Disclaimer: Lodoss and any or all established characters thereof are not
mine.just mine to toy with. Veris is of course my invention. Any
similarity to people or places real or otherwise is mere coincidence.
This story published on recycled net space.
Chapter 17: Interludes
Woodchuck scratched himself lazily under the arm and contemplated ordering another bottle of wine.
He had already polished off most of the one standing open in front of him, and it was becoming apparent he was leaning on the bar in front of him more because he had to than because he really wanted to. He could feel a singularly stupid grin stretched permanently across his lips, but couldn't have wiped it off his face if he'd tried.
All he could think was that he was *free*. Oh, Lady, it felt good! He reached over and poured more red wine into the rough wooden goblet he was drinking from, just for the sheer pleasure of knowing he could do so of his own free will. His body was his own again, and his thoughts had room to stretch and complete themselves without being shut down.
If he didn't think it would have him kicked out, he would have shouted to the rooftops with his giddy excitement. He'd already tried singing, but the barmaid had threatened to turn him head over heels out the door if he continued. He slanted a glance over towards her, a large woman carrying trays full of beer mugs balanced perfectly on either hand. She looked, he thought, capable of kicking him back to Alania if she tried. So he kept himself quiet, with an effort, consoling himself with the fact that he'd nicked most of the change from her purse at one point earlier in the evening, and was now drinking red wine on the house, so to speak. At least his thieving abilities hadn't deteriorated completely while the Witch was using his body for a convenient host.
Gods and Goddesses! He threw back his head and took another long gulp of wine, after which he promptly gave a satisfied belch. He wiped his lips on the back of his hand sloppily. How long had it been since he'd tasted wine - even the vinegar they served at places like this? The Witch did not partake, as she had said, of such foul human inventions. No wonder she was such an uptight.. Well.
He looked around the room again, his ability to take in careful detail fading under the influence of his evening's efforts at drinking. He wondered how long he'd been in thrall to that purple monstrosity. He had no idea how much time had past since he'd had his body taken over and his thoughts shut out. Fashions didn't seem to have particularly changed, although that was hardly indicative. At least his own fashion had changed. If he ever caught sight of a purple cloak again..well, not even King Jester's dragons would be able to outpace him. He had developed a particular hatred of the color purple. And magic. And overbearing women.like the barmaid now coming purposefully towards him.
Woodchuck finished the last of the red wine with a swig that more or less made it down his throat and held up the empty bottle to show he was ready for another. The barmaid came to stand beside him, heavy hands on wide hips.
"Another," he requested. The woman raised her eyebrows.
"Alright, let's see your gold, thin man," she requested. He handed her a couple of coins and she took them without looking twice. A moment later Woodchuck had another bottle of wine to himself, and a grin of smug satisfaction merely added to the happiness that already bent his long, weasel face.
"You've certainly got money to burn, friend," a voice said over his left shoulder, and Woodchuck turned to look at the man sitting next to him
The man had apparently been sitting next to him for some time, although the erstwhile thief hadn't particularly paid him any attention up until now.. Woodchuck was simply satisfied that the man was no one he'd met before, and felt himself relax slightly.
He looked like a friendly-enough sort, one used to traveling. The man's windblown, blunt face seemed simple and common enough - a man who belonged where he was, in the peasant and merchant crowd that filled this bar to its dim corners. The smile did not leave Woodchuck's face - right now, this was exactly the company he wanted.
"Blasphemy," he found himself saying easily to his neighbor. "I'd never do anything so wasteful. I'm just happy tonight. If you pull up a flagon, I'll be happy to share."
"Don't mind if I do, at that," the man spoke, pushing his wooden cup closer so Woodchuck could fill it. Woodchuck managed to spill some mostly in the cup, stopped pouring when the man nodded, and slopped some into his own wooden mug. He was definitely beginning to feel a bit loose. It certainly wasn't like him to share - if his old guild master only knew! - but tonight was a special occasion, and he'd been known to do more (shudder) noble things at times.
"My name's Geild," the man introduced himself, raising his cup in Woodchuck's direction in thanks.
