Author's note:
It has been a while, but thank you for reading and the reviews!
The title of this chapter, 'Vuorl,' means 'message.'
Chapter 6
Vuorl
.
'Too soon.'
Darkness surrounding the camp was quiet and almost impenetrable, merging the outline of the mountains and nearby forests into one mass of indiscernible shadows. The night sky above, however, was clear and almost bright in comparison. The stars were shining at their finest against the moonless void, glittering like shards of celestial ice.
Curled under his cloak and a blanket – his own, this time – Xan turned his eyes away from the sky, his sigh materializing in the air as a small, melancholic cloud. The weather in this land was unbelievably capricious. The valley of tombs was dry and almost hot, but when they entered the higher part of the mountains, the temperature dropped – and then the night had brought an unexpected, dreadful cold snap. He could already tell that before the dawn, the ground and everything on it was going to be covered with a layer of frost.
Himself included, most likely.
After a seemingly long moment, filled with morbid ruminations about hypothermia, he looked up again, trying to determine if it was already past midnight. But no, constellations barely shifted since the last time he had been checking on them – an occurrence well known to those who were ('...desperate...') too eager in their waiting.
'Still too soon.'
A sudden noise disturbed the silence. A rustle, to be precise. A brief pause... and again, another one. Someone was clearly unable to rest, tossing and turning in bedroll as if their very life depended on it. Heaving another sigh, Xan pulled his cowl further over his head. Series of rustles continued for some time, slowly becoming quite annoying...
...and there – finally – a woosh of covering being tossed to the side, followed by a perfectly rustle-free silence. He could only hear someone's shaky breaths now, their ragged rhythm gradually slowing down.
Then... a shuddering, dry sob.
'The elven girl?'
Trying not to move too much and not to draw attention to himself, Xan turned his head to the side and glanced towards the opposite side of the camp.
It was her, sitting up in her bedroll. She was in her full gear, as usually – she was apparently resting in it, which was probably a good idea, considering her problems with assassins – but she looked... ('...shaken, sorrowful, lonely...') well, miserably dishevelled. She was obviously at the verge of tears, covering her mouth with her hand, her shoulders quivering. Her messy, silvery braid, now unpinned and dangling over her shoulder, was fluffed up like a tail of distressed animal.
Xan observed her, slightly perplexed.
Had some unpleasant memory crept into her reverie? That might be it, since her collection of traumatizing experiences must be quite impressive by now... but at the same time, she was too young to already suffer from reverie disorders. Surely she was able to shape her mindscapes and to change them at will? She must be – all the elves learned such things intuitively in the earliest stages of childhood.
Soon the girl calmed herself down. Taking a deep breath, she raked her fingers through her hair and then began to slowly put her boots on, her hands trembling slightly while reaching for fastenings. After gathering her spellbook and her weapon, she quietly walked to the edge camp, heading towards the spot where the half-elven warrior was sitting and keeping watch.
Xan followed her with his eyes, partially out of boredom, partially out of curiosity, until the wall of dark shrubbery swallowed her silhouette.
"Khalid? You may go and get some rest if you want, I can take things from here," he heard her speaking quietly. It was clear that she was putting some effort into sounding casual, but the result was still a bit unconvincing. "Your watch is almost over, anyway."
"N-not in another hour. S-something happened?"
A silence, ended with a reluctant sigh.
"Troubled sleep," she admitted.
"T-the usual?," the half-elf sounded concerned.
"The usual, I suppose... The same kind of dream."
'Sleep? Dream?' Xan frowned. The scholar in him immediately caught the terms and began to turn them in his mind, inspecting them from every angle. Had she been sleeping, then, and... dreaming? Impossible. He could not remember her being heavily wounded or ill earlier the day. Had she meant it only figuratively or what?
It took him a while to come up with a satisfying explanation. Humans had little knowledge of elven states of rest and as far as he knew, they might perceive reverie as just another kind of sleep. And birds raised by adults of another species were doomed to sing like their foster parents... The girl was probably using a non-elven term out of habit – perhaps she simply cared not for the difference, or did not even know the proper word?
He continued to ('...eavesdrop...') listen, but nothing more was said about the girl's 'dreams'. The warrior suggested that she could sit with him for the remaining part of his watch, should she wish to do so, and soon they began to talk again, changing the topic. Since the rest of their conversation was not particularly interesting – something about gibberlings and other similar monsters, of all things – Xan's attention drifted away from their voices.
'The usual,' she had said earlier.
