Author's Note: Somehow this chapter ended up a bit raunchier than usual/intended. I blame Safana.
22 – New Allies and Old Tricks
"The enemy of my enemy is probably also my enemy." –Common drow saying
Awakening with a gasp and a start, Imoen found herself sitting up and shaking her head frantically from side to side, as if she were trying to knock the fragments of the dream out. And what an odd dream it had been! So full of vivid images, though looking back she had no idea what it had been about. Just fire and blood; demons and billowing wings.
And laughing skulls.
Crawling past Shar-Teel's sprawled out form and out of the cramped tent she found that predawn light was already peeking through the trees, and that the men seemed to be up already. The damn elves were always up and about, both when she went to sleep and when she awakened. It was a bit creepy; the way they didn't ever lay down and close their eyes, and would instead just sit for hours on end, looking off at nothing.
Xan and Kivan sat by the cookfire, sipping herbal tea and stirring the ashes. They gave Imoen silent nods as she passed by. Silent and standoffish as always, and they seemed to have grown worse over the past few days. Kivan did little but glower and glare, always searching for something to put an arrow through, and Xan had grown even more quiet and morose. Bunch of stick-in-the-muds! She was beginning to miss Coran, who seemed to be the most 'human' elf she had ever met.
Fishing a small spade from one of the bags, Imoen turned towards the forest that surrounded them and started for where the brush seemed thickest. She gasped in surprise when a hand fell gently onto her shoulder.
"You appear troubled," Kivan stated in his usual gravely tone.
Well that's creepy too! It's like he had just read her mind and decided to speak up for once just to show her up that he could.
Turning to the elf, Imoen nodded. "I spose I am," she said. "Had some weird dreams last night."
"Ah, I understand," Kivan replied with a nod, surprising Imoen once again.
What did he know of dreams?
"Many a night I've dreaded the hours I must sit in reverie," he said in answer to her silent question. "Sometimes sweet memories of Deheriana come to me in that quiet time, but more often my mind wanders to her final…unpleasant moments. And you humans have even less control over the course of your dreams than we tel'quess."
"True. I'm really worried…" She looked away, then made a face when Kivan gripped her shoulder a little tighter. He was trying to be comforting, she knew, but it was hard not to find the big dour guy intimidating even at the best of times.
"You said that you knew she was still alive?" He asked. "Felt it in your bones."
"Ya. Still do."
"Then hold onto that. I can never undo what Tazok did to my Deheriana, but you still have hope."
"But she's with Tazok…"
Kivan shook his head slightly. "What happened to my beloved and I was years ago, when the ogre led a small band of raiders. Now that he is a sort of king he has responsibilities as well. A slave is a valuable commodity, and though it may be an unpleasant fate for your friends, slaves can be freed."
"Bitter comfort indeed," Imoen said with a frown.
"Aye, but better than no comfort at all. We'll find them."
"Thanks." Imoen forced a smile and turned back towards the forest. When the ranger walked a few steps with her she coughed and pointed at the spade in her hand. "Uhm…I appreciate the offer of protection, but you might not want to follow where I'm going." When he gave her a blank look she added. "I was gonna…uh…"
Luckily realization appeared on Kivan's face before she had to completely spell it out. "Oh," he said, a bit embarrassed. "I apologize." He turned around and returned to the cookfire.
A bit thickheaded, Imoen thought as she pushed her way through the bushes. Maybe elves don't poop. It'd be just like them not to have to.
Once she had finished her business in the bushes Imoen circled around the camp and made her way downhill. They had pitched their tents above a nice little pond, half-covered in lily pads and thick with the song of bullfrogs that evening. The water had to be boiled before they dared drink it, but it seemed a suitable enough place for Imoen to splash her face. Probably a lot better than the cold mountain streams she had been forced to wash in on Minsc's little quest.
Apparently someone else had the same idea as she, as she heard a little trickling and splashing when she approached and pushed her way past tall grass and into the clearing. "Ahem," Imoen coughed to announce her presence, noting a pile of torn scale armor and a winged helmet near the shore. "Is the pond taken?"
"Just washing my beard," Kagain's low, whispering voice responded. The old dwarf was kneeling at the water's edge, stripped to the waist and ringing his long beard out. His close-cropped hair was also damp, as was his barrel-shaped upper body.
