Chapter 13

NOW

We'd set ourselves up on the highest level of the temple, in what must have been Soldaris' chambers.

We were pretty much as far from the vampires and undead golems as I could get us, but the fact that the room oozed over-the-top opulence was just a bonus.

My secret hope was that if Soldaris recovered faster than expected, and came after us, he'd be winded from the climb up the stone stairs.

Valen, more astutely, commented on the fact our enemies would be forced to funnel into the room if we were attacked.

Nathyrra had lit some of the modest braziers that encircled the grand room, coating everything with a warm orange glow. The elaborate stonework on the embowed ceiling danced in the flickering light, and memorials and statues of naken women with long clawed fingers looked down at us in contempt.

Pointed banners with adorned ridges draped from the walls, muffling the sounds we made. I'd forgotten what it was like to not have every breath echoed back at you tenfold.

Between each banner stood several shelves of various sizes, all weighed down by haphazardly stacked books, all well worn with frayed edges.

Heavy drapes, colored the same carmine as the banners, contoured the walls, hiding more stone work behind it — the room bereft of windows. The curtains were adorned with gilded linings and embellished borders.

I'd almost considered seeing how much of the material I could stuff into my Bag of Holding, to sell later.

In the middle of it all, a lavish bed sat atop an elevated platform, the centrepiece of the room.

The bed frame was carved from bleached bones, from the head to the stubby legs — which may very well have once been giant leg bones. The modest pillows that scattered the surface were the colour of dark wine, adorned with golden needlework.

Nathryrra plucked at one such pillow, pulling the golden thread lose with each absent-minded tug. She lay on the edge of the hulking bed, propped against a pile of pillows; one foot on the floor, the other kicked up on the surface casually. Her book of spells lay forgotten at her side.

I sat on one of two relatively simple stone benches, both of which were facing the bed in a half circle.

If you looked too hard in any direction, you could eventually make out old blood stains, part of the carmine coloured decor. Almost like a macabre Where's Wally of stains.

I didn't want to even think about what you'd probably find with an ultraviolet light...

Valen roamed about the room, bathed in an orange glow, his armoured feet muffled against the layered carpets. He would occasionally stop to peruse a book's spine, before his eyes would dart back to the door at a noise, and he would begin his insistent pacing again.

Nathyrra shifted.

I glanced up briefly, catching sight of her bemused expression and raised brow.

I continued my ministrations with Emma's old mortar and pestle, doing my best to ignore her.

I was biting my cheek lightly to hide my frustration when the drow eventually spoke, her voice a sly purr.

"You know that root plants repelling vampires is a myth," she said with a chuckle.

I paused.

I looked up at her, my shoulders deflating at her expression.

She wasn't shitting me.

With a great sigh and a shake of my head, I discarded the mortar with the ground garlic on the bench beside me.

I brandished the pestle at the amused woman with a frown. "Why didn't you say that when I started peeling them?"

Instead of a reply, she picked herself off the bed in one fluid motion, reaching for her pack.

When she stood up she had a handful of mushrooms grasped loosely in her long fingers.

I shook my head, smiling.

Together, we cooked the assorted deep fungi — rubbed with herbs and garlic — in one of the braziers.

Done, with the room smelling fantastic, I groaned as I bit into one of them from my new place on the bed, eyes rolling back in my head.

They were charred, but deliciously flavoursome; coated as heavily as they were in garlic.

Flavour had been severely lacking from our diet — In the Underdark, as I'd discovered, most of the flora tasted like the colour grey. And the meat? Protein wasn't a staple in the drow's diets, and it was easy to understand why, once you bit into a dried lizard or boiled rothe.

I was beginning to think there was a reason you didn't see any overweight drow in the Underdark.

Probably why they were all so crabby…

I licked my fingers of the last of the garlic-infused juices.

"Well," I sighed, patting my stomach with a lazy smile. "As far as final meals go, that wasn't half bad."

Nathyrra hummed in agreement.

She lay, once more, on the other side of the bed. Pillows were scattered between us, and — as big as the bed was — even if I were to reach out to my full length, my fingers would only barely graze her shoulder.

Valen had polished his mushrooms off, seemingly without even chewing, from his perch on the stone bench. He sat so close to the edge — probably in hopes of avoiding all of the blood stains — that I had to wonder if he was actually squatting.