"Woodchuck," the thief replied, nodding.
"So, Woodchuck, what have you got to be so happy about? Win some money gambling?" Woodchuck blinked, mildly surprised. In ordinary circumstances, he supposed, that guess would've probably been right on the mark.
He shook his head.
"Nothing like that, friend, although that would certainly be nice. I've got rotten luck gambling." He winced to think what had happened to the last set of loaded dice he'd owned. The remains had made fairly useful toothpicks.
"Well then?"
Woodchuck found his mouth open to reply, and stopped. He had almost been about to blurt out his woes, but had paused when he realized how ridiculous his story would sound. How could one say, with a straight face, "Well, it's like this, my man - this insane fanatical witch possessed me for only the Gods know how long, dressed me up in purple and black women's clothes and in general terrorized several people while using my body to do so?" Impossible. He shook his head, the words swallowed.
"Let's just say," he offered when he saw Geild was still waiting for his answer, "that I've been a prisoner for a very *long* time, and I'm happy to be free."
"Oh, you've been married, too, have you?" Geild said, making a face, and they both laughed at the age worn joke.
"Nothing that serious," Woodchuck chuckled. Geild's face grew serious.
"You aren't returning from out Marmo way, are you?" He inquired, giving the thief a measuring gaze. "Were you a prisoner of war?" Woodchuck considered this.
"In a manner of speaking. I got caught on the south end of a very nasty north-bound spell." And *THAT* was putting it mildly.
"Ahh," Geild said merely, as if Woodchuck had said it all, and he seemed to look at the thief in a new light. "Welcome back from the dark side, then. You heading to Valis?" Woodchuck shook his head.
"Haven't decided yet. Guess I'll see when I get there." He grinned, but it was halfhearted. He had been trying not to think about Valis. It seemed to him the name had been prominent in the Witch's mind for a long time..Valis. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember what she wanted with Valis.
"They say Parn and his company are back in Valis now," the man continued, mere gossip.
"Oh?" Woodchuck found himself asking in spite of himself. He had been trying particularly to avoid thinking about that particular group of people, but he found himself interested despite his intention not to be.
"Yes. These days Parn is acting as the Princess' bodyguard and they say he has become one of King Kashue's right-hand men."
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, I'm sure," Woodchuck said, failing to sound disinterested. Geild nodded.
"No kidding. Good kid, from what I hear. Not too sure about that Elf woman that's always at his side, though."
"I hear ya there," Woodchuck muttered, thinking about how Deedo, "that Elf woman," had completely snubbed any and all of his advances, friendly or otherwise. Being haughty was one thing, but there was nothing like an Elven snob - it seemed like they wrote the book on subtle, scathing contempt.
"Still, she seems alright." Woodchuck merely grunted. He felt distracted by vague memories of Valis. something about Valis. Something the Witch wanted, he felt sure, had been in Valis. Talking about it with Geild gave him an uneasy feeling, as though there was something he needed to remember.
"I prefer my women human," Woodchuck added when he realized the conversation had paused.
"I'll drink to that, "Geild agreed, washing back the last of his wine. Woodchuck oblidged and poured him another tankard full. He discovered that his aim was off slightly and much of the wine splashed onto the bar.
"Easy there," Geild laughed.
"No worries," Woodchuck agreed. It had been a long time since he'd drunk and he was appalled to find that so little wine was having such a large effect on him.
"You know," he found himself saying to Geild, finishing off his own cup in defiance of his already mostly drunken state, "I've met Parn and the Elf, Deedo."
"Oh?" Geild said, looking interested but slightly dubious.
"Uh huh," Woodchuck said, and proceeded to tell Geild how he had met them all when they were held in Alania. He, of course, left out that he had been in prison for cheating at gambling.
Woodchuck's thoughts wandered while he was talking, although Geild continued to nod and look interested, which reassured the thief and he continued with his rambling story. Unbidden, however, he found himself remembering the rainy night he had stood with them - Parn, Deedolito, Slayn, Etoh and Ghim - outside the great hall on the way to find the old mage Warto.