'Interesting,' whispered his professional curiosity.
Maybe she was unable to control her mindscapes, for some reason? As an enchanter, he could not help but wonder now – was her mind shaped differently because of her upbringing? And in case it was, were her natural reverie mechanisms underdeveloped or unbalanced because of that? Such a rare case...
For now, though, he had other things he needed to attend to.
He glanced up. Stars finally shifted into the position he was waiting for them to, indicating that the midnight had just passed. He reached for his bag of holding – to his relief, it opened easily, this time not trying to fry his fingers in the process.
'Hm.' He might had promised himself earlier that he would not thank the pink-haired girl for... repairing the bag – stealing was stealing, after all – but he should probably reconsider. The job she had done was admirable for a human of her age, even though it obviously lacked precision of elven artificers. Intricate fabric of the main warding spell was again functional and almost smooth, not counting a few misplaced runes.
After making sure that no one was looking at him, the wizard summoned into his hand a small, shiny vial full of something that resembled quicksilver and, taking a deep breath, brought it closer to his face.
A barely audible whisper.
A quick, quiet snap.
The tiny vial disintegrated in his fingers, setting rivulets of shimmering silver free. They hovered in the air for the briefest of moments before sliding into his nostrils and climbing their way up, transporting the spell into the parts of his brain the arcane magic was normally unable to affect.
He blinked furiously, trying not to sneeze, his mouth slightly open. The sensation was always peculiar and not exactly pleasant – as if liquid ice was squeezing past his ethmoid bone. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the familiar, constant hum of the spell settling beneath his skull.
Now he only needed to wait – this time, though, only for a moment...
Warm breeze brushed against his cheek in a welcoming caress, making him almost smile. He eagerly leaned into it and opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust his senses to the experience. His heart was immediately filled with a rare combination of deep sadness and quiet, yet equally profound joy.
High above him, light of magical lanterns was sieving through the foliage of enormous blueleaf trees. The entire terrace was bathed in shades of deep green, azure and gold – colours of peacock feathers, so brilliant and vivid that almost unreal in their beauty. They were pouring all over the walls and mosaic pavements of the tree palace, shifting now and then whenever the wind was kissing the branches above.
He all but rushed towards ornamented railing and leaned on it, drinking in the view of the city below.
Evereska.
His beloved haven. His Arvandor – the only one that was not denied to him, although he had no hope to see it ever again, really, other than in his mind or memories.
It was also night here, so the city lights were creating the second firmament in the valley, even brighter and more beautiful than the one above. Xan immediately recognized familiar constellations: twin crowns of the Academy with their proud towers; the scholars' gardens bathed in golden glow of magical crystals; the silent, shadowy steeples of High Magi Circle, dark save for an occasional eerie light dancing among shadowtop trees...
His blue eyes, now even brighter than usually, were sliding over every delicate spire, every graceful arch of a bridge and artfully wrought finial of a gate. The temple of Corellon with its golden terraces. The shrine of Sehanine, overgrown with moonvines. The eastern road, lost among gardens, the orchards and – there, to the left -
He let out a slightly broken sigh.
His home...
"It is only a mindscape, you know."
That soft, monotonous voice immediately anchored him back to reality. Xan straightened, careful to wipe every trace of emotion out of his face before turning around and looking at the elder. The venerable sun elf had just emerged from among azure and emerald shadows, sweeping the pavement of the terrace with his excessive, deep blue robe. The bluish glow of their surroundings was seeping colours out of his golden skin and hair, making him resemble his own spectre.
"Eilruanian," with a formal bow, the enchanter addressed his superior.
"We have not heard from you for some time," Eilruan approached him, greeting him in turn in an equally formal manner. "What was happening with you, Xanion?"
Xan sighed inwardly. The title attached to his name sounded ridiculous – it was a minor title reserved for mediocre nobility and remembering about it was completely pointless – but elders were not exactly known for omitting such things.
"I got captured shortly after reaching the mines," he replied. "I lost my ability to cast spells because of my injuries and now I am slowly recovering. I would use the message phial sooner, but I was unable to do so until tonight."
"Are you safe now?," the elder asked flatly.
"As much as it is possible in wilderness."
"And your blade?"
"Intact and still in my possession," Xan hesitated briefly. "I am currently on my way to Nashkel, travelling along adventurers who rescued me a few days ago. I cannot guarantee that we won't be interrupted soon, so -"
"Of course. There is no time to waste," Eilruan clasped his smooth, slim hands in front of himself and walked – or rather glided – closer to the edge of the terrace. The train of his robe whispered hissingly against blue mosaics, almost as if there was a shiny, serpentine tail moving underneath. "Report."