If ever there was a calm before the storm, this would be it.

It seemed Nathyrra's thoughts ran along the same vein as my own.

"How certain are you that you read the draconic correctly?" Nathyrra said from her side of the bed.

I glanced over at her over the mountain of pillows.

She was on her back, hair loose and splayed about her head like a white halo, dark red eyes on the ceiling. Her skin glowed a beautiful deep purple in the braziers light. She shifted her head to face me.

"Almost definite," I answered a little too enthusiastically. A beat, and then I added; "An old friend of mine used to write his notes in draconic." It wasn't technically a lie.

They didn't know that I only proofread his manuscripts if they were in the common tongue.

Nathyrra tilted her head to watch me.

"Notes?" Valen pressed, a curious tilt to his head.

I realised with a lazy smile that the tiefling lent his head slightly to the right when he was considering something.

My smile turned wistful. "I travelled with a kobold bard a while back. He used to write about our adventures."

"Like you?" Valen motioned to my satchel, where my journal lay hidden.

"Like me?" I frowned towards my bag before understanding dawned on me. "No!" I shook my head with a smile. "I write notes, so I don't miss anything. No, no, no. Deekin wrote stories."

I could hear the kobold as if he was right in front of me — a tilt to his head in perfect mirror with the one Valen wore now — as he asked me what I was after with a raspy 'Deekin?'

Taking a breath, I focused on the spot just over Valen's right shoulder.

Enserric glowed a dull red from his spot propped against the bedhead. I could feel his warm glow of encouragement, even with the distance between us.

I sighed, rolling onto my side and away from prying eyes. I took only the barest of moments to collect myself, blinking rapidly to chase away the threat of tears.

Annoyed at the sting in my eyes, I pulled myself up and sat on the edge of the bed, unwilling to feel sorry for myself.

"It was his dream to become a published author," I explained suddenly, surprising myself with the admission.

Nathyrra chuckled at the thought, shifting her position to get more comfortable.

"Did he?" Valen pressed carefully.

I could hear his armour as he shifted forward on his seat.

The braziers dimmed suddenly, a sure sign that Nathyrra was ready to sleep and make the most of having her shift on watch be last.

I smiled at the drow's lack of subtlety. She could stalk and kill any manner of creature without them even realising they were dead. But her social queues needed work…

I reached for my pack, rifling through it silently for a few minutes as my eyes adjusted to the dimmed surroundings.

With an eventual 'ahuh!' I bore my prize.

The book was a mess of sheets that had been pulled out and stuffed back in, over and over. The leather binding, however, was superb and supple; the front cover a blank canvas awaiting a title.

I lifted it above my head triumphantly, bearing it for Valen to see.

He smiled with a slight shake of his head, red hair falling loose around his horns and into his eyes.

I padded around the bed, stepping down off the platform with bare feet, to where Valen sat, presenting my prize to him.

"See for yourself," I told him.

He took it, pressing a hand against the cover with a considering frown up at me.

When I turned away, Nathyrra was watching me silently, a similar frown to her eyebrows. It surprised me to see there was a gentle curve to her lips, lacking its usual sly undertone. She shifted, pushing up to lean against her shoulder as she considered Valen as he opened the cover.

"I think I would like to read of your adventures," she stated firmly with a nod. Then, a little more tentatively; "I would like to know more of your world."

I smiled, pleasantly touched at the sentiment.

"Don't get your hopes up," I held my hands up with a smile, feeling a blush colour my cheeks. "It's more running and hiding than depictions of the countryside." I chuckled uncomfortably with a shrug. "Plus, the occasional heroic moment is mainly embellishment."

Nathyrra took a moment, seeming to turn my words over in her head. "I would like to read it, all the same."

I couldn't help the smile that curved my lips.

Nathyrra considered me, before nodding curtly. "Now sleep." She admonished. "We have a dracolich to kill on the morrow."

Her words were interrupted by a deep chuckle from Valen, who was nose-deep in the book already, a perplexed frown set in place.

I'd read the book through more times than I could count. I knew that frown wasn't going to let up any time soon.

Deekin had an interesting way of looking at the world.

With a quiet 'goodnight', I settled back into my side of the bed, melting into the soft mattress with a content sigh. I hugged a pillow to my head, wondering idly as I drifted off how I would ever return to sleeping on the stone floor.