That memory seemed as though it had happened a thousand years ago. How little he had felt he owed them then. He wanted to feel the same way now, but he knew better. He didn't want to owe them anything, although there was something bothering him about Valis. something that must involve them.
"That makes a good story, any way," Geild said, and Woodchuck came back to himself with a start. It was obvious the man didn't believe him. He felt drunken indignance and opened his mouth to defend himself.
"I always wondered if it was true that King Fahn gave the kid his sword," Geild said musingly before Woodchuck could say anything.
"Eh?" Woodchuck replied through his drunken haze. "What'dja just say?" Geild repeated himself, and went on to say something else, but Woodchuck didn't hear him.
Something had clicked. Something about..a sword. Parn. Valis. Karla. A sick feeling of dread opened up in Woodchuck's gut, siphoning off the drunken haze that surrounded him and hitting him with cold, intense sobriety.
"Oh, Hell," he said, and found that he had stood up, knocking his bar stool over in the process. "The sword."
Geild was blinking mildly at Woodchuck, looking confused. Woodchuck reached over to shake the man's hand firmly.
"Thank you, my friend," he said, and was surprised to find he meant it. As much as he wanted to be independent, he still owed the damn kid a warning that the Witch was on the move.
"You helped me remember-" Woodchuck continued, and was cut short by a heavy hand on his shoulder. He was spun around and discovered he was staring into the barmaid's round, angry face. Her cheeks were flushed and she did not look happy.
"Maybe you can help *me* remember," she said, taking him by the collar and looking disgusted as though he were a puppy that had just piddled on the floor, "where I placed the ten gold pieces I had in my pocket just a little while ago. Something tells me you'll know."
Woodchuck opened his mouth and paused, considering how best to get himself out of the situation.
"Actually, I have no idea what you're yawping about." Playing dumb was always, as a general rule, his first course of action. He remembered too late that it helped to be polite, too.
"Mmhmm," the woman replied, looking completely nonplused. "Try again."
"If I was reaching for your apron, it wouldn't be money I was going for," Woodchuck said slyly, weasel grin breaking on his face once more. If playing dumb didn't work, sometimes flattery did.
The woman's face went beet red. Woodchuck yelped as she grabbed him by the ear.
"Alright, you thin thief," she said, dragging him along more or less complacently behind her, "That's enough out of your crooked mouth. We don't need your kind around here." And before he realized what was going on, Woodchuck had been efficiently kicked out, the tavern door slammed in his face; dire threats about what would happen to his various meager body parts should he show his face again ringing in his ears. Woodchuck blinked at the closed door for a moment, and then grinned. Guess it was time to be on his way again.
* * * * *
She was determined to wake up, and remember what was going on. She held her determination fiercely, fueling it with anger and frustration, trying to break through the surface of consciousness.
She had found a spot that gave when she pushed, a place that seemed to be breaking down, and she worked at it with all her attention, as if she were grinding away at stone, wearing it down little by little. Every once in while she could hear thoughts that were neither her own nor directed at her float through her mind, but she paid them little attention.
Then, suddenly and abruptly, she was through. *I am Veris.* She found herself suddenly back in her own body, so surprised that she nearly fell off the horse she was riding. She blinked her eyes open, trying to shake off the languor that held her, and found herself riding in the middle of a forest, the sky grey and cold above her. The clouds above looked close and snow-heavy.
Beside her she could see Ash walking, dark head bobbing by the horse's shoulder. He looked nowhere but straight ahead, and his facial expression looked bleak.
*Where are we?*, she wanted to ask. *How long has it been? What the hell is going on?* But wondering these questions was as far as she got before she was suddenly shoved back by who she now knew was the Witch. Pain seemed to blossom all around her, not of the body but an excruciating mental pain that Veris had little defense against.
*Enough of you*, the Witch's voice crashed deafeningly over her, and Veris had no choice but to subside. Still, even as she was shut off purposefully from her own body, she could not help feeling a small sense of triumph. She had won through, even if it was for only a breath. Even if now she was suffering for it. If she could have used her mouth to cry out, she would have. Consciousness became spotty again, and she felt herself fading.
