Apologies for the lateness of this update - but here's the longest chapter yet!
Thank you to everyone reading, and to everyone who has favourited and followed. And of course, thank you also for your reviews - your comments are greatly appreciated! ^^
Warning: there is some grim imagery in this chapter.
Chapter 49: Weaving a Web Part 1
Elatharia had been feigning sleep when Imoen crept into the room, but before she closed the door the aasimar had caught a flash of some small object in her sister's hands, as if she had been turning it over and over alone there in the darkness. A moment or two of silence had passed – the Transmuter's body was tense under the sheets as if fearing the questions that Imoen so desperately wanted to ask of her encounter with Edwin. In the end no words would come to Imoen, not even to speak of the awful helplessness of watching the priestess whip Haer'Dalis. Especially because of that helplessness. It would bring back too many bad memories. Too much guilt.
Instead, Imoen had slunk to her own small bed and attempted sleep, slipping under cool covers and cringing as the mattress shifted beneath her. She lay there, utterly still and staring up at the curved ceiling with its spider patterns, until gradually her darkvision wore off and left her sinking in the perfect dark. Past the closed shutters she could hear the occasional clatter of unidentifiable sound echoing in the quiet night-time cavern of Ust Natha, and every sudden noise sent a jolt of fear through her.
Fogged by tiredness, her thoughts drifted and the spiders graven above her began to shift and blur until they were running across the ceiling and down the walls, swarming the bed and crawling across her skin. Their thick, hairy legs fluttered over her skin, their eyes shining too bright and intelligent in the pure dark. Heaving in rapid gasps, Imoen flailed in panic, her voice rising to a scream as the venomous beasts skittered across the bed…and melted away. But now there were hooded figures in the darkness around her…and when she turned to the side her chest squeezed in panic, her lungs burning and her limbs heavy with dread. She saw Irenicus's cold eyes staring back at her, his form watching her from the bed where her sister had been…
"Imoen! Imoen! Wake up!" Elatharia's voice dragged her from sleep, the aasimar's mind buzzing with panic.
"W…we have to get out…out of here," Imoen slurred before consciousness fully reclaimed her.
She was sitting up, drenched in sweat, the sheets pooled in a rumpled heap around her, and her sister was kneeling on the mattress in front of her, shaking her by the shoulders. The room was otherwise empty, and filled by a diffuse and very dim light spell. Everything was in its proper place, the spiders still patterning the ceiling, the shutters and the door firmly closed. There was no one else in the room with them, no sign of Irenicus. Not on the outside, anyway.
In fact, of her surroundings only her sister had changed, the drow façade gone; now she was dressed in the Robe of Vecna instead of nightclothes, though with her bag of holding still tied to her waist. Her mask was off as well, her hair loose and dishevelled around her face. Her eyes were wide with alarm, her pupils huge to accommodate the extremely low light – no doubt her human vision could only just make out Imoen as a fuzzy form in front of her. Silly girl. The pupils of the human eye expand to adapt to lower light, but also to various stimuli…not least when the subject is afraid.
"Sorry," the aasimar mumbled, huffing out an embarrassed laugh, "Bad dream. Didn't mean to wake you. Good job no one outside can hear through those Enchantments, right?"
Elatharia did not even bothered nodding, frowning instead as she folded her legs beneath her in an attempt to relax just a little. Her feet were bare, just like her arms – the dots of manacle scars showed at her wrists and ankles. A jolt of crawling horror came with the memory of removing those manacles.
"I wasn't asleep," Elatharia admitted at last, as if Imoen might have ever been convinced. "I heard a commotion outside…"
"Haer'Dalis done got caught by one of the priestesses. She whipped him outside the tavern, and we couldn't stop her without gettin' the whole city after us…or admittin' what we are and havin' them chase us for that instead." It was easier to stare down at her trembling hands. "Shoulda done something. Shoulda tried something."
The Transmuter attempted to hide the pained look that crossed her face to hear this, nodding awkwardly instead. Seeing Elatharia's scars – the few that remained, which were not nearly enough to echo what had surely been done – Imoen found herself gripping the sheets with painfully clenched fists. The tiefling's whipping had made Jaheira pale, too. It was hard not to think back to what must have been done to them…
A stiff silence passed, in which neither sister wanted to address the grim issue. Instead, Elatharia at last blew out a long sigh – and changed the subject entirely.
"Well…you were right about Edwin," she muttered, "Of course you were right."
Still shaking from the nightmare but grateful that her sister had not asked about it, Imoen hugged her knees to her chest to fight the cold that had started to creep back in. Elatharia seemed unbothered by the temperature, but her eyes shifted from side to side as she spoke, her frown lingering as if she was struggling to remember something from long ago.
"No one would want to side with Irenicus without a real incentive…or a death wish. And I can see it in his eyes that he hates them, especially Bodhi. I think they're trying to control him…but we've a plan."
"What kind of a plan?" Imoen did not know whether to panic or breathe a sigh of relief.
"I can't tell you. Not with the aboleth around."
"More like can't tell me because you done think I'm going to tell Jaheira," the aasimar complained automatically, the whine in her voice drawing the briefest smile from Elatharia.
"Maybe. But I'm not going to relent just because you point out a very good reason for keeping it to myself." Again the evasive eyes, the fidgeting. "At least I didn't turn into the Beast. I…I don't know how you fight it. It's like it doesn't bother you."
"I don't…and it does," Imoen cringed at the memory of that thing crawling out of her, of it buzzing beneath her skin when it augmented her earlier irritation with Jaheira to an almost blinding rage. "It just…doesn't come to me like it does to you is all. You said you done felt it before we…we lost our souls. I never. I think I'm just…not as strong as you."
"Or maybe you're stronger," Elatharia grunted. There were faint cuts on her palms from earlier in the day, thin red slashes of scabs standing out on pale skin.
"Just luckier, I reckon," Imoen offered, brushing her sister's hair back enough to see her face, the grim set of her mouth and the dark lines of her markings. A moment passed. "Y'know…you do smell of Conjurer's spell components, big sis. He kiss you? At last?"
There was no blush like there would have been once, long ago. Now Elatharia just looked up sharply, her expression oddly blank but for sad, confused eyes. Half a blink, and then she was scrambling away and standing, turning her back on her sister as she slid back into her bed.
"What does it matter? We should be sleeping, not gossiping." Her tone was clipped, and just a tinge too angry.
"It's not a fault, Elatharia," Imoen promised, "If it made you feel better for just a second, wasn't it done worth it?"
Her sister did not answer, no longer pretending to sleep but still keeping her back to Imoen. And eventually Elatharia's breathing did become more even but for the odd flinch, and the aasimar knew it would be useless to pursue the issue. She knew, too, that she would find little sleep that night. So instead, Imoen slid from her own bed upon perfectly silent feet. She dressed in the darkness, the black drow leather smooth and flexible, the enchanted boots a welcome bonus. The Transmutation she left until last, once she had pulled her hood low to hide any continuity issues with her sister's more detailed version of the spell. And once this was done, Imoen slipped out through the door and sought the dimly lit streets of Ust Natha. If the place was too ominous to sleep in, perhaps learning its secrets might settle her nerves.
