Finally up! I apologize for the late chapter: this one simply did not want to come, and I pretty much had to drag it out paragraph by paragraph. Hopefully the upcoming ones will cooperate better and not take so long to write!
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Last Voyage of the Icerunner
Ravenlight did not wake up screaming the following morning. The sound coming from her throat did not actually qualify as a 'scream'.
It was more like an agonized keening, a sound as mindless as her attempts to claw the armor away from her right arm. For several moments, she was unaware of anything else: the babble of voices around her, the hands shifting her just a little roughly and fumbling with the straps of her armor, the flash of cold as her breastplate came loose, and then—
Relief. Simple, breathless relief as her helper tugged off the tight leather jerkin beneath her armor, the one that was constricting her arm so badly. She sagged back, not looking down at the aching limb, reveling in the feeling of the screaming pain being reduced to a simple ache. She would notice everything else in a moment, she knew, including the fact that it was still bitterly cold and she was now topless; but at the moment, not being in agony was enough.
A warm, slender hand took her arm and lifted it, gently enough not to jostle it. Then a familiar voice let out a sulfurous curse in a stunned tone.
"I didn't know you knew that one," she said, panting; more for something to say than anything else.
"I learned it from you," Drizzt answered absently, still shocked. "Essiel. Look at your arm."
She didn't want to. She had the unpleasant suspicion that if she did so, the ache would go away and the pain would come back. But at the same time, to assess the damage...She turned her head to take a look.
It was worse than she thought. She'd evidently jolted her elbow as well as shattering her hand when she'd used Whirlwind Sprint to impale the Death Overlord. Her arm had swollen to almost double its normal size; which she had expected, given how much pain her armor had caused her. What she hadn't expected was the mottling of black bruises all across the normally pale skin of her entire forearm.
"Oh." There wasn't much else to say. "That's...not good."
"I'll say not," a horrified voice agreed. Ravenlight had to think for a moment before she recognized Serana. "What...caused that?"
"Probably hitting the Death Overlord." She shivered. Now she could feel the cold. "Uhiel, could you get one of my spare tunics out of my pack? One with sleeves?"
"It'll have to be one with short sleeves," he answered grimly, digging through it. She idly hoped he wouldn't jumble things up too much; the bag's carry-space didn't automatically organize its contents, and sorting things out again was annoying. But she wasn't going to say anything. A moment later, he pulled one out.
Ravenlight looked at it and almost laughed. It was her favorite blue-and-teal tunic, the one she almost never brought along with her whenever she left Breezehome. She could barely remember how it had got into her pack in the first place. Normally, when she put it on, it was a sort of signal to herself: she was home, she was safe, and all was well.
It wasn't the case right now. But she wasn't going to complain.
Drizzt helped her get her bad arm through the sleeve, and managed it without jostling more than a few whimpers out of her. The problem was, she realized quickly, that this particular tunic was not meant for traveling during the winter. However, judging by the way he'd gone back to digging—in his pack, this time, not hers—he'd thought of that.
"That arm should be in a sling," he said, pulling out a fox fur and several long strips of leather. "This should keep it a little warmer, too."
It helped. The softness of the fur felt pleasant against her bare skin, and wasn't too tight against the swelling. He used another strip of fur to pad the spot where the leather straps went around her neck to keep them from chafing, and letting her arm rest in the sling itself eased some of the residual pain. But she suspected it would only be a temporary measure: there was a slow pain growing in her hand that made her suspect the injury was starting to get infected. And in that case, they really needed to get to Solitude and find a decent surgeon to clean it out.
But to get to Solitude...
"You wouldn't happen to have looked at my map and figured out where we are, by any chance?" she asked.
Drizzt nodded. "I studied it quite a bit last night, after you were finally asleep. It's going to take us at least three days to reach Solitude, any way we go. The quickest way would be going through the marshes around Morthal, but I don't want to go that way: the harbor's too big a barrier, and I don't know if we could find anyone living in that area who might have a boat we could borrow. Looping around it would add another two or even three days to the journey." He grimaced. "Our best chance is to go to the shore of the Sea of Ghosts; we may be able to buy passage on a ship heading to Solitude."
"That's a big chance," Ravenlight muttered. But he had a point: heading overland to Solitude would add several days to their trek—days she was not sure they had. And it would involve going back into Forsworn territory, not to mention Thalmor... "Are you sure there will be any ships?"
Drizzt nodded. "I talked to some of the sailors on that trader we caught passage on from Dawnstar, back before we found Alduin's Wall. The port of Solitude is busy year-round, and nearly every day, there are ships coming and going. We'll have a chance of at least catching one's attention; at this time of year, they'll be hugging the coastline fairly close."
He fell silent then, and it didn't take much for Ravenlight to guess at his thoughts. It was a chance...but not a very good one, and he didn't know what they'd do if it fell through. She sighed; maybe she could come up with something before it reached crisis point. And who knew? Maybe the Divines would feel generous and actually send a ship their way.
But that was in the future. For now, they had to get there. And that, in and of itself, would be difficult.
It wasn't until noon that she realized just how difficult. They'd all been walking up until that point; without Fearless, they only had Andahar, and Drizzt had not been sure the unicorn could carry three. Ravenlight hated riding while others walked, so she had stubbornly trudged beside them, uncomplaining despite the growing pain in her arm and hand. But while her lips refused to complain, her body had other ideas.
Drizzt called a halt at midday, glancing back at her and Serana. Ravenlight halted, gladly, and then the world suddenly turned sideways. A moment later, she realized that rather than the world tilting, she had fallen—and scared the daylights out of both of her companions. Serana, who'd been taking up the rear, had barely managed to catch her before she struck the ground.
"Are you all right?" Drizzt knelt over her, his eyes wild.
Ravenlight nodded. She really wasn't sure why she'd toppled; the pain from her arm, while certainly there, wasn't overwhelming, and she didn't feel lightheaded. She had just...fallen, which was odd. Maybe she was tired. She felt tired.
Serana touched her neck lightly, her finger searching for something; then they stilled, as though they'd found it. "You've lost blood," she said uneasily.
"Yes, thanks to that blasted spike-trapped button back in the crypt," Drizzt said sharply, then squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I doubt you built it. Yes, she did. I put a tourniquet around her wrist as quickly as possible, but I think it may have been blood loss as much as pain that knocked her out."
"Maybe." Ravenlight tried to sit up. "Why?"
"You need to eat something." Serana moved her hands away from the Bosmer's neck. "And quickly. Your pulse is weaker than it should be; I think that's why you collapsed."
Ravenlight started to say she wasn't hungry, then considered. In truth, her arm hurt so much that the only thing she was really thinking about was that. She'd barely even realized how dry her mouth was starting to get. "I think you're right."
Drizzt had already started digging through his pack, muttering to himself as he failed to find what he wanted. After a moment, he glanced at her and started looking through her pack. She considered being annoyed, but didn't have the energy. After a moment, he shook his head and stood, picking up Wraithcaptor.
"I hope you don't mind me borrowing this for a while," he said. "I'm going hunting. The only food we've got between us is dry rations, and not enough to make a difference for blood loss."
"What will you be hunting?" Serana asked, looking up at him. Ravenlight leaned back and closed her eyes. She was getting tired again.
"Something large; preferably a deer, though if I see a goat I'll take one down instead. I've seen their tracks as we've been walking; I think I can find a fresh trail and be back in an hour or two." He knelt down again, reaching out to stroke Ravenlight's cheek. "Don't sleep," he warned. "With blood loss, it could be dangerous. Serana, don't let her sleep."
She nodded, jostling the Bosmer until she opened her eyes with a growl. "I'll keep watch," she promised. "Just...be quick, please?"
He gave them a quick smile that wasn't as strained as it might have been, and hurried away into the wilds.
