like her?"
The sudden expression on the man's face told Quin that somehow, despite the language barrier between them, he understood the halfling's words. His face was a mix of distress, hurt and anger.
"Bindan!" he spat at Quin, and it was now the halfling's turn to understand what was being said, despite not understanding the language. Quin had a feeling he'd just been insulted.
"Well, beendan-or whatever you said-to you, too."
Silence slunk into the room and settled down quietly between Quin and the native. The only sound was the echoing scream that came from behind that wooden door.
It was several moments later when the door finally opened and a menacing looking drow stepped in. Quin craned his head a bit while the door was still open and saw two drow guards standing outside, both of them armed with swords. The drow in the room said something to one of them and then the door slammed shut with a deafening bang.
The drow was male and much shorter than Jaelyn. His skin was near black and silver eyes glared out of the darkness that was his face. He had those sharp elven features that were made grim and sinister by drow heritage and then that trademark of almost any drow: the long, wild white hair. He was garbed in black leather, a blood red cloak with a pattern of black web-like embroidery, and there were two swords belted at his slender hips.
The drow regarded Quin with a thin smile as he paced back and forth in front of him, but violent jingling from the native's cell brought the dark elf's attention around.
"Lez se keet kich, yam bindan drow!" the man shouted furiously in the drow's direction.
The drow faced him and grinned nastily as he unsheathed one sword. "Yam ai net lonus nautus."
The native's eyes grew wide in terror.
"Net..."
"Hey," Quin butted in. "What're you doing there? Leave him alone!"
But it was too late.
The drow thrust his sword into the cell and it entered into the man's chest with a spurt of blood. He let out a small cry of agony and then looked Quin dead in the eyes.
"Gul..aonar." he forced out, blood seeping from his mouth.
The drow's eyes widened and then he let out a vicious growl as he tore open the door to the cell and stepped in.
"Netan sprahn daz onym!" he shouted in fury and then pulled his sword back for the final strike.
Quin barely had enough time to look away before the drow took the man's head off. His stomach clenched when he heard the head hit the floor with a sickening, moist crack and it was all he could do to keep the bile that rose in his throat down.
"You bastard!" Quin heard himself yelling before the words could even be digested in the mind for approval. The anger inside him and the despair at seeing that native die so brutally pushed it out of him. "You godsdamned bastard! Why? WHY?"
He fought determinedly against his binds, twisting his small wrists against the tight rope, which only proved to aid it in digging into his skin, but he didn't care. As of that moment, all he wanted, all he cared about, was wrapping his hands around that drow's neck and choking the life out of him.
A harsh blow to the halfling's face brought his senses back around and he slowly looked up with one eye at the smirking drow that was leaning over him. His other eye was closed against the blood that was slipping down from the cut the dark elf had just produced above Quin's brow. There was blood all over the drow as well, blood that was definitely not his own.
"It is what we do," the drow said in perfect Common, but with a bit of a strange accent, "When we no longer have use for someone."
The halfling's eyes were blazing with rage. Had Jaelyn or even the ranger been around, they might have been very surprised by its presence. Quin rarely ever got angry, but the drow's actions brought it out of him.
"You didn't have to cut off his godsdamned head!" the halfling snarled at him.
The drow laughed in amusement and leaned close to Quin. "Perhaps not, but it was fun."
"You sick son of a bitch!"
The remark earned the halfling another strike, this one made right across his cheekbone, drawing more blood.
"You are only hurting yourself." the drow said. "The more you make me hit you, the more pleasure you give me."
He reached out and grabbed Quin by the chin, sinking bony fingers into his face and squeezing it until Quin feared the bastard would crack his jaw.
"Drow love inflicting pain. Excruciating pain. How much can your child-like body take, halfling?"
"More than you think, drow!"
"Indeed? Well, we will find out soon enough."
Quin jerked against his bonds again. "What do you want with me?"
The drow gave Quin a devious smile. "You? You are going to be the one who aids us in destroying the natives."
The halfling's blue eyes grew wide. "I certainly will not!"