The drow seemed to keep away from the Narbondel-lit streets of night-time Ust Natha as fervently as did humans from the dark streets of Baldur's Gate – perhaps more fervently still. Those who did travel the walkways did so at speed, their hoods drawn low to shield their eyes from the hazy light which did nothing to soften the edges of the great houses visible from up here, or to lighten the murk of the lake far below. The scent of incense drifted on the air, mixed with the less familiar smells of drow foodstuffs and the distant, underlying hint of something fouler.
The temple of Lolth at the heart of the city gave off a palpable sense of menace, its huge rotund shape hanging at the centre of the city's walkways but stretching up through several layers. Once it caught Imoen's eye, it held her stare, seeming to pulse with malevolent power which drew her forward upon unerring but leaden feet. Its whisper of malice only grew as Imoen's path brought her straight before the spiny, bulbous roof of the construction, where her walkway parted into a ring around the rotunda. Thoughts hazy as the light around her, she passed close enough to trail her fingers along the roof's black surface, which swam with the twisting shapes of black faerie fire. And though it went against her better judgement, Imoen found her arm extending, her fingertips touching just as she had imagined. It was warm and strangely soft, not hard and rough as she had expected. As though it were alive. Her skin crawled, and the Beast stirred in answer – but it did so fondly, and with a warm feeling of familiarity. Murder. Murder and death.
As quickly as she had reached out, the haze lifted and Imoen snatched her hand back with a gasp – fighting the disorientation that followed, she glanced about herself hastily. Had anyone seen her blasphemy? Heart pounding, she made a hasty retreat…until she came to the stairway up to the next level, the path her sister must have taken earlier to escort the aboleth. Ardulace's palace lay that way – and within it waited Irenicus and his sister with Edwin as their captive. She thought of her nightmare, of the scarred face and pale eyes that had looked back at her, and the pain that twisted in her chest made her eyes sting and her stomach churn.
Against her better judgement, she found herself turning that way, not heading past at anxious speed for the comparative safety on the Higher Tavern just twenty feet away. And now Imoen's limbs did not move of their own accord, though she dearly wished they would. She passed a pair of lizard riders on patrol, both of whom offered deferential nods which she forced herself to ignore, keeping her eyes ahead and her walk steady. It was easy to see the palace at this time of night, standing opposite the tip of the glowing Narbondel whose light drew the eye. How long had she been denied the sun? And how long would this place further deny her?
There was a small, quartz-crusted tower that stood scant metres from the platform leading to House Despana. Here Imoen dragged herself to a stop, a quick survey of the construction suggesting that it was empty for some obscure reason. She had to lean back to support her shaking legs, to force herself to breathe past her stuttering heart. But she could not look away.
What am I to you, to leave without a second glance? And just as Elatharia had said, she could feel the pull in the air, the subconscious insistence that she return to her soul. Bodhi was inside. Her hand closed around her dagger…a moment before she felt a blade at her throat forcing her chin back. Imoen froze.
"I knew you for a heretic from the moment I saw you."
Solaufein hissed the words in her ear as he tugged her back with him into the tower, one hand closing around her mouth when she gasped in for a reflexive shout. With his sword still at her throat, Imoen stumbled on the bottom step of the narrow spiral stairway within, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness as her captor kicked the door shut behind them. She could not control the trembling that overtook her, nor avoid the sickness that followed – she could sense it in the air, the murder.
When Imoen caught sight of the blood on the stairs, of a limp arm hanging over the ledge above, she tensed and retched. At least that had Solaufein pushing her away from him with a curse while she doubled up and coughed, golden light flashing behind tightly shut eyes. It lasted a matter of seconds, but Solaufein made no move to approach her. He had blocked off the only entrance with his body and now watched with incredulity as she twisted to face him, crouched on the stairs with her dagger drawn. It distracted him long enough for her to spit out a few spellwords, conjuring a bloom of white light that had him cursing again and reflexively veiling his eyes.
"You're the one who killed the guard," she managed, though the golden fog that curled in the corners of her vision was more than a little distracting. Some drow you I am, gagging at the sight of blood. But it was not the horror rather than the madness of Bhaal that had overwhelmed her. To her shame.
"Who are you?" Solaufein snarled, his arm braced above his eyes in some semblance of protection even as he raised his swordpoint her way. "I saw you touch Lolth's Temple, and I saw the path you took to this place. You wear the silver bow and no spider insignia, you stare at all of this as if you have never seen it before…" he caught himself, his face twisting with rage, and she backed up a step, every muscle in her body tensing with wariness. It had been a long time since she had fought alone…but… "Did she send you? Is this Phaere's way of testing me?" Solaufein snarled.
"Wh-what?" Imoen gaped at him momentarily and he seemed to acknowledge her cluelessness, for he lowered his blade slightly, his brows furrowing. "Test you for what?"
"Are you telling me that you have no idea of what I speak? That you have no knowledge of the sanctity of Lolth's temple?" he hesitated when she raised her dagger between them, his red eyes flickering up to the body of the dead guard in the room above them. "You must be insane."
"Maybe," Imoen acceded, "But if you're so done ready to kill me, how come you killed the guard who woulda got me punished for what I did? I…I don't wanna have to kill you but I will if you make me!"
That comment of all of them seemed to take Solaufein aback the most. His face fell into a look of shock, the tip of his sword scraping against the steps between them as he lowered it fully. His whole body seemed to sag as if some great weight had been lifted from it. And she understood: here was no worshipper of Lolth. Here was a victim of endless brutality.
"No drow speaks this way," Solaufein half-whispered it as if to himself, shaking his head. "No drow of Ust Natha, or Menzoberranzan, or Ched Nasad…"
"Well I'm one who does," Imoen offered, though it came out as more of a question. He gave her a doubtful look, and then gestured at the shining light behind them.
"If we are to talk, you ought to dispel that light. It could be seen through the viewpoints in the chamber above and…in truth I cannot stand it." Solaufein winced as he looked up at her, taking in her crouched figure and her wary face. "Unlike you."
"Alright," Imoen agreed after a moment, banishing the light and calling up Darkvision for herself. She could only hope that Solaufein did not recognise the spell. Too late now.
Solaufein seemed to consider her action a gesture of uneasy truce; he dipped his head in acceptance and sheathed his sword slowly as he stepped back into the small space between the stairs and the doorway. Only once he raised his palms to show that he truly was unarmed did Imoen sheath her dagger also, crouching upon the stairs now out of a necessity to see his face rather than in readiness to fight.