Night hours were stretching slugglishly under the cold, starry sky.
Vaire, now keeping watch alone, snapped her spellbook shut and with a quiet groan, buried her hands in her hair, tousling it even more than it already was. With stars as the only source of light, reading was not exactly easy even for elven eyes – and besides, she felt unable to focus with scraps of the most recent nightmare still clinging to her thoughts.
'When is it going to end?'
The sense of being helpless. The crippling anxiety. The overwhelming fear. The grief. She knew that they were going to fade during the day, mercifully getting lost among conversations, observations, chores, ideas, plans and fights... but during the night, when she was alone, they were always returning, nibbling at her mind like a pack of persistent, sharp-toothed monsters.
Her personal inner gibberlings.
She scoffed at this odd metaphor that suddenly popped in her head, probably in connection to her earlier talk with Khalid... but then a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, even though she was not exactly in the mood for smiling right now. 'Inner gibberlings.' It sounded like something Imoen might come up with. She needed to tell her that one.
Seeking distraction, the girl leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand, looking at the dark wall of pine trees in the distance. To her dismay, though, everything in sight looked strangely lifeless and still like a bad painting. Not even a branch swaying anywhere, no rustles in the grass, no animals... Nothing, save for a shadowy pattern of shrubs, forests and mountains – black curtains layered motionlessly against the starlit background.
Tucking the spellbook under her elbow, she curled into herself and began to blow warm air into her hands. Tarsakh was such a moody month. Maybe this cold snap was the reason why everything was so quiet. Maybe all the creatures living nearby were simply busy with staying warm in their dens.
Then, all of sudden, echo of distant howls brushed against her ears. She straightened her back, listening for a moment with a slightly alarmed expression, but soon she relaxed and chuckled softly, this time genuinely amused. Well... Who would have thought?
'Gibberlings.'
The real ones, this time. It would seem that her inner monsters got away from her head and now they were being a nuisance somewhere else. They were far away, though, at least for now – their discordant shrieks, growls and howls were sweeping far over rocky slopes somewhere to the east, sinking into the silence now and then.
The sounds suggested that there was a whole pack of them, so the elf turned her attention to the eastern peaks once more, straining her keen eyes in the darkness. How many of them could be there? They must be very loud since she could hear them from where she was... Then her gaze froze over a particularly uneven, rocky crest.
"What...?," she whispered, narrowing her eyes and getting to her feet.
Was that some kind of an avalanche? But surely no avalanche could move in zigzags from one side of the mountain to the other...
Why was the entire slope moving?
He gave Eilruan a brief summary of his recent failures, describing with more details the iron conspiracy, the mineral poison, the mad priest's plans and finally, the letters. The elder listened patiently, not once interrupting him, merely standing on the bluish terrace and gazing upon the mindscape of the city with an unreadable expression. He began to ask his questions only after the enchanter finished his report and soon it became clear that the Council was interested in gathering more informations about Tazok – who might be only a link in someone else's chain of command.
"The mines should be safe now, but this Tazok and his bandits will still be disrupting the trade around the most important trails," Eilruan spoke calmly. "They must be stopped. This entire conspiracy apparently runs deeper than we have previously thought... Someone is very determined not only to destroy the iron supply of the whole region, but also to sow chaos and dissention between neigbouring countries. Someone wants to start a war – the question is, who exactly... and for what reason."
A shadow of gloomy resignation crossed Xan's face.
"The Council wants me to continue the investigation, then," he did not even bother to make it sound like a proper question.
"Yes," Eilruan replied smoothly. "You are our only agent in this part of the Sword Coast, at least for now, and we trust that you will not disappoint us."
Xan gave a small bow in a reply, sending a wistful glance towards the view of the city. He was not expecting anything else, really – it was quite obvious that the Council would never allow him to simply turn on his heel and travel back home while the iron trade was, in fact, still endangered and the whole situation was so unstable – but disappointment was still there.
"In fact, your presence in this region may prove useful in yet another way, considering a problem that has been brought to the attention of the Council some time ago," the elder added.
'Splendid.' The enchanter suppressed a sigh. 'A problem' sounded like an accurate description of every moment of his life... but from the day Eilruan had been made his direct superior, his usual definition of a problem changed dramatically from 'yet another suicide mission' to 'yet another suicide mission on the end of the world'. He had no hope to return from the Sword Coast, not alive, at least – and in fact, he was beginning to think that it might be for the best. Knowing Eilruan, his next assignment would require him to visit Outer Planes.