That devious smile widened unpleasantly. "I find it amusing that you believe you have a choice in this."
"What do you have against the natives, anyway?" Quin inquired, ignoring the drow's remark. "What did they ever do to you?"
The drow shrugged. "Nothing, but they are guarding something we want."
Quin's face was a mask of confusion and puzzlement. "What could they possibly possess that you drow must have?"
The devilishly sly look on the drow's face made Bishop's cunning, leering expressions look pleasant. It was quite disturbing, Quin thought.
"The Heart of the island." the drow said at last and in a tone that made the halfling think he'd asked a stupid question, which only furthered Quin's confusion.
"The island has a heart?" he asked. He might have scratched his chin or the back of his head if his hands weren't tied behind him.
"Indeed." the drow replied with an amused smile. "One that will give us all the power we need."
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"If you do it again, drow, I'm going to poke you with it." Bishop growled at Jaelyn as she knelt beside him and attempted to suture his knife wound, which turned out to be a near impossible task due to the ranger's constant swearing and attempts to slap her hands away everytime she accidentally poked him too deep with the needle.
Jaelyn's hands paused in the midst of their sewing to give him a stern look. "If you'd keep still, the needle wouldn't poke you as much. I swear, Bishop, you act like this needle could actually do some real damage to you."
"I could show you how much damage a needle could do, if you really want me to." he replied threateningly.
"No, what I want is for you to be quiet so I can finish this." she scolded. "Or do you want the wound to get infected? After the way you treated me earlier, you should be glad I even considered doing this at all."
He scoffed. "I'd probably be better off if you hadn't. There'd be less holes in my body."
And just for that, Jaelyn dug the needle into him on purpose and with determination, drawing blood, which thoroughly satisfied her, as did the slight grimace that came upon his face.
"Ow!" he shouted and then narrowed his eyes at her. "You litte bitch! You're going to pay for that."
There was a sound from somewhere behind them, a soft, rapid chittering noise. It was coming from Feral, who was curled up in a ball on the ground, but with his yellow eyes staring at them and a large grin on his furry face. Jaelyn could swear that that noise he'd just made sounded very much like a laugh.
Smiling faintly, she went back to work, ignoring the fuming look on Bishop's face. Let him get angry all he wanted. He deserved it.
Jaelyn was really only doing this to keep her mind preoccupied. Her thoughts kept wandering to Quin, which only intensified her worry and she also found that she kept thinking about that drow hanging upside-down from the tree, the drow she had killed. She'd killed one of her own people. She had taken lives before, all of them out of self-defense, but none of them had ever been one of her kind, not drow or wood-elf. That drow in the tree was the first one and she knew without a doubt that it wouldn't be the last. Despite the evil nature of the drow, she couldn't help but be horrified by what she'd done to one of them and what she was probably going to have to do in the future. More over, she had shot that drow between the eyes without even thinking about it, without even considering for one second the life she would be taking, and for what? To save the life of someone who wouldn't have even bothered to do the same for her if she'd been in his place? It was time she stopped being a fool where the ranger was involved, for it was beginning to affect her in a way she didn't care for. This, what she was doing now, would be the last favor, the last nice thing she ever did for Bishop. She told herself this, but some deeper part of her shook its head, not buying it.
Jaelyn put her focus on the matter at hand.
The knife wound was about three and a half inches long, so it was in need of about fifteen stitches and she was only on the fourth one. More than likely it was going to get infected anyway, but chances were it would've been a worse infection if it had been left untreated. Suturing was a delicate, time-consuming procedure, one that she'd performed on herself more times than she could count. It was probably one of the only healing skills she possessed, other than a few minor healing spells and knowing how to splint a broken arm (which she'd learned to do promptly after falling out of a tree when she was young.).
Jaelyn completed the fifth stitch, tying the string using a square knot, made one more just to be safe and then carefully severed the thread with her dagger. She made another knot while she studied her work. It was looking quite nice, she thought; her best work so far. It looked like it might even minimize scarring; the gods knew he had enough of those as it was. They were all over him, some small, others large, ones from arrows, and knives, and even burns. One caught her attention. It was long, probably about seven or eight inches and it sliced into his stomach right above his navel. It was a life-taker, by all accounts, or at least it should have been. A cut like that might have had someone's insides spilling out.
