Disclaimer: More blatant name dropping upcoming! And as usual, I don't own
any of Lodoss or it's characters.
No leaf or bark fairies were harmed in the writing of this chapter. Completely 100% spirit-free.
Chapter 19: Slowly Waking Up
Ashuram opened his eyes sweetly. For a moment he was not sure where he was, and lie on his back blinking upwards for several long seconds. He was surrounded by muffled wan light and sound, soft and reassuring as the warmth of the bed he lay in. For the first time in a long time, he had not come awake with a start, hand on his sword. He had slept deeply, and if had dreamt he could not remember it.
He remembered where he was little by little, looking up at the time-strained grey wood of the barn ceiling above him. Dust motes floated lazily through the dim light that filtered in weakly. The smell of hay that filled his nose was pleasant, and underneath that, the warm, sweet scent of the horses. He could hear them below him, shifting their weight, getting restless as the morning waxed. Soon they would be whickering for their breakfast, he thought.
He was content to lay there for a while, folding his arms beneath his head and indulging in a rare moment of relaxation. There was something familiar about waking in a barn. Still, not quite fitting accommodation for the Black Knight, although he had to admit it was a step up from the hard earth he had been sleeping on in the past month.
He had stopped wondering how it was the once-mighty general of Marmo could wind up in such places as a barn on the Valisian border, counting his luck that it wasn't a hard, root-broken patch of earth on the forest floor.
Perhaps, he reflected, it was time he did so.
He felt different this morning.
It was as if he had been moving through a reverie the past month and was only now coming back to his senses. He rubbed the side of his face meditatively, brushing thick strands of sleep-ruffled hair off of his forehead. What had he been doing? When he stopped to think, he could remember nothing specifically about the last month. Days and days of travel..they all blurred into one long stretch that meant little to him now.