*I must be more tired than I suspected,* Veris heard the thought echo around her faintly, as from far off. *Too many things to keep track of.Elven spell resistance..*
And that was all she heard for a long time.
* * * * * * *
Ashuram was cold, wet, and angry. At least these were familiar feelings. He took to anger like a cat takes to sunshine, basking in it, drawing warmth and energy from it. He did so now, head down into the wind, cloak pulled up against the stinging snow blowing across his face. He walked with his hand on the mare's shoulder, and the foul-tempered beast, too distracted with finding her footing, did not even attempt to try and bite him.
They had almost made it through the mountain pass into Valis before the storm had begun. Ashuram had seen it coming, but did not think it would bring snow this close to Spring. First a cold, icy wind had blown up, scouring down the mountains like a rough hand sweeping away at dust. The clouds had slowly gathered above, dark, thick grey ones that had promised cold misery to come. Suddenly, tiny white flakes had filled the air, so fine and windblown that they hardly seemed to be falling at all but rather merely swirling in the air all around them.
The storm was not so bad yet, but Ashuram had the feeling it was going to get worse. He was not dressed for such weather, and the cold air cut through his damp cloak like a knife. The Witch had said nothing yet, her head bowed against the snow, apparently lost in thought.
"We must find shelter," Ashuram raised his voice over the wind, his voice rusty with disuse.
He saw the half-elf's head nod.
"There is a town over the next ridge," the Witch said. "We will stay there until the storm passes over." He nodded, and fell silent again.
By the time they reached the town, the snow was falling steadily, beginning to gather on the ground and on his head and shoulders before he could brush it off. The wind was bitter and cruel, and had no warmth of Spring to it at all. This was a mountain storm; Ashuram knew the weather in the mountains could be unpredictable, but a blizzard so late in the season seemed quite uncommon to him.
There was no inn in the town, but there was a tavern that had a stable for the mare. As they went in to the tavern, the wind slammed the door shut behind them, whining through the cracks in the walls like a spirit moaning. Snow swirled against the windows like a million tiny white moths around a lantern.
"Haven't seen a Spring blizzard this bad in eighty years," a voice said.
This story published on recycled net space.
Chapter 17: Interludes
Woodchuck scratched himself lazily under the arm and contemplated ordering another bottle of wine.
He had already polished off most of the one standing open in front of him, and it was becoming apparent he was leaning on the bar in front of him more because he had to than because he really wanted to. He could feel a singularly stupid grin stretched permanently across his lips, but couldn't have wiped it off his face if he'd tried.
All he could think was that he was *free*. Oh, Lady, it felt good! He reached over and poured more red wine into the rough wooden goblet he was drinking from, just for the sheer pleasure of knowing he could do so of his own free will. His body was his own again, and his thoughts had room to stretch and complete themselves without being shut down.
If he didn't think it would have him kicked out, he would have shouted to the rooftops with his giddy excitement. He'd already tried singing, but the barmaid had threatened to turn him head over heels out the door if he continued. He slanted a glance over towards her, a large woman carrying trays full of beer mugs balanced perfectly on either hand. She looked, he thought, capable of kicking him back to Alania if she tried. So he kept himself quiet, with an effort, consoling himself with the fact that he'd nicked most of the change from her purse at one point earlier in the evening, and was now drinking red wine on the house, so to speak. At least his thieving abilities hadn't deteriorated completely while the Witch was using his body for a convenient host.
Gods and Goddesses! He threw back his head and took another long gulp of wine, after which he promptly gave a satisfied belch. He wiped his lips on the back of his hand sloppily. How long had it been since he'd tasted wine - even the vinegar they served at places like this? The Witch did not partake, as she had said, of such foul human inventions. No wonder she was such an uptight.. Well.
He looked around the room again, his ability to take in careful detail fading under the influence of his evening's efforts at drinking. He wondered how long he'd been in thrall to that purple monstrosity. He had no idea how much time had past since he'd had his body taken over and his thoughts shut out. Fashions didn't seem to have particularly changed, although that was hardly indicative. At least his own fashion had changed. If he ever caught sight of a purple cloak again..well, not even King Jester's dragons would be able to outpace him. He had developed a particular hatred of the color purple. And magic. And overbearing women.like the barmaid now coming purposefully towards him.