It was intriguing to her that such a thing marred someone but didn't take their life. Her own curiosity got the better of her and she boldly ran her finger along the full length of that scar, her mouth parting slightly with something between shock and awe. She hardly registered his muscles tense under her touch.
"Gods..." she muttered and finally looked at him with slightly widened eyes, only to be given a scowl. "Where'd you get that from? How'd you even survive it?"
"It's not important." was his immediate and harsh reply. "Get back to your stitching, girl, and stop worrying about things that don't concern you."
Jaelyn frowned and rolled her eyes. "I was just curious."
"Curiosity will get you killed." he countered with a mean look.
She sighed, shook her head and let it go, much to the ranger's surprise, who had been expecting a retort. She was sick of arguing with him; he was always going to be impossible and stubborn, so she might as well just get used to it. At least she could be the bigger person about it.
Jaelyn started on the sixth stitch in silence, leaving Bishop dissatisfied with how the conversation ended, and oddly, giving him the sense that he had somehow just lost, though what it was he'd lost, he had no clue.
Sometime later, she finished the final stitch, and then spread a salve she kept with her, made of very potent healing herbs, over the wound.
"I'd tell you to keep the wound clean and try not to move your left shoulder too much, but I know you're not going to listen to me." she said with an indifferent tone and then shrugged. "I did what I could. The rest is your responsibility."
Bishop was more than a little surprised by her uncharacteristic coldness, and just as he was about to respond with his usual acidic sarcasm, Jaelyn got up and strode away, disappearing into the forest.
She found that stream she'd visited not long ago to fill her canteen and knelt on the bank. She dipped her hands into the cold, gurgling water and rubbed them together, trying to rid them of the ranger's blood. She scrubbed hard, so hard that it hurt.
There was blood on her hands all right, but it was blood that would never wash off, blood that belonged to one of her own and if she couldn't save Quin, it would be the blood of her friend as well that stained her. It was her fault he got captured; she had been the one that could've prevented the drow from capturing him in the first place, and she was also the one that let the drow get away with him.
Jaelyn pulled her hands out of the water and examined them with a frown. She was never going to get that blood out from underneath her nails.
She gently thrust the point of her dagger underneath one nail and tried to clear away as much blood from it as possible. Her hands were trembling.
"Get off, damn it!" she cried frantically at her hands. "Off!"
She cut herself.
"Damn!" Jaelyn swore, her eyes burning with tears that had nothing to do with the cut.
"What's your problem?" came a hard voice she really didn't want to hear right now.
"Go away, you bastard!" she snapped viciously, while holding her finger under the water and squeezing it until it stopped bleeding.
Bishop rose a brow. Well, that certainly was a tone he'd never heard her use before. He opened his mouth and she cut him off, somehow knowing he was about to say something. He was getting just a little bit sick of people interrupting him, especially her, since it seemed like she knew when he was going to speak. Unsettling that, considering she wasn't even looking at him.
"I don't want to listen to you, and I definitely don't want to look at you," she said, hatefully. "So, just...fuck off."
Despite his further surprise at her use of one of his favorite vulgar words, he dared to challenge her.
"Oh, yeah? And if I choose not to?"
Jaelyn didn't reply at first. She merely knelt there as still as a statue.
She felt more than heard him step closer. There was never a sound in his step, she noticed, much like her own, but there was a sinister quality to his, as if he were creeping up on his prey.
Moxie, she thought. He's got moxie to be coming toward me when I have a dagger in my hand.
What she didn't know, however, was that he had his own out and ready, just in case she happened to gain her own moxie to try and attack him. One rule any good ranger knows to live by is to always be prepared. For anything.
There was a sudden growl. Jaelyn looked to see Feral standing behind the ranger, lowering himself to the ground in a position that said he meant to pounce at any second.
