Chapter 6

NOW

I inhaled deeply, willing my hands to stop shaking as I carefully ran the dirty rag along the length of my knife. Most of the still warm blood came away on the first go, but — for good measure — I exhaled slowly and folded the rag in half, wiping any remaining evidence clean.

Nathyrra knelt by the dead priest's body, rifling through the cursed avariel's belongings with practiced ease. Lomylithrar's eyes — gleaming with sadistic promise only minutes earlier — stared ahead in a slack glare at the cold stone roof above our heads. A pool of blood from the wound in his gut finished off the macabre image.

I sat on the converted temple's steps, leading up to what was to be the makeshift arena for the fight the winged elf had intended to test me with.

Forcing my eyes away from the body at Nathyrra's feet, I returned my knife to my belt with pale, shaking hands. Once safely away, I leaned my arms against my legs and lowered my head between my knees — forcing myself to breathe through the panic.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped onto the white marble floor. I closed my eyes and willed the world to stop spinning and my heart to stop beating quite so erratically.

"Here."

I don't know how much time had passed, but the drow's unassuming voice shocked me more than it should have. I looked up from my knees into her calculating red gaze. She knelt before me, a small uncorked vial held between us.

I reached for it thankfully, offering it up to the drow and tiefling in a wry salute; "Cheers to the dead," my swollen lips stumbled over the bitter words. Then — completely and utterly grateful for the cure — I downed the entire contents of the vial, against the better judgement of my roiling stomach.

I threw the vial away, fighting against my body's desire to bring it all backup. Then I returned to my slumped position, waiting for the illness to pass — eyes shut tight against the too-bright candles that lit the temple's foyer.

"I thought I could push through it," I admonished to the ground through a bitter hiss, beats of sweat dripping from the tip of my nose to the stone floor. "I couldn't even bring myself to face one round of his stupid game!"

I bit my tongue at that admittance. Conscious of my onlookers.

'You're not thinking straight… Careful what you say.' Enserric's voice was vibrating around my skull.

I managed an upright position, feeling my energy returning already.

I pushed aside the hair that was plastered to my forehead angrily. Without a word to either of my companions, I pushed to my feet — fighting against the dark dots that threatened my vision.

I stepped up to the fallen winged elf with a shake of my head.

"Sorry," I whispered.

Careful of the growing pool of blood, I knelt down beside him, taking the shards we needed from his broken body.

I'm sorry I couldn't — wouldn't — play your game.

I'm sorry you had to die.

I'm sorry I'm not strong enough.

I stood with a sigh, placing the newest mirror shards in a pocket on my belt.

I stood there for some time, willing the room still. It didn't let up.

"I need to rest," I finally admitted.

My companions didn't offer any resistance. Instead, Valen extended an arm as Nathyrra lead us towards a room off the main body of the cursed temple.

We set up shop in the small storage room, sealing the door behind us.

The tiefling sat on the hard floor, his broad back leaning against the timber door, and Nathyrra and I shared a crate opposite him, our bags resting at our feet.

I glanced at the door, imagining the pool of blood growing in the room beyond. Would his original god — the one he'd worshipped his entire life — claim him in death? Or would he serve his cruel goddess for all eternity?

I shook the thought aside as I fished through my bag.

The silence stretched on.

I forced myself to breathe evenly. "Thanks."

I offered Valen and Nathyrra the underwhelming platitude, eyes downcast as I tied off a filter bag of dried ginger root with a length of string. I fished out a small cup and filled it with water from my waterskin, before placing the tea bag inside.

I waited as the ginger infused with the water, too tired to try scrounging up kindling for a small fire.

Valen lifted his chin towards my drink with a questioning tilt to his brow.

"Ginger tea," I explained with a shrug. "It always helps settle my stomach — even after bad Chinese."

I bit my tongue. Another slip up.

'Focus!' Enserric shouted in my mind.

Valen frowned but nodded slowly. Nathyrra lent over the cup and sniffed the surrounding air once, before moving back without comment.

"It's better warm," I shrugged again. "But beggars can't be choosers. It's just too bad it's the last of it."

I tested the drink with a small sip. It would need a little longer if I was going to get any of the ginger's benefits.

"It's not a component I'm familiar with," Valen admitted. "I assume it's not native to the Underdark?" His eyes wandered between Nathyrra and I.