"You're no more a Lolth worshipper than me, that's why you killed the guard," she reasoned into the quiet, and from the way he winced up at her it looked as though he had needed her to say it first. "You mighta doubted me, but you wanted to find out for yourself first. Right?"
"Correct," Solaufein gritted out, though his hand clenched and unclenched subconsciously around his sword hilt.
"Coulda been a bit more subtle about it," Imoen muttered before she could catch herself. Too long alone! Too long alone…with him. Irenicus. Still, Solaufein started to smile at those words, though he tried to hide it. Were drow not even allowed to smile? No wonder Irenicus had come here.
"I needed to act quickly, mistress…Merdin," Solaufein said. How opposite from the surface! That slip was no courtesy – just a bad habit. "You were the one who passed this way. I was simply following."
"Wasn't really going anywhere interesting," Imoen denied, rubbing at her arms. The cold was creeping in.
"Ah, because your straightforward path to Ardulace's palace was a pure coincidence," Solaufein sneered. "I hold no love for the Despanas but you would be a fool to try to enter that place without an invitation. Not only does it now house the aboleth and illithids, but there are three surfacers within as well. Surfacers who, it pains me to say, seem more than capable of defending themselves. Not to mention the Matron herself. You would be wise to return to your allies."
"Sounds about right," Imoen's faux-cheerful tone visibly staggered Solaufein, but she stood straight without pause, nodding at the door as if she was not guilty of such alien behaviour. "Gotta get back right now, actually." But, perhaps predictably, Solaufein pressed a hand to the door between them when she moved to pass him. He was tall for a drow male – their eyes met levelly, red glowering across into blue.
"Do not think that you can use what passed here against me, foreigner. You have no evidence against me and here your word will count for little."
"Wasn't really planning on it," Imoen promised, though the words escaped her as more of a wheeze. The space was so small. The walls so close. He nodded gruffly and stepped aside for her but she hesitated as her fingers closed around the door handle. "Y'know…it sounds like you have some problem with Phaere…"
"'Problem'," Solaufein huffed, though his eyes fell to the floor rather hastily, "She wants me dead, clearly." Ah, she had said as much. Imoen nodded.
"I'd…I'd like to help, if you need it," she managed, and Solaufein's eyes rose sharply to look at her once more. She cringed back from him.
"It is not her fault," he snapped, just as automatically. He sought the sight of the floor again, his words a low growl. "Though she is far from blameless. Her mother is the instigator, as always."
"Well, sounds like you need the help then," Imoen pointed out. Solaufein's smile was more a baring of teeth.
"It does. Though such things never come without a price," he shook his head, gesturing to the door again. "Go. It may be that we can 'help' each other in the future, but for now you should return to your allies. I believe that Phaere will summon you at first darkness."
'First darkness' proved to be early morning, probably the equivalent of sunrise on the surface. Imoen had been back for several hours, her absence unnoticed by her sister as far as she could tell, and the aasimar was woken sharply by the sound of knocking on a door nearby. Momentarily disorientated and completely blind in the perfect velvet blackness, she sat up with a sharp gasp, her heart thundering. She heard her sister cursing and shuffling; by the time Imoen had cast another Darkvision spell upon herself, Elatharia had sat up and tied on her enchanted mask. Both sisters jumped when the knock came again, both standing upon shaky legs and looking to each other with wide eyes.
"It's Viconia's room," Elatharia said at last, "Thank all the gods."
As if on cue they heard the creak of a door opening and the drawled menace of Viconia's voice filtered out; a male voice answered briefly, and then the door clicked shut. Meanwhile, the Transmuter had not waited to hear what happened next before falling into a spell, beginning to call up their drow forms, muttering spellwords under her breath as sparks flickered about her fingertips.
By the time that the conversation across the hallway was over, Imoen could feel the change in her face and the slight alteration of her size. Her darkvision did not permit her to see in much colour, but she could make out that the shade of her skin had altered to the common ebony shade seen amongst drow. A look at her sister show that Elatharia was just finishing the alterations to herself; her pale skin turned to the deep blue-grey also known among drow, her mostly dark hair turned white where her Bhaal taint would permit it. And of course her mask melded into her skin, hiding her markings.
"We should go and speak to Viconia. She can't leave without endangering Haer'Dalis," Elatharia stated it a little sharply, turning away to the bed and slipping out of the Robe of Vecna which would be far too outlandish in these parts. The drow robe that she replaced it with was a deep grey, the only decoration in the form of protective wards embroidered along its expansive sleeves. The leggings visible beneath the skirt were in fact Aerie's but they were plain and totally unremarkable.
Once Imoen had pulled on her drow leathers again they were ready to go – her sister barely glanced at her as they stepped through the door. Probably still trying to avoid any reference to Edwin. And the aasimar knew that she would have to mention the night's events, but with her heart still pounding and her limbs still quaking from the sharp awakening, it was hard to think.
The hallway was empty as they crossed it, as dark as ever, with just the faint clatter of dishes audible from the tavern below. Viconia answered Elatharia's knock with ferocity, the door swinging open at speed to reveal her angry visage – her expression did soften after a moment, though from the stressed look on her face whatever she had just heard was far from pleasant. She was already fully dressed in her usual black dragon scale and mithral shirt, the yellow underside of her cloak invisible to Imoen's darkvision. The Flail of the Ages glittered at her hip.
"Come in quickly," the drow snapped, stepping aside only just enough for the sisters to squeeze through before closing the door firmly behind them. She gestured to Haer'Dalis, who was sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed. He saluted them jovially, but his bare torso showed numerous lash marks that were still swollen and scabbed even after Viconia's healing magics.
"Greetings, fellow daredevils," the tiefling offered, reaching for his shirt. Elatharia's eyes had widened at the sight of his injuries, and it took a moment before she visibly dragged herself back to the present.
"Well," the Transmuter demanded of Viconia as if she had been waiting for an explanation the whole time. "What happened?"
"We are to meet Phaere shortly. Apparently we should prepare to leave town thereafter – for the svirfneblin settlement," Viconia explained grimly. Elatharia cursed.
"Solaufein said she'd want to see us right about now," Imoen admitted, cringing when the others looked at her with some confusion. She raised her hands in a gesture of peace, but Elatharia only frowned more deeply. "Hey, I couldn't sleep. I…went for a walk and done got in a bit of trouble, but it's all sorted now. Right as rain, actually!"
"What in the all the Hells did you do?" Elatharia gritted out. The anger threatening in her eye was all the more disturbing for the drow visage she now wore.
"Found out some pretty useful information?" Imoen shot back with a wince. Her sister glared back. Viconia did not look much more impressed, folding her arms and looking between the two.
"It sounds as though you have some things to explain, abbil," the drow prompted coolly. She glanced Haer'Dalis's way as he joined them by the door, the only one of all of them who watched Imoen with curiosity and not irritation. "And once that is done one of us will have to collect Jaheira and Valygar, sadly."