Ravenlight knew—probably better than Serana—that hunting was not an exact science, and there was never any way to tell when someone would return. And even Skyrim, filled with game as it was, wouldn't just have a deer around the next corner. She doubted he'd be back before an hour had passed.
The minutes ticked by. She was cold—bitterly so—and wished they had a fire. Serana might not be too thrilled at the thought, but Ravenlight wanted one badly. And her arm hurt. The ache was turning back into agony with torturous slowness, hurting just a little more every minute. Her hand hurt, too, a throbbing pain that wasn't getting worse, but would not go away.
She just wanted it to stop. She wanted to sleep, to pass out; to escape from the pain just for a little while. Part of her knew this was a bad idea. Blood loss aside, it was too cold to safely sleep, unless she had a fire—or, barring that, Guenhwyvar to cuddle with. But the rest of her didn't care. Not that it mattered, because Serana was alert, shaking her back to full wakefulness anytime she so much as blinked. She was starting to seriously consider what it would take to kill, or at least disable, the vampire, and what she was capable of in her current state, when Serana called out in surprise.
"You're back! That was fast."
"More so than I expected."
Ravenlight's interest rose in spite of herself, and she turned her head to see Drizzt approaching, bent double under the weight of a young buck. He reached the campsite and let his burden fall, straightening his back with a relieved grunt. "I found it closer to the camp than I expected, and managed to kill it with one shot."
She blinked at the deer, fuzzily wondering how a ranger as skilled as he was had neglected to so much as field-dress or bleed the deer before bringing it back. Did he not know that doing so would remove at least ten pounds from the animal?
Drizzt knelt beside the buck, pulling out his hunting knife. "There's a small stand of trees just over that hill; Serana, could you go and bring back some of the deadwood? I couldn't do it with the deer on my shoulders; and I'll watch her while you're doing that."
Serana nodded and rose, setting Ravenlight down as she did. The Bosmer promptly snuggled deeper into her cloak and curled up, careful to lay on her left side so that she didn't put any pressure on her bad arm, and closed her eyes.
"Essiel," a warning voice came, "don't you dare. I am not so busy over here I can't go over there and wake you up."
Ravenlight growled something in response. It was meant to be rude, but she was too tired to be intelligible. She curled up a little more tightly. A few seconds later, steps sounded, squeaking a little across the snow; then a hand gripped—
She yelped loudly, suddenly wide awake as he gripped her right shoulder, shaking her just enough to jostle her elbow and wrist as well. Instinctively, she curled up and around the limb, pressing it tight against her chest and swearing vociferously.
"I'm sorry for that," Drizzt said, "but I'm serious. You can't sleep. It's too cold and you've lost blood."
She spat a few choice phrases involving his ancestry, their hygiene habits, and their worship of certain Daedric princes, trying to blink back tears from the pain.
"I'd like to argue," Drizzt said dryly, "but considering my family, most of that is probably true."
He went back to the deer, pausing to pull a large jug out of his pack before kneeling down beside its neck and slicing deep. She watched, more for something to do than any real interest, and finally understood that he'd hauled the deer back whole so that he could collect as much blood as possible for Serana. At another time, she'd be impressed with his foresight. At the moment, though, she couldn't decide which she wanted more: to pass out or to kill him.
Thankfully, before she could decide, Serana returned with a large armful of wood. By that time, Drizzt had bled and skinned the deer, and was cutting the meat into strips that would be more easily cooked and carried. He had her take over cutting it up while he built the fire; then, as soon as the flames were strong enough for the larger limbs, he took several strips and set them up on skewers over the flames to roast, not waiting for coals.
Ravenlight scooted closer to the flames, holding out her uninjured hand to the heat. She sighed in relief as the warmth caressed her skin. It didn't remove the pain, but at least she no longer felt half-frozen as well. Drizzt kept a surreptitious eye on her; while she didn't look as though she was about to fall asleep at any second, she was still tired, weak and in a great deal of pain. Getting some food into her would help, as would no longer being on the verge of freezing; but it would not be enough.
He silently prayed to whatever deities might be interested and listening that there would be a ship at the coastline when they reached it—and that the journey would not take too long.
Roughly a half-hour later, they were on the move again, Drizzt and Ravenlight still chewing on the last of the half-cooked strips of venison. This time, though, Drizzt had called Andahar, ignoring what protests Ravenlight was able to make, and she was perched unsteadily on the unicorn's back. Drizzt offered to let Serana ride as well while he led the way; it was clear that Ravenlight was still on the verge of passing out, and he didn't want to risk her falling. But Serana, after a nervous glance at Andahar, had refused.
"I'm not much of a rider," she said. "And...and hopefully the land hasn't changed that much. Besides, while I don't like the cold, it doesn't affect me, and I don't get tired easily. I can walk."
He would have argued longer if Andahar hadn't snorted loudly and sidestepped to correct Ravenlight's balance, alerting them both to the fact that, while she seemed to be awake, her eyes had gone glassy, and she was starting to sway. He immediately gave up the argument and mounted behind her, putting his arm around her shoulders to steady her. She seemed to come awake, realized he was there, and turned toward him, resting her head against him.
Serana glanced over at them and paused, a look of puzzled wistfulness on her face. She took a half-step toward them, then stopped and looked away. She inhaled deeply, sniffing the air. "The coast, right? This way."
Night fell fast, but Drizzt was able to find a small stand of trees to make camp in. This time, he put up the tent first, while Serana gathered wood for a fire. Ravenlight, more coherent than she had been all day, kindled the wood into flame, and helped set up more of the venison over skewers to cook. She wasn't able to do much more, however; the pain in her hand had been getting worse by the hour, and now throbbed up her arm as well. It was getting to the point that even the fur sling was painful, and her swollen arm and wrist were hot to the touch.
She curled up, close enough to the fire to take in its warmth, and half-listened as Drizzt and Serana talked. It was all fairly...she wasn't sure she'd call it trivial, exactly; but none of it earth-shaking, either. She paid little attention to their discussion of how and why the landscape might have changed in four or five thousand years, though she did hear Serana's disquieting admittance that most animal blood was not particularly nutritious or tasty for her kind. More reassuring was the revelation that her mother, a skilled alchemist, had perfected something she called 'blood potions' barely a month before Serana had been locked away, and that Serana had a few of these potions with her already.
But she wasn't able to listen for long. After barely thirty minutes, her arm hurt so much that she felt sick with the pain. She didn't wait for the meat to finish cooking; she simply crawled into the tent and wriggled beneath the furs, turning in a vain effort to keep any pressure off of her bad arm.
Ravenlight wanted to sleep: to escape the pain. But sleep evaded her, until she was too tired and in too much pain to remain stoic. She buried her face in the furs and let herself cry.
She was trying not to be heard, and at first, she thought she'd succeeded. But as the minutes ticked by, the tears providing release but no relief, the tent flap opened again, steps approached, and a warm, gentle hand rested on her hair. She wavered: part of her didn't want it. Part of her wanted to be left alone, to cry herself out in peace. The other part of her wanted comfort of any kind, as long as it was not touching her bad arm.
The balance was shifted in his favor by the tiniest of thoughts: a single, stray whisper that, whether she wanted it or not, he needed to try to give what comfort he could. She turned slightly toward him, accepting the touch. He moved a little closer to her, careful not to bump her side, but near enough that she could feel his warmth, and began to stroke her hair and face.
It had an almost hypnotic effect. And after a moment or so, she finally drifted off to sleep.
Serana sat by the entrance of the tent, looking in at Drizzt as he sat beside the finally-sleeping woman. She was almost jealous of the paler Elf; it would have been nice if she could sleep with someone silently assuring her it would be all right. She looked up at the sky and sighed. The sky looked familiar, but even that wasn't quite the same: some constellations had shifted slightly, or changed angles, making them difficult to find.