I nodded. "Yet another plant that's impossible to find down here." I pulled a face, before offering him a wry smile. "I've still got a decent stash of Peppermint to go through before I have to start seriously considering a fungi-based tea."

He chuckled, scratching his chin as he considered my comment.

"I admit, it must be hard for you," he stated.

Nathyrra offered a dismissive huff through her nose, only just loud enough for me to hear.

"Most things are," I retorted with a self-deprecating grin, thrown by his sudden shift. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Being down here," he explained. "Someone that's used to the open skies and forests and the creatures of above. You must find the Underdark different to world you've spent your whole life familiarising yourself with."

I attempted not to let the surprise register on my face, as I tried to consider his view of who I was — or, rather, who I presented myself as. I needed to tread carefully.

"It's been an adjustment," I admitted slowly. "But the Underdark is just another facet of nature. One I will become more familiar with."

I dipped the tea bag in and out of my cup of water.

"Is my discomfort so obvious?" I pressed after a moment of consideration.

Valen opened his mouth to reply, but it was Nathyrra who spoke first. "Only to those who care to look," she said simply.

In a society of drow, always looking for their enemies weaknesses; that was a definitive yes.

From Valen's wry smile, it was obvious he has been trying to find a more tactful way of saying just that.

"Good thing I've got someone else by my side that knows what it's like to stand out like a sore thumb then, isn't it?" I retorted, quite pleased with myself as I appraised the large man's horns openly.

His lips curled up again, and he rose a hand to scratch at his chin, hiding his smile.

I looked down into the clear cold tea and realised suddenly that I'd forgotten my earlier nausea and the cure had taken effect. Ever the masochist, I suddenly pictured the growing puddle of blood around the winged priest, and the nausea was back.

"You don't need to worry about me," I finally assured them, taking the time to ensure my voice was strong and steady. I tightened my grip on the cup. "I'm a quick learner. I'll be acting like a local in no time — right down to the matricide and enslavement of all men, Jaluk." I spat the drow word for 'male' out, channelling my inner matron mother with a confident smirk.

I felt Nathyrra tense by my side, but when I glanced sideways her face was schooled into a cool smirk. She raised a brow at me, a playful twinkle in her eyes. Valen simply shook his head, but I couldn't help but notice the curl that also graced the corner of his lips.

I sipped my tea, hiding my answering smile.

Hours later, when we walked past the fallen priest's body and towards the next shard of the mirror, I forced myself to look at him and accept the harshness of my new environment.

I stepped back out into the Underdark, the readier for it.

THEN

I was not ready. At all.

I pulled Emma's coat tighter around my shoulder, hiding my neck from the brisk chill.

I'd entered the quiet town of Hilltop with the dusk, fog crawling in behind me. Small pockets of stark yellow light from burning torches in tall timber frames lit up the winding path between the buildings ahead.

The greeting I had received had been clipped, but friendly enough. The stink of the town had been less so. Damp grass — which on its own wasn't altogether too unpleasant — with a hint of shit carried on the breeze.

"Here to see Drogan," had been enough to grant me entry — if a bit of a raised eyebrow after an open appraisal.

But now that I was here, here with all these people scurrying quickly from building to building, it all felt so surreal.

I wanted to scream at them. To shout. There's a young woman out there, dead in the forest. A monster killed her — what are you all standing around for? But I didn't. I kept my coat pulled tightly around my neck and kept my eyes on the road ahead of me. I followed the winding path the guard had pointed me down — houses thinning out the further I progressed from the gates.

Banners flapped loudly in the wind, one adorning each of the larger buildings with a simple emblem painted on the damp, greying material.

A brown cauldron, a green leaf, a yellow harp, a red woman… praying?

Clean smoke billowed from most of these larger building's stone chimneys, eventually overpowering the smell of shit on the breeze.

My legs burned from days of overuse as I made the gradual incline towards Drogan's school.

I wasn't ready to face him. It was too real, in a way that thinking I was seconds from death hadn't been. Going to Drogan, meeting him — being in this place, even — was an admittance that I was probably stranded here, and would have to make do. That, or — more likely — further proof of how far I'd slipped into insanity.

The houses slipped away behind me, as the uneven stone path abruptly stopped and became more of a thoroughfare of mud amongst the lush green grass.

A couple of cows, big black creatures with kind eyes, watched my progression with mild curiosity as the fog ahead cleared to show me a lone building near a dark jagged cliff face — too high to see the top. The building was two or three stories high; impossible to tell from my vantage and with the uneven slope of the roof. An empty barn was tacked onto the side, and the torches in this part of Hilltop were all unlit.