"…You are quite spectacularly daring," Haer'Dalis commented into the quiet which had descended upon the newly gathered group once Imoen had completed her story. Though in truth, even he looked mildly concerned. Too blank to truly feel guilty, Imoen just shrugged. Why could losing her soul not have robbed her of the sense of awkwardness, too?
"You are very lucky to still be alive, Imoen," Viconia corrected, and that earned a nod from Valygar, who had arrived shortly before with Jaheira. Elatharia was quieter, less responsive. But she was still frowning slightly.
"Well that's probably true," the aasimar admitted, shifting from foot to foot as the others watched her intently, all of them save for Viconia newly transmuted into their drow forms. "But I did find out some pretty handy information, like I said. Solaufein has some issue with Phaere, but he blames Ardulace and – and! – biggest bit of information: he's no worshipper of Lolth."
"He may have been testing you," Jaheira warned, her tone painfully cutting, "We may be about to walk into a trap."
"Not from the way he done spoke to me last night. Coulda killed me right there," Imoen insisted. When Jaheira opened her mouth to speak, Viconia interrupted.
"Imoen is right, I believe," she nodded thoughtfully, "There is some recent cover-up regarding Phaere and Solaufein. It happened just before I left Ust Natha for the surface – both went missing amidst rumours that they had been less than faithful to Lolth, and when Phaere returned she was scarred and far from her…old self. She has been spitting venom and vitriol about Solaufein's death ever since. Whatever they did to him is far more subtle; he was always a bitter sort."
"Is that not common among all drow?" Valygar asked darkly, drawing a smirk and a disdainful roll of the eyes from Viconia.
"No, male. Bitterness is rare – those who grow bitter tend not to last long in places such as this. Their hatred of the drow world only serves to alienate them. Hatred of individual drow, however? That is ideal."
"Alright, so we have some useful information – or a possible trap ahead," Elatharia surmised, scuffing her boots against the stone floor for a moment before looking at each of those gathered at the centre of the room. There was something tense in her expression, more so even than usual. "But I think we will have to meet with Phaere all the same. And we daren't be late."
No one could disagree and the group headed out into the hall from Viconia's room. Elatharia caught Imoen by the elbow at the top of the stairs once the others were descending out of sight. Jumping automatically, Imoen turned to look at her sister with far less composure than she had intended. She had been expecting Elatharia to complain about her lack of planning…but instead saw that the Transmuter only looked thoughtful – beyond her tension, of course.
"The temple of Lolth drew you forward, didn't it?" Elatharia asked softly, and for a moment Imoen balked. Her sister just raised her eyebrows expectantly.
"Yeah," the aasimar admitted, deflating. "It was like it was…callin' to me. Like the 'Beast' knew it from old times or something." She hesitated, a little taken aback by the way Elatharia was just nodding as though she understood and not asking anything further about that strangest of phenomena. Children of Bhaal. Silly girl, you have no idea… "And it was the…my soul that had me goin' up toward the palace," Imoen added warily. "Like I wanted to go right there, even though I shouldn't have. If Solaufein hadn't done stopped me, I'm not sure what I'd have done."
"Then we do both feel these same…problematic…things," Elatharia sounded faintly relieved, though her face remained effectively blank. She let go of Imoen's elbow, gesturing at the stairs. "Alright. We can't go out there alone. Ever." She glanced back at the aasimar when no answer came. "Not ever. It's too dangerous."
"Alright, alright," Imoen held up her hands, eyes wide for effect. Gods. I didn't done feel that one bit.
The hard line of Elatharia's mouth softened just a little at that, though the look never reached her transmuted red eyes. She seemed mollified at least, heading down the stairs after the others – and after all that had been said, Imoen was quick to follow. Still, they did not even reach the bottom of the steps before Elatharia stopped abruptly, staring past the cluster of their companions on the tavern floor.
The room was utterly dark at this time of the day, the incense candles evidently a feature for busier times of day. A few males slaves were just being threatened out of the room by a pair of large females dressed in razor-decorated black plate mail, the bartender watching from behind his stone slab bar with a look of poorly veiled fear. For the morning's only patron appeared to be Phaere Despana herself, seated at the table with a cup of some unidentified liquid that Imoen doubted was wine. Her enchanted mail glittered strangely to Imoen's darkvision as she turned to see the two sisters now warily descending the stairs, her scarred face arranged into a look of mild curiosity. By her side stood Solaufein, carefully impassive. Imoen's throat went dry all the same – could he have been lying to her? Had Jaheira been right?
"I decided it would too tiresome to await you in the fighters' society," Phaere deigned to explain, clearly amused by the suspicious looks upon the mercenaries' faces. She crossed her legs casually, black leather not even offering a whisper of sound into the quiet room. "You impressed me with your success yesterday – and my mother also. We have another task for you, one I suspect you will enjoy." Something about the way she bared her teeth into that smile made Imoen sure that they would not enjoy whatever she had in store for them.
Whispering something inaudible into Haer'Dalis's ear, Viconia stepped forward a few paces, inclining her head in greeting. As she did so, the tiefling took a step back and blocked Elatharia's path through the group with one subtly angled arm. He caught Imoen's eye too, ignoring the Transmuter's glare, and shook his head faintly.
"Thank you, mistress. We are ready for your orders, as your slave forewarned," Viconia prompted. Her tone was slightly clipped, her stance tense – but Phaere seemed unbothered. Her eyes never strayed towards Imoen, though she did glance briefly at Elatharia. Whatever she saw there made a smirk tilt her lips.
"Good. I shan't waste any more of my time with you, in that case," Phaere nodded, her tone dripping with scorn. Unnoticed by her side, Solaufein struggled to hide his anger. Imoen could see the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching. "We have been enduring some problems with the nearby svirfneblin town. They have been late with all of their recent payments of tribute…and we are concerned that their proximity to our city may hinder our plans for the surface. They need to be reminded that they are our vassals, not our equals."
It took a large portion of Imoen's willpower not to blanch at those words, even as her stomach dropped. All of her companions seemed just as rigid, save for Haer'Dalis. He was watching Solaufein with evident interest, though the male drow was carefully keeping his eyes trained on the far wall.
"How would you prefer us to deal with them, mistress?" Viconia asked carefully. Phaere grinned back.
"My mother requires the head and heart of their leader. Ask for an audience with him…and kill him."
Only once the group had stepped beyond the gates of Ust Natha and descended the stairway that denoted its border did Jaheira reach Viconia and haul her back around to face her. Seeing the druid's enraged expression, Elatharia bristled automatically. Sparks flared around her hands in warning as she and the rest of the group came to a stop around the two – Haer'Dalis's swords were already in his hands.
"Remove you filthy darthiir hand from my person, or I will soon give in to the temptation to break your arm," Viconia warned, pulling free the Flail of the Ages from her hip pointedly.