So much had changed since she'd last been in the world. Even the landscape wasn't the same: she was sure the mountains had been taller before, and craggier, and that was only in the small area they'd been in! She'd looked at Ravenlight's map earlier: apparently, the Reach Plateau was now full of gorges and mountains, while the Bay of Morthal had become a marsh. And those were just the changes obvious from the map. What else might have changed...
She sighed. In truth, she didn't know if returning to the castle was the wisest choice. She wasn't entirely sure what had led her mother to lock her away, or decide to hide herself; but she'd heard the fights her parents had over the prophecy in the Scroll that sat heavily on her back. And something had prompted—she gulped back the tears that threatened at the memory—something had prompted one of her few friends to start a rebellion against her father, not three months before her mother had taken her and the Scroll and fled to Dimhollow: a rebellion which he had put down in the harshest way imaginable.
Harkon had always been the crueler of her parents: she doubted that the years had changed that, especially without Valerica around to temper his worst traits. But Castle Volkihar was the one place in Skyrim—possibly the entire world—that would have remained unchanged enough for her to get her bearings in this new world. She probably wouldn't enjoy her time there, but she could at least recover enough to learn a little about what things were different, what the lay of the land was...and what she needed to do next.
"Are you all right?"
She started. She hadn't noticed the strange, black-skinned Elf—the Dunmer, he'd called himself—coming out of the tent. "Oh—is she—?"
He sighed and ran a hand through his long, white hair. She watched him obliquely; he looked tired, worried, and while his face had an ageless quality to it, right now he looked almost old. "She's asleep, finally. Still in a great deal of pain, and her hand does not look healthy...but at least now she's able to rest. We'll reach the coast tomorrow. Hopefully there will be a ship passing; if not, we'll have to turn to Dawnstar and see what Erandur can do before finding a ship to Solitude."
"You care for her." Serana felt a little foolish as soon as she'd said it. The two were brother and sister; of course they cared for each other. It was a little like mentioning that the daytime sky was blue.
But he simply nodded, a smile trying to form. "Yes. I—we—care for each other a great deal." Absently, he went to the fire, removing the meat from the burned-low flames. He wrapped most of them up and tucked them into his pack, but kept one out and began absently to chew on it. Thankfully, the fire had burned low enough not to burn the meat all the way through; but it had dried out and was now little better than jerky. It probably didn't taste very good, but he kept at it. After a moment of silence, he glanced over at Serana. "Do you have friends or family waiting for you at your castle?"
Serana sighed, staring up at the stars. "I don't really...know," she admitted. "My father and I were never really close, and I don't think my mother will still be there. The others...it may sound odd, but I never really considered them friends. We were joined because we were all vampires; they were respectful, and some of them amiable, but...none of them were really my friends."
He considered. "So why do you want to go back?"
She rubbed her face. "I need to get my bearings. The world has changed around me so much that I—I'm dizzy. I don't know where else to go, or what else to do, or—" her voice cracked—"or who to trust."
He pondered for a moment. "I've been there," he said at last, almost absently reaching out to add some more fuel to the fire before it fell completely to embers. "Lost, alone; in a strange world, and not knowing where to go or who to trust. I understand...wanting a place of safety to stay in while you regain your bearings, even if it's not the most friendly place." He gave her a quick smile. "Solitude, at least, is in the right direction. Hopefully it won't take Ravenlight long to recover, once her hand is taken care of; but if she needs, we can let her rest there, and I'll take you the rest of the way."
"You would?" The words lifted a weight off her that she hadn't realized was there. It was easy—far too easy, she now realized—to assume that someone was merely saying something, that they didn't entirely mean it. And she was far too used to people who used their natural charm to get away with outright lying.
But Drizzt's demeanor wasn't that of someone just saying something to make her feel better. He did understand how strange things were for her. He truly empathized with her need to be someplace she knew before she figured out what to do next. And—it was odd, but she felt as though he understood...her. Understood her lifelong struggle not to let what she was shape her as a person, not to fall into the all-too-easy vices that came with her power. She had no idea why that might be; but she appreciated it, anyway. She smiled at him in relief. "Thank you. It's...that's good to know."
She could have said more; in fact, she tried, but the words would not come. But from the smile he gave her in reply, she knew that he could at least guess at all of it.
Ravenlight made a strong start the next morning. She'd slept fairly well, despite the pain; but she had not, unfortunately, awakened healed. She was even able to eat a little, joking playfully about how tough the venison had cooked the previous night as she gnawed on her portion. But she didn't have much appetite, and while she finished the slice he gave her, she didn't request another. Nor did she grumble about not wanting to be the only one riding when Drizzt called Andahar and settled her on his back.
She seemed awake enough that he didn't feel anyone had to ride with her. So he led, Serana following along and Ravenlight perched atop Andahar, occasionally making comments about the landscape, or something pertinent to the conversation going on between him and Serana. But as the morning wore on, he began to realize that something was wrong. Too many of the comments sounded forced, or came after a long silence. Finally alarmed, he turned and looked back at her—just as she toppled sideways and fell from Andahar's back.
Drizzt lunged, nearly bowling Serana over, and caught Ravenlight just before she struck the ground head-first. She stirred in his grasp, eyes glassy and unfocused, her face flushed and damp. He sighed.
"Ravenlight, could you have not said you were feeling feverish?"
She blinked again, her eyes slowly focusing. "I...guess I didn't realize. I just..." She sighed, her eyes drifting closed again, her face briefly tightening with pain. "Sorry. Hard to think right now."
He couldn't exactly say anything to that, remembering that the last time she'd been feverish, she hadn't seemed to realize what was going on until she'd collapsed then, either. He let her stand, supporting her to keep her upright, and signaled Andahar to kneel again.
"Thank the gods the coast is nearby," he muttered, helping her mount and then climbing up behind her. "I don't think you'd last much longer if it wasn't."
By noon, the gray, forbidding coastline was in sight, the pebbled beaches stretching on for miles both east and west; the cold, dark water washing up endlessly across it. No ships were in sight, but Drizzt dismounted anyway, dismissing Andahar and laying Ravenlight down, wrapping her securely in her cloak and a thick bearskin he'd removed from his pack.
He rested a hand on her forehead for a moment. She had deteriorated steadily all day, and was now barely conscious. At times she shook uncontrollably; other times, she gasped for breath, her face wet with perspiration.
"Keep an eye on her," Drizzt said, glancing at Serana. "I'm going to gather driftwood and get a bonfire going. If there are going to be any ships, we have to have a way of signaling them."
Serana nodded, kneeling down beside the wrapped Bosmer. "Are you...sure there's going to be a ship?"
He gazed at her, and she was struck by the helpless fear in his eyes. "There has to be," he said. "Because...because I don't know what to do if there isn't."
Thankfully, driftwood was plentiful, and he'd gathered enough for a blazing fire in less than fifteen minutes. Serana sat some distance away from the flames, looking out to sea. Drizzt knelt beside Ravenlight, trying to get her to at least drink some wine. Twice, he had managed to put the cup to her lips long enough for the liquid to touch her mouth; both times, she frowned and turned her head away. Her arm and hand looked much worse as well: her arm puffed to over twice the size of her uninjured left, and her fingers, visible past the bandage he did not dare remove, were an unhealthy reddish-purple, hot to the touch, and so swollen he didn't think she could actually move them.
Momentarily giving up on convincing his stubborn sister to drink anything, Drizzt wrapped her a little more snugly in the furs and stood, turning to look out at the churning, overcast horizon. He had done so a number of times since arriving at the coast, looking vainly for any sign of sails. This time looked to be no different.