Imoen accepted the invitation and walked down the sandy shore, kneeling and dipping cupped hands into the water before splashing her face. She looked over at Kagain. "Bet you had a lot of dirt and blood to wash out of that thing," she noted.
"A lot of dirt and blood everywhere," he shrugged. "Wish we had some soap."
"Ha!" Imoen moistened her forearms and rubbed them a bit. "Would think you'd be used to roughing it."
"Used to, maybe, but that don't mean I won't grab at every luxury available. Really need some soap, and some ale. If we do stumble on any bandit camps I'm taking the first share of either."
As the dwarf talked he turned a bit towards her. For some reason Imoen had expected a beer-gut, but though there was a certain roundness to Kagain's overall build his stomach was flat and more thick with muscle than fat. His body hair was broken up by just a bit of raised white scarring there, old wounds it looked like. There were a few more prominent scars on his shoulders and arms.
"You're staring," Kagain stated flatly.
"Yeah," Imoen admitted, unabashed. She pointed. "There's barely even a scar on your stomach, and I saw you get stabbed there not two days ago."
"Dwarven resilience," Kagain replied, same as before.
Imoen shook her head. "You keep saying that like it's magic. But there's something more to it." She chuckled. "Yer gonna have to show me your beauty secret. I've already collected a couple of ugly scars in just a few months of adventuring."
The dwarf's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Not gonna show you a damn thing, beauty secrets or otherwise. You'd best not think too much on it."
Waving a placating hand Imoen squeaked: "Okay okay, sorry. I won't pry."
Kagain pointed towards the pile of his things. "Can you hand me that cloth over there?"
"Sure," Imoen said, rushing to help. She never thought she'd see Kagain get touchy like that.
"Ha," a nearby voice barked. "The little man's pretty modest. Doesn't want us to see just how little he really is, I bet." Shar-Teel sauntered towards the pond, dropping her helmet and pulling the straps of her mismatched armor loose.
"From all yer talk," Kagain said as he rubbed his chest dry, "you seem pretty preoccupied with male parts, mine in particular. People might get ideas."
Shar-Teel snorted and continued peeling off her armor, revealing that she wore nothing beneath the leather and padding before she stomped into the water with a heedless lack of modesty that reminded Imoen of Ashura. Waves crashed lightly against the shore.
"It's cute how you keep trying to bait me," Kagain added as he gathered his kit.
"Bah! Nothing about me is cute, little man!"
Seeing Shar-Teel in this state, Imoen had to agree. Beneath the armor the woman was all taut muscle and scars. There was a certain chiseled beauty to her, but nothing particularly cute. No sir. "Looks like he has a talent for baiting you," Imoen pointed out.
With a chuckle Kagain walked off.
"Hmph," Shar-Teel growled, splashing water over her head. "No talent there. Just another male pig. Smaller and rounder than most."
"Nah, he's not. If he was he'd have gotten all flustered by your insults and lost the duel."
Shar-Teel let out an exasperated sigh. "Can't we wash in silence? I have about as much patience for 'girl talk' as I do for weak, brainless men."
"Aww, but I wanna get to know my newest companion a little better. You remind me a bit of my friend who we're trying to rescue. Of course instead of snarling and insulting people all the time she tends to just let her swords do the talking."
"If she needs rescuing then she's weak, and nothing like me," Shar-Teel snorted.
"Ha. Try telling her that. She might just challenge you to a duel."
"Like I told you, I don't duel women."
"Why don't you?"
Shar-Teel smirked and some of the gruff veneer came off. "For exactly the reason that you probably think. Men are easy to goad into making mistakes. It's a fact that's helped me make a great deal of coin as a sellsword. Until now. Blasted dwarf." With that she stood suddenly and sent water sluicing and flying everywhere.
Wading to the shore, Shar-Teel tossed her damp hair back and shook some of the water off. Imoen couldn't help but be reminded of a wolf shaking itself dry, though Shar-Teel seemed grateful when she was offered a cloth. Next the warrior-woman dressed just as quickly and unceremoniously as she had undressed.
Leaving the pond behind them, the two women joined the others in striking the camp. By Kivan's reckoning they would finish traveling the breadth of the Wood today, with little to show for it. They had been attacked a few times on their journey by feral forest goblins, and had one brief encounter with giant spiders, but if there were bandits left in the woods there had been no sign.
"This search is hopeless," Xan whined as the group set out along a narrow game-trail.