Smoke rose from a short chimney near the front of the building, promising long-forgotten warmth within.

"Thank fuck," I muttered.

A sheep bleated back at me in the distance.

Squaring my shoulders, I closed the last of the distance to the building, taking a deep breath and preparing myself to face Drogan.

I rapped my knuckles against the thick timber door once, before giving up and hitting it again with the palm of my hand; harder this time.

Off to a great start, Jane; you can't even knock on a damn door properly.

I rolled my eyes, as I self consciously picked a few leaves from the oily brown tangle my hair had become. I lifted my arm as high as my tired muscles would allow and gave a tentative sniff — before wrinkling my nose in disgust.

How had I not thought to take time to present myself a little better?

I heard nothing on the other side of the door, before it suddenly opened, letting out a wave of warmth and light that instantly made me relax.

A young woman with short cropped blond hair and serious green eyes set beneath a light frown stared back at me. Upon taking in my bedraggled appearance, she rested against the edge of the door and half-closed it, until I could only see her face and nothing of the building within.

I could hear muffled voices talking enthusiastically over the crackling of fire — they sounded friendly enough...

"Yes?" the woman pressed in a quiet voice, openly eyeing me up and down.

"Emma," I instantly replied. Wide green eyes blinked back at me. "Uh, yeah, I'm Emma."

I silently hoped that Emma wouldn't begrudge me the use of her name.

If she had an issue, there was little she could do about it...

I stuck a hand towards the blonde — my god, my nails are disgusting! She opened the door slightly to take my hand tentatively in her own, giving it a quick squeeze. I pretended not to notice as she wiped her hand on her cream cotton pants, before placing it back on the edge of the door.

"Here to see Drogan?" I continued, suddenly unsure. I shifted my bag uncomfortably on my shoulders when she didn't offer her name.

She didn't say anything more, before closing the door. The noise and light instantly disappeared, leaving me instantly conscious of how late it was getting. The colour was almost completely gone from the sky, and the fog was quickly closing in. I didn't want to have to trek back into the main hub of town now. Not in the dark.

Luckily the door opened again, fully this time, and I was faced with the same young woman — girl, really.

"Welcome, Emma," she offered me a flat smile — no teeth — and stepped back, ushering me into the room.

I wasted no time, pushing carefully past her into the timber-clad room.

Timber floors, timber walls, timber ceiling. The builder had obviously never heard of using contrasting materials and colours…

But the people — the people were definitely a contrast.

The young blonde breezed past me to a long — also timber — table. She slid carefully onto a bench seat in front of an unclaimed bowl and glass of water.

Sitting across from her was the largest — and easily ugliest — man I'd ever laid eyes on. He observed me over the rim of a glass mug with dark, amused eyes. His skin had a sickly green tinge to it, at odds with his stark black hair. When he slammed his mug back onto the table, wiping a garishly coloured sleeve across his mouth, I noticed his severe overbite — two large pointed teeth peeking out from behind his bottom lip. But, all said and done, he did have a magnificent curled moustache.

I forced myself to stop openly staring and focus on the smiling brunette woman by his side — squat in comparison to the hulking green beast of a man by her side — her large green eye twinkling beneath a blue bandana. Her smile was crooked but welcoming.

With a groan, the final man pushed from the bench seat across from them, clapping the blonde on the back as he did so.

Only once he was walking towards me did it become apparent just how short and stocky he was. A man on the later side of middle-aged, he had a balding head and an intricately braided beard that obscured his entire neck from view.

Drogan.

He watched me silently from behind a pair of half-moon spectacles that sat low on his flat nose.

I shuffled uncomfortably, thrusting out my hand again for nothing better to do. "Drogan?" I pressed him on his slow approach. He raised a wiry grey eyebrow. "You were expecting me. I'm Emma."

He paused only slightly, before offering me a broad smile and reaching enthusiastically for my outstretched hand in a strong grip. He pulled me easily towards him and I lent forward, letting the man — the dwarf — clap me on the back with a great hand.

"The ranger we were waiting on?" I heard the blond girl query the other two.

Over Drogan's shoulder, I watched the great big man as he shrugged his shoulders — large gold hoop earrings bobbing with his head — before returning enthusiastically to his meal.