Serana joined him a moment later, glancing over her shoulder at Ravenlight's huddled form. "I hate to have to ask this, but...how long are we waiting before we head for...Dawnstar, I think you called it?"
"I don't know." He gazed at the horizon, trying to will sails into appearing. "She's getting to the point where travel could be dangerous, but we can't stay out here for too long, either: there's no fresh water and not enough food. The venison won't last forever."
"No." She hesitated, clasping her arms. "And my...potions won't, either."
"That's occurred to me," Drizzt muttered.
Behind them, Ravenlight stirred and called out unintelligibly. Serana turned to go check on her. Then her eyes widened, and she caught Drizzt's arm. "Look! There, to the west!"
He saw it instantly: a ship, emerging like a mirage from a low cloudbank. It was far enough away from the shore to travel swiftly, without being in danger from hidden rocks or shoals; but close enough to see a signal. He wheeled instantly and ran to the bonfire, building it up, and then taking a long branch and kindling the end of it into a torch.
Then, as Serana went to Ravenlight, Drizzt ran into the shallows, waving the torch overhead like a mad thing, and desperately hoping that the sailors be alert enough to see—and interested enough to stop.
"Captain," the lookout called. "There, on shore. We're being hailed."
The black-haired Imperial leaned over the rail, shading his dark eyes. Sure enough, he could see the figure, waving a torch overhead to catch their attention. Further back, two figures huddled by a bonfire; one bending over the other, who was lying on the ground and bundled in furs.
"Orders, Captain Raxlard?" the burly Nord at the helm called.
"Heave to," he answered. "We can't ignore them; one of them looks sick. At the least, we may be able to provide them some aid."
"Is that wise?" the first mate asked. "These coasts are infested with bandits."
"I'm thinking of that." Raxlard gave him a wintry smile, before turning to a rangy Bosmer archer. "Falond, you get into the crow's nest. It looks like they're going to cause trouble, you make use of that bow." He beckoned to another sailor. "Cicepius, you and I are taking the skiff and getting close enough to see what that fellow wants."
"They're coming." Drizzt saw the skiff lowered, two sailors in it, and nearly fell to his knees in the water. "Thank the gods, they're coming."
"Good," Serana said, looking up from where she knelt over Ravenlight. "I hope they hurry, she's delirious."
"Delirious?" He looked back at his huddled sister, worry clear in his eyes. "Why—we've got to get there. We've got to get to Solitude as fast as possible." He turned and began wading into the surf toward the approaching skiff, which pulled up some yards from the shore.
"That's far enough," the sailor at the oars called sharply. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"My name is Drizzt Do'Urden," he answered. "I and my friends need passage to Solitude. I can pay or work for the passage, or both if you wish."
The sailor eyed him suspiciously. "How many of you?"
"Three." He gestured back to Ravenlight and Serana. "Please. One of us is badly injured, and she can't travel on her own. We've tried; she's on the verge of collapse."
The sailor turned to the man beside him. "Captain Raxlard?"
The captain in question was appraising Drizzt. "You good with those blades, Dunmer?"
His hands went automatically to his scimitars. "I've got some experience, yes." The response was automatic, and somehow familiar, as was the question, though he couldn't immediately think why.
The captain nodded to the sailor. "We're taking them."
He frowned. "Captain?"
"The Sea of Ghosts is dangerous, and we're getting to one of the worst parts," the man said calmly. "Another swordsman on board would only help, especially with the cargo we're carrying. And if that girl is really as sick as she looks, we can't leave them. Take us in."
Drizzt insisted on helping Ravenlight to the skiff, though 'helping' quickly turned into 'carrying her outright'. She woke up enough to grumble about being carried, but wasn't not strong enough to do anything about it. Serana had offered to carry her, but Drizzt quietly pointed out that she probably shouldn't seem too unusual to the sailors; their willingness to help might stop hard at the idea of giving passage to a vampire.
Two of the sailors helped lift the Bosmer up over the rail, while Drizzt and Serana scrambled up without difficulty. The captain and the sailor with him followed, attaching a hoist to the skiff to get it out of the water.
"Guirell!" the captain called. "You're needed."
A moment later, a cranky-looking Altmer in the robes of a Restoration mage poked his head up above deck. "What is it now?"
The captain gestured to Ravenlight, who was being held upright, and looked as though she would gladly collapse where she stood if she were permitted. "We've taken some passengers aboard; one of them is injured. She could use your touch."
The Altmer looked at her and nodded. "Right. Bring her down here; I'll take a look."
Drizzt looked at the man in surprise. "A Restoration mage?"
"Not just any Restoration mage." Raxlard smiled. "He's one of the best surgeons in the Legion; been with the Icerunner for eight years. In all our fights, anyone who wasn't killed outright always recovered afterward, no matter how bad he was injured."
A surgeon. For the first time in two days, Drizzt felt the first quick stirrings of hope. They wouldn't have to go all the way to Solitude to find someone capable of tending to her hand: there was one right here on the ship. The larger of the sailors who had helped her aboard picked her up and carried her down toward the healer's cabin. Drizzt wavered, not sure whether he should go with her, or start meeting the crew and making himself useful to them.
Serana glanced over at him. "I'll go with her," she said quietly. "Don't worry."
He hesitated, glanced over at Ravenlight, who lifted her left hand and attempted a careless wave, then nodded himself. "All right. I'll...try."
"All right then." The Altmer healer waited until Ravenlight was settled onto the bunk before turning to her with the brisk, slightly annoyed efficiency of all healers. "What did you do to yourself, eh?"
"It's her right arm," Serana explained. Ravenlight slumped back on the bed, breathing hard. The delirium had more or less faded, and she was coherent, but she was still sick, in incredible pain, and just cranky enough herself to be uncooperative. The vampire uncovered the arm in question, pulling back the sleeve of the tunic to reveal the swollen, bandaged hand and the ugly black-and-red mottling all up the forearm. "She...touched a trapped stone in a Draugr ruin, and it put a spike through her hand. That would have been enough, but it was wrapped, bandaged and he put a healing potion on it, so I didn't think it would be too severe, until she started getting feverish."
Guirell lifted her hand to examine it, ignoring a growl of pain. "This is not half-healed, or even starting to heal, and if there was a potion on the bandages, it should not look like this. What on earth did she do with this hand after it was taken care of? Use her bad hand to stab something heavily armored?"
Serana hesitated. "Yes, actually," she admitted. "A Draugr Death Overlord. She didn't have a choice."
Guirell grunted, taking a small, sharp knife and cutting the bandage away with it. "Well, she should have used something other than a sword on it. She was trying to strike with force and favor her hand at the same time, and the result was she wrenched her elbow half out of its socket." He grimaced as the linen fell away, revealing the full extent of the damage and the livid purple-red skin. "And while she didn't open the wound again entirely, it looks like the blow shattered almost every bone in her hand. No wonder she's in such bad shape." He prodded her swollen, discolored appendage, the motion earning a startled, half-choked scream and a growled curse.
"Can it be...repaired?" Serana hadn't seen the full extent of the damage before, and looked ill.
"Yes. But it's going to require a little more than just magic. I've got to set as many bones as I can, and that's going to be a fiddly, painful task, all the more so—" Another jab brought another howl— "because...how long ago was this...ruin?"
"Two days," Serana ventured. "Is that bad?"
"It's been long enough for her hand to become infected," the Altmer said crossly. "I'll have to lance the wounds as well as set the bones."
"Knock me out first," Ravenlight advised, panting, "because I don't know how many more times I can scream before my brother will be down here." She swallowed hard. "Even though he knows how loudly I was screaming after that spike went through my hand."
"I planned on that." Guirell stood and went over to a chest, which he rummaged through for a moment before coming up with a white pottery bottle. "Drink this. It tastes like the underside of a troll's privy and will take a few minutes to work, but it'll put you to sleep for a couple of days. Long enough for me to get your hand and arm put back to rights, and long enough for your body to start healing any other residual damage on its own."