"They'll show," Kivan growled. "One way or another." He was proven right an hour later, when the sounds of a distant battle reached their ears.
Tongues had been wagging before dawn that Tazok and his most trusted men would be leaving the camp, but it wasn't until noon that they finally formed up. From there it took another hour for them to get underway. Before that the slave pens were emptied and the captives where marched into the clearing, lashed together in teams of six and hauling crude wooden carts. It looked like a mockery of the caravans that the men and women had been taken from in the first place.
From what Ashura could gather the carts and the human cargo were bound for 'the mines' that the bandits often talked of in low whispers. She also got the impression that compared to past hauls this one was pretty abysmal; just twenty slaves gathered over the past half-season, all told. The bandits seemed to mostly blame their bad fortune on the fact that caravans had stopped daring the roads near the Sharp Teeth, but here and there they whispered of the heavy losses they had taken recently. Ashura couldn't help but take a little secret pride in that.
Tazok's crude little caravan contained two additional carts, pulled by worgs of all things. The big, sentient wolves didn't look particularly pleased with the job, heads turning constantly as they let out grumpy snarls at their hobgoblin minders. Supposedly the camp had once had teams of mules and horses, but the damn gnolls had slipped them off and eaten them one by one.
At the head of the column Tazok wore a similar expression to that of the worgs. The ogre's face was clenched and lined with pain and frustration, and his eyes seemed to constantly search for something to lash out at. The men kept as wide a berth from him as they could, and once the carts creaked and began to roll down the forest path a great sigh of relief seemed to rise from the entire camp.
Ashura had no idea where 'the mines' were actually located, and from what little she could pick up it seemed to be a secret. It was clear that they were pretty far away, and she got a better idea when Safana leaned in close and whispered to her. "Tazok will be gone for at least two tendays, perhaps more," the woman said. "Seems the cat's finally away. Would you be a dear and meet me on the other side of that clearing past the big fir tree in two hours time?" Without waiting for an answer Safana slipped away.
After some drudge-work rearranging crates Ashura excused herself, invoking her superior's name and finding the meeting spot at the allotted time. Garrick was already there, beneath the fir tree. He gave Ashura a relieved smile when she approached, she clasped his shoulder, and together they watched the forest for a time.
Safana joined them a few minutes later, fashionably late and seeming to appear out of thin air. With her usual sultry grin and eyes fixed on Garrick the Calishite woman walked up and took the bard by the hand, guiding him over towards a large weatherworn boulder and gesturing for Ashura to follow as well.
"What's all this…" Garrick began, voice trailing off when Safana shushed him with a finger.
"Speak softly," she advised, turning Garrick so that his back was against the stone.
Like clay in her hands, Ashura thought disapprovingly.
"And stand just like that," Safana went on. "Good. Lean against the rock just a bit more." Next she placed a hand on Ashura's shoulder. "Now you…follow my lead." With that the bandit-woman gracefully slipped down, knees on the grass in front of Garrick, the insistent pressure of her hand on Ashura's shoulder guiding her down as well.
Ashura's eyes went wide in disbelief and she slid reluctantly to one knee, a bit tense. "Uh, what the hell-"
"…are we doing?" Safana whispered. "Having a nice quiet, private conversation. But if anyone happens to come by and see us in this position they'll get other ideas."
Garrick looked like he was about to die of embarrassment. "Is this really necessary?" he whispered.
Putting a hand over her mouth and chuckling, Ashura eased down onto her knees. "No," she observed, "but she's having a grand time teasing you."
"True enough," Safana admitted. "Lean a bit closer, dear," she added, pulling Ashura into a huddle beside her. "And you might want to bob your head a little." Ashura did lean in, nearly cheek-to-cheek with Safana, but that was as far as she was willing to go with this little game.
"Now," Safana's voice shifted to a more businesslike tone, "Tazok and the people he took with him will be gone for at least two tendays, perhaps up to a month. And best of all he took Kysus with him. With Venkt missing that means there will be no mages around, and no one to place wards on Tazok's tent."
"There's something in that tent you really want," Ashura noted.
"Quite a few somethings, actually. There's a massive treasure-trove in there, the choice pickings from all the caravan raids. There's one particular piece that I'm after, but everything we can snatch up will be icing on the cake. Also plenty of jewelry and magical items, nice and portable."