"You probably do not know that this very spring, Cor'Etriel Ellessime has visited Evereska. She deemed it wise to seek the advise of the Council on certain... delicate matters," Eilruan's face did not change, but for a moment, he placed his hand at the base of his throat – the gesture indicating that he was speaking about things of utmost secrecy.
The enchanter mechanically acknowledged the gesture, mirroring it, and looked at the elder in alarm. That already sounded bad. Coronals of woodland enclaves rarely moved beyond the borders of their ancient realms. They also never travelled to distant places in person, even to other elven cities, unless there was a war brewing or something of equal importance was happening.
"We agreed to offer her every help we can, especially since one of these... matters... concerns a Bhaalspawn," his choice of words made the enchanter's skin crawl with trepidation."As you may know, some time ago the Council was investigating news about these beings. I am sure that you have heard about them: children sired by the human god of murder, all of them destined to kill each other, so that their father could return and regain divine power that was taken from him," the elder frowned barely visibly.
Xan's breath hitched in his throat.
"One among such children was rumoured to be born of elven mother who has been later killed by bhaalites. We thought at first that it was a lie. It sounded utterly impossible: Tel'Quess giving life to a vessel for the dead god's taint... and a human god, to that...," Eilruan paused, shaking his head, his golden eyes solemn. "It seems, though, that few things are truly impossible for gods."
"It is true, then?," Xan uttered, suddenly feeling as if something was trying to strangle him.
"Unfortunately," Eilruan lowered his voice, although there was no one here who could overhear them. "Wealdathian spirits revealed it to Ellessime some time ago. They confirmed that years ago, a child of Murder has been brought to existence within the safety of our sacred forests. An elvenborn Bhaalspawn. 'A Tainted One,' the spirits called her, 'abomination among her kind.' They claimed that she is still alive and that her path will be revealed to the world soon."
'She.' 'Her.' A female, then?
Seldarine... no.
Not that.
A rush of panicked thoughts ('...I am bound to tell him...') began to run through the enchanter's mind – but he managed to stop it before any word could actually reach his tongue. He mentally smoothed down his emotions, letting nothing leak into his expression. Then he only nodded instead of saying anything, staring silently into space.
Not yet.
He was not a naïve recruit – not anymore, at least. This was one of these extremely delicate, dangerous situations where one careless word could easily become someone's death sentence. The elders tended to be ruthless, at times, while dealing with cases of lesser importance. Whoever would be marked as a potential Bhaalspawn of elven blood, would be immediately presented as a target to every Tel'Quess agent in Faerûn – there was no doubt to it.
Not to mention that, his paranoia aside, he had no proof, not even a solidly based suspicion. He needed more informations before saying anything that might put the girl's life in danger – or rather, in greater danger than it already was. There was a lot of strange things about her, but the moonblade was quiet in her presence. The sword would surely react somehow to the taint of the Murder, sending him a warning.
"What exactly is known about her?," he asked, keeping his voice even and calm.
"Not much for now," Eilruan began to run his fingers along the fine links of his mithral chain, as always when he was deep in thought. "Our priests are unable to give us any answers, for all the divine powers have their lips sealed by the order of Ao himself. The gods are forbidden to interfere with the fate of Bhaalspawns, regardless of intentions. The forest spirits refuse to say anything above what they have said earlier."
"What about arcane magic?"
"That would be too easy. She is clearly using some powerful protection against scrying and such, for our diviners see only shadows and mists... The most useful informations so far were brought to Ellessime by Eldreth Veluuthra," the sun elf's eyes narrowed slightly. "Their agents of Tethirian branch found out that the Bhaalspawn has left Wealdath some time ago and moved somewhere north, along with a group of her trusted supporters."
Wealdath, or the Forest of Tethir... Xan hesitated. The druid wore Tethirian leathers, spoke with an accent of Tethyrian upper class... and was clearly convinced that the girl should not talk too much about her past.
Could that be a coincidence? He eyed the balustrade of the terrace as if he expected the ornamented railing to change into something sinister and attack him any moment.
"A creature like her cannot hide forever, though," the elder continued. "She must be very young, probably a couple of decades, at most. She was also brought up among humans and half-humans, so despite her appearance, it should be easy to mark her as an outsider. Since she can be anywhere now, keep your eyes and ears open wherever you go. Children of Murder cling to chaos as much as it clings to them, and the Sword Coast with all its recent troubles may be a good place to search for informations we need."
