This was as dramatic a chapter as I could make it. Hope it works out for you!
Note: Phaedra's power rather gets away from her again. I don't know if you've guessed what's behind these little events, but I rather think it helps to explain how she can kill an expert magician when really she's little more than a novice. More to come on that later anyway, if you're still puzzling it out. No easy answers!
The night was still, the heavy air charged with anticipation, eerie silence lay over all the docks. Even the lapping of the waves against the dock front seemed stilled, calmed, as though the weighty sense of expectation which lay on Phaedra's spirit so deeply had stilled the very atmosphere, silencing the normally so vibrant Docks. A thick, white mist, illuminated from within by the silver sheen of the moon, curled with an eerie grace from deeper out to sea, muffling sound and cloaking vision in its silencing embrace. And Phaedra waited, waited in the cold darkness, watching the obsidian-dark waters for a sign of the foe that drew nearer as the hour of midnight edged closer, with the haunting, silver light of the moon shimmering across the water the only guide, the only beacon in the gloom. Her vigil here was shared by Casavir, Elanee, Khelgar and Neeshka. They stood, cast deep into shadow alongside her beneath one of the Dock's great marble statues, as the moments went by in that same cold, eerie silence which none of them seemed willing to break. It was the silence of cold anticipation, fear…seeping from the night deep into the bones, into the soul.
Taking a deep breath, Phaedra forced herself to focus. Now was not the time to allow these formless terrors such power. She had to know how she was going to deal with what was coming, to face this mage of the Hostower, whose mind and spells would be far stronger than her own, and bent to a greater cruelty. Her thoughts slipped quickly through her own arsenal, which spell to counter which, which defence against what power, what her best hope in attack was. The exercise was a balm as well as a necessity, freeing her thoughts from the oppressive darkness. She catalogued once, twice, going over everything over and again, forcing herself to painstakingly consider every word that Sand had spoken, each spell and counter-spell he had drawn from his experience. The lesson in Sand's shop had been exhaustive, but she had absorbed everything she could, and she now went over it again, as time passed over the silent stillness of the Docks and the silvery mist gathered over the waters. It was just so empty, everything here, she knew this could not be natural…
Then, just as her thoughts were growing by degree more and more restless, her concentration on the spells fading, a light suddenly glowed from within the mists, an unearthly glow burning amidst the swirling clouds that brooded over the rolling sea. It was a light not of the moon, a light that was almost as though those dark Harbourman tales of restless spirits walking the paths of the Mere were true, and that reality transplanted somehow here to the seas of Neverwinter. But that light, it was in fact something much more chilling than any tale of spirits, the light of the Sea Ghost illuminating the way for the ship and that which it bore, her enemy. She sensed the taste of malice in the air, as though the darkness grew darker, thicker at the mere thought. The mist seemed to gather around that glowing place, heavy and grey, forming slowly around the vast, looming shadow which emerged with macabre grace from the midst of its embrace, it was the prow of a ship larger than any she had seen before. It was massive, more of an edifice than a vessel, but glided forward with all the deadly elegance of a well-honed blade, barely making a sound as it cut through the dark water. Its bulk was ebony or some dark wood, practically invisible in the gloom, but the golden markings that curled around the hull, strangely unnerving, like skeletal constructions, glimmered with the moon's silver flame. Its sails too were black, and bore no identifying marking, most of them had already been taken down as it approached the Docks. It was grand, gilded, magnificently crafted, but in its opulence it had a cold malevolence, a compassionless façade of cruel intent. The Sea Ghost, a flagship of the Luskan armada…
They watched, transfixed by the deadly elegance of the ship's approach, as the Sea Ghost bore down upon the Docks, borne forth by the steady movement up and down of the many oars along its sides which touched the water and rose away from it in almost complete silence. The speed and stealth with which the ship moved were beyond belief, considering its sheer size, ranked alongside those other ships which floated, silent and still in the harbour it was a true behemoth. It began to slow, though, as it drew nearer to the Docks, its destination was clearly a single long jetty that was left entirely empty. Phaedra felt the chill of apprehension, it was clear that the agent was not working alone, who else here in the Docks was under the influence of this Luskan Ambassador?
"Wait…" She whispered softly, as she heard Khelgar stir behind her, impatient. There was no chance if they rushed the Sea Ghost as it was, the crew of that monster had to be in their dozens! No, she knew the only possible way to do this was to ambush this agent once the Sea Ghost was departing, when he was alone and disorientated, well, except for the elite bodyguard that Brelaina had spoken of. Lathander protect her, this was not going to be easy.
The Sea Ghost at last glided to a halt, perfectly placed beside its port, and its full magnificence and malevolence lay revealed, a ship at once grand and fearsome, coated in gold and in the shadow of evil. Phaedra shuddered, seeing covert, silent movement on the decks, and she prayed that where they stood they were invisible to those who scattered about their tasks, Luskan warriors or perhaps little more than slaves. There was a yawning creak of wood, and a doorway opened in the side of the ship's vast hull, a gaping maw into darkness. Within she could see naught but the movement of shadows, then a gangplank was slowly pushed down from inside, with that same utter silence, landing down onto the jetty with scarcely a sound. Phaedra's hands tightened around her bow, so tight she could feel the bowstring digging into her flesh, but she could not let go. This was it, this was time…
The moon glimmered, caressing the lapping waves in a stream of silver, and utter silence enveloped the Docks, as in strictly regimented pairs the first of the figures emerged from the bowels of the Sea Ghost. They were men, armoured, tall, uniform in the darkness, without feature to distinguish them one from the other. They bore swords, large blades which caught the silver light and glistened as though with blood. She counted six of them, each exactly alike with that blade of silver and shimmering light, and last a figure whom the shadows clung to more than any other, robed heavily in black. He bore a staff, no mere adornment this but a weapon as sure as any of the swords his companions carried. The light fell upon him for a moment, and Phaedra saw a cruel, hard face, younger than she might have expected, but filled with a wild malice and cruelty which defied any description. He was olive-skinned, no native of the North, and his harsh face looked as though he was no stranger to physical violence, the long scar across his cheek, a broken nose. Set amidst these cruel features he had eyes of an astonishing blue, deep and dark and cruel as a storm-wracked ocean. His robes were lined with silver and bore, set amongst a sea of dark runes, the badge of the Hostower in gold.