Bishop didn't need to turn around. He kept his gaze fixed steadily on Jaelyn. "Call it off, or I'll kill it."
Jaelyn frowned and shook her head at Feral. "Go."
The cat-bear hesitated, giving the ranger a hateful look and then glanced at Jaelyn for confirmation again. At her nod, he left.
"Now," the ranger continued. "Suppose I chose to stand here and wear you down? What're you going to do about it? Try to kill me, like you killed that drow?"
Jaelyn's eyes grew wide and she quickly looked away, her hand curling around the hilt of her dagger. Her mouth was going dry with her building anger.
Bishop laughed; it was such a devilish sound. "Hells, you didn't even give him a chance. Put an arrow between his eyes before he could even take his next breath, almost like you wanted to do it. And people call me a killer. Ah, but you're drow, so murder comes natural, right? Didn't matter whether he was drow or not."
His cruelty, as usual, was intentional, but there was something underneath the cruelty, something deeply hidden that she probably would not come to understand until she was level-headed again (this particular form of cruelty was something the ranger liked to refer to as 'necessary cruelty', as opposed to 'imposed cruelty', or, his personal favorite, 'Because-I-Feel-Like-It cruelty'.). But even then, she may still never understand it. He was preying on her emotions, drawing them out to make her fight back. It was that part where he tried making her fight back that she would probably never understand. Hells, he was still having trouble understanding it passed the point of it just being irritating and maddening that she didn't fight back.
In any case, it worked. Maybe too well.
Bishop had always been proud of his near inhuman reflexes, but this time, the drow out-did him, despite the fact that he had the advantage of a better position than her. He was standing and she was kneeling, therefore, it would take her longer to react. Or so he thought.
Jaelyn spun around, rose up, and sliced her dagger at him in almost the same move. She was a complete blur. He was lucky only to have reacted quick enough for her blade to make a shallow cut in his right cheek, which left blood trickling down his face. Had he not reacted when he did, that knife would've done much more damage. He also noted that it could've been his throat she went for and was actually a bit surprised that she didn't.
He ran a thumb across the cut, stared at the blood on it for a moment and then looked back at her with a smirk.
Jaelyn was breathing heavily in her rage, holding her knife so tight that her knuckles paled, while a team of chaotic, angry thoughts came screaming like lunatics into her mind.
"It should've been you." she growled at him, her flaming green eyes boring into his as she stepped to close the gap between them, her dagger leading the way and aimed for his throat this time. "I should've put that godsdamned arrow between your eyes."
His smirk widened in amusement and then in a mocking tone, he said "Now, now, you don't mean that."
Jaelyn thrust her dagger under his nose, narrowing her eyes. "Would you care to see how much I mean it?"
He laughed at her. "Actually, yeah, I would. I'd like to see if you have any courage at all to stand up to something."
"What's going on here?" a worried voice interrupted them.
It was Gulaonar.
Jaelyn stepped away from Bishop, sheathing her dagger as she looked over at the ghost.
"Nothing I can't handle." she said, her tone curt. "Just trying to teach this...man a lesson."
Bishop snorted, derisively. "You're the one in need of a lesson, drow. More than you know."
Jaelyn glared daggers at him as he sauntered off and then turned her attention to the ghost
"Where have you been?"
"I was checking around the area for any drow that might be waiting to ambush us again."
"And?"
"Nothing. All is clear." Gulaonar studied her. "Are you all right? You look a bit...distressed."
"I'm fine." she snapped. "Like I said, it's nothing I can't handle."
"Then why're you so angry?"
The half-drow sighed with much irritation. "What is this, Push Jaelyn Day? Why can't you both just back off?"
Gulaonar opened his mouth to apologize but she stomped off.