"My gear included?" Ashura asked.
"Aye. Thought that would get your interest. Your precious boots will definitely be in there."
"By 'we'," Garrick whispered, "you mean us two and your men?"
"Exactly, and as I said before they're quiet loyal to me. Just keep in mind that even under the best circumstances this little heist will involve some fighting. The tent is guarded night and day by at least five soldiers, and Tazok left orders for several of his most trusted men to be inside it at all times."
"So," Ashura whispered, "if we aren't careful this could end up as the nine of us against the whole camp? Seems like we need a good distraction."
"Exactly," Safana agreed with a nod. "Think on it. We have plenty of time to plan."
"I know a few minor illusion spells," Garrick suggested. "Maybe that can help."
"So," Ashura said again, "cause a distraction, kill whoever's in the tent, loot the tent and then slip out of the camp? That's the scheme? And if we help you with this you'll help us escape?"
"That's the plan," Safana whispered. "So I trust you'll assist?"
"Hells yeah," Ashura said with a nod. She had suspected for a while that Safana was up to something, and it was good to finally have it out in the open, so to speak. A simple enough scheme too.
"Uh huh," Garrick agreed. "More than anything I just want to get out of here. I'll do whatever it takes if it leads to that."
"Good," Safana purred, running a fingertip along the waistline of Garrick's trousers. "Good. My men have a few ideas about how we can escape afterwards, along with taking over guard duty and getting into the tent. You two try to come up with a good distraction. There'll be plenty of time for us to talk in private again."
With that Ashura figured the Calishite woman would dismiss them and leave, but she paused a moment, teasing fingers still dancing against the front of Garrick's pants, near the hempen cord he used for a belt. "Hmm," Safana murmured, looking up into the bard's eyes. "I don't suppose you want to mix business with a little pleasure?"
"Uh…" Garrick's face was about the color of a beet now. "That won't be necessary."
For an instant there was a pout on Safana's face, though it seemed far from genuine, and quickly turned into a grin. "Figured you'd say that," she said, seamlessly rising to her feet, disengaging and walking off.
Garrick shook his head as he watched their leader go. Beside him Ashura shot to her feet as well, brushing a little dirt off the front of her leggings. When Safana was out of sight the bard turned to his partner. "Was she really about to…uhm...?" he asked.
There it was again, that adorably helpless, flustered look on his face. Ashura chuckled and slipped an arm behind Garrick, her hand resting on the small of his back. "Nah, think she's just a relentless tease," she said, shaking her head. A brief, contemplative breath followed. Oh what the hells! Imoen had her chance with the guy. With her other hand she reached forward, swiftly and casually untying Garrick's belt. "But I'm not," she added.
Eyes widening, Garrick swallowed. "You uh…you don't have to…" he managed awkwardly.
"Don't have to, but I don't think you object?" she asked with a sly grin.
The bard shook his head swiftly, enthusiastically in fact, and that was all the encouragement she needed to press close against him and start to yank his trousers down, silencing any more of his stammering with her lips. In time the trousers were joined by other pieces of discarded clothes, which formed a nice little nest in the grass when she finally guided him down.
Down by the lake a tight line of warriors stood shield to shield, their boots sinking a bit into the muck and their backs to the water as they desperately fended off the probing spears of a pack of gnolls. The dog-men were bolstered by a unit of human archers, who were taking advantage of a hill above the lake to send arrows raining down.
For the moment the arrows seemed to be harmlessly bouncing off shields marked with the sigil of the Flaming Fist. Most of the soldiers also wore the Fist upon their white tabards, though one of them stood out. He was dressed in green and silver armor, a winged helmet on his head and the all-seeing eye of Helm painted on his shield. His bastard sword hammered away at the shaft of the largest gnoll's halberd.
"At last," Kivan hissed through clenched teeth, drawing the string of his bow back and placing an arrow as he pushed his way through the brush that the group had been using for cover.
"Are you sure we should-" Imoen began.
"Yes," the elf cut her off.
"Bah," Shar-Teel growled. "We should just let them kill each other. Saves us the work."
"Good thing that's not your call to make," Kivan snarled as his bow groaned. He titled it back and loosed the arrow, sending it flying in a long arc that ended between the shoulder blades of the lead gnoll. The creature stumbled in shock and pain, its halberd suddenly hanging loose in its hands, giving the warrior in silvered armor all the opening he needed to cut the creature down with a single chop.