After the day we'd had, I didn't take long to fall asleep, the warm afterglow of a warm meal and companionable conversation.

I don't know what I dreamt about — if I'd even had time to — before Valen woke me with a gentle hand clasped around my shoulder. To my credit, I barely started at the sudden interruption to my sleep, by the great horned silhouette.

He gave a curt nod and removed his hand when I glanced up at him groggily. I blinked awake, taking him in with a sleepy yawn and barely understandable, "My turn?"

I could just make out Deekins book, closed and tucked under the tiefling's armpit. I stretched, shifting to the side of the bed and doing my best to ignore Valen's questioning gaze.

It felt heavy with understanding.

Once I was ready, I stood with a final stretch — taking the book carefully from his outstretched hands.

"He didn't finish it," Valen stated plainly.

I smiled wanly, shaking my head once. "No," I agreed. "He didn't."

I spent the rest of my watch leafing through Deekin's book absentmindedly, drawing my finger over the scratchy scrawl within.

I'd read it enough times already, so — instead of taking the words in — I let the feeling behind them encompass me. I felt the kobold's innocence and wonder, and remembered the charming little guy with a sad smile.

When I woke her for the final watch hours later, Nathyrra didn't mention the book that now sat on the other stone bench.

But I heard her pick it up after she was settled, all the same.

I fluffed a pillow with a closed fist, before lying on my side. I held the pillow to my head with a whiteknuckled grip. The blankets we're scrunched up and lumpy beneath me, and I turned onto my other side, straightening them with more force than necessary.

I sighed, watching Valen's broad back as he slept on the other side of the bed. I forced myself not to turn the other way again, lest my insistent tossing disturb him.

I heard the soft scrape of paper as Nathyrra turned the page.

I found myself sighing again.

I couldn't help myself, slowly shifting onto my back and staring at the dark ceiling above.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to catch what sleep I could.

But the demons were back with a vengeance, so I watched the dark ceiling overhead, listening to the light shift of paper as Nathyrra leafed through Deekin's life work.

THEN

"My goodness! My old friend, it is good to see you."

The pleasantries and general reminiscing had gone on for some time between the two men, before I'd interrupted with my best 'the-world-is-going-to-end' throat clear.

"Well then, let me see it. Hmm. Fascinating. Yes…yes. I know this crystal you carry. I have read of such things in the ancient texts. It is called a mythallar." Garrick had explained of the crystal from the broken statue with a furrowed brow, his earlier pain forgotten.

At his words, the pieces had clicked in place; the missing bits of my memory weaving together to form an altogether terrifying whole.

"You must not let her enter that portal. Wherever it leads, whatever she intends…for the sake of us all, you must not let her succeed," had been Garrick's parting warning.

We knew where it led. We knew what Heurodis intended.

We didn't plan on letting her succeed.

So now we descended into the old ruins where she'd last been seen.

We walked in single file, one hand against the sandstone wall to steady myself. Sand covered each step, growing deeper the further we descended into the darkness.

I could already feel the uncomfortable shifting of the sand caught in my boots, the occasional crunch between my teeth.

If I survived this, I was going to be finding sand in my underwear for months.

I followed Drogan's awkward waddle down the steps. One by — painstakingly slow — one.

Xanos followed, sniffing the air as if it offended him, but offering none of his usual snark. Behind him, Deekin took up the rear, hopping down three or four stairs at a time with great — but ultimately unnecessary — effort.

Ayala had remained behind, against my insistence to the contrary; to heal Garrick's wounds.

Dorna had remained upstairs…

I took a deep breath through my nose, forcing my thoughts away from what Dorna was currently — and quite literally — elbows deep in.

The long trip from Hilltop had found me moving to and from fear and boredom faster than I could say "Is that a stinger?" But those weeks travelling had been like the calm before the storm compared to the absolute cluster-fuck of a shit-show we'd faced upstairs.

I hadn't known people could still breathe with that many limbs missing…

I found myself, once again, wondering just what the determined cleric could do for the few living archeologists Heurodis had left…

Distracted from the decline, I felt the sand shift beneath my feet. I paused with a gasp, arms outstretched as I reclaimed my footing and composure.