"What does she look like?," the enchanter asked quietly.
Eilruan's slim fingers paused briefly over his opal pendant.
"It is not known," he answered flatly. "Her mother... might be of Ar'Tel'Quessir, and some say that she resembles a black-haired Ar'Tel'Quess herself, but for now, we have no means to confirm that."
Xan immediately latched onto these words. He could read between the lines well enough – being a sun elf himself, Eilruan simply did not want to openly admit that one of his kind could bring a Bhaalspawn to this world, willingly or not. He was most likely finding the very idea blasphemous and knowing him, he was overly eager to dismiss it, maybe even at the expense of facts.
Ar'Tel'Quess, then – not Teu'Tel'Quess.
A sun elf. Not a moon elf... probably?
"Besides, as you surely know, appearances can be easily changed through magical and non-magical means," Eilruan added.
Xan's fragile 'probably' immediately stumbled over this logic, fell into the darkest pit of despair and hit the bottom with a loud thud.
"Of course," he whispered, already creating in his mind a small catalogue of spells and other means that might prove useful in revealing spell-guise. He would need a few components he normally did not use. And fully functional fingers, of course. And maybe also a one-way teleport scroll for himself, in case of something going wrong.
"Whatever she looks like, though, she must be found and stopped at all cost," the elder looked at him firmly. "If you get any informations about her whereabouts, report immediately. If you cross your paths with her, proceed carefully and, if possible, search for the opportunity to end her existence."
Jaheira woke up in her usual manner – like a bird of prey. The briefest touch to her shoulder was enough to make her open her eyes and just like that, she was instantly fully alert, asking briskly what was going on.
"Swarm of gibberlings," Vaire whispered, crouching near the druid's bedroll. "There are... maybe even hundreds of them out there, I have no idea, really. They roamed the eastern mountains for some time, but now they seem to be heading in our direction," she added, frowning. "Should we move?"
The druid silenced her with a gesture, sitting up. Then she touched the ground with her open palm and whispered one of her brief Silvanite incantations that were apparently sharpening her natural senses, and began to listen.
"They are still far away. I can barely hear them," she muttered finally and, to Vaire's infinite surprise... she laid back down. "Wake me up again if they descend into the forests."
The elf's eyebrows went up.
"That's it?," she asked incredulously. "But there are -"
"There are, and what of it?," Jaheira had a unique talent: she could properly snap at someone while still whispering. "The swarm is hurtling high in the mountains right now. There's no point in moving blindly from one place to another, waiting for it. They are gibberlings, they choose their path at random."
Vaire was still a bit anxious. The view of the whole mountain slope moving in the darkness like a stirred anthill was... disturbing, to say the least. The druid had more experience with such things, though.
"Well... All right, then," she nodded reluctantly, getting up and preparing to go.
Jaheira only closed her eyes and went back to sleep as swiftly as she had woke earlier.
The elf only shook her head and turned around, returning to her post and glancing towards the mountains. The swarm might be far away now, but with her acute hearing, she could hear it all too well. The sounds were giving her chills – they were echoing beneath the sky, sometimes raising, sometimes falling, like a hellish symphony of shrieks, wails, clicks and growls.
"Xanion?"
The enchanter did not respond at once, feeling as if a piece of void had been stuck inside his chest – or maybe he simply forgot to breathe for a moment. He blinked and bowed apologetically, suddenly conscious that his current expression must be reflecting his thoughts a bit too accurately.
"No need to look so horrified," the elder said in a tone of mild condescension. "Surely you understand that such a being cannot be allowed to walk this world. Seldarine knows how many atrocities she may be committing right now under the guise of an elf."
"But is she not one, in a way?," Xan asked carefully. "By the grace of her blood, at least."
"She is not," the sun elf stated in a firm voice. "Bhaalspawns are only vessels for their father's power – cleverly crafted and painted, but vessels nonetheless. They have no souls of their own. After being put to death, they give up its divine essence and simply... cease to exist," Eilruan made a brief, elegant gesture with his hand, as if weaving a cleaning cantrip.
The enchanter almost flinched. Was that even possible to live like that? No soul. No true self. Nothing, save for a personality woven around a borrowed, evil core of divine origin – and a deceiving shell of a body. An intricate jug, doomed to be emptied and shattered into nothingness the moment the fate demands it.
Heaving a sigh, he made a decision.