Ravenlight nodded. "Sounds good," she said. "Anything to remember?"
"You'll want plenty of water when you wake up," he answered. "And food. And you probably won't be interested in your lover for a few days. But otherwise, you'll be fine. Drink it down; like I said, it'll take a few minutes to work, which will give me time to get everything I need together."
My lover? She decided not to ask—he might well have heard 'lover' when she said 'brother', and if that was the case, nothing she said would make a difference now—and threw down the potion instead. She immediately gagged. "Gods above, I thought my potions tasted bad."
"All the strongest ones taste the worst." He was back to rummaging in the chest, pulling out tools that looked rather more like they were meant for delicate carving work than healing. Serana eyed them with alarm, but Ravenlight just leaned back. Her hand and arm hurt too much to be worried about what he might be pulling out, and her mouth, thanks to the potion, now tasted as though she'd kissed a hagraven that had been dead for a few weeks. She couldn't wait until she finally fell asleep, and she hoped that the taste would not continue into her dreams. She glanced over at Serana.
"Are you going to be okay?" Ravenlight doubted that infected blood would be at all appetizing to a vampire, but considering how long the girl had gone without feeding at all—and the fact that deer were not, as she'd admitted, all that nutritious for her kind—she guessed it would be best to be sure.
"I don't know," Serana admitted. "I've never—never seen anything like this..."
"If you're not familiar with surgery or dislike the sight of blood, I'd appreciate it if you left my cabin before I start," Guirell said tartly. "If there's anything worse than having to stop a delicate surgery in the middle in order to revive a fainted onlooker, I don't know what it is."
Serana scowled at the tone, but her shoulders slumped as she considered his words. Ravenlight privately thought that it might be for the best. Even if she was accustomed to blood, something like this was sure to be grisly enough to disturb even a hardened warrior.
Guirell continued his preparations, making sure she was secure in the bunk, and then strapping her right arm firmly to a low, wooden table, almost like a chair's armrest, which he had covered with a clean, white cloth. "I'll wrap your elbow and get it back in place once I'm finished with your hand," he said briskly. "But once the infection is dealt with and I've cast the last spells, it should take care of itself while you're sleeping."
Ravenlight nodded, yawning involuntarily. She was starting to feel drowsy; the potion was taking effect. "One thing," she said, rallying. "Will I be able to use my hand again, after you're done?"
"I wouldn't be much use to the Legion or to a ship's crew if I wasn't able to restore use of crushed or shattered limbs to sailors and fighters," he answered—not as tartly as she'd expected. She supposed, as she began to drift off, that this was often a question asked by a worried fighter with a mangled leg or badly shattered arm. "When you wake up, you'll be able to use your sword—and your bow—once again."
"Good," she mumbled, as waves of soothing darkness began to roll around her. "Be a...really bad thing...if I couldn't."
A slight smile touched the Altmer's face as she went limp, breathing easily. "Trust me, lass; you're hardly the first one to say that."
Several hours later, Drizzt straightened from aiding one of the sailors to see the Altmer healer come back up into fresh air, breathing deeply. He immediately stepped forward.
"How is she?"
"Your Bosmer woman?" Guirell sighed and rubbed his close-cut, spiky hair. "She's fine now. She'll be asleep for a few days, but I got the infection cleared out and all the bones are now set, with some Restoration magic to speed things along. It was a bad injury, though, possibly one of the worst I've ever seen that didn't require flat-out amputation." He eyed the Drow. "So how, exactly, did she damage her hand that badly?"
"Have you ever seen a draugr Death Overlord?" Drizzt asked quietly. "Death in their eyes, ebony weapons, and heavily armored. I'd taken out the wights easily, and the Scourge went down fast enough; but by that time the Deathlord was awake. My panther summon, Guenhwyvar, tried to take it on, but it gashed her side open so badly that I had to send her back. Ravenlight was in no shape to fight, so she was hanging back. Serana tried to help me, but she got too close, and it nearly threw her into a firepit for her pains. And then it hit me with a Disarm shout, and then the flat of its blade on a backswing. I'd lost both my blades and was stunned, Serana was trying to escape the fire without being severely burned, and it was coming for me. Ravenlight had thrown fire at it several times, and it simply ignored the blasts. She charged it from behind, managed to pin it with the one stroke."
Guirell grimaced. "Sounds like she didn't have a choice, all right. But that would have done it. She is very fortunate that healing potion you'd put on her wound before was as strong as it was; if it hadn't already been half-healed by the time she stabbed that thing, she'd have put the pommel through the original wound, and it would have taken an outright miracle to heal it again." He gave Drizzt a look that was equal parts calculating, admiring, and even envious. It would have puzzled the Drow longer if he hadn't suddenly remembered how the Altmer had referred to Ravenlight: as his 'woman'.
He's wondering how I managed to get a lover so devoted that she was willing to cripple herself permanently to save me. Well, she's my sister, not my lover, but... He sighed a little, eyes misting as he recalled his father's words about her. "You would be hard-pressed to find a more faithful companion on that world." "Will I be able to see her at any point, or should I leave her alone?"
The Altmer's expression changed to a sly smirk, and Drizzt realized, too late, what his request might have sounded like. "Well, she's pretty soundly asleep, so there might not be any point; but I suppose it won't hurt, either, as long as you leave her right arm alone. She won't be interested for a day or two after she wakes up, I know that."
"I promise you, I will leave her arm alone." Drizzt was silently cursing himself for his poor choice of words. But...at the same time, something whispered that it was for the best. He knew about sailors, after all, and some of them were unscrupulous around unattached women. If they believed she was his lover, she was less likely to have trouble with them.
And there were some who might well have given her trouble: chief among them the Bosmer archer. Drizzt neither liked nor trusted Falond. Captain Raxlard was someone he could easily come to respect, and so far, he'd gotten along well with the soldiers and sailors, particularly the big Nord helmsman. But Falond made him uneasy: the Mer's eyes were almost feral, and the way he smiled was...dangerous. He'd noticed already that Bosmer had unusually sharp teeth, and not just when Ravenlight's eyes went red: Elrindir and Anoriath had them, too. But Falond's teeth were sharper than normal Bosmer teeth, and if the Drow had to guess, it wasn't natural. It would not surprise him at all to learn that the Legion archer was a cannibal.
Falond had already made a few sly comments concerning the attractive Bosmer woman: mostly innuendo concerning her and Drizzt, which he'd half expected, but also a few suggestions that he might be glad to try his luck, should the Drow lose interest. Drizzt suspected that most of those were just to annoy him or make him jealous; but there had been a glint in the archer's eyes that kept him from dismissing Falond's possible interest altogether.
He would rather they all believed that he was Ravenlight's lover; and that he was a devoted lover, who would not lose interest in her, or appreciate another man taking interest.
The day passed, and night fell, clouds scudding across the sky. Serana stayed with Ravenlight, pleading a desire to take care of her; Drizzt joined the crew at a communal meal, and then visited the women in their cabin, pretending to bring a share of the meal to Serana. He didn't stay for long. Serana had gone into a death-like trance, and while Ravenlight was sleeping normally for the first time since Dimhollow Crypt, she was still sleeping, and deeply. He left the food beside the bed, and took Ravenlight's right hand for a moment to convince himself that the swelling, redness, and heat had faded, and that her hand and fingers looked, and felt, healthy again. Then he left the cabin, climbing back out into the darkness.
The deck was largely empty; much of the crew had bedded down for the night, and the few still on duty were dispersed across the ship. But the burly Nord helmsman had the wheel again, singing softly to himself as he steered the ship through the maze of rocks at the entrance to the harbor. He noticed Drizzt and smiled, inviting the Elf to join him on the upper deck.