By then Kivan had another arrow knocked and was crossing the meadow in a full charge, heedless of whether the others would follow. They did, reluctantly, and were greeted by surprised shouts and drawn swords as the newcomers hit the back ranks of the bandit archers. The bandits managed to put up a momentary fight, until one of Xan's spells wavered through the air and more than half of the dozen men and women collapsed in a swoon. With that the bandits who were still standing lost their nerve and the battle became a route, and then a slaughter.
Once she'd yanked her sword out of the back of the last fleeing man, Shar-Teel turned and stomped over to the unconscious bandits, a wicked grin on her painted face. She stabbed the first sleeping man through the neck. When she reached her next victim she found a more creative spot to drive her sword, and the man awakened with a howl of pain and threw his head back before Shar-Teel's dueling-dagger bit into his throat, silencing him. She was preparing to bring her sword down on a third unconscious bandit when Xan grabbed her shoulder and hissed: "Stop!"
"Why?" she snarled back.
"We need living prisoners to question," the elf stated matter-of-factly. "Go deal with the ones that are still conscious." He pointed his moonblade towards the line of gnolls, where Kivan had already charged in and taken up one of the fallen creature's halberds, which he was using to trip and slash at the remaining beasts. Kagain was close behind, rushing forward with his axe.
Shar-Teel let out a "Hrmph!" at the notion of taking orders from the elf, but then swallowed her pride and took off in a sprint. With a running leap she launched herself at the nearest gnoll, thighs locking around its waist when they collided. Her weight and force sent the dog-man pitching forward and it howled in surprise and pain as her dagger sank into its neck. She rolled off the creature the moment it hit the ground and was slashing at a second one almost immediately.
A few furious blows and ear-splitting cries, and then it was over, the last of the dog-men shuddering in the sand and silt. Catching her breath Shar-Teel turned to Kagain. "That's five dead bandits against my debt."
Kagain shook his head. "Three. The sleeping ones didn't count."
"Bah."
At the head of the column of Flaming Fist soldiers stood a woman with braided red hair and a mess of freckles on her pale face. She watched Shar-Teel intently and held her sword up and out, at the ready.
The man who wore the symbols of Helm stepped up beside the woman and spoke first. "We are in your debt, strangers," he stated over heavy breaths, his tone strangely formal. "A most fortuitous encounter." Without another word he turned and walked towards the back of the group of soldiers, kneeling down beside the wounded. Apparently he was some sort of healer.
"Yeah," the redheaded woman added, not a hint of warmth in her voice.
Shar-Teel looked up and a combination of recognition and contempt crossed her scowling face. "Jessa," she spat out by way of greeting. "Ha! Hoped to never see your ugly fucking face again."
"Dosan," the Flaming Fist soldier replied coldly. "The feeling's mutual. Never thought we'd be fighting side by side." She gave the motley group beside Shar-Teel an appraising look. "Strange times, it seems."
"This gonna be a problem?" Kagain asked.
Jessa shook her head slightly. "Were it up to me this woman would be hanging from the nearest available tree. But it's not up to me. I assume you people are paying for her sword-arm?"
"She is in our debt," Xan said carefully.
"Debt?" Jessa snorted. "To a bunch of men? Now that's rich." At that Shar-Teel's nostrils flared and her lips twitched, but Jessa ignored her and went on. "You'll have to tell me the story later. In any case," she inclined her head slightly, "I'm Lieutenant Jessa Vai of the Flaming Fist, Beregost garrison. We had reason to believe the Sharp Teeth bandits have taken some heavy losses recently and were hoping to press them." She glanced around at the battlefield. "We've had mixed results."
"Heavy losses?" Imoen asked. "Wonder if we were responsible for that."
"Hope so," Kagain added. When Vai gave him a curious look he said: "We were part of a caravan headed through these parts. Lost the caravan to bandits, but we gave quite a bit better than we got. Had a nice pile of scalps for you before our wagons went down in flames."
"Some of these bandits are still alive," Xan pointed out, waving at the sleeping archers on the hill. "Unconscious."
"Good," Lieutenant Vai said, pointing to one of her soldiers. "Kessler: you, Terrin and Veln bind and secure any survivors for questioning." She waved a thumb at a kneeling figure near the water's edge, behind the soldiers. "We have a prisoner of our own that we caught slinking around here. These bandits attacked shortly after we caught her, and my guess is they were trying to retrieve her."