"If you think you are going to do this, then you will soon regret it," Jaheira snarled, though she did back up when threatened with such a weapon. Elatharia sneered at the sight of her readying her spear, Valygar stepping up to join her. Imoen was staring at this confrontation with wide eyes, the only one of the group not visibly ready for a fight. Her bow remained across her back.
"Two against three doesn't sound like fair odds to me," Elatharia reminded the druid, just as she banished the darkvision she had given to Jaheira and Valygar. The swell of amusement she felt to see them flounder in pure darkness was more distant than it should have been. It would just have to do.
"Are you saying that you intend to kill Odendal Breachgnome?" Jaheira demanded even as she stumbled backwards, the only illumination in the small stone chamber coming from the silver slash of her spear and the green glow of the cluster of mushrooms towards which she and Valygar now inched.
"Jaheira! You don't really think she'd do it…do you?" Imoen's incredulity wavered when Jaheira's expression remained grim. The aasimar sent a worried look Elatharia's way, just as Viconia shrugged.
"Khal'abbil, I think this is up to you," the drow prompted, the look in her eyes proving just how much she clearly enjoyed goading Jaheira. Once Elatharia might have drawn it out just to see the druid and the ranger squirm. Now she simply sighed and shook her head, a gesture that the two blinded surfacers no doubt only just made out in the near-perfect blackness.
"I considered it," she admitted, "But it makes no sense to weaken the svirfneblin when Phaere has just so clearly stated that her mother feels at least a little threatened by them."
"A fair gambit," Haer'Dalis agreed cheerfully, just as Jaheira and Valygar were blinking into the renewed clarity of one of Imoen's darkvision spells. Elatharia met her sister's frown with a glare of her own.
"Then I take it you have a plan?" Viconia sighed as if irritated, raising her eyebrows expectantly when Elatharia nodded.
"Yes. I'm going to ask them for their best alternative. A chance to live ought to be a good enough incentive."
"I suppose I should have expected no different," Jaheira sneered, the hard look on Valygar's face by her side just as damning. Elatharia shrugged.
"If you can pray a better answer from the ground by the time we get there, druid, I am sure we will all be most intrigued to hear it," Viconia promised icily, gesturing to the far side of this small, jagged cavern, "But for now we should continue onwards. Perhaps our allies amongst the svirfneblin can help."
No one disagreed, though it looked as though Jaheira dearly wished to, and the party headed out once more. It was not a long journey to the svirfneblin town, but it was never wise to let one's guard down in the Underdark – even if Viconia had promised that their transmuted appearances would most likely put off most potential attackers. Even the predatory wildlife of this place were loathe to attack drow. And soon it was Imoen's eyes that Elatharia felt upon her as they traversed the dark tunnels.
"What is it?" she sighed under her breath, glancing towards her sister as they walked together at the back of the group. Imoen's mouth was turned down just a little, her bow gripped tightly in her hands.
"Look…I'll stick with you no matter what – you know that, right?" the aasimar asked, though Elatharia preferred not to answer. Her sister sounded strained. "But…you could at least try to be decent to people."
"You could say the same to Jaheira," Elatharia pointed out a little too sharply. Imoen huffed out a sigh.
"I did. Now I'm telling you."
But if Imoen had expected some kind of answer – or even a conversation – all she received was silence. Watching the darkness, Elatharia found that she did not have any response in her that would be satisfactory. Oh, if you only knew what I did to get you free. It was too late for decency.
The svirfneblin greeted them as enthusiastically as they knew how – which seemed to consist mostly of staring and pointing, chattering all at once and gathering too close to the surfacers to let them pass with ease. The whole town seemed busier and less gloomy, though the ceiling of the cavern still hung oppressively low and the squat, uniform houses were as bland as before. But the market was bustling and full of many more stalls, the low rumble of heavy machinery in the distance proof enough for Elatharia to surmise that the mines were working again. And what was more, Odendal Breachgnome met them halfway to the last council building – and he met them with a smile.
"Greetings be with you, surfacers!" he called, striding towards them as quickly as his short legs could carry him. At least the throngs of curious svirfneblin parted for him and stayed a respectful distance away. Elatharia could breathe a little more easily without tiny deep gnome children tugging at her sleeves.
"How are our friends?" Valygar asked before any pleasantries could be exchanged or even offered. It was impossible to miss the flicker of worry that passed over Odendal's heavily bearded face. He stretched his arms out to them, meaty palms facing their way in a placatory gesture.
"They were wounded by the beast but slew him in the act. All are…alive. And all will heal. You may see them of course, of course. Come. They wait in a house of honour!" He turned as if to lead them on, but Jaheira's hand closed heavily on his shoulder. A ripple of unease ran through the crowd which had begun to disperse.
"How badly wounded?" the druid demanded through clenched teeth.
"The battle passed barely half a day ago," Odendal stalled, glancing at the expectant faces of the others surfacers uneasily, "And we have been administering our best healing magics. Please, it would be better if you saw them for yourselves. And then perhaps we will speak of why you returned so soon?"
"Oh, we will," Viconia promised, nodding for emphasis when Odendal looked to her with concern.
The path along which the gnome spokesman led them was different from before, turning left down a narrow side street from the main thoroughfare and up a faint incline which temporarily forced Haer'Dalis and Valygar to duck beneath the cavern ceiling. The cramped space was making Elatharia's head ache even worse than usual, a kind of instinctive panic starting to pound away her thoughts.
It was a relief when the street levelled out and the clustered little rectangular houses fell away to reveal a broad dark river rushing over ancient, smooth stone. A bridge arced over it, and upon the far bank stood a much larger building against the cavern's uneven far wall. It looked to have been constructed of several tiered cuboids, its ceilings and doors tall enough not to seem as cramped as the rest of the town. There was a garden of glowing mushrooms between the bridge and the house, each a different shade from deep blue to pale yellow, of various shapes and sizes – and all of them unfamiliar species.
As they neared this larger building, the light of the mushrooms permitting Elatharia to see in the human spectrum and without the aid of her enchanted mask, it became clear that the outer walls were covered in elaborate black frescoes depicting various rather obscure interactions between the stocky forms of svirfneblin and other races. She recognised the repeated border pattern of a star surrounded by ring of chipped flint knives as the symbol of the svirfneblin chief god, Callarduran Smoothhands. This was a temple. A place for healing. Just how badly injured were Aerie and the others?
The front door led straight into a relatively spacious hallway, its central pool of clear water lit from beneath and giving off a very gentle light. There were no showy decorations within, not even any more holy symbols; just the pool, the granite tiled floor and the barrel vaulted ceiling supported at its four corners by plain white pillars. As Odendal led them through the comparatively broader corridors of this temple and up a plain flight of stairs there was only the occasional suggestion of habitation, one or two robed svirfneblin drifting by up ahead, their deep voices echoing off the smooth, hard walls.