Silence became their traveling companion, which was something Jaelyn was most grateful for as well as weary of. She was grateful that neither Bishop nor Gulaonar were torturing her with challenges or questions, but she was weary because the silence brought the thoughts back, the thoughts of Quin in the hands of the drow, who were doing only the gods knew what to him, the fact that she couldn't do anything about it yet, and then there was killing that drow. Saying it was self-defense could not excuse taking his life. Her life had been in no danger when she put an arrow in his skull. It was Bishop's life that had been in danger, but then she also considered that he might have been able to defend himself without her interference, which made her deed even worse. It was bad enough that she had gone that far for the likes of him, anyway. And then he wasn't even grateful about it. He didn't even have the decency to realize how much it was bothering her. He could've at least said 'thank you'...or something. Hells, anything would've done. Even acknowledgment of it would've been fine.
The drow's green eyes bore into the back of the ranger's head as Feral walked along beside her and pressed his face against her in a failed attempt to comfort her.
Gods, how she really wanted to kick Bishop over a cliff right now. Horrible excuse for a human being...
A smell cut into her inner turmoil and she rose her head, glancing around. Even Bishop had stopped to give the air a curious sniff. The ghost, however, having no sense of smell, merely kept on floating, thinking the other two were still following behind him.
"I smell smoke." the ranger commented.
"As do I." Jaelyn grudgingly added. "Smells like...burning leaves, or straw and wood."
She paused to inhale again and corrected herself. "No, all of them. Twenty miles in the direction we're heading."
Gulaonar had stopped when he'd heard them speak and was now facing them, a look of terminal anxiety on his face.
"The village is twenty miles from here." he said, his ghostly eyes widening. "I'm sorry. I must leave you. If the village is under attack, I must help defend it. Just keep following this path northward and you'll reach the village."
Jaelyn stepped forward to stop him, but it was too late. His translucent form flitted off at a remarkable, blinding speed through the forest. Jaelyn's arms flopped down to her sides as she sighed.
"We could've helped, too, damn it."
"Just leave it to the ghost. It's his concern, not ours."
Jaelyn spun on him, angrily. "How can you say that? People are out there, probably being burned alive by those damn drow!"
He glanced away with a deep frown and set his gaze on the path ahead. To Jaelyn, he looked a little distant, as if he were trying to remember something, or trying not to.
"Then I guess they should've learned to defend themselves." he finally said with icicles hanging off of his voice.
Jaelyn scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "You, sir, are a horrid human being. No, scratch that. You are a horrid thing, not even close to being human. You feel nothing, you care for nothing...you are nothing, nothing but a waste of space and a waste of life. Your mother should've done this world a favor and drowned you when you were born."
She was a little stunned by her own cruel words, which were very unlike her, but in the heat of the moment, she only wanted to give the ranger a taste of his own medicine. By the look on his face, he found it as bitter as everyone else did.
"Too bad your mother didn't succeed at it." Bishop shot back in angry defense.
This was followed by an angry growl from Feral, who stood on all fours, bristling. The growl translated to: You take that back before I rip your lungs out, you filthy two-leg!
Jaelyn gave the cat-bear a calming pat on the neck.
She wasn't at all surprised that Bishop would say something like that; no, she was surprised that it hurt, but then she was beginning to understand that he was a person that stabbed back when someone stabbed him. It was his defense mechanism.
Jaelyn merely shook her head and walked away, much to the ranger's ire.
"Come on, Feral."
"That's right." Bishop called after her in a voice full of loathing. "Go on and run off like a coward."
She paused. She did so not because of the anger his remark dredged up, not because she wanted to prove him wrong, but because she realized something.
She turned and looked him dead in the eyes and with a calm that unsettled him.
"I'm not half the coward you are." she said. "I may run to avoid unpleasant situations, but at least I don't hide from everything the way you do. I haven't built a fortress around myself to keep everyone out, the way you have. There are no ice-cold stone walls in my heart, like there are in yours. I'm not afraid to feel and I'm not afraid to care. You're the coward, Bishop, and you're also a godsdamned hypocrite."
He was suddenly (but not surprisingly) very angry. For a moment, he merely stood there as taut as a bow string, his breathing growing heavier by the second as he tried vainly to figure out why her remark was affecting him this way when it should've been something he could just shrug off. Was it the fact that she found the moxie to say something like that to him in the first place, or was it the fact that she had seen completely through him without much effort at all?