Once confident I wasn't about to complete the rest of the trip on my arse, I finished the decline with my eyes resolutely on my feet — no further thought of the jigsaw puzzle of maimed people above our heads.

The wide landing at the bottom of the spiraling flight of stairs gave us only a moment of reprieve, Deekin huddled close to my side, a small scaled hand on the back of my leg. My eyes darted to and from Drogan, what I wanted to say dying on my lips, before we continued down yet another flight of stairs with the words unspoken. They lead us down and into a modest chamber filled with dust, cobwebs and broken pottery.

Deekin held a ball of magelight in his tiny hands, illuminating the room; our four shadows silent giants on the walls around us.

I had warned my companions of the resistance we would face with a feinted confident, but I don't think I was fully-prepared for just how horrifyingly ugly a slaad was.

A clamor in the gloom, the hiss of claws on stone, and suddenly we were greeted by the revolting lovechild of a toad and human.

Two cold eyes stared at us with disturbing obsession, before a throaty hiss burst from it's wide toothy mouth. Confident its friends would heed its warning call, it attacked.

We must have spent the better part of the day — or worst part, if you weren't a fan of frog guts — fighting our way through the creatures.

Hours later, with hands clammy and trembling on my bow, and teeth gritted in grim determination, we found ourselves in the portal chamber.

I glanced at the old dwarf as he finished off the last of the grey slaad's summoned brethren with a powerful show of summoned flaming arrows — wondering not for the first time how this would have been possible without him.

As feared, we only barely missed the hooded figure I knew to be Heurodis. The woman — no; medusa, I reminded myself with gritted teeth — who had caused all of this, had already escaped through the portal, sealing it behind her.

We were tired.

Unable to sleep, unable to stop.

But Drogan suddenly looked it, most of all.

The slaad all dead, he paused for a brief moment, as if contemplating all we had fought for and all we would lose if we gave up now. He gave a silent resolute nod before approaching the spot the glowing portal had closed, sealing the medusa far from our reach.

"This is it, girl?" The dwarf pressed me upon our cautious approach.

It was an unnecessary question, my face said it all. But I swallowed my reply and nodded anyway.

We'd taken no breaks. Paused for no injury. But still we'd been too late to stop her transporting to the Netherese city.

I realised, with a pit in my gut, that I'd always suspected we would need Plan B.

And that's where Drogan came in.

"I can attune to the same location she travelled to," Drogan assured me with a curt nod to his head. Quieter, to Xanos and I: "And I will be wary of her trap."

"That would be preferable, yes," Xanos said sarcastically.

The half-orc's eyes darting from the pillars surrounding the portal to the approaching dwarf. It was obvious he was nervous, despite — or maybe because of — his snide comment.

Maybe Dorna had the right idea staying up top…

"And you wants Deekin to follow after yous, or befores?" the kobold pressed nervously, face upturned to the dwarf.

The kobold was wringing his hands nervously as he padded along beside me, close enough that he was almost tripping me up.

Drogan stopped, kneeling on the floor and wiping a finger against the ground. He rubbed his index and thumb together, his face determined.

"Before," Drogan said, real warmth in his eyes "If you are up to it, little one."

He adjusted his half-moon spectacles, taking all three of us in.

"You're sure you can do this?" I finally pressed. "It's not too late to turn back. We still have the crystal… the mythallar. We can protect it. She won't get far without it."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed back to his full height with a groan.

Again, he considered us all, one by one, and I got the uncomfortable feeling that he was committing us to memory. Saying goodbye.

"No," he said sadly, but surely. "We can end this; you can end this. Here and now. Otherwise, who knows what could happen. This is our best opportunity."

His confidence brought a swell of pride to my chest, but it did nothing to still the summersaults my stomach was currently doing.

"I will find a way to bypass her trap," Drogan assured me after a moment, before waving his hand dismissively. "Go, find a way to activate the portal. With any luck we'll be upon her before she has time to prepare."

Deekin, sensing the tension, watched us with a tilt to his little reptilian head. He said nothing.

Sighing, and not able to shift the pit in my gut, I turned to the kobold.

"Deeks," I knelt in front of the little guy, a hand on his cold scaled shoulder. He waited, as silent as he'd ever been, for my instruction. "Keep an eye on the old man. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, yeah?"