Woodchuck finished the last of the red wine with a swig that more or less made it down his throat and held up the empty bottle to show he was ready for another. The barmaid came to stand beside him, heavy hands on wide hips.
"Another," he requested. The woman raised her eyebrows.
"Alright, let's see your gold, thin man," she requested. He handed her a couple of coins and she took them without looking twice. A moment later Woodchuck had another bottle of wine to himself, and a grin of smug satisfaction merely added to the happiness that already bent his long, weasel face.
"You've certainly got money to burn, friend," a voice said over his left shoulder, and Woodchuck turned to look at the man sitting next to him
The man had apparently been sitting next to him for some time, although the erstwhile thief hadn't particularly paid him any attention up until now.. Woodchuck was simply satisfied that the man was no one he'd met before, and felt himself relax slightly.
He looked like a friendly-enough sort, one used to traveling. The man's windblown, blunt face seemed simple and common enough - a man who belonged where he was, in the peasant and merchant crowd that filled this bar to its dim corners. The smile did not leave Woodchuck's face - right now, this was exactly the company he wanted.
"Blasphemy," he found himself saying easily to his neighbor. "I'd never do anything so wasteful. I'm just happy tonight. If you pull up a flagon, I'll be happy to share."
"Don't mind if I do, at that," the man spoke, pushing his wooden cup closer so Woodchuck could fill it. Woodchuck managed to spill some mostly in the cup, stopped pouring when the man nodded, and slopped some into his own wooden mug. He was definitely beginning to feel a bit loose. It certainly wasn't like him to share - if his old guild master only knew! - but tonight was a special occasion, and he'd been known to do more (shudder) noble things at times.
"My name's Geild," the man introduced himself, raising his cup in Woodchuck's direction in thanks.
"Woodchuck," the thief replied, nodding.
"So, Woodchuck, what have you got to be so happy about? Win some money gambling?" Woodchuck blinked, mildly surprised. In ordinary circumstances, he supposed, that guess would've probably been right on the mark.
He shook his head.
"Nothing like that, friend, although that would certainly be nice. I've got rotten luck gambling." He winced to think what had happened to the last set of loaded dice he'd owned. The remains had made fairly useful toothpicks.
"Well then?"
Woodchuck found his mouth open to reply, and stopped. He had almost been about to blurt out his woes, but had paused when he realized how ridiculous his story would sound. How could one say, with a straight face, "Well, it's like this, my man - this insane fanatical witch possessed me for only the Gods know how long, dressed me up in purple and black women's clothes and in general terrorized several people while using my body to do so?" Impossible. He shook his head, the words swallowed.
"Let's just say," he offered when he saw Geild was still waiting for his answer, "that I've been a prisoner for a very *long* time, and I'm happy to be free."
"Oh, you've been married, too, have you?" Geild said, making a face, and they both laughed at the age worn joke.
"Nothing that serious," Woodchuck chuckled. Geild's face grew serious.
"You aren't returning from out Marmo way, are you?" He inquired, giving the thief a measuring gaze. "Were you a prisoner of war?" Woodchuck considered this.
"In a manner of speaking. I got caught on the south end of a very nasty north-bound spell." And *THAT* was putting it mildly.
"Ahh," Geild said merely, as if Woodchuck had said it all, and he seemed to look at the thief in a new light. "Welcome back from the dark side, then. You heading to Valis?" Woodchuck shook his head.
"Haven't decided yet. Guess I'll see when I get there." He grinned, but it was halfhearted. He had been trying not to think about Valis. It seemed to him the name had been prominent in the Witch's mind for a long time..Valis. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember what she wanted with Valis.
"They say Parn and his company are back in Valis now," the man continued, mere gossip.
"Oh?" Woodchuck found himself asking in spite of himself. He had been trying particularly to avoid thinking about that particular group of people, but he found himself interested despite his intention not to be.