He was godsdamned pissed at her for this. No, he was more than pissed and he wanted nothing more than to hurt her for it in any way possible; physically, emotionally, or whatever.
Part of him wanted to tell her the little secret he knew about Gulaonar, knowing that it would cause her great emotional stress, but then it would cost him if he did. The ghost would refuse to lead him to the drow's stash of hidden treasure.
Bide your time, came a sinister voice the ranger approved of and welcomed. Just wait and plan. You'll get her back in the end.
The drow, thinking she'd finally gotten him to shut up for once, turned and began following the path the ghost had been leading them on, completely missing the absolutely horrid, demonic look on Bishop's face.
He followed behind her, shadowing her menacingly while his hand found its way to the hilt of his dagger.
Bishop checked for drow in the trees and then briefly wondered what it would be like to put that dagger in her back.
xxxxxxxxxx
A few hours later, they came upon chaos and what was undoubtedly the village.
It was a moderate-sized village, made up of small, squat, thatch-roofed shelters (some of them presently on fire), and a few longhouses with thatched roofs. Their structures looked to be made of wood and animal skins. The crude structures were gathered around what could only be described as a bit of a town center with an incredibly high stack of wood constructed in its midst, an unlit bonfire if there ever was one. There was a large cliff looming over the village, a cliff with a perfect vantage point for any archer, Bishop noted.
Now, the people of the village could definitely be distinguished from the ones attacking it, not just because one group was light skinned and the other dark, but also because the villagers were scantily clad in only animal skins and there were strange markings on their bodies. Also, a good number of them were cowering, running away from their attackers or promptly dying, and the rare ones fighting back were armed with clubs or just their fists. Despite the presence of Gulaonar's shadow form (who was only one ghost and could only plow through a handful of drow at a time), it appeared the villagers were going to lose unless there were others to help them. The drow were swarming the place and they were heavily armed. There was no mercy in what they were doing; it was an attack meant to slaughter an entire race.
Jaelyn could only watch for a moment in mute horror, then with anger in her veins, her bow was out and an arrow was nocked. She sent Feral ahead to aid in the fighting.
The cat-bear darted off toward the battle and latched with claw and fang onto the back of the nearest drow, who let out a startled yelp and tried vainly to reach the threat with his sword, which only ended up with him impaling himself in a very horrible manner.
Before Jaelyn joined the fight, she looked over her shoulder knowing that it was likely she would go in alone.
"Do your humanity a favor, Bishop, and help. Whatever little bit of it you have left."
And then she was gone.
With a deeply embedded frown, he watched her sprint across the village approach and then disappear up into a tree. Seconds later, arrows were flying across the village, striking down drow after drow. There was no mercy in the drow attacking the village, he noted, but there was no mercy in her, either. Her shots were all head-shots.
He brought up his own bow and hurried off on the opposite side of the village, standing between two trees and soon, arrows were flying from his bow as well. He wasn't helping, mind you. He was merely taking his chance to vent his anger on some drow.
A few moments later, he heard a triumphant call from the tree that made a small smirk plaster itself on his face, despite it coming from a source he was currently peeved with.
"Thirteen!" Jaelyn shouted, humor in her voice despite how they had been at each other's throat lately.
It seemed battle brought out their better sides. Perhaps it was all the adrenaline.
"You going to let a girl outdo you, Bishop?" she added just to spur him.
"That's a lot of talk coming from the one who lost our last game." he shot back while loosing an arrow at the same time, one that went into the back of a drow's neck.
"Lost? I didn't lose. I had more shots than you did!"
"We were playing for accuracy, not just the number of kills!"
"Sixteen!" she announced. "Go on and keep talking. I'll have this one in the bag!"
In the midst of the village, some of the natives that were screaming and fleeing stopped when they noticed that the handful of drow that had once been chasing them were now laying on the ground and were quite dead, an arrow sticking out from some vital point on the body, mostly around the head and neck areas. And then they looked around in confusion, hearing voices from somewhere outside the village, voices saying things that could not be understood due to a language barrier but in a tone that sounded very gamesome and competitive.