At last they reached a low archway and Odendal pushed aside its curtain himself, gesturing for the group to enter.
"Your friends await you within. I shall be ready for you at the Council Dwelling when the time comes."
And just like that, he left them – rather swiftly by Elatharia's reckoning. But the others were already passing through into the well-lit chambers beyond and she had to follow, momentarily dazzled by the bright lights within.
"Heh, wondered when ye'd be showin' up again," Korgan's gruff voice sounded first.
Blinking over Imoen's shoulder, Elatharia saw a well-furnished dormitory with a high, vaulted roof suitable for surfacers. It was lit with magic, numerous scented candles and a heartily crackling fireplace – all of which filled the place with a warm glow. The dwarf was propped up in a thickly cushioned chair, his face swollen and badly bruised, with a splint on his arm and a huge flagon of ale in his free hand, a large amount of froth already dripping through his grey-streaked beard. He raised it to her without any gentleness in his expression before looking away. Elatharia could hardly blame him – she had never seen him so badly injured. There were two beds waiting in this room not far from him, one rumpled and the other untouched. It looked as if he had been thus far unable to make the journey from his chair – or perhaps it was the only distance he could manage.
"It is good to see you," Mazzy was greeting Jaheira and Valygar with a measured smile, padding across the numerous soft rugs that carpeted the floor to shake their hands firmly. She was bruised as well, and limping just a little. "I see that you are still dressed as drow, even if you do not appear as them. I take it this is only a brief reunion?"
Elatharia left the explanations to Jaheira and Viconia, slipping past them to find the others. There were two doors in the far corners of the room, past a long stone table laden with curious food and drink where Haer'Dalis was already inspecting the contents of an ornate silver jug. Voices were emanating through the one open doorway, and as Elatharia approached she recognised them as Aerie and Jan. It sounded as though they were deep in discussion…about a mathematical problem.
Stopping in the doorway, Elatharia saw that the pair were leaning over a small round table covered in sheets of parchment full of tiny notes and numerous circular diagrams. The avariel was perched on the edge of a disastrously unmade bed, the gnome teetering on a three-legged stool across from her. There was another much neater bed in the room behind Jan, the armour piled at its foot proving it to be Mazzy's.
It took a moment for Aerie to notice the Transmuter standing in the doorway, for Elatharia was far more intrigued by the papers she and Jan were perusing than by any semblance of greetings. But the avariel's tired face lit up when she saw her and she scrambled to her dainty bare feet, rushing forwards to fling her arms around the Transmuter. Behind them Haer'Dalis laughed to see the impact – which only forced Elatharia to stagger back, wincing.
"Oh, you're ok!" Aerie exclaimed, squeezing Elatharia until she patted her back awkwardly. The avariel's mass of blonde hair smelled strongly of peculiar svirfneblin soap, free now of feathers and braids. As she stepped back, her pleased expression settling into something a great deal more like guilt, Elatharia saw that Aerie was wearing a long white nightgown although there were no injuries visible. She did look a shade too pale, however.
"We survived the demon," Jan offered, still twiddling a quill over the papers on the table, pushing his goggles onto his forehead as he looked across the small bedroom at the returned Bhaalspawn. There was a cut on his cheek, but he too seemed in full health. Of all of them he was dressed most typically in his black cloth-and-leather robes. "Nearly killed our high and mighty Helmite, and Korgan's a bit on the grumpy side, but we seem to have succeeded."
Aerie's expression only fell further as the gnome spoke and Elatharia's eyebrows rose. The avariel was soon looking up at her with wide, slightly frightened eyes – as if she expected some kind of reprimand for what had happened. She chewed her lip nervously, glancing past Elatharia to where Mazzy was speaking with Jaheira, Valygar and Viconia about recent events.
"I th-think it's p-probably my…my fault," Aerie admitted, her cheeks growing pink as she visibly fought off tears. "I argued with…with Anomen about h-helping the svirfneblin and…and then he went and th-threw himself at that d-demon…"
"If he hadn't I'm fairly sure the demon would have done worse than skewer him just the once, Wingless." Jan's tone suggested that he thought this was suitable consolation. Instead, Aerie stared down at her feet, chin trembling.
"That does sound like battle," Elatharia agreed. There were companions she cared more for than Anomen, after all. "Is he…conscious?"
"No," Aerie shook her head much to Elatharia's relief, the avariel's eyes straying to the closed door opposite her own room. "He's…he's sleeping. The p-priests said he should be able to try walking by…by tomorrow maybe." She seemed to visibly shake free of her self-pity, looking up quickly into the Transmuter's eyes. "B-but what are you doing here? Is it time to leave?"
"I'm afraid not. We're here on drow business," Elatharia admitted, "And it's business I know you won't like."
Odendal and Lulthiss had greeted Elatharia and her companions – along with Jan and Mazzy – with calm, distant smiles in a small meeting room whose single cramped doorway was guarded by just two svirfneblin warriors. Their greyish skin visibly paled once Phaere's orders had been relayed to them in full and they sat in silence upon their graven seats for several long seconds.
"I take it you do have a leader?" Viconia prompted impatiently into the stillness, trading a hard look with Mazzy as the halfling stepped up to her side at the front of the group.
"Do they know what your leader looks like?" the paladin asked more gently as the two deep gnomes turned to each other.
"I am the leader – the 'king' of this town," Odendal admitted at last, watching the group with wide eyes. "And I do doubt that they would ever recognise me."
"Drow believe you all look the same, no doubt," Haer'Dalis suggested, a sense of bitterness hiding beneath his apparently light-hearted tone.
"Indeed, indeed," Lulthiss nodded, shaking her head at Odendal as if she had read his mind. "No time for the council in this, not at all. The head and heart of a convict you shall have…and the king's helm." She ignored Odendal's initial disagreements, and Elatharia wondered who was the real leader here.
"You must be queen here!" Jan exclaimed after moment's pause, bowing low with a wide grin when Lulthiss looked his way. He shrugged to Elatharia as he stood straight. "Drow don't know it, but svirfneblin have two rulers. The king," he gestured first to Odendal and then to Lulthiss. "And the queen. With an overlarge council to back them when they feel like it."
"Luckily for you they only asked for the 'leader'," Elatharia said, and Lulthiss's hands tensed upon her chair's armrests as if she recognised the Transmuter's expression. "Would you have had two convicts to throw away to save yourselves if they had wanted both of you?" She ignored the jab of her sister's elbow.
"I suspect they would have managed," Viconia sneered.
"Just give us the…items and we will be on our way," Jaheira sighed, and Odendal was on his feet and disappearing through a side door with no further encouragement.
"And you are sure that there will be no suspicion?" Haer'Dalis inquired. "'Twould be most unfavourable if we faced another round of whippings. At best." Viconia nodded, and Lulthiss opened her mouth to answer – but it was Imoen who spoke first.