"Yeah, um—" I pulled my shoulders back. "Sorry I'm late. It's been a long trip." I shrugged. "Faced some troubles on my way here. Met the strangest woman—"

"Come," Drogan cut me off with a deep booming voice. "Put your things by the stairs and, please, eat. You can tell us of your travels over a warm bowl of stew."

At the mention of warm stew — hell, warm anything would have done the trick — I started salivating like Pavlov's dog.

And so I did, positioning myself as far from the strange green man as I could, before spinning them a story of the strange barefoot woman I'd found between Silverymoon and here. I described the terrifying creature that had killed her — despite my best efforts — before recounting the strange man who'd gifted me a seemingly cursed ring, which I now couldn't remove.

I carefully watched Drogan for any reaction as my story unfolded, but he offered me nothing. Just thoughtful contemplation.

From what I could remember, he'd worked — did work? — with the secret organisation; The Harpers. So I honestly hadn't expected to be able to pull the wool over his eyes this easily, despite my last two days of preparation. He was my best bet at finding out more about what had happened to me — or rather 'to the strange barefoot woman named Jane'. But I'd have to be careful. No saying what the dwarf would do if he found out I wasn't his promised apprentice right off the bat. Let him warm to my winning personality first.

The lies came easier and easier as the conversation flowed between myself and the three apprentices. They were all eager to introduce themselves; Xanos Messarmos the half-orc sorcerer, dwarven Dorna Trapspringer the cleric and rogue extraordinaire, and the young blonde was Misha Waymeet, Paladin in training.

Drogan observed us all silently over the course of our dinner, a thoughtful expression on his sun-lined face, short fingers winding carefully through the braiding in his beard.

I didn't have to fake the large yawn that wracked my body after a second helping of lumpy stew. In reply, Drogan used the opportunity to insist we all wash up — this almost definitely directed at me — and to get a good night's sleep. Now that everyone had arrived training started in earnest early on the morrow.

No rest for the wicked, apparently.

It was probably for the best; I wasn't anywhere near ready for the Kobold attack that I knew was coming in our near future, but I was going to have to do my darn best to make sure I was as close to ready as I could be. If I wanted to live, anyways. Probably not a reload button if I royally fucked this up...

I had a steep learning curve, but wasn't that the point of Drogan's school — to train us?

As I stacked our bowls and passed them to Misha, I don't think I'd yet realised quite how steep.

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

A short extract of Emma's neat handwriting takes up a single spread, outlining different teas to be found in her aged tea case. On the page, beside each tea, there's a simple symbol for easy identification. Jane's added to this list in her messy scrawl, over time.

Sylvan Tea

The symbol next to the name matches up with a herbal tea bag in her tea case.

Taste: Smooth with a tangy aftertaste

Benefits: Uncontrollable giggling and dancing

Side Effects: Uncontrollable giggling and dancing

Softsugar Tea

The symbol next to the name matches up with a tiny vial filled with fine white powder.

Taste: Sweet

Benefits: Increased speed and reflexes

Side Effects: Can't sit still, fatigue after use, addictive

There's a note added after the fact in Jane's messy handwriting: Pretty sure this contains 389% of your daily sugar intake. Not sure it's safe…

Silverleaf Tea

The symbol next to the name matches up with a bag of dried out green leaves with a slight mirror-like sheen.

Taste: Bitter and slightly metallic, better with honey

Benefits: Increased immunity to disease

Side Effects: Results in temporary argyria

Jane's aggressively underlined the word 'argyria' and added some additional notes: Turns you grey!

Venomcleanse Tea

The symbol next to the name matches up with a tea bag of dried out green leaves, ground into small pieces.

Taste: Bitter

Benefits: Cleanses the body of toxins and minor poisons

Side Effects: Mouth feels dry after drinking. Not bad, just odd.

Jane's circled this section and added her own notes underneath: Good for a hangover

Nararoot Tea

The symbol next to the name matches up with a small vial of dried root shavings.

Taste: Bitter

Benefits: Birth control, renders the drinker infertile for a week or two

Side Effects: Cramps when wearing off

Jane's circled this section and added her own notes underneath: Stops monthly cycle! This is followed by a smiley face.

Ginger Tea

The symbol next to the name matches up with a small vial of dried root shavings.

Taste: Spicy and woody

Benefits: Relieves nausea, delicious

Side Effects: None. Jane's crossed this out and added her own side effects: Instills nostalgia for home