Soon, the tide of the battle turned and there were more drow bodies littering the ground than there were natives. However, despite the loses, the drow didn't give up and the ones still standing and capable of wielding a weapon kept fighting until their final breath.
Gulaonar dealt with them while the two archers came out from their vantage points.
Jaelyn slid out of her position in the tree and was grinning from ear to ear when she spotted Bishop making his way over to the village center to inspect the bodies (most likely to loot them).
"Let's see," she said from behind him, making a mocking count on her fingers. "Eighteen head-shots and three random body shots compared to your sixteen head-shots and the six random body shots. Are you sure you want to count accuracy into the scoring as well? I got you beat on that."
"Don't get cocky. You just got lucky is all." he replied defensively, nudging a drow body with his boot.
Jaelyn whipped around in front of him, grinning. "There's no need in being a sore loser about it. You can't expect to be good at ev-"
The rest of her sentence ended in a cry of pain as two bolts shot out of seemingly nowhere and went into her back. The force with which the bolts came propelled her into Bishop, who stepped back to let her drop to the ground. As he crouched down, he couldn't help but think that those bolts had been meant for him and she had stupidly gotten in the way. So, why was he angry? He spotted the two drow crossbowmen almost immediately on the cliff over the village. There was no hesitation on the ranger's part. Two arrows came from his bow almost simultaneously and then both drow dropped from the cliff. Head-shots, he noted, both of them. It brought his total to eighteen head-shots and six random body shots. That meant he won.
Jaelyn was hardly aware of anything besides the horrendous pain in her back. It blurred her vision and she was clutching a handful of dirt in an effort to keep from screaming. She could hardly breathe and she inwardly prayed to Silvanus that the bolts hadn't pierced her lungs. Jaelyn saw a blurry brown shape closing in on her and once it stopped, it gave a familiar whine and licked her face with a roughened tongue. She reached out to touch Feral's fur, to feel the comfort of him by her. He nudged her hand, rubbed against it and then let out a menacing growl the moment she felt a rough hand fall on her shoulder.
"Go on." a harsh voice warned from above her. "Try it, and I'll just leave the bolts in her."
There was a part of her that wanted to laugh at the fact that Bishop was actually arguing with Feral, but the pain overrode any humor.
A moment later, she felt his hand pressing near one wound and she couldn't stifle her pained cry, which was muffled by the ground due to the fact that her face was pressed into it.
There was another voice nearby. Gulaonar.
"What happened to her?" He sounded worried.
"She backed into a couple of crossbows," Bishop replied, his voice dripping sarcasm everywhere. "What does it look like?"
"It was a simple question." the ghost said.
"Indeed, one that could be answered if you just look instead of asking."
"Now, see here-"
"Shut up." the ranger snapped. "Why don't you make yourself useful by going to tell these idiots why we're here? 'Cause she's going to need healing. And real soon."
Jaelyn shifted in an attempt to sit up, but a hand shoved her back down.
"Don't move."
"How bad is it?" she asked him.
There was a moment of heart-stopping silence.
"Not bad." Bishop replied at last.
Jaelyn gave a laugh, which caused an enormous amount of pain to shoot through her back and very nearly took her breath away.
"You're a terrible liar." she croaked.
"I'm not lying." he deadpanned. "Why would I?"
Indeed, why would he? As if her feelings mattered enough for him to spare them.
She coughed and there was a slight coppery, tangy taste in her mouth. She coughed again and felt a substance rising in her throat. One final cough had it coming up out of her mouth, and that coppery taste intensified. She stuck a finger in her mouth and it came away covered in blood. Her heart sank under the weight of her panic.
"Oh, Gods...oh Gods!"
"Relax." came the ranger's exasperated voice. "You're only going to make it worse for yourself if you panic."
Jaelyn wondered briefly why he was even telling her anything that could be remotely useful before she succumbed to fear, pain, and the tantalizing darkness that offered escape from them both.