As they watched, this apparition descended the gangplank, brutal solemn ceremony in his forward stride, and wreathed in an aura of dark purpose. His guard formed up at the jetty, and he came to their head, that keen blue gaze sweeping the Docks for a moment, searching, for something. The gangplank was then swiftly withdrawn, the yawning opening in the belly of the Sea Ghost closed, all as soundless as its arrival had been. Phaedra tensed, she sensed the others ready to move. And with all that silent elegance it began to move again, the Sea Ghost, withdrawing from the harbour, cutting its way out into the waters, dark and cruel as some great monstrous leviathan. It was leaving, Lathander…it was time…and quickly before whatever was sent to meet this interloper arrived.
Phaedra moved out into the moonlight, drawing all the authority she could hold in her upright bearing. The silver streaming radiance shone softly over the rippling contours of her new mage's robe, which hung loosely, elegantly upon her, and also upon the Watch cloak which was drawn over her shoulders, soft grey, with the crest of the City Watch emblazoned in white. Her bow was at her side, and her quiver, filled with arrows, upon her back. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, touched with the moonlight so that the golden strands seemed to take on the silvery light and shine it forth. She knew she would look different, more like a warrior than she felt, and the others followed her as though in the footsteps of a leader, no, now was not the time for doubt. She must find this strength within her! She had to have faith…
It wasn't long before they were spotted, the Hostower mage, cold and grim, his blue eyes alight with that implacable malice, turned to meet Phaedra's gaze as she, and her companions, moved up onto the jetty. Five, there were five of them against him and the six Luskan soldiers who gathered threateningly behind the wizard at the sight of the intruders. Each of them carried that same palpable sense of cruelty, of strength and brutality, as though they were vicious hounds waiting only for a word from their master to rip her and the others to pieces. And the way they bore themselves, even Phaedra recognised the coiled alertness of a trained, deadly warrior.
"Well now, what is this?" the mage, dark robes rustling in the darkness, straightened himself, recognising a threat, though the cruel leer upon his face did not fade in the slightest "A welcome to Neverwinter, how generous…" His voice was silken-smooth, and menace poured from his every syllable.
"There is no welcome here for one such as you" Phaedra raised her head, meeting those dark pitiless eyes; her voice rang out in the darkness, shockingly strong and resonant, even to her. "Your presence is a direct threat to the sovereignty of Neverwinter and in challenge to the principles of the Lords' Alliance. The Hostower has no business within the bounds of our city"
"You are mistaken, my dear" The mage shook his head, with a smile at once condescending and openly threatening upon his lips. "We are here on the word of the Luskan Ambassador to Neverwinter, Lady Torio Claven to assist her with a delicate matter which I assure you is of no concern to your City Watch. Now let us pass or this exchange will very quickly become…deeply unpleasant for you, I'm afraid"
"I have no choice, Hostower minion" Phaedra's hands closed around her bow, as she settled her will. She knew what she had to do, there was never any question of giving in, or giving up. This man…this monster, he would die by her hand. "Torio's word or no, you shall not set foot in this city"
"What, she actually thinks she can stop us?" one of the soldiers at the mage's side laughed cruelly "I don't think she's ever had the measure of a Luskan man before" He grinned obscenely "She's a pretty enough little thing, though. I don't think we should be letting her go quite so easily Ajah"
"Yes, perhaps not" the mage, Ajah, whispered with a tone of vile threat that made Phaedra's blood run cold "Neverwinter ought to learn not to send a ragtag group of maids and temple fodder to do their business…"
"Oh, it'll be more than enough!" Neeshka cried out, her blades were out in her hands, gleaming threateningly, and the fierce rage in her eyes was just as intimidating. She was quite prepared to go into vicious battle to defend her home, even against these enemies as fearsome as these.
"My, that one has quite a barbed tongue and she's a demon to boot" the outspoken bodyguard commented, leering. "Much as I enjoy toying with fire, she's a little too feisty. We can kill her quickly, but the first one, the precious golden leader there at the front…I'd say that Torio's not going to take it personally if we have a little fun with her"
"For that, I will take your tongue from your throat, Luskan" Casavir's voice, though it was quiet and almost without a trace of emotion, as though the threat was nothing more than a statement of bleak fact, rang out with such force and menace that Phaedra saw even this battle-hardened mercenary pause before the implacable force of the paladin's cold anger.
"I'll take my chances Neverwinter hound!" He snarled, livid with anger, once that split second's indecision had passed "Let's see if you can guard your own tongue when I have my blade at your neck!"
"Come now, let us be gentlemen" Ajah stepped backwards, drawing his dark robes tightly around himself as he raised a hand to restrain his bodyguard. She could see the storm of dark anticipation swirling in his cobalt eyes, by Lathander he longed for blood! "You may have the first move, my dear…" He bowed mockingly, a sweeping movement of swirling black silk.