Imoen furrowed her brow and peered over at the kneeling woman. She didn't seem like a bandit; a very slim figure in nice-looking but muddy clothes that covered her from head to toe. The woman's face was hidden by her stark-white hair. Must be pretty old. "She's a bandit?" Imoen asked. "Doesn't look too dangerous."
One of the Flaming Fist soldiers gave Imoen a chuckle. "Looks about as dangerous as they come to me," he said, bending down and yanking the prisoner's hair back to reveal an angular, elven face. The woman's skin was very dark, with an almost blue-purple tinge to it. There was fury in her striking violet eyes and a scowl on her face as she bit down on a rough woolen gag.
Kivan hissed an elven curse and Xan's hand shot to the hilt of his moonblade.
"A drow," Vai stated.
"Well yeah," Imoen said with a dubious frown. "But how do you know she's with the bandits? Maybe she's just a traveler in these parts."
"If she's not working with these creatures," Xan stated, pointing at the dead gnolls, "that could mean something even worse. She could be part of a raiding party, a scout for an invading force."
"Not to mention that she's wearing this," the nearby Flaming Fist soldier said, pointing at a black amulet that hung from the elven woman's neck. "A holy symbol of Shar."
"Uh…" That just made the doubtful look on Imoen's face deepen. "But wouldn't that mean she's not part of a drow raiding party? They're all crazy-fanatical about their spider-goddess thingie. If she's worshiping a surface god it means she's an outcast."
"What does it matter?" another Flaming Fist asked. "Drow are trouble. Sharan priests are trouble. A drow-sharan sounds like double-trouble to me."
Imoen didn't exactly have a retort for that. Still, she bit her lip and kept watching the bound elf. It seemed like this woman had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"I suppose this creature is gagged for fear of her magic?" Xan ventured.
"Aye," Vai replied. "She had some vile curses on her lips when she went down."
"Well, these prisoners will probably be easier to interrogate." Xan gestured towards the six human bandits that were being hauled into the circle of soldiers, unconscious but starting to stir.
"You're interested in what they have to say?" Vai asked.
"Very much," Xan said with a nod, as near to enthusiastic as he was likely to get. "We are on the hunt for these bandits ourselves, for various reasons."
"Well, I'm not one to turn down help." Vai nodded her head towards Shar-Teel. "Even from her, as long as she behaves." She pointed to the warrior in silvered armor. "We picked him up in our travels as well. A squire from the Order of the Radiant Heart. Says he's on a quest to prove himself and that involves clearing the Coastway of highwaymen."
The heavily armored man looked up from the last of the wounded soldiers that he had been tending to, a haggard look in his bleary eyes. He had a big, round face that reminded Imoen of a bulldog, and seemed to be a bit chunky. When he stood up straight the man towered over everyone but Kivan and a few of the other soldiers. He offered a hand. "My apologies for not giving a proper introduction," the warrior said. "I am indeed of the Radiant Heart. Ajantis Ilvarstarr of Waterdeep, and-"
Before he could finish he let out a gasp, turning his head as an arrow streaked through the air. White mist trailed the missile as it hissed by and struck Vai squarely in the chest, piercing her breastplate with a metallic pang and an icy crackle. She grasped at the shaft, her face tightening in pain, then lost her footing and slid down to the sand. All around shields clanged as their steel edges locked together, and less than a heartbeat later arrows were bouncing off of them.
Imoen found herself huddled up behind the shieldwall, heart pounding and an arrow knocked and ready, though she wasn't sure where to shoot. She gasped when she felt Xan place a hand on her shoulder and the air around her seemed to briefly shimmer.
"Hey, what was that?" she asked just as the answer came to her. Her bow was right in front of her eyes, but she couldn't see it.
"You did so well the first time," Xan explained. "Well, besides not killing the mage who tried to set us all on fire. I thought you would like to go scouting and skirmishing again."
"Guess that's a good idea, just wish you'd warned me first." She didn't have any other ideas, and she could at least have a look-about. And now that she was invisible the sand was running, so without another word Imoen got to running too; breaking from the cluster of soldiers and dashing along the lakeshore a bit.