"How're those girls you came with doing?" he asked, briefly taking his eyes off the bright spark of the Solitude Lighthouse in the distance. "Your Elf lass looked pretty bad when we got her onto the ship."
Drizzt leaned against the rail by the man, looking out across the dark, foam-flecked water. "They're both asleep right now. Guirell said he had to do a lot of delicate work on her hand, and it was badly infected; he had to drug her and knock her out before he started. And Serana's been alert for a few days; I guess she felt safe enough to fall asleep herself."
The Nord grimaced in sympathy. "Those poor girls. Are they kin somehow? That other one, Serana, she's been hovering over your lass like a broody hen ever since they arrived."
Drizzt kept his face carefully straight. It was a good thing the sailors didn't know the real reason Serana hadn't come out of the cabin: though at the same time, he didn't doubt at all that she had indeed been taking care of the unconscious Elf, and good care at that. Ravenlight's injury had come from wakening the vampire; and it had become worse while she was protecting the pair of them. For himself, it had not been an easy thing to leave his injured sister alone in the company of a vampire; but he could think of no other way to let Serana know that he did, indeed, trust her. "No; they're not kin. Ravenlight and I only met Serana a few days ago, in fact."
"She's a pretty one," the helmsman said casually. "You happen to know where she's from?"
Drizzt glanced over at him wryly. The implication was clear: there was no doubt that Ravenlight belonged to Drizzt. Serana, on the other hand, was an intriguing extra, and might possibly be available for a romance.
"We're escorting her home," he said. "I don't know much about it; she's been away for a while, and things have changed. But she's been able to point us in the right direction so far."
The helmsman started to laugh. Then he broke off with a curse and leaned forward. "What in Oblivion? What happened to the light?"
"The light?" Drizzt looked at the man in alarm, then peered back into the darkness. Sure enough, the bright oil flame that had been guiding them safely through the channel had vanished. A thrill of alarm ran through him. "Should I get the girls on deck?"
"Yes." Captain Raxlard appeared beside him, his blade in his hand. "That's a Blackblood's trick! All hands on deck and stand ready!"
Drizzt wheeled and ran as the crew boiled up in response to the cry, those who were off-duty quickly roused by those who were awake and alert. He jerked open the cabin door and ran inside. Serana came up at once, roused from her trance.
"What is it?" she asked, alarmed. "What's going on?"
"The Solitude Lighthouse just went dark," Drizzt answered, wrapping Ravenlight in the blankets and lifting her up. "Without the light, they don't think they can keep the ship off the breakers. It's a trick the Blackblood Marauders use, which means we're going to be attacked once we shoal."
"Attacked?" Serana's lamp-like eyes flashed in alarm. "Wouldn't she be safer in here, in that case?"
"Not if the ship breaks apart on the rocks." Drizzt looked up as the ship's tossing began to get worse, indicating that, despite their efforts, they were drawing closer to the rocks. "Hurry! Get on deck!"
Serana leaped, as the ship suddenly slammed against something which listed her sharply to the side. "Get up there, fast! I'll be all right—you might not be!"
Drizzt flung himself at the ladder and climbed, hard and fast. Once he reached the deck, he quickly set Ravenlight in a sheltered spot, just inside the on-deck cabin, and drew his scimitars: on the shore, and coming fast, were dark shapes, each one carrying blades that glinted in the moonlight. He could hear the eager shouts and calls of the Marauders, and his lips curled back from his teeth, black hands tightening around the hilts of his blades.
They would get much more than they expected, this night.
He drew on his innate magic, wreathing the first wave of them in purple faerie fire. Startled cries at the strange light soon became pained or cut off as Falond picked them off from his place up on the mast. The other Imperial soldiers equipped with bows bent them, firing down into the attackers.
But the attackers had bows themselves, and soon enough, a hail of arrows flew up from them. Drizzt could see them coming, and parried several of them away, glad that Ravenlight was out of the danger zone. Others weren't so lucky: several sailors and soldiers fell.
The second wave came, hard on the heels of the first, and this time, they made it over the rail. A number of them carried torches: an unwise move, as it turned out, as Drizzt, scimitars whirling, hit them like a thunderbolt. No one on that ship was his equal: sailor, soldier, or bandit. With such a powerful ally, the Blackbloods fell back, while the Legion rallied. The second wave hesitated, wavered, and started to fall back.
That was when he saw the figure on the shore: further back from the others, a form made shapeless by a hooded cloak. He instantly knew it was a threat—but could not tell how. Until it raised the bow.
Archer. He shouted, called out to warn—not Falond. Ravenlight. And before he realized his mistake, the archer fired twice. The first arrow flew up, over their heads. There was a choked-off cry from above, followed shortly after by a crash as someone fell. The second arrow flew straight toward him, glinting black in the moonlight. He twisted to avoid it—not far enough.
It didn't hit him square. But it slipped past his armor at the neck, sliding beneath his collarbone and toward his shoulder. Pain lanced through him, and his arm fell limp at his side, refusing to obey him. He struck the deck, fallen to one knee, and trying to rally even with only one arm to fight with.
Through the haze of pain, he heard a voice, at once gravelly and feminine, shouting from the shoreline. "Now. Now, you cowards! Their champions are down! Get back there and take the ship! Fire it if you must, but take the ship!"
Drizzt started to struggle up, determined to keep fighting even one-handed. But as the Marauders returned, shouting and screaming, to renew the attack, he felt a chill on the back of his neck that had nothing to do with the winter weather. The night darkened, as though clouds had suddenly covered the moons: both charging Blackbloods and preparing Legionaries halted, staring wide-eyed...not at him, directly, but in his direction.
He turned slowly, not entirely sure he wanted to see himself what it was they were looking at. Darkness welled from the hold of the ship, and something—no, someone—welled up with it. He knew it was Serana: but if he hadn't known, he would not have recognized the fire-eyed form rising up, hovering in the cloud.
There was no mistaking what she was now: this was a vampire, old, powerful—and hungry. Her gaze went past him, past the soldiers and sailors of the Icerunner, many of whom had started praying, and focused on the Blackbloods. Their leader started to scream at them again, but then she fell silent: perhaps even she could see what they were up against. Serana's mouth gaped open, unnaturally wide, the fangs he had not seen before now obvious, her hands spread in preparation for...
Attack.
She inhaled deeply, almost like Ravenlight preparing for a Thu'um. But what she let out was not a Shout, but a scream: primal, terrible, terrifying, a sound that instantly became the worst fear of everyone listening. Then, before they could recover from the shock of that, she swooped down, her cloak spreading behind her like a pair of bat-like wings. She seized the nearest Blackblood, jerked his head back, and sank her teeth into his flesh. Then she twisted, tearing out most of his throat in a spray of blood.
The Blackblood fell to the deck, writhing in death agonies. The vampire tipped her head back, swallowed the gobbet of flesh, then turned her lamp-like eyes on the rest of them. For half a heartbeat, all was still. Then she sprang again, dealing with the nearest Marauders in the same way, in lightning-fast attacks.
Drizzt was vividly recalled his old friend Belwar Dissengulp describing the Hunter in action as too swift, too precise, and too deadly to comprehend: not so much a warrior as Death incarnate. And while Serana's attacks were anything but precise, 'Death incarnate' was certainly the only description that came to his mind—and probably the minds of everyone else watching.
Perhaps the leader on shore would have asked her men to stand against the Hunter. But even she could not ask them to stand against an ancient vampire, and as they broke and fled, she went with them.
For a few moments, there was utter silence on board the ship. Serana sank until she was floating only a few inches above the deck, but when she turned, her eyes still looked feral, and hungry. Drizzt rose to his feet, grimacing as his dead arm swung beside him, and moved in front of her, fearlessly locking eyes with her.