It took only an instant, but in that instant all time seemed to slow, almost to a halt. Phaedra, pulling her longbow upwards, and drawing, in a single fluid motion, an arrow from the quiver behind her, nocking it in the already straining bowstring, saw Ajah's bloodless lips curve upwards into a smile, though the expression contained no feeling. She let fly at once, the arrow flew forth straight for Ajah's skull. But in that same instant, his ebony staff flew upward in his hand, spinning round upon the axis of his arm, as his magic seared outward, through the staff, whose tip gleamed suddenly with a blazing white light. Phaedra's arrow disintegrated against the ward, its fletching dissolving into flying sparks which petered out to nothing, an entropic shield! Ajah scarcely paused a second, he was already raising a hand. His long fingers arched inwards like claws, and a spell seared outwards from his lips, the words spat like an oath. A blast of negative energy launched from his hands, a swirling mass which seemed born from the darkness that surrounded him, searing out through the air with the sound of metal scraping across glass. Phaedra stepped forward to meet it, to shield her friends from the vile evil it radiated. Her hands outstretched, the bow falling to her side, she whispered an incantation, and a counterspell flashed bright across the jetty, a sheet of luminous blue, scattering the curse as though it were night before the sun's dawn. "What?" For a split second Ajah paused, shock shattering the cold composure in his features, then understanding dawned in those raging blue eyes, understanding and a maniacal glee… "You, it is you" he burst out laughing, shocking Phaedra into utter stillness "Our little dove finds her way straight into the trap before it is even set." He cackled "And to think I spent this voyage thinking out a thousand ways to strike at you from the shadows, thinking this would be some kind of challenge, now I find you waiting for me, thinking you can best me in a duel!"
Ajah paused, his eyes, now alight with a rapture of mad delight were fixed on Phaedra, who stared back at him with mounting horror. He…had been sent to find her, impossible…it couldn't be, but… "The Arcane torch of the Watch, Brelaina's pet sorceress…" He continued, his voice low and sibilant "Oh yes, I know all about you."After all the trouble you've caused us, I thought you'd be a little more cunning, a little older, and a little less pretty, but, if you insist on making this so easy for me, I will oblige you" He stepped forward, his hand raised as though in invitation "Kill the others, Captain" He murmured lightly to the warrior on his left "But our young Lieutenant here is mine" With that, he wrenched his staff forward, the spell, a burst of dark fire, leapt forward, scattering harmlessly against the shield of pure white light that Phaedra hastily conjured. As she raised a response, arcane power wrapping around her outstretched hands, the mage's bodyguard leapt forward, swords drawn and flashing, to meet Khelgar, Neeshka and Casavir in the centre of the jetty with the clash of steel. Elanee skirted round the edge of the furious battle, light and power shimmering around her, and those whom her spells touched, imparting strength, or taking it. Her sickle was at her side, ready to cut down their foes.
But Phaedra, despite the rolling anxiety in her chest for her friends, had eyes only for her foe, standing halfway across the wooden jetty. Though the physical fight went on between them, she and Ajah fought their own titanic duel over and across those who aided them. They exchanged a volley of spells, flame, ice, wind, shadow, curse and hex and enchantment alike, striving with all their strength. Each incantation was a fierce attempt to overwhelm the other's defences, to pour power through the crack in their foe's armour. Ajah was guileful, feinting, parrying, trying to wear her down. His magic was like some insidious evil, attacking her where she was weakest. In answer, summoning Sand's teachings to mind, she unleashed her brightest spells, light and flame, benediction, smiting…until the docks became wreathed in a spectral halo of light, crackling, sparking, as though alight with falling stars. She blazed, she felt it, like fire in her veins, crackling outwards through the spells she spoke…but for every spell she poured forth, he called on one greater, and then another to attack her once again.
She could scarcely concentrate on the others, but even as she duelled with Ajah she heard the great splash as Khelgar, with the Ironfist Gauntlets on hand, slammed one of the warriors so hard he went slamming into the dark water of the Harbour, and sunk beneath it almost without a sound, but easy victories like this were few indeed. These elite Luskan warriors were masters of the blade, often it was only Elanee's magic which saved her friends, the elf bound water and wind to her, unleashing them to aid and destroy. Phaedra could feel the warm glimmer of nature's power even around herself, it gave her a small measure of strength to aid her own furious battle. But Ajah was unrelenting, soon those spells he unleashed were not to bind or compel her, but to kill, the darkest, most inexorable curses she had ever experienced. She had to continually improvise her defences, recalling abjurations she had scarcely read in Tarmas' books, and never cast. Ajah's teeth were clenched, his eyes narrowed, dark slits, his fingers clasped so tight they were white around his elaborate staff, that pulsed with a werelight of arcane power. Phaedra's hands wove magic as much as her words did, drawing light and magic with her pale fingers, casting it forth…her hair whipped about her face, alight with eldritch energy. And yet she was simply reacting, defending…and in her fevered, spell-drenched mind, she could see no way to force her power home to the offensive, she lacked his sheer raw power, and the relative subtlety of her own defences was swiftly becoming less of an asset as one after the other her conjurations failed to delay him for more than a few precious instants.