"Yes. These days Parn is acting as the Princess' bodyguard and they say he has become one of King Kashue's right-hand men."
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, I'm sure," Woodchuck said, failing to sound disinterested. Geild nodded.
"No kidding. Good kid, from what I hear. Not too sure about that Elf woman that's always at his side, though."
"I hear ya there," Woodchuck muttered, thinking about how Deedo, "that Elf woman," had completely snubbed any and all of his advances, friendly or otherwise. Being haughty was one thing, but there was nothing like an Elven snob - it seemed like they wrote the book on subtle, scathing contempt.
"Still, she seems alright." Woodchuck merely grunted. He felt distracted by vague memories of Valis. something about Valis. Something the Witch wanted, he felt sure, had been in Valis. Talking about it with Geild gave him an uneasy feeling, as though there was something he needed to remember.
"I prefer my women human," Woodchuck added when he realized the conversation had paused.
"I'll drink to that, "Geild agreed, washing back the last of his wine. Woodchuck oblidged and poured him another tankard full. He discovered that his aim was off slightly and much of the wine splashed onto the bar.
"Easy there," Geild laughed.
"No worries," Woodchuck agreed. It had been a long time since he'd drunk and he was appalled to find that so little wine was having such a large effect on him.
"You know," he found himself saying to Geild, finishing off his own cup in defiance of his already mostly drunken state, "I've met Parn and the Elf, Deedo."
"Oh?" Geild said, looking interested but slightly dubious.
"Uh huh," Woodchuck said, and proceeded to tell Geild how he had met them all when they were held in Alania. He, of course, left out that he had been in prison for cheating at gambling.
Woodchuck's thoughts wandered while he was talking, although Geild continued to nod and look interested, which reassured the thief and he continued with his rambling story. Unbidden, however, he found himself remembering the rainy night he had stood with them - Parn, Deedolito, Slayn, Etoh and Ghim - outside the great hall on the way to find the old mage Warto.
That memory seemed as though it had happened a thousand years ago. How little he had felt he owed them then. He wanted to feel the same way now, but he knew better. He didn't want to owe them anything, although there was something bothering him about Valis. something that must involve them.
"That makes a good story, any way," Geild said, and Woodchuck came back to himself with a start. It was obvious the man didn't believe him. He felt drunken indignance and opened his mouth to defend himself.
"I always wondered if it was true that King Fahn gave the kid his sword," Geild said musingly before Woodchuck could say anything.
"Eh?" Woodchuck replied through his drunken haze. "What'dja just say?" Geild repeated himself, and went on to say something else, but Woodchuck didn't hear him.
Something had clicked. Something about..a sword. Parn. Valis. Karla. A sick feeling of dread opened up in Woodchuck's gut, siphoning off the drunken haze that surrounded him and hitting him with cold, intense sobriety.
"Oh, Hell," he said, and found that he had stood up, knocking his bar stool over in the process. "The sword."
Geild was blinking mildly at Woodchuck, looking confused. Woodchuck reached over to shake the man's hand firmly.
"Thank you, my friend," he said, and was surprised to find he meant it. As much as he wanted to be independent, he still owed the damn kid a warning that the Witch was on the move.
"You helped me remember-" Woodchuck continued, and was cut short by a heavy hand on his shoulder. He was spun around and discovered he was staring into the barmaid's round, angry face. Her cheeks were flushed and she did not look happy.
"Maybe you can help *me* remember," she said, taking him by the collar and looking disgusted as though he were a puppy that had just piddled on the floor, "where I placed the ten gold pieces I had in my pocket just a little while ago. Something tells me you'll know."
Woodchuck opened his mouth and paused, considering how best to get himself out of the situation.
"Actually, I have no idea what you're yawping about." Playing dumb was always, as a general rule, his first course of action. He remembered too late that it helped to be polite, too.
"Mmhmm," the woman replied, looking completely nonplused. "Try again."
"If I was reaching for your apron, it wouldn't be money I was going for," Woodchuck said slyly, weasel grin breaking on his face once more. If playing dumb didn't work, sometimes flattery did.