"Is there any safe way to recognize the taint of Bhaal? In case of encountering someone who fits the description, but whose identity cannot be immediately confirmed," he clarified, his voice betraying nothing save for a purely professional concern, tinged with understandable amount of uneasiness.
There, it was a reasonable compromise between telling and not telling the elder about the girl – for now, at least.
"Of course, it is one of those situations when no one would want to make a mistake," Eilruan nodded solemnly, looking at the enchanter. His piercing, golden gaze became searching, but only for a moment – whatever he was trying to find in the wizard's eyes was not there, apparently. "But obtaining an ultimate proof may not be easy. Bhaalspawns look like ordinary members of the race their mothers belon - "
"Hey! Wake up, mister wizard!"
Xan opened his eyes, for a moment not really seeing anything in front of himself, save for remains of a mindscape and a dark, vague outline of someone's head. Speaking of heads – he felt as if someone had just thrown a handful of ice needles into his brain and stirred.
Sitting up with a sigh, he concluded that it was the pink-haired girl who had woke him up, interrupting the message spell in the process. He grimly greeted the incoming spell-induced headache combined with light sensitivity, tinnitus and nausea. There was a reason why it was ill-advised to physically interfere with such kind of magic... Seldarine, he had almost forgotten how bad it could get...
"We need ta move. Gibberlings are comin'!," she began to tug at his sleeve, persistently ignoring his efforts to swat her away.
"Nievana," he mumbled, getting to his feet and gathering his bag. He slipped his hand into one of the pockets, summoned a bluish leaf and crushed it between his fingers before placing it in his mouth. The stinging ice inside his skull began to slowly melt, subduing the blossoming migraine.
"Xan?," another voice nearby, the one belonging to the elven girl, this time. "Everything all right?"
He suddenly wished to say aloud that no, nothing was all right – far from it, in fact. He had just met with his not exactly favourite superior. He had been informed that instead of returning home, he needed to stay in this gods-forsaken land to hunt whoever was responsible for the iron crisis and bandit attacks, which was going to get him killed, for sure. Oh, and one more thing: now he also needed to determine if some oddity of an elf who had saved his life a few days ago is not an elven-born Bhaalspawn, by some chance, so would you mind answering a few personal questions, for example, what do you know about your father - ?
"I just... need a moment," he muttered, closing his eyes and massaging his temple.
Then he remembered why he had been woken up in the first place. Gibberlings. Yes, that would explain why ringing in his ears did not disappear, but morphed into a different kind of noise, distant, but still annoying and getting louder. Infernal chattering mingled with howls and shrieks... It sounded like a swarm.
He looked around, waiting for his surroundings to regain clearly defined edges. It was still night, but their small camp was in the process of being hastily dismantled. In fact, almost everything was already packed – only the pink-haired rogue was still tying up her bedroll, cursing its uncooperativeness under her breath.
Xan, being a minimalist when it comes to travelling equipment, had no such work to do. He neatly folded his blanket, put it into the bag of holding, brushed the grass off his cloak and considered himself ready to go.
Maybe all his worries were bound to disappear soon. Judging by the noise, the demented horde was coming straight at them.
"I am still not convinced, you know," Vaire whispered under her breath, glancing at the druid and slipping the last bone flake under her bracer, just in case. She might not need to use offensive spells anytime soon, but she felt better having components at hand.
"Me neither, auntie," Imoen agreed. "I'd prefer ta climb the tree an' wait 'til sunrise."
"It might work with a small pack, but not with a swarm" Jaheira's voice sounded exasperated. "Stop complaining and remember: do not move and do not attack, unless absolutely necessary. No drawing blood, if possible. No shouting. Just wait for them to pass by."
"An' how d'ya feel 'bout turnin' invisible while sittin' on a tree? We still have some potions."
"Only because we don't waste them on such ideas."
They were standing in front of the forest wall, in plain sight. They tossed their bags onto the ground and formed a tight wedge around them, facing the forest and standing so close to each other that their shoulders were touching. Jaheira and her husband at the back, both of them holding unlit torches soaked in some kind of oil that was supposed to make the fire burn a bit brighter. Then Imoen and the wizard in the middle. And Vaire at the very front.
'Lucky me,' she thought nervously.
She had a nagging feeling that somehow, the druid was treating it as yet another survival lesson.
The noise of the swarm was getting louder with every moment. Her ears were telling her that gibberlings were zigzagging through the forest, but they were not changing their path, still heading towards their spot. They were bound to be here soon.