Then Ajah, his face a mask of madness, slammed his staff forward and she knew at once that he was bringing all to bear to crush her. The staff blazed, and a howling, ravenous shaft of pure shadows launched from it, crackling with arcane lightning. She pushed forth her hand, crying out the spell that sprang instantly to mind. All the power that blazed about her launched forth in a scintillating blaze of blinding radiance. The two energies met, with a burst of light and a howl of unleashed power. Everything hung in the balance, each spell vying against each other, trying to envelop light in shadow or shadow in light. Ajah howled out his fury, clawed hands gripping at the spell, forcing more and more into its heart of raging fury. Phaedra gasped, her head splitting with the pain of holding the spell in place, but she responded in kind, her hands a conduit for a storm of power she fed directly into the substance of her spell, so it blazed brighter and hotter with each word she spoke, flashing with bursts of prismatic light. And they strove, one mind against another, the power raging like a great storm between racked across Phaedra's consciousness like a blade…she had to hold on! Everything depended on this!
Where Ajah was wreathed in ghoulish shadows and the sickly glow of malfeasance, sheaths of darkness that swept about him like veils in some infinitely terrifying dance of death, Phaedra knew that she burned instead with light, light pure, radiant and terrible, flashing, burning, white and silver. The strain of holding out against him was unbearable, her head and heart pounded with the pain of it, and her power was being drained in a torrent, this spell. It was never meant to be held like this, but she had to hold Ajah here. If she let go, if she gave in for a second, he would have her! Her hands shook desperately, even as between them she grasped in an iron-grip the spell that held everything, her fate itself, in the balance. She glimpsed Ajah for a moment through the blazing haze between them. His face was a rictus of madness, his lips drawn back, teeth clenched. If the same agony that cut through Phaedra was assailing him too, if his power was also burning up as quickly as hers, he showed nothing of it. Instead she felt him assault her spell again, and again, with a rising mounting tide of fury. No…no, she could not let him win! She could not! She would not! Whatever happened, she could not!
Anger was the trigger, once again. Anger, and fear as well. She felt it a moment before it began, as her magic ached, stretched to its utter limits, like an emptiness from which she was still trying to draw the last painful drops. Then there was something there…and something stirring, a spark…a flame that ignited within her suddenly. She knew it for what it was at once, that same release as she had felt that dark hour beneath Highcliff Castle. The power, this power she did not understand, burst into flame, burning, radiant and terrible, a tumult, a firestorm. Ah…she burned, it burned in her, this power…this fury, this blaze of light and heat and all her spirit was burning, spun through the flaming loom of her magic, weft and warp and wheel. The light around her blazed into blinding brilliance, sweeping over the jetty in great steams of burning silver that touched the dark, glassy surface of the water, setting it suddenly afire with radiance. And the ecstasy of it…the sheer thrill of the power, it was like nothing she could have ever imagined, could ever have remembered even though she had in fact experienced it that once before.
Her mind soared on mounting waves of magic, but a part of her, this time, stood back, far more lucid than before. With the precision of one trained by Tarmas, she tried to categorise what was happening within the tides of her power. As before it defied scrutiny, but she struck deeper into its core, thirsting to know. It burned, it seared, with a power that, despite the ecstasy its touch imparted, suddenly seemed at once so ravenous and so uncontrollable that her mind shrank back for a moment, and yet the resonant song of a magic that was so unlimited stilled all doubt. She tried to hold onto cool analysis, study it further in what precious moments she had left, but she found she could not resist the seduction of its burning, and in the next instant, or moment, even her attempted study was drawn into the whirling incandescence that tore through her, so that she was the power, and one could not be separated from the other.
The small part of her that still stood within her body and stared out, saw, through the blaze around her, Ajah still there on the opposite end of the jetty, she had almost forgotten him for an instant. A bright cascade of energy had overwhelmed the shadows around him entirely so he stood now bare of all the fearsome mystique, a frail figure suddenly, desperately holding onto the few inches around him that were free of the sweeping tides of light which now burned, spectral, across the jetty. His staff was held in front of him, desperation in his eyes, his face twisted with shock. She knew she could obliterate him in a second, and so she would. Slowly, almost gently, she raised her arm, as the power, with a strangely comforting intimacy, caressed her softly, whispering its song of pure magic. The spell no longer existed, the words no longer mattered. There was nothing but the raw energy, the flame, burning through her. As she unleashed a rising, rolling surge of energy, Ajah screamed out once, a scream of utmost rage and desperation, then the staff in his hands burst into flame, exploding outwards an incandescent firestorm of arcane power. The wizard flew backwards, the shards of the staff spinning outwards, burning pinpricks of pure flame scattered out against the night sky, as he landed, smoking, upon the jetty on the other side and was at once still. She laughed with exhilaration, her hands clenched at her sides, the power still rising within, unstoppable, unlimited, unexplainable. Its beautiful tumult flared upwards towards the sky. Why stop now, why let it go yet? Why return to a world of fear, and of sorrow, why not burn for ever in this ecstatic flame? There was a small voice, a small awareness that whispered her own name, that still knew her as distinct from the magic that was consuming her, but the rest of her spirit was soaring and left it far behind to drown within the waves of the power. She embraced total union with every part of herself, letting that self go. Anything, everything, was in her power now! Let her now be the one to make others fear, let her be the instrument of fate and doom, not merely its toy!