"Burn the head," the aasimar blurted, reddening when all eyes turned to her in disbelief. "It's not like they'll done care that much , is it?"
"It is a good idea, yes," Lulthiss agreed, her heavily accented voice full of relief as she spoke over the initial protests of Mazzy and Valygar. The svirfneblin queen stood slowly when Odendal returned, his posture far more assertive now that things were settled.
"The guards will hand over what you need," he promised. "And now it is best that you go. We must make our own preparations to leave."
Though the dismissal was rather abrupt, no one argued. Elatharia caught Imoen's eye as they headed out of the Council Dwelling and back into the streets of the svirfneblin town.
"I take it you expect me to cast this fire spell?" she asked. Imoen's expression was far too innocent when she looked back at her.
"Your spells've always been stronger than mine," the aasimar agreed.
Soul or no soul, it would be gruesome, messy work.
"I…I don't like to see them leave," Aerie mumbled as they watched Elatharia, Jaheira and the others depart through the main city gates, a heavily guarded archway of undecorated stone across the river. It was hard to make them out from this distance, for her body was still too weak to carry her beyond the temple grounds. Instead Mazzy had helped her to the mushroom gardens on the roof of the building so that they could wave their friends off.
The small group paused after an exchange between the city guards, and a bloom of Elatharia's blue-white Alteration magic swelled around the distant Transmuter and her companions. Their forms changed visibly as they took on their drow facades and the gates were opened for them. One figure glanced back and raised a hand as Aerie waved but the others never paused.
"They seemed better off than us at least," Mazzy offered, patting Aerie's hand where it rested on her shoulder. The reminder of their injuries only made Aerie deflate more – Korgan had rather violently refused to come up to the roof with them, only half-decent in his manner with Mazzy, and Anomen was still too badly injured to do more than sit up in bed, pale and pained, sipping on some soup. Aerie's heart ached to think of him.
"I…I suppose," Aerie said, wobbling at little as they started to turn back for the stairs down. "I j-just hope they can k-keep themselves safe. Can't we just ask the…the svirfneblin for a guide and get to the surface?"
"The way is held by the drow," Odendal's deep voice informed sadly, coming into view once Aerie had managed to turn around fully. He and Lulthiss looked to have just reached the roof, both dressed in the plain tunics and trousers of the merchants on the street. Odendal had shaved his thick beard off, leaving his head as bald as the others of his kin, and Lulthiss was carrying a staff at her side that sparked with magic to Aerie's practiced senses. Both bore heavy looking bags upon their broad backs.
"Stands it does between and beyond our cities – but the land is with the drow," Lulthiss explained, "From there will they battle with the surface elves until they can break out upon the sun-lit lands and work their ill intent."
"They intended to kill you to put this town in disarray, to stop you from slowing them down," Mazzy realised, and both deep gnomes nodded.
"A cunning plan," Jan agreed, "And now you intend to flee? Doesn't that mean they won after all?"
"Not so," Lulthiss shook her head, hesitating and looking to Odendal when her command of the language failed her. Aerie wondered why the svirfneblin Conjurer did not wear one of the translation rings as he did – pride, perhaps?
"We go now to ask for the aid of our more powerful kin in Blingdenstone and further afield. It will get us out of the settlement and away from drow eyes who might learn of your companions' deceit, and we will bring reinforcements to hold back the tide of the drow when they march their armies upon the Temple of the Field of the Battle."
Mazzy was smiling broadly at this, and Aerie managed to mirror the expression when the halfling looked up at her hopefully. But inside she feared for the suffering and death this would bring. She had always tried to avoid violence in favour of more gentle methods, but with dangerous folk like the drow so close by it seemed impossible. Lulthiss read her emotions all the same, her broad face showing understanding as she stepped forward and squeezed the Aerie's's arm.
"Fear not, avariel. Our council will look after you well, indeed. And we will help you to the surface – your friends also, if it can be done. There is no other way to the lands above, otherwise we would tell it to you – indeed, indeed."
Thus with a few fairly stern nods the two svirfneblin departed also, apparently travelling with only one pair of lightly armoured guards. Aerie watched them cross the bridge as well and could not fight off the tightness in her throat as she turned and stumbled to the doorway down without Mazzy's aid. The halfling seemed to recognise her intention, for she did not attempt to help, merely following with Jan until they reached their dormitory – where Korgan was already snoring sprawled out upon his bed, his flagon pouring a thin stream of ale steadily upon the rug. Mazzy went to extract it from his oblivious hand without a word and Jan headed off to collect his notes.
By the time she reached Anomen's door, Aerie was dizzy and shaking from the spell fatigue which had plagued her since the battle against the demon. Her hand was trembling from more than this as she knocked. Her heart jolted when he called out an answer and it took up an uncomfortable pounding as she stepped inside, seeing him sitting up in bed with that bowl of soup perched on his lap, his torso still heavily bandaged and his skin ashen. There was a faint sheen of sweat upon his brow, but he smiled when he saw her. His warm eyes veritably lit up, and the gladness of his manner drew a tentative smile from her as she shut the door and slid into the small seat by his bed.
"Aerie," he said her name like a blessing, reaching out to envelop one of her hands in his much larger one. His skin was warm, but no longer hot with fever. Relieved, she relaxed a little more. "It is good to see you. Are you feeling any better?"
Was she feeling any better? Aerie balked at him momentarily, but he only smiled gently in return.
"I'm…I'm f-feeling stronger, yes. How…how are you?"
"Eating soup; sitting up," Anomen gestured at the small, windowless room – until his action upset the bowl and he was forced to catch it quickly. A pained groan escaped him and he leaned his head back slowly against the wall, letting air out from his lungs in a long, weary sigh, eyes closed tightly. "Though you may have to remind me the next time we fight a demon to wear stronger plate mail." He squeezed her hand as if in apology. "So…I heard that the others were here earlier?"
"They were. Th-they've gone now. I…I didn't want to ask what the d-drow sent them here for, but Mazzy promised it was d-dealt with safely."
"Good," Anomen sighed, still not opening his eyes. A moment passed before Aerie could not take the silence.
"Anomen, I'm…you need to know that I'm…I'm so s-sorry," she blurted, leaning forward and taking his hand in both of hers. He lifted his head to watch her, eyes widening, but she continued all the same. Even as her voice cracked and the tears threatened to spill. "I n-never meant to question your g-goodness or y-your willingness to…to help the svirfneblin! I was just so...so afraid of this place. There's n-no sky or weather or…or light and I wasn't made for this! And I'm…I'm sorry. I spoke to you like that and then you nearly died and if the priest hadn't g-got to you…"
Anomen watched her for a moment, placing the bowl of soup onto the table at her elbow before catching her face in both of his hands, heedless of any pain it might cause him, and pulling her gently but firmly towards him, kissing her softly. Startled, she froze for a second, her hands braced against the sheets, and then the warmth and insistence of his lips against hers dissolved her panic. She answered his kiss, though it was far from glamourous with all those tears that were still falling. Every time she attempted to speak, to apologise, he silenced her mouth with his own until at last a laugh escape her, though it still felt like more of a sob.