She felt a shiver crawling up her spine, but this one had nothing to do with her unease. Her eyes darted to the side, where the elf's unsheathed moonblade was glowing dimly in the darkness. Something about this sword's aura was making her feel... strange, and she finally found a fitting analogy for this strangeness. The feeling could be compared to the one you are getting when you place one hand in cold water, the other one in hot water, and then you submerge both of them in lukewarm water. Two parts of the same body, suddenly having different temperature perception... only, it was all inside her.
'So weird.'
She averted her eyes, not wanting to stare – maybe it was considered rude to stare at the moonblade? – but after a moment, she glanced at the weapon once again, unable to resist her curiosity. She could see the faintest traces of blue arcane flames flickering along the blade now and then. It looked hypnotizing, as if the sword's essence was dancing along the blade's edge, eager to taste the air.
"Prepare," she heard the druid speaking.
Vaire raised her hand and began to weave the armour spell around herself. She did it a bit more slowly than she normally would, but near the end, her fingers slipped over a few more complicated knots and the spell came out as imperfect as always. Well, not exactly what she wanted to achieve – on the other hand, though, she was not terribly upset about it. She was not much of a conjuress.
"I can try to cast one on you too," she looked above her shoulder at the elf, remembering that he was most likely still unable to weave spells. "I am not good with attuning protective spells to other people, so... well, it may fizzle," she admitted sheepishly. "But..."
"No need to," he muttered only.
She frowned, but before she could say anything else, a sudden movement around the forest border caught everyone's attention. A few graceful shapes leaped out from among the pines and shrubs, making everybody tighten their grip on their weapons – but it was only a small herd of frightened does trying to escape the approaching horde, their large, gentle eyes gleaming in starlight.
And then a blood-curdling scream rose above the noise of the swarm – a single loud, low, gurgling sound, slowly stretching into a horrible groan. It quickly got swallowed by the gibberlings' screeching, though.
"W-whoa, what was that?," Imoen uttered.
"A deer," the druid replied casually.
"What? What kind of a deer screams like that?"
"A dying one."
Vaire took a deep breath, moving her left hand in front of herself and flexing her fingers in preparation to cast a light spell. Now she understood why this whole area was so quiet – whatever animals might want to live here, were most likely not alive for long.
This was going to be easy, she told herself. To fizzle the simplest of cantrips, even a strengthened one, was virtually impossible... and yet, she was still a bit nervous. Or maybe more than a bit. One's point of view tended to change drastically when there were lives at stake, and there might be no time for the second try.
"T-they're getting close," Khalid announced quietly.
Darkness in the forest, now dotted with dozens of gleaming red eyes, was churning madly. Vaire was finally able to see the swarm more clearly – a writhing, growling mass of claws, teeth and matted black fur, moving among the trees. Their agitated screams sounded almost deafening now, at least to elven ears, and it was clear now that there was well over a hundred of creatures there.
"Wish I could see them," Imoen sounded annoyed.
Vaire, on the other hand, wished she could not – the sight was positively terrifying. They seemed to be approaching even faster than before, as if they sped up at the sight of prey.
The first line of the horde poured out from between the trees, screeching and howling in mad excitement. Vaire's eyes widened, spotting remains of a half-eaten deer being carried and tossed among the running monsters like a bloodied, headless toy, its intestines spilling out in a grotesque garland.
"Jaheira...," she began somewhat nervously.
"Not yet," the woman replied curtly, as if reading her mind. "Hold."
The next few moments were probably the longest ones in Vaire's entire life. Looking at this night-spawned flood surely resembled looking into the Abyss itself – dozens of dwarfed, loathsome humanoids, still covered with underground dirt and dust, chasing one another and even devouring one another, launching at their own kin with bloodstained claws and teeth. Truly, they looked like madness incarnated – a mindless, furious hunger thrashing about in the night, tearing apart everything on its path.
"Jaheir- "
"I said, hold."
Vaire gritted her teeth, feeling like a spell straining at the mage's fingertips. It was almost like in her nightmares: darkness and death approaching, coming to get her, closer and closer, while she could neither move, nor properly defend herself, only wait for -
"Now," she caught the druid's voice among the creatures' shrieks.
She had never cast a light cantrip so eagerly before. A few whispered words, a brief gesture and a shiny white orb appeared on her outstretched hand. Then, with a bit of additional weaving, it soundlessly burst into even stronger brightness. In the same moment, Jaheira and Khalid lit the torches, securing the back of their small formation.