"Phaedra…!" The shout rang across the jetty, and into the reaches of the mind that had once been her own, but now belonged only to the flames…a voice she knew…Elanee! At once her self rose upwards to reclaim what was its own. She tore through the storm, and with a will honed by years of tutelage, ordered it back to bear. To her shock, it resisted, tugging at the mind it refused to relinquish, but it was weakened, its very manifestation had weakened it, and after a moment's intense struggle it let go, and leapt back towards the depths of her unconscious. No, she could not let this go yet! She needed to understand, she had to know, now more than ever! Just before it was gone her mind caught upon the last thread of its burning light within the darkness, and sensed…that this power had its origin somewhere else…that her own soul was only the gateway, but the magic tore through from elsewhere and to that elsewhere it was now returning. Then, as she froze for a moment, stunned by the revelation, it was gone, leaving behind only more mysteries…
With selfhood came awareness, and pain. Phaedra gasped, her head rang agonisingly with the aftermath of what she had just unleashed. The light and flame around her suddenly gave way, dying down into nothing, into less than nothing…and she fell into Casavir's firm grip, completely and utterly exhausted. She raised her head to gaze into his face, as he held her by the arms, and a wave of wild relief surged forth in her heart, so powerful that tears tricked down her cheeks. They were alright, ah…thank Lathander…
"It's alright, my lady" Casavir said, breathing heavily, his chest rising up and down as he held her, there was blood on his armour, his hammer hung heavy at his side "It is done, it is over"
"Casavir, yes…" she sobbed "I know…" The force of his presence, that calming, intensely protective strength in his gaze and in his gentle hold on her, she felt it bear up her heart and spirit. It gave her a greater hold on herself until she felt strong enough to look away from his clear blue eyes, and to find, with a rush of delight, the three others. Neeshka, gazing at her with awe, smiled, her dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight. Khelgar grinned even through the obvious wounds he carried, he held a hand to his side, where his armour was rent in two, and a dark stain spread in his tunic, but he seemed scarcely affected, shrugging off the assistance of Elanee. The elf seemed spent, wan and ashen, but she still stood tall nonetheless, and seemed possessed of herself enough to gaze with shock and confusion at Phaedra. She had been the one most concerned about the last time Phaedra's magic had erupted like this, now once again she was confronted with it, and once again neither she nor Phaedra had any answers. This time, the power had been less…obedient. It had been almost…malevolent. Beyond them all, the Luskan warriors were dead and Ajah's menace vanished into the darkness, so that the night suddenly seemed cool and hale, rather than diseased and slick with evil. Casavir was right, it was over. But how had it been accomplished? This was the second time her magic had burst from her so furiously, so violently and still she was no closer to finding an answer.
It shouldn't have been possible, she realised with a shudder running through her, she should not have been able to beat Ajah. He had been too powerful. And yet here she stood. Her magic had saved her once again. She searched within herself once again, for a trace, a hint of that awesome power, but just as last time, there was nothing to even suggest that it had occurred. Now she understood why, but that brought no comfort and even less concrete certainty than before. If she had somehow brought the power here, she could only wonder from where exactly, and how? Her power, down to its last embers, glowed within, giving nothing away. She slowly glanced up at Casavir again, wondering if he knew what he had seen, what he would think of the fury she had wielded, but he was looking down to her with nothing more than his usual deeply touching concern. And she sighed softly, she had no more energy to think through this insoluble mystery. Right now she had to rest but she promised herself she would think this through, find some way to understand her own magic, and its fury tomorrow once she was rested.
"Come" Casavir said, his arm slipped around her shoulders. He held her up as he turned, with careful gentleness, away from the dead and back toward the vast, silent expanse of Neverwinter. Dark against the starlit sky were the great shadows of buildings, the looming shell of Castle Never, even now imposed against the blackness. Light gleamed in a couple of its windows, little pinpricks against the vastness of the night, and the smaller homes and crowded slums of the Docks. She could not deny that there was a strange beauty here, now that the darkness hid the squalor, the constricting claustrophobia of the tiny buildings. "We should get you back to the Flagon" Phaedra sighed, leaning her head against Casavir's shoulder, all her strength spent. She thought abruptly of Tarmas, what would he have thought to see his apprentice take on an adept of the Hostower and win? Would he have any answers for her? Yet he had scried her power on a number of occasions and found nothing unusual… "Neeshka, Khelgar…" Casavir's voice broke apart her reflection "Would you see to it that these…are disposed of?" He meant the bodies; Phaedra shuddered at the idea…
"Wait a moment" She gasped suddenly, struck in an instant by a crucial consideration. Casavir glanced down at her concernedly, as she, leaning heavily on his arm, stumbled to turn back toward the jetty, back towards where Ajah's prone body lay broken against the wood. "I have to see" She whispered hoarsely "Ajah, he might have a clue, something about his masters and why, why this all happened…" Yes, she could not forget that Ajah's words had named her his target, his goal in Neverwinter had been to slay her. She had to know why, had to know who had ordered him to find her.
"My lady" Casavir cautioned gravely "Let the others…"
"No, Casavir, it has to be me…" She answered urgently, laying her hand on the cold metal shielding his arm "Only I can sense magic…" Any number of wards and glamours could disguise what important tokens Ajah might bear, if so only she would have any chance of discovering them. Understanding, Casavir led her with care up towards the dark form of the wizard lay, and the others clustered around them…
Ajah's cold, hard face was no more peaceful in death than it had been in life, his harshly sculpted jaw was drawn back in a grimace of rage, his eyes clamped shut. His dark robes, clinging to his flesh, were singed and burnt by the wild maelstrom of magic which had ended his life, and the flesh beneath, well, the smell was sickening and the sight of what was left even worse. Phaedra gagged, seizing down on her stomach with great difficulty. She closed her eyes for a moment, whispering a prayer for the strength she would need to face this. Then she fixed her gaze on the mage's ashen face which was untouched by the fire, willing herself not to see what her magic had wrought. Carefully, attended by Casavir who stood with guarded protectiveness behind her, she knelt at Ajah's side. Taking a last minute to gaze into the face of the dead wizard, she slowly lifted her hand to take the leather pouch at his belt, his only possession, reaching over his body. Suddenly, in an instant of sheer terror she saw black slits of life suddenly emerge from beneath Ajah's eyelids, she pulled back at once, but even so it was not fast enough. The mage's hand shot upwards, and grasped her own. She screamed, pulling backwards, but his grip was so strong that she could not escape.