The woman's face went beet red. Woodchuck yelped as she grabbed him by the ear.
"Alright, you thin thief," she said, dragging him along more or less complacently behind her, "That's enough out of your crooked mouth. We don't need your kind around here." And before he realized what was going on, Woodchuck had been efficiently kicked out, the tavern door slammed in his face; dire threats about what would happen to his various meager body parts should he show his face again ringing in his ears. Woodchuck blinked at the closed door for a moment, and then grinned. Guess it was time to be on his way again.
* * * * *
She was determined to wake up, and remember what was going on. She held her determination fiercely, fueling it with anger and frustration, trying to break through the surface of consciousness.
She had found a spot that gave when she pushed, a place that seemed to be breaking down, and she worked at it with all her attention, as if she were grinding away at stone, wearing it down little by little. Every once in while she could hear thoughts that were neither her own nor directed at her float through her mind, but she paid them little attention.
Then, suddenly and abruptly, she was through. *I am Veris.* She found herself suddenly back in her own body, so surprised that she nearly fell off the horse she was riding. She blinked her eyes open, trying to shake off the languor that held her, and found herself riding in the middle of a forest, the sky grey and cold above her. The clouds above looked close and snow-heavy.
Beside her she could see Ash walking, dark head bobbing by the horse's shoulder. He looked nowhere but straight ahead, and his facial expression looked bleak.
*Where are we?*, she wanted to ask. *How long has it been? What the hell is going on?* But wondering these questions was as far as she got before she was suddenly shoved back by who she now knew was the Witch. Pain seemed to blossom all around her, not of the body but an excruciating mental pain that Veris had little defense against.
*Enough of you*, the Witch's voice crashed deafeningly over her, and Veris had no choice but to subside. Still, even as she was shut off purposefully from her own body, she could not help feeling a small sense of triumph. She had won through, even if it was for only a breath. Even if now she was suffering for it. If she could have used her mouth to cry out, she would have. Consciousness became spotty again, and she felt herself fading.
*I must be more tired than I suspected,* Veris heard the thought echo around her faintly, as from far off. *Too many things to keep track of.Elven spell resistance..*
And that was all she heard for a long time.
* * * * * * *
Ashuram was cold, wet, and angry. At least these were familiar feelings. He took to anger like a cat takes to sunshine, basking in it, drawing warmth and energy from it. He did so now, head down into the wind, cloak pulled up against the stinging snow blowing across his face. He walked with his hand on the mare's shoulder, and the foul-tempered beast, too distracted with finding her footing, did not even attempt to try and bite him.
They had almost made it through the mountain pass into Valis before the storm had begun. Ashuram had seen it coming, but did not think it would bring snow this close to Spring. First a cold, icy wind had blown up, scouring down the mountains like a rough hand sweeping away at dust. The clouds had slowly gathered above, dark, thick grey ones that had promised cold misery to come. Suddenly, tiny white flakes had filled the air, so fine and windblown that they hardly seemed to be falling at all but rather merely swirling in the air all around them.
The storm was not so bad yet, but Ashuram had the feeling it was going to get worse. He was not dressed for such weather, and the cold air cut through his damp cloak like a knife. The Witch had said nothing yet, her head bowed against the snow, apparently lost in thought.
"We must find shelter," Ashuram raised his voice over the wind, his voice rusty with disuse.
He saw the half-elf's head nod.
"There is a town over the next ridge," the Witch said. "We will stay there until the storm passes over." He nodded, and fell silent again.
By the time they reached the town, the snow was falling steadily, beginning to gather on the ground and on his head and shoulders before he could brush it off. The wind was bitter and cruel, and had no warmth of Spring to it at all. This was a mountain storm; Ashuram knew the weather in the mountains could be unpredictable, but a blizzard so late in the season seemed quite uncommon to him.
There was no inn in the town, but there was a tavern that had a stable for the mare. As they went in to the tavern, the wind slammed the door shut behind them, whining through the cracks in the walls like a spirit moaning. Snow swirled against the windows like a million tiny white moths around a lantern.
"Haven't seen a Spring blizzard this bad in eighty years," a voice said.