It couldn't be helped that her invisible feet left a trail of prints in the sand, but thankfully the bandits didn't seem to notice, and soon she was running through the grass and up the hill, circling round. There didn't seem to be a whole lot of bandits, just scattered, lone archers beneath the trees and a clump of armored warriors surrounding a big man dressed in plate and sporting grey hair and a small warhammer. He seemed to be the leader, but didn't draw her attention nearly as much as the creatures just behind him.
Oh yikes! Padding impatiently behind the formation of warriors were two wolves, broad and muscular as ponies, with the snarling mouths and amber eyes of beasts right out of some horror story. Atop each creature sat a hobgoblin, each armed with a sturdy spear. The wolves seemed eager to charge in but the man with the warhammer was holding his troops back for the moment, probably hoping the archers would soften the enemy up a bit more.
Hmm. Maybe she could keep that from happening. Scouting and skirmishing. Yeah, she could at least do something about those archers.
The bandits were spread thin along the ridgeline, and stepping as silently as she could it was easy enough for Imoen to find a lone archer nearby, a woman who was hunched beneath a broad sycamore tree plinking away with her bow. The tree would hopefully provide a little cover.
By the time Imoen realized how incredibly risky and stupid this was she had already crept within stabbing distance of the archer, her dagger out in her invisible hand. She pushed the notion aside and lunged, aiming for a kidney and sinking her dagger into the unarmored back of the other woman, at the same time reaching around and clasping her palm hard against the bandit's mouth.
There was a muffled gasp of shock against Imoen's hand and sudden, violent shaking that was less a struggle and more a bodily convulsion. A twist of the dagger and the woman sank silently to the earth. With a glance around Imoen didn't see any reaction from the nearest archers, their eyes still trained on targets below. She yanked the cloak off the shoulders of the dying archer at her feet and wrapped herself up with it, hoping it would make for good momentary camouflage.
Some of the bandits and the two wolf-riders were charging now, two prongs descending from different sides of the hill with a wolf at the lead of each column. The man with the hammer still stood at the top, surveying the battlefield and glancing at the archers nearest to him.
With his back to Imoen.
She thought of using Silke's old lightning wand, which still hung from her belt. She'd only get one shot at this, but as far as she knew there were only two charges left in the wand, and the bandit leader wasn't close to anyone at the moment. Not quite the right occasion for her last lightning bolts.
Glancing down, Imoen noticed that there were white, glistening feathers poking out of the quiver of the fallen archer. Pulling some of the arrows out and placing one of them against the string of her bow Imoen felt an unnatural crispness in the feathers. Ice arrows. She was sure of it.
If the nearby bandits noticed her at all they must have mistaken her for a fellow archer as she stood up, drew her bowstring back and pointed the glittering arrow at the man with the warhammer. An overwhelming calm came over Imoen as she whispered a spell, her bow straightening and centering. The magic guided her hands, adjusting her aim as her eyes trained on the armored back of the bandit leader. He rose and turned just a bit as he raised an arm, holding his hammer high and beginning to order the next charge.
Time slowed to a crawl and all sound left the world as Imoen emptied her lungs and then released the arrow. The man was locked in his stance, hammer held up. The arrow was a streak of crackling white that flew faster than Imoen's eyes could follow and bit deep into the unarmored spot beneath the bandit leader's arm. A burst of crackling frost erupted from the wound rather than blood and the man bellowed in sudden shock and pain.
As eyes turned from the injured commander to Imoen's position she had already begun to launch into another spell, the fingers of one hand weaving while the other gripped her bow.
Hope this trick works again.
From behind the sycamore that Imoen was crouching beneath a towering figure came running towards the bandits; a broad mass of muscle and fury with black billowing hair, bronze skin, furs about his loins, sandals on his feet and a greatsword high above his head. It was an image right out of one of those Krognar the Uthgardt stories Ashura had always loved, and as Imoen ran full-speed in the other direction down the hill she hoped that the shock of the big warrior appearing would be enough to keep the bandits from noticing that the moving figure was completely silent.
The tried-and-true trick worked well enough, arrows flying momentarily at the bigger target while Imoen hugged the high grass and sprinted for the lake. Once a few shots had passed harmlessly through the wavering illusion the bandits caught on and Imoen heard the whistles and thunks of arrows falling nearby.