"You…" The wet, gurgling hiss escaped from Ajah's lips. Casavir sprang forward, but Ajah was already letting go of her, his hand falling limp to his side. He was so weak, Phaedra realised, that death could not be far away "You bested me…" A rattling gasp emerged from his throat "I…I did not see…"
"Casavir, wait" Phaedra whispered, leaning over Ajah, to catch every word his last breaths bore, here perhaps she could learn what she sought "Listen to me, Ajah, I am here…"
"Yes…" He murmured "Here, how…droll. I am cast down by a young girl who can't even control her own sorcery. I wasn't even killed with any subtlety. But Garius…would not see the joke, lucky…I am dying here, don't you think?" Garius…did he say Garius? Who was that?
"Ajah, why did Luskan send you?" Phaedra murmured. Her tone was soft and gentle, almost maternal, hoping to put the dying man at rest. Perhaps in his confused state he would reveal something.
"Ah…" Ajah breathed, a long wheeze "You still believe my master and Luskan are the same, foolish…"
"Your master…is not of Luskan?" Phaedra gasped, shocked. Brelaina had been so clear…
"He is above and beyond those who scheme in their four towers…" Ajah smiled, the ghost of a triumphant, greedy smile, she could almost imagine him sitting at the feet of his master, thirsting for power. "He has plans…such plans, but you…they will destroy you, yes. Once they hear of this, he will kill you…"
"Ajah, Ajah listen to me…who is he?" Phaedra pressed, hearing the approaching footsteps of death in the mage's faltering voice, seeing the shadow of it in his swiftly clouding eyes "Tell me…"
"I…failed him…" Ajah whispered "My master, better to die now than face that, I failed…" And then, a last hoarse, heaving rasp of air escaped his lips, the last breath of Ajah, adept of the Hostower. Then all the malice seemed to drain from his face, his deep, stormy eyes failing, his mouth falling slack, and he died, killed at the last by Phaedra Blake, novice sorcerer and adventurer.
Phaedra collapsed backwards on her knees, stunned. It was bizarre enough that she should be pursued by Luskan, but this mysterious other enemy, it made even less sense to her, could he be related to the events in the Mere, to these Shadow priests? But how? And why? It was clear from Brelaina's information that Ajah had indeed sailed from Luskan and the power he had engaged against her bore the unmistakable mark of Hostower tutoring, according to what Sand had told her, but if so how could his master not be of Luskan? The Hostower had an iron grip on all magic practiced in their city, and they did not tolerate rivals. How could Ajah's master operate beyond their notice? It seemed impossible...and yet…
"Phaedra" She felt Casavir's hand grip her shoulder, the paladin's voice had a calm insistence "There is nothing more for us here, come…" Phaedra sighed. He was right, she sensed no other magic upon Ajah's body, what secrets he might have born had gone with him to the death. But what they had found here…she felt scarcely ready to consider it, her head still throbbed with agony, shattering her focus. Sighing she let Casavir help her upward, her thoughts heavy, she needed to rest and the Flagon awaited, with warmth and light and a safe bed. Tomorrow, when this darkness and her exhaustion did not press so insistently upon her, when she could think clearly, then she would consider truly what this all meant…
oooo0000oooo
Seven years…seven years as a paladin of the God of Justice, and Casavir thought he knew what evil was. It was easy enough to see, even here, Neverwinter, the stronghold of his God. What drove a man, mad with drunken fury, to beat his family? What snatched children from the streets, unseen, unheard, to be dragged into slavery for a piece of gold, never to see their parents again? What drove at the back of desperate criminals, killing at a whim? What blinded the nobility to all else but their own self-interest, their divinely endowed privilege, their right to take what they willed and trample those who came under foot? Evil, it was a part of every single one of the thousands who even now, as the dawn broke over the skies of Neverwinter, wakened to their burdens and their duties. It was a part of him also. It did not take much, then that evil became all there was and you were the white-masked, white-robed darkness at the heart of Old Owl Well. Only justice stood between each one of them and that darkness, the law of state and the law of conscience, which shielded the innocent and punished the guilty, which judged firmly but with compassion, the voice of Tyr in all who chose to listen, and ultimately the understanding of what was evil, and what was good. Casavir knew what evil was, although that understanding did not come as easily as it had once, the trouble he had was with good…
Dark thoughts for a new dawn, he knew, and one where he sat in comfort, the Sunken Flagon, a place he had never visited all his years in Neverwinter. It was a good place. Duncan was an honest man and his business had the same spirit, it felt strange to find it in an alehouse, yet it was right. Casavir was alone in the empty common room, sitting at one of the Flagon's tables, and waiting for the others, his new comrades in this strangest of fights, to arrive. He was fortunate in them as well, there was a spirit in them which was not common in adventurers, or in Neverwinter's Watchmen. It was a shared spirit, a shared goal, which united them beyond the obvious differences, a spirit he could freely admit he now shared. That spirit…it had its source in Phaedra. Thinking of her, it brought a strange ache to Casavir's heart, for a moment he saw both the blazing sorceress, burning with a light almost as though of heaven as she shattered the body and mind of that Luskan wizard, and the young, pale, terrified girl, her green eyes gleaming with tears of pain and exhaustion, as he guided her, unable to walk by herself, back to light and safety…He wanted to help her, not merely because her cause was just, not merely because she had braved the darkness of Old Owl Well for him, but because he saw in her…he began to see what goodness was again…
"Casavir" He almost thought it was her for a moment, and his spirits leapt in a way that was profoundly unsettling, but then he realised…it was the elf, Elanee. Their voices, doubtless something of the elven blood, were similar in a subtle way, that same purity of tone, and ringing quality. But it was Elanee, the druid, as ever robed in simple clothes, scarcely seemed surprised at all to find him here, and so early…which was welcoming since he had no desire to explain what had so disturbed him last night that he had been driven from his bed "Do you have a moment, there is something we should discuss"
"Of course" Casavir moved over, allowing her a seat. He valued Elanee's consul and company highly, as an elf, the elder race, and a druid who had communed with the land for perhaps a lifetime in human terms, her insight and wisdom were of great worth if they were to confront what evils faced Phaedra in her quest. The two of them had already spoken at length, for they had a shared end, to protect Phaedra no matter what…
"We are no longer safe Casavir" Elanee began abruptly "Ajah knew who Phaedra was, he knew exactly what he was looking for. If the Watch hadn't found him…how long do you think she might have had? We were lucky…very lucky..."