"Serana," he said, keeping his voice calm and even. "Serana. It's over. They're gone." There was a terrifying moment when he wasn't sure she'd heard him.
Then the feral light faded from her eyes. She landed on the deck, her cloak falling around her, once more just a cloak. Her fangs shrank, retracted, and once again became normal teeth; and she was no longer a vampire, just a paler-than-normal, very attractive girl. But she looked around, saw the carnage around her, and her entire frame went taut with horror.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh, no."
Her eyes flicked around wildly, and she sank down, her arms tight around herself. Once again, Drizzt was reminded of something from his past: the moment on the Sea Sprite when the mask that let him pass as a surface elf had been knocked aside, and the crew knew him for a Drow. And Serana had more reason than him to fear the revelation. He sheathed his blades and went to her side, putting his good hand on her shoulder.
"Well," someone said nearby, "that was...impressive."
There was a murmur of agreement, and then the movement of men taking count of themselves. And someone else let out a sharp whoop. "We're alive. We've taken casualties, but—we took on the Blackblood Marauders. And we're alive!"
"Aye, thanks to the vampire lass," agreed the helmsman. He came over to them, limping on one leg, but hale otherwise. "You did good, girl. Scared the piss out of us, but it saved our lives. You did good."
"B-but..." She looked around again, noting the bodies lying sprawled, throats ripped out. "I—I—" She covered her face. "I lost control. I lost control."
Drizzt inhaled sharply, understanding once again. Vampires—or at least Serana—had a divide between their more civil selves, and their primal, vicious sides, much as he himself did. Like himself and the Hunter, like Ravenlight and the Dov, Serana had a side that she detested, and tried to control, but one that would not always be controlled.
"Maybe you did, lass." Captain Raxlard appeared, sheathing his blade. A rough bandage wrapped around one arm, and blood streaked the side of his face from a wound to his forehead; but he moved with the same strength and confidence as before. Serana looked at him, and for a second, the light in her eyes started to narrow to dangerous pinpoints. Then she shuddered and looked away. "Maybe you did. But there's wives this night who aren't widows, sweethearts who will see their lovers again, and children who aren't orphans. And none of that would have happened if not for you."
She looked back at him, the fear in her eyes starting to fade. "Truly?"
Raxlard nodded. "Aye. The Marauders have been the scourge of this coastline for almost a decade: they're not just low-life bandits. They were pirates once, skilled ones: no one really knows why they went to being wreckers, but they've put as much effort into that as they did being pirates. Any ship that falls prey to them is stripped bare, and her crew murdered. Even with the Legion soldiers with us on board, they had the advantage last night. We'd all be lying dead if not for that display of yours." He held out his hand to her. "You saved us. Those of us who live, are alive because of you. Including your friends, here; can't imagine that arrow sticking out of your collarbone would have helped your fighting prowess any, Dunmer; and your woman certainly would have been helpless." He looked around as he helped her up. "Too early to start celebrating yet; but believe me, once we're in a better place, we'll all lift a glass to you, and gladly."
He regarded Drizzt. "But speaking of that arrow...anyone know if Guirell made it through?"
"I'm fine!" a familiar voice snapped. "Banged up when the ship hit the rocks, but I wasn't foolish enough to venture out during the fight. Start separating the wounded from the whole, and I'll get to work."
"We've got one who needs your aid right now," Raxlard said. "The Blackblood leader shot him, and the arrow went in sideways, lodged under his collarbone. Sooner we can get that out, the better."
"What?" A moment later, Guirell appeared, looking a little battered, but otherwise his normal, irritable self. He raised his hand and summoned a magelight, taking in the scene. He blinked as he looked at the angle of the arrow sticking out of Drizzt's shoulder. "All right, that's new. How in the world did you manage that?"
"I was shot at," Drizzt said dryly. "I twisted out of the way, but didn't quite make it."
"Well." Guirell walked over to him, took the arrow between two fingers, and jiggled it slightly. Pain lanced through Drizzt's arm and shoulder, startling a yell and a reflexive jerk back out of him. The surgeon sighed. "I thought so. Lie back before I have to knock you down, and Raxlard, will you call three of your largest, strongest survivors over here, it's going to take all of him to hold him down."
"I'll help with that," the helmsman said. "Leg needs some work, but I can sit on someone just fine."
Drizzt eyed him suspiciously. "Will that really be necessary?"
"Ask me that again once I've pulled it out." The Altmer turned slightly, waiting until Raxlard had gathered two more Nords from among the survivors. "All right: lie back, and don't make me knock you down, because I've got plenty of practice at that, and I will if I have to."
They found a clear area of deck, and then Drizzt, grimacing as his bad shoulder shifted and jostled the arrow, lay flat on his back.
"All right, then." Guirell gestured as he directed the others. "One of you to each arm, and one straddles his legs. Hold him tight, or I promise we'll all regret it."
Serana stood to the side, watching in some puzzlement as the three Nords took their positions, each one taller than the Elf by at least a foot and a half, and considerably broader than him as well. Any one of them could have reasonably been considered enough to pin him; three looked almost ridiculous.
Drizzt felt ridiculous as well, and wasn't entirely pleased to be pinned down this hard. But then Guirell knelt beside him, drawing the magelight down close enough to see what type of arrow he was dealing with.
"Ebony; good. It's a bad one to be shot with; powerful arrows, and the shape of the head means it can go in deep. But at the same time, it's not a barbed head, which means it will come out cleanly." He carefully curled his fingers around the arrow, gripped it firmly...then yanked it out with one brutal motion.
Drizzt's scream rang off every rock available for at least a mile, his body bucking so hard that he nearly shook the Nords off. They bore down harder to hold him still as Guirell's left hand filled with the chiming, healing light, which he pressed down on the long wound. A few minutes later, he rose and stepped back.
"There. Arrow's out, it wasn't poisoned, and now the wound's been dealt with. It came close to the bone in a few places but didn't actually nick any of them, so while you're going to be sore for a day or two, it won't be as bad as it might have been." He put the arrow aside and dusted off his robes. "All right, you can let him up now. Any of you need anything more than a healing spell? No?" He cast a few more healing spells over the Nords, then turned to walk away. "All right, start gathering up the wounded; this is going to take a while."
The three Nords rose and moved quickly away from Drizzt. But he ignored them as he got to his feet, instead turning a murderous glare on the Altmer. "Has anyone ever told you—"
"Yes," Guirell answered, without turning around. He paused by Captain Raxlard, using the Healing Hands spell to mend the wound in the captain's shoulder and head.
Drizzt blinked. "I hadn't finished."
"You didn't have to. I've been with the Legion for over seventy years; and in that time I've been insulted by every race from Argonian to Orsimer, cursed in languages including Dwemer and Daedric, and called every swearword and slur the world has ever known, some possibly invented for the occasion. My ancestry apparently includes every foul monster and filthy animal in Tamriel, and I have been accused of perversions that would make Molag Bal blush. By this time, I'm fairly sure I've heard it all." He turned then, and looked Drizzt square in the eye. "But. The arrow that might have crippled you is out of your shoulder. The wound that could have become infected and killed you is healed, and the arm that you might have lost the use of obeys you again. I think it's a fair price to pay."
Then, with the Drow—and the surrounding sailors—momentarily lost for words, he turned again and went back to his work.
Raxlard was an efficient leader, even in such an unusual situation as this. As Guirell went about tending to the wounded, Raxlard took count of the survivors and the dead. He set some men to setting up makeshift shelters near the boat, using driftwood, broken wood from the ship, and the sail, which they cut down for the purpose. Others gathered up the fallen, bringing them below deck and and covering them. Finally, he selected the ones with the best night vision—this party included Serana, and a Khajiit legionary Drizzt hadn't met previously, though Raxlard did not send Drizzt with them—to scout the area they'd been wrecked in, and find out if they were on the mainland of Skyrim, or on one of the many islands that dotted the entrance to the harbor.