"A-alright," she sniffled, sliding her arms around him and leaning down to press her head against his heart. It was beating steadily. And she had no recollection of how she had come to be kneeling across him in such a…casual…way, especially with the way her long skirt had bunched up around her legs…but it felt right to her body. Frighteningly right.
Just like that the comfort of the moment fluttered away, every sense too aware, but she stayed in his arms because it felt wrong to deny him the comfort. He seemed happy at least, and did not ask for more than that kiss. She left only once it became clear from his slowing breathing and the lolling of his head above her own that he needed to sleep. She felt strangely guilty as she bid him goodnight and tiptoed unsteadily from the room to find only the fire still crackling in the central dormitory. Korgan was snoring, Jan lying with his back to her. But even by the time she had returned to her own bed from a sojourn to the washroom, she could make out Mazzy's small form in the gloom, waiting for her upon the opposite bed.
"He holds no grudge, as I predicted," the paladin noted as Aerie crawled into bed, her smile evident in her tone. Jan had at least cleared up the notes they had been working on and taken the table and stool out with him. "I remember those times. When my husband and I used to argue, it was always forgiven by morning. Love is a wonderful bond, when it is true."
Aerie's eyes widened as she stared up at the ceiling.
"L-love?" she echoed hoarsely. Did he love her?
Mazzy laughed softly.
"It is alright, Aerie. He cares for you, clearly. And you for him. Do you not feel better to know that all is well between you?"
Did she? Aerie swallowed hard, and a long sigh escaped her.
"I…I don't know," she admitted softly. "M-maybe it's j-just too dark down here to…to think clearly."
She turned to face the wall before the halfling could say more to her, muttering a swift goodnight. But her eyes would not close for a long time, her limbs heavy with doubt and her heart aching with worry and guilt. Would things be clearer on the surface?
He was going to be late. How had he let the time slipped away from him so badly? The Masters had given him this test, to humiliate him, and he simply could not let it go until he had seen the smug smirks wiped from their faces. (They looked down on him. They told him that he would fail, that he would never earn his first tattoo, that he would never wear the Red. And they gave him the lash when he promised them he would prove them wrong.)
And now they would make him late to see his own father. His neck was so terribly sore from all the writing. It was rare enough for his father to ask for him back at Surthay, and the journey from Thaymount was such a long one. He could not be late! But the vast hallways of his father's castle stretched on endlessly, blindingly white marble and rows of mirrors reflecting the sunlight and dazzling his tired eyes. (Had they always been this labyrinthine? Had their hard floors always been this muffled?)
But when at last he reached the huge graven doors to his father's meeting room, polished wood carved into the shapes of twin eagles, it was not Homen Odesseiron's study into which he stepped. Instead, the doors opened into darkness – darkness into which he was roughly shoved by some unseen force. And he was no longer a ten year old boy new to Thaymount. Now he was a man, a Red Wizard, and dressed as one.
The darkness faded as he stared, revealing a bare grey stone chamber, spotless of dust, and upon the floor before him lay the bloody body of Degardan. Just the sight of the bastard made him want to beat him some more, though he was surely dead. Damn him! None of this would have happened if that fireball had not gone so awry all those years ago, before they had given him first tattoo, before they had given him the Red. His hands balled into fists and he felt dampness upon his fingers, his palms.
The anger oozed out of him and a strange sense of dread took its place; the heavy, creeping feeling of absolute knowing guilt. He stared down at his palms and saw the blood covering them. His arms were slick with it, all the way to his elbows where it stained the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt. He could barely make out the black lines of his tattoos for the thick, congealing redness. Well. It was hardly the first time. So why did he feel so…horrified?
His eyes rose against his will and alighted upon the torn, tattered body lying sprawled across the metal table which had not been there but a moment before. It took a moment for him to recognise her – and gods, what was left but for the green of her eyes and the tangled mess of her dark hair? The blood that covered his arms also covered her. (It oozed from her, barely a pulse left.) Was she…still alive?
It took a moment to realise it, but he could see the rise and fall of her ribs, the flutter of her heart. And she looked at him, with eyes bloodshot from the screaming, eyes that begged him to kill her. He could only watch as those innumerable wounds knitted closed, as she screamed from the pain of it once she had the strength to do so. He saw the scars she would have had. And it filled him with rage…
Consciousness rushed to meet him with a sudden start, and Edwin sat up with a gasp before he could even contemplate where he was. The flicker of Ust Natha's night-time lights through the open shutters soon reminded him; that and the small, black-walled room with the jagged ebony door.
Still breathing heavily, his heart thundering, the Conjurer pushed aside the oppressive tangle of black silken sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Though dressed only in a spare pair of loose black trousers, he was drenched in sweat – but his skin burned, his arms trembling as he raked his hands back through his hair. His breath was ragged and his stomach was tense and painful. Increasingly so. He lunged for the washing bucket, vomiting until he had nothing left to bring up. His head spinning, eyes stinging, it took several shaky breaths before he dared kneel up again, his hands almost refusing to release their vicelike grip upon the rim of the bucket. (Poison. It had to be poison…)
His mind whirring, even through the descending crush of a terrible headache, Edwin listed his symptoms, fairly crawling to the mirror in the wall as he did so. In the low light he could make out his own slumped figure looking back at him, torso glistening with sweat but otherwise unchanged, patterned with the dark and uninterrupted lines of his various protective and augmentative tattoos. The golden necklace of his family still rested safely around his neck, its red jewel glinting in the light. His arms were the same, though they shook as he raised them. Running his fingertips along his hairline, he summoned light to help him check his eyes, his mouth, the colour of his skin. He was a little pale perhaps, his eyes burning in the light even after a fair length of time. His temples were pounding, his neck sore as well.
Ah.
He tilted his head slowly to the side, wincing as the skin burned uncomfortably, and there the light revealed to him a jagged and bloody wound which surely merited far greater pain than this. His stomach lurched, and his arms fell to his sides. He cursed – loudly and violently.
No poison. Bodhi. He saw his teeth bare in anger. Had her brother sent him those dreams? Who else could learn such things? Beyond Bodhi and the Red Wizards, only Irenicus could know of Degardan, only Irenicus knew of what had been done to Elatharia. They wanted to break him and there was only one reason - they must have known all along about the protection keeping him from their magical commands and probing.
Edwin's eyes showed fear as he stared back at himself in the mirror. But fear, like all things, could be controlled. And vampirism, like all diseases, could be cured. His hatred would not be so fickle.