"Yes" Casavir agreed "Ajah was a pawn, the question is who sent him? And how long before they strike again?"
"We can be certain he was not in league with the Astral beings we have fought before" Elanee continued gravely "Nor was his goal the shards. No…I think it best if we look to other foes…"
"The Shadow Priests…" Casavir felt a momentary chill run through his veins "Yet he sailed from Luskan, and he was Hostower-trained…"
"Remember what he said Casavir…My master is above those who scheme in their four towers…" Elanee leant inwards urgently, laying her hands on the table in front of her…
"The Master of the Fifth Tower" Casavir breathed softly, he remembered that note, written in a chilling hand and recovered from Old Owl Well itself. "But the Hostower has only four towers…"
"Exactly…" The elf nodded significantly "Ajah belonged, it would appear, to some kind of rogue faction within Luskan, hence their name. Yet rogue or no, they seem to have allied themselves with, or are a part of, this organisation of Shadow Priests"
"With the war against Ruathym they would be able to advance their agenda in almost total secrecy…" Casavir agreed "Even from within Luskan itself, but to what end?"
"What concerns us now is that we keep Phaedra safe from them" Elanee said "Ajah did not yet know her name, at least, and we can be sure the Flagon is so far unknown, but we will have to remain vigilant at all times…"
"I fear that Phaedra may have drawn too much attention to herself as the Watch's Arcane Torch" Casavir sighed. Even in the short time he had been back in the city, he had already heard already the talk of her deeds, it seemed they were on the mouth of every citizen of the Docks. How long before it became known that she travelled with a paladin of Tyr who had fled from his own justice? How long before his presence here threatened her, and others whom he had left the city to protect?
"Nothing to be done for that now, she has done what she had to" Elanee replied, with an elegant shrug "But, Casavir" She leaned in, and her features became even more grave "We must consider something else. I realise now that that I was mistaken to believe it was a smaller concern than our many other's, but there is a possibility that Phaedra…is in danger from herself…"
"What do you mean?" Casavir glanced to her, suddenly wary. Phaedra had enough peril at her side already, what could the elf mean that she was in danger from within herself?
"You saw what happened last night, Casavir" Elanee said quietly "You saw what she did, what she unleashed…" Casavir had seen, he remembered well, how could he possibly forget? She had…burned, with light and heat so intense that he had been forced to crouch at the side of the jetty along with the others, shielding himself from the waves of silvery radiance that swept over the jetty. Power had singed the very air, crackling with lighting and electricity. Phaedra herself had vanished beneath a blaze of flashing light, a figure traced in burning silver, all magic, a creature, now, of the mysteries of its power. He had lived in Neverwinter, home to the Cloaktower, for most of his life, and never had he seen anything even close to what Phaedra had accomplished there. "I do not know…what we saw" Elanee continued "But she has something, something deeper in her magic. That thing arose last night, it is very likely that it shall do so again. If it does…I fear for Phaedra, I really do…"
"Yet she seemed to be almost able to control it" Casavir noted, remembering how she had swept aside Ajah, almost as an afterthought.
"Yes, until he was dead" Elanee answered "Afterwards…she seemed to lose herself…" Casavir frowned bleakly, he too had seen how, once Ajah had been annihilated, she hadn't seemed able to let go. Indeed, as she had stood there with her enemy dead before her, she had changed. Now he struggled to put words to what he had seen, but it had seemed as though she had become, with each moment she burned there, less the girl he knew and more something else. Something so beautiful she took his breath away, but of a beauty wholly unlike her natural loveliness, a beauty that was at once unspeakably seductive, and utterly devastating. No, he turned aside from the thought before he allowed himself to consider its implications. In truth he wasn't even sure what he had glimpsed in the moment before Elanee had called her back, and the night since then had no doubt clouded his recollections, but it was clear that something momentous had occurred, though what exactly it was remained unclear…. "It went wrong, Casavir" Elanee went on "Whatever it was, whatever she did…we almost lost her." She was visibly distraught. Tyr, she truly loved Phaedra, their connection ran deeper than he had even suspected.