Drizzt helped with setting up the tents. His ranger experience helped him here; he had more experience than the rest of them with building temporary shelters, and therefore knew how to balance the branches and beams against each other to make them sturdier, and how best to drape the canvas or the lighter branches for insulation.
About the time they finished with the tents, the scouting party was back, looking grim. The Khajiit went to Raxlard.
"We are on an island, not the mainland," he reported in the odd, purr-and-growling accent of his kind. "And it is a small island; Tsajeero does not think it is quite a mile square. There are horkers on the beach on the far side, so there will be food if we are stranded here for several days, but there is no fresh water, and no shelter."
Raxlard sighed. "And here we are with a wrecked ship. It's too late now to try anything: we'll set a watch and rotate it, but otherwise we'll need to just get some rest and heal from the fight tonight. Tomorrow, we'll take stock of what we have and try to formulate some kind of plan."
Drizzt was relieved to find that he, Serana, and Ravenlight were allowed a more private corner of the makeshift tents. He padded the floor with several furs, hoping to avoid the chill and the discomfort from the rough, gravelly sand. Serana curled up a little distance away from them, her back to them; he suspected she was still upset over losing control and revealing her more monstrous side. Ravenlight...well, there was a benefit to being so deeply drugged that you slept through everything, though he suspected he would have much rather had her remove the arrow than Guirell. She didn't stir when he settled her down, or when he lay down beside her.
This part he hadn't been sure about; but he didhave to play the devoted lover here, more so now that they were in such close quarters with the rest of the sailors. And...well, cuddling close to her at night would not only reinforce that image, but would also be considerably more comfortable for them both. The tents provided some relief from the winds, but not a lot, and they hadn't yet built a fire. She had recently been sick, and it was bitterly cold. The extra warmth would be good.
For both of them.
Dawn broke, bleak and nearly as cold as the night, the survivors of the wreck waking to see just how grim things were. The island was small, pitifully so: a simple rocky hill jutting out of the freezing waters of the bay. They could hear the barking and the fights of the horkers on the other side, a possibility for food; but there was no water, and the nearest land was a quarter mile away, too great a distance for even the cold-hardy Nords to try and swim. There was some talk of taking the skiff; but that hope faded when it was discovered that the Icerunner's crash had smashed the skiff against the rocks first.
The Icerunner still had stores, but they were low: it had been meant to put in to Solitude that day, and would have resupplied then. Raxlard guessed they had maybe one day of water left, if they rationed it, and perhaps the same amount of mead. But it wouldn't be enough, even with a quarter of the crew and soldiers dead.
There was also that uncomfortable fact: the crew of the ship had survived the Marauder attack, but at a cost. Drizzt was allowed to follow when Raxlard went down to take stock of exactly who had died. The Drow didn't know the men well, but he'd quickly become friends with many of them, and wanted to pay his own last respects. It was then he discovered that Falond had perished in the attack: the first ebony arrow from the Blackblood's leader had struck him, and he'd fallen from the mast. Drizzt gazed down at the archer's body: he hadn't liked the man, but a whisper of guilt suggested that if he'd called Falond's name last night to warn him, rather than Ravenlight's, the man might not have died.
Logic coldly stated that he didn't know if that was really the case: after all, he'd seen the bow, and still ended up with an arrow in him. Perhaps Falond would have known in time; perhaps not. Either way...either way, there was always that possibility of what if, and Drizzt knew by now he would simply have tell it, I don't know, and go on. He knelt down, briefly laying a hand on the shattered, blood-streaked head, before pulling the blanket back over him.
"Did he have a family?" he asked, looking at Raxlard.
The captain shook his head. "No. A small mercy; only three of these men had families. But that won't make things easier." He regarded Drizzt. "You know."
"I've never been the one to have to tell the families, but...yes. I've seen this played out before." He fell silent for a moment. "It's always hard to see, no matter how many times it happens."
Raxlard nodded, and the two stood for a moment in silence. Then the captain sighed. "But I won't be able to tell their families until we're off this rock. Let's go up and see if anyone's come up with a plausible idea for that."
A quick circuit of the crew proved that, in fact, they had not come up with a plan; at least not one that anyone agreed on. About the only real constant among them was the idea of building a bonfire at the peak of the hill, using the driftwood around the island: hopefully, a beacon fire where there shouldn't be one would attract attention, and another ship would come to help them. The problem with that was that nobody knew precisely where the Blackbloods had got to, and no one wanted to take the chance of having 'help' arrive that would prove to be the wreckers back to finish the job.
It was also argued—plausibly, at least in Drizzt's opinion—that they did not have an infinite amount of driftwood to fuel the fire with, and chances of it being seen in the daylight were small. Those voices suggested that they build their beacon and light it once the sun had set. Even if no one could come for them during the night, they would have aroused enough curiosity to bring someone—and the Marauders, having been driven off by a vampire the previous night, would not be in a hurry to return in the dark hours.
Noon came and went without a solution being found. The sailors and soldiers were worried and afraid, and reacted by getting cranky. Already several fistfights had broken out and had to be broken up before anyone was seriously hurt. Drizzt found himself spending more and more time with Ravenlight, who was still sound asleep in the makeshift tent, and with Serana, who was avoiding the men as much as possible.
He was sitting with her on a promontory near the water, looking out across the choppy surf, when he noticed something odd on the waves. He frowned, trying to make it out; then he stood and climbed a little further up the peak, shading his eyes and peering out to sea. For another few minutes, he still couldn't quite make out what he was seeing. Then it became clear: a fair-sized scow, meant for at least a three-man crew, being inexpertly piloted by one person.
"What in the world?" He stared, trying to figure out what in the world the person was trying to do: just to start with, he didn't seem to be sure if he should use the sail or the oars, and was yawing back and forth badly as a result. Drizzt turned to the others. "There's a boat trying to come out this way!"
"Trying?" Raxlard was the first to join him. "How—" He broke off and watched for a moment. "Ah. I...see what you mean."
"Idiot's going to capsize himself, he doesn't look out," muttered the big helmsman. He watched a moment more, then snorted and pulled off his tunic. "I might not be able to swim all the way to shore, but he's not that far out. I'll get out there and help him before he drowns himself." He splashed into the water and took off, swimming with surprising speed toward the floundering boat.
He made it in a few minutes and climbed in, exchanging a few words with the pilot and quickly taking over the sail. With a competent seaman in charge, the scow straightened out and plowed its way through the waves toward the island: perhaps not quickly, but certainly much more steadily. In another few minutes, they were close enough to hear the pilot speaking.
"—swear to you, I had no idea what they intended. He almost—it almost sounded like it was going to be a prank. I didn't know what was going on until I met up with Deeja this morning."
Drizzt stiffened. He knew that voice. Silently, he made his way through the sailors, moving until he was at the front of the crowd, and therefore in plain sight for when the helmsman threw a rope out to the crowd, and the scow was made fast to the shore. He stood back from the sailors tying the boat: hood back and hair blowing in the wind, legs planted apart, and arms folded across his chest. As he hoped, the pilot saw him instantly, and froze, his eyes widening in equal parts shock and horror, his thin frame going rigid.
"Oh...Nocturnal, protect me."
"Hello again, Dismas," Drizzt said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "I'm certain you do have an explanation for this; and I cannot wait to hear it."
And done! Hopefully it won't be too much longer before the next chapter is ready: though I am working on an original project that I hope to get edited and ready for publishing by the end of the year, and it may get in the way.
As always, please let me know what you think. I look forward to hearing from you!
-Philowen Aster