The writhing mass of monsters parted in front of light like water meeting an obstacle.
Gibberlings' screeching became all of sudden panicked and painful. Vaire could not believe her eyes – all the creatures looked as if they instantly forgot about attacking anyone, squinting their eyes and blindly trying to escape the source of light while the momentum was still pushing the whole horde forward.
"I changed me mind!," she heard the rogue's voice above her ear, tinged with laughter. "I don't wanna look at them, after all!"
Trust Imoen to be able to laugh in the middle of gibberling swarm...! But Vaire also felt slightly giddy, probably because of the overwhelming relief. The druid's plan worked flawlessly. The swarm was passing them by – a spectacle of madness, but only a spectacle, it would seem – not even brushing against their legs, as if the light had created a physical barrier around them.
But there was no such barrier, in fact, and Vaire was quickly reminded about it when one of the last passing gibberlings made a half-hearted attempt at attack, snapping at her outstretched arm while whizzing past them.
Everything happened so quickly that she barely had time to register the details. In one moment, she caught a glimpse of a dark purple maw getting dangerously close to her hand – 'no, no, no, not the light, I cannot let go of the light...!' – and in the next, she was swiftly tugged backwards.
"Watch out, sis!"
It was Imoen's voice, but it was not her hand that had tugged at her belt – barely in time to save her fingertips, but gently enough not to ruin the magical light balancing on her palm. The orb wavered and dimmed dangerously when the spell was disturbed by the movement, but she managed to hastily strengthen it once more, re-tightening magical threads around it.
The last of the swarm was disappearing in the darkness behind them.
"Thank you," she said quietly, knowing that the elf could hear her anyway. Her previous giddiness evaporated in an instant, leaving her somewhat awkward about the entire situation – but also grateful that it had not turned out worse. Some of her fingers might be somewhere else right now.
If the wizard, who had just let go of her belt, acknowledged her thanks in some way, she did not catch it.
The company entered the forest, heading south-west. High above their heads, ragged patches of the sky were slowly shedding their starlit patterns, turning grey.
They were marching in silence, leaving footprints on the frosty ground, but since such tracks were going to disappear in a few hours, the druid did not bother with covering them. There was probably nothing alive ahead of them and behind them right now, anyway – so far, they were still stumbling only across remains of gibberlings' feast: trampled ground, some bones scattered here and there, dark traces of blood on the forest floor, an occasional piece of antler. Hoar frost was lending the whole scenery pale, whitish blue-green cast, making the forest look even more lifeless than it already was.
Xan, as usually, walked at the very end of the column. This time, though, he was not simply contemplating their surroundings or thinking about every possible danger they might encounter soon.
His palm was placed over the hilt of the moonblade.
After not even four decades of being a wielder, he was still finding some aspects of their mysterious bond unclear. Sometimes the blade, sentient as it was, communicated with him through subtle suggestions, usually sending him warnings. Sometimes, though, it remained almost stubbornly silent – including situations when the wizard would really, really appreciate its help – as if it wanted him to deal with a problem on his own, for some reason.
And then, there were also times like this – when it was impossible for him to determine if the blade's essence was actually trying to tell him something, or if it was only mirroring his thoughts, reflecting them back to his mind. It tended to do it now and then, sometimes on its own, sometimes on his request, making it easier for him to separate himself from his thinking patterns. As an enchanter, he was finding it particularly useful.
But not right now, maybe.
Last night, when the silvery-haired elf ('...or not an elf...?') had been standing next to the unsheathed blade, he had made an attempt to sense but a suggestion in the sword's essence, anything that would make him a bit more certain about the girl's true nature. The blade had been curious at first, even eager to taste the girl's aura – he could feel it very clearly – but then it had fallen silent and now it seemed to be simply... perplexed, as if idly reflecting his own perplexity.
Long words short – he had been given yet another question mark instead of an epiphany he needed.
He heaved a sigh, letting go of the blade, and then folded his cold hands together, hiding them inside sleeves of his robe. They had only two days or so until reaching Nashkel – and since he was still planning to bid the company farewell before actually entering the town, he needed to come up with something until then...
Two short days, and the first one was already beginning.
'Too soon,' he thought in dismay.
* -ion - a suffix added to the name; a term of respect used to address the scions of noble elven families who are not entitled to be called 'lord.'
* -ian - a suffix added to the name; 'lord.'
* Cor'Etriel - queen
* coronal - queen or king
* Wealdath - proper elven name of Forest of Tethir
* Ar'Tel'Quess - sun elf