I could practically hear Drogan rolling his eyes.

Chest puffed out and shoulders pulled back proudly, Deekin nodded his snout quickly. Determination was clear in his little yellow eyes.

With a flat smile, I found myself trying — and failing — to imagine little wings sticking out of his small boney back.

Deekin turned to the dwarf with a spring in his step and an excited. "So, you wants Deekin to reach for things for you?"

With no further words on the matter, we hurried away, Xanos in tow. He has a broad smile on his face as we listened to Deekin help the old dwarf enthusiastically.

With an answering smile, I listened to Drogan's irritated insistence that he was 'in matter of fact' taller than the 'pain of a kobold', as we left the room.

About half an hour later, puzzle solved — and with only a limited number of curses from me — we regrouped within the circle of the now faintly glowing pillars.

Deekin was silent, head bowed and staring at his feet as he kicked a heel into the floor over and over, no doubt subdued by something Drogan had said.

I glanced up at the stone ceiling above our heads nervously.

Noticing, Xanos scoffed, waving a hand at me. "It has held for generations. It will hold for more. The trap which that hack of a mage set is no match for us."

Whilst the nicest thing I'd ever heard Xanos utter about someone other than himself, his comment did nothing to ease my nerves.

I ignored him and the stone ceiling above resolutely.

Instead; "You ready?" I asked Drogan.

"Aye," Drogan said, brows furrowed. "Let's get this portal open."

At those words Deekin perked up, back ramrod straight and eyes squinted in determination as he offered me a single nod. He pulled his lute about and held it in front of him, ready.

I smiled fondly at the little guy.

Without any further preamble, Drogan planted his feet shoulder length apart, pulled his sleeves up and then began chanting.

Deekin's gentle strumming accompanied the chant, his little clawed feet tapping slowly as he watched Drogan for direction.

I glanced around us for signs of trouble, shifting on the balls of my feet as I waited.

It didn't take long for their magic to take hold.

I jolted as a humm cut across the chamber, the pillars flaring to life around us. The sound grew in pitch until it was a shrill shriek that left my ears ringing.

Despite the noise, the room around us held strong.

A spark of light lit in the centre of the room, and I stared in wonder. A flash of yellow and then a door opened between us.

It was a flat black disk, rippling in the magically enhanced light. The edges glowed, growing in size as sparks flashed in a dizzying array of lights.

I swallowed, suddenly remembering a portal — not too different from this one — and the spiked creature that had come from within.

The portal snapped into place and the shriek suddenly stopped.

But Drogan didn't stop chanting.

Deekin didn't stop strumming.

And then the floor shifted beneath my feet and a deep rumble shook the ruins to their core.

But that isn't what made my breath hitch.

That isn't what made Xanos call out in alarm.

As the dust and rocks started to fall, and Deekin's song reached its ultimate crescendo, Drogan collapsed in a heap.

And the roof started crumbling around us.

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

There's a sheet of loose paper wedged in between two pages. It's folded in four, the page slightly larger and of better quality — but for one torn edge — than the notebook it now resides in.

On this page is a different handwriting than usual, neither Emma's script, nor Jane's hasty scrawl. The sharp small words are quickly identifiable as Deekin's.

It looks to be a page from his unfinished novel.

And so Boss-Lady, Green Walrus-Man, Lady-Dwarf, Old-Man-Dwarf, Elf-Lady, Deekin, and the homeless halflings…

The above introduction is crossed out, to be replaced below by:

And they comes to new camp, faithful kobold companion at Boss' side, to discover boot had more sand than shoe.

The valiant heroes were closing in on big nasty evil person at last. Their doom was on hand!

The man that played with rocks for work is hurt, and gives us an exposition, while pretty elf lady heals him. It's a long story. Deekin already knew all this, and is catching up on writing instead.

Everything Boss said is coming true, and Deekin beginning to think maybe she not be all the way coo coo kachoo crazy, after all.

But then Deekin thinks Ao priests maybe be all the way crazy, when they think Boss is god.

Boss is Boss, Deekin tells them.

And Boss is shortest god Deekin ever heard fart at dinner.

This goes on for some time, listing all of the reasons why Jane isn't a god. Right down to her chest being too small and her hair being too frizzy.

It's becoming increasingly clear why this page was ultimately removed.