"She returned to you, Elanee" Casavir said softly. It had been Elanee's voice which had called Phaedra's spirit back to herself…
"This time" But the elf would take no such comfort. "But what of the next time, or the next? It was stronger than before …it held her for longer. I dread to think what she will unleash if ever she is in danger like that again"
"You've seen this before, it has happened before" Casavir said, it was not a question. Her agitation was clear, cutting through the stillness of her normally serene features.
"Once, against the necromancer in Highcliff" Elanee nodded "Twice now it has saved her life, it has saved all our lives, but I fear she far risks far more than her life by harnessing it. This power…it feels wrong, Casavir…it is wrong" She shuddered "If it comes again, it will be stronger, and I fear that Phaedra may not be able to overcome it…"
"I think she is stronger than even you suspect, Elanee" Casavir answered, more firmly than he had intended. Elanee glanced up at him instantly, a strange look in her elven green eyes, disconcertingly like Phaedra's own, although deeper and wiser, and less sad.
"You cannot know her better than I do, Casavir" She answered "However much you might wish it otherwise" No, he could not. He could not fathom the depth of their connection. But whether he knew her or not as Elanee did, he would never do anything to harm her and he would never let anything harm her. He had to have some way of showing Elanee, of showing this cold, unpitying universe, of showing his distant God, and of showing himself most of all that…
"I swear I will watch over her Elanee" Casavir vowed, laying his hands upon the table in front of him. Somehow the words seemed to acquire the austere solemnity of a ritualistic judgement, unbreakable as holy writ. And yet it felt not like a burden, as so much of Tyr's rites had become to him, it felt… intensely liberating. And he knew why, because it was right, because he knew at once that it was right. There was no doubt, no conflict within. Of everything that he had known and seen and doubted, he knew completely and utterly within his heart that this vow was right. And amidst the chaos of a dark, dark world where justice often seemed so far away, he would hold fast to this one small spark of rightness, of goodness, he would hold fast to her… "I will always watch over her."
"Casavir…" Elanee whispered, aghast. He had seen this look in other's eyes…in Katriona's eyes…awe and wonder, as though he were something more than a man. But he was simply a man, a flawed, imperfect man…Phaedra herself had always seen that, he knew it as surely as he knew his own heart.
"If there is indeed any danger…one of us will find it" Casavir continued, unwilling to allow this to continue. Back in Old Owl Well, none of his followers had been anything more than that, and he had allowed it, encouraged it, in fact, because he had felt his aloneness was a fitting atonement. Despite that, somehow he had only created a kind of devotion in them that he was even less worthy of. Now, because of Phaedra, he desired neither devotion nor solitude, he wanted no more than comradeship, than friendship. He did not wish Elanee to lay that aside simply because she misunderstood who he was. "And I am certain that she will come to you if ever she needs you. She trusts you, Elanee…she trusts you absolutely…"
"Thank you Casavir" Elanee said slowly, letting out a deep breath that loosened the tension in her shoulders "For putting my mind at rest, momentarily at least. You are right. Whatever happens, I am glad she has you at her side…" It seemed for a moment that she wished to say something more. Then suddenly footsteps sounded on the passageway, and Elanee glanced up to see. By the look of luminous joy that touched her features as much as by the grace, the softness, of each of those steps, he knew at once that it was her…Phaedra. As she entered, Casavir felt a sudden and entirely unexpected thrill run through him. She was…beautiful as always. Beautiful and alive, her hair long and loose over her shoulders, gleaming as though burnished gold against the pallor of her face, shot through with that shining darker redness as it rippled in the uncertain dawn. And her eyes, green, lucent…her lips soft…
"Phaedra…" He stood sharply, scattering that thought instantly. What was this that possessed him each time he saw her? Why could he not even control himself? "Are you alright?"
"Yes, Casavir" She gave him a puzzled look "I slept a little badly, that's all"
"You haven't let yourself rest enough lately" Elanee sighed "All this…trouble straight after we came back from Old Owl Well. It's a wonder we're not falling over ourselves with exhaustion"
"I'll be fine, Elanee" She said, and the smile faded for a moment, replaced by that wistful sadness that so often took her in repose, a sadness that was somehow even more beautiful. "I have to be…" She glanced out into the grey dawn "I was thinking of going to Brelaina as soon as possible today. She should know that the agent is dead"
"I will escort you" Casavir stood at once. Honour, chivalry, propriety, they had been as much a part of his training and of his upbringing, as bladecraft and swordsmanship. And yet, now, a part of him now yearned with a deep and bitter yearning that he should have the right thing to say and not simply the proper thing. Something that would explain all the turmoil, show her that her presence, that being near to her, made him feel such a depth of feeling that he was alive again. That would tell her immediately that he was not simply being merely chivalrous, that her safety mattered to him more than anything. But the words would not come…
"Casavir…" She smiled, and something of her golden radiance blazed forth in that smile "You know very well that I don't need an escort. What I need is a friend to walk with me…"
"Of course, my lady" He cursed the words that instantly, automatically sprang to his tongue because they were the easiest to say. "I will walk with you, then"
"As will I" Elanee stood as well "After what occurred last night, we should stay together as much as we can. And since the remainder of our company seems as yet indisposed, the two of us should suffice"
"Good" She breathed deeply "There's a lot we should talk about, both of you…" Casavir nodded, forcing himself once again under control. There was a reason these things were so hard to say, a reason he could not allow his feelings to be so close once again, why he had to keep distant from her as much as he was able. He had forgotten it, almost, in the reflected radiance of her arrival, but he promised himself anew that, though he would watch over and guide her, he would not allow…this…to happen once again…