Behind were angry bandits readying arrows, ahead was a fierce melee at the shore of the lake. At least the bandits here had their backs to her for the moment. As she ran towards the battle Imoen placed another ice-arrow to the bowstring and picked the best target she could: the back of one of the wolf-riders, whose mount was bleeding from a dozen places and snapping its jaws at Ajantis. The crackling arrow zipped through air and armor and the hobgoblin lost his balance and slid from the bucking creature's back.
Before she could think to knock another arrow Imoen's feet carried her into the battle, a blur of fur and steel and twisting, maneuvering bodies that nonetheless gave her cover from the angry archers at her back. She ducked low, relying on her small size and quick reflexes to dodge and twist away from the heavy blows of the combatants, her dagger out as she tried to stab any vulnerable spot that showed itself.
After long moments of terror and constant motion she found herself bending over and completely out of breath, the still body of one of the giant wolves spread out nearby and not much moving in her field of vision. When she managed to wipe the stinging sweat from her eyes and look up Imoen saw that most of the soldiers were pushing their way up the hill, accompanied by angered cries and screams. Only Xan seemed to be upright and nearby, along with the kneeling drow prisoner and a lot of still bodies.
A low, pained groan came from one of those bodies, and when she looked over Imoen realized that it was the Flaming Fist's leader, flat on her back and holding a hand tight against her punctured breastplate. Wild spasms and shivers ran through her body. The arrow that had struck her was gone, but it had left frost glittering all across her hand and chest, light plumes of icy mist still rising.
Kneeling by the fallen officer Imoen noticed that the woman's lips had turned a pale blue. "Damn," she muttered, at as much of a loss as she had been with Kagain. Maybe she could at least try to bandage the wound, though it seemed like the cold was doing far more damage. She began to fumble at that straps that held Lieutenant Vai's breastplate in place, and as she pulled the first strip of leather back a tall figure knelt down beside her and helped.
It was the squire of the Radiant Heart, his armor a little more battered and a very weary look on his broad face. The sounds of battle were sporadic now, and seemed to be moving up the hill and into the forest. Imoen guessed that what was left of the bandit force was in retreat.
The steel plate slipped loose and together Imoen, Xan and Ajantis worked it over Vai's head, the woman's body still shaking uncontrollably. Some of the blood that clung to the front of the lieutenant's white shirt beneath seemed to be hard-frozen to the fabric. "You're a holy warrior right?" Imoen asked Ajantis. "You can heal her with your hands."
The squire shook his head, face grim. "I've no more healing to give this day. We'll have to make do with bandages and blankets." Already he was measuring out a strip of linen, though there was hardly any blood flowing to staunch. What was killing Vai was the cold. Imoen was sure of it.
Looking up from the shivering woman Imoen pointed. "Wait! The drow! She's a priestess."
Xan's eyes bulged in horror. "Absolutely not!" he exclaimed.
But Imoen was already on her feet, racing the handful of paces to where the elven woman knelt. "You're a priestess. You can heal this woman right?" she asked the drow.
The prisoner gave a curt, instant nod in reply.
"And if I cut your bindings you'll heal her? In exchange for your freedom?"
Another nod, this time a bit slower. Cautious.
"Alrighty then!" With a few lightning-quick flicks of her dagger Imoen cut the ropes behind the drow, who shot to her feet and ripped the gag away herself.
"You cannot…you…" Xan stammered, but it was already done. Before he or Ajantis could react the drow woman leapt forward with surprising grace, energy crackling around her right hand as she invoked the name of the Nightsinger. The palm of her hand fell directly onto Vai's chest and one more shudder went through the woman's body.
Then Vai's back arched, the shivers stopped and she took one deep breath, inhaling like a drowning woman who'd just been given air. She sank back to the ground, breath deep but even, color quickly returning to her face.
"I kept my promise," the dark elf stated with a thick accent and a scowl, looking up at any who would dare meet her gaze.
"Yep," Imoen said with a smile. "Thanks."
"You…you did," Xan admitted, his moonblade still out and ready.
Author's Note: Thanks to Blue-inked Frost for pointing out some mistakes in the previous chapter. I really appreciate that. For some reason I just can't keep Crush and Khousann's names straight.
The notion of Flaming Fist soldiers, Ajantis and Viconia all being met together while they're fighting bandits is an idea I got from another fanfic I read a long time ago, though the situation was a bit different in that story. It just seems to make sense, since they're all encountered in the same area more or less. Sadly I can't remember the name of the story or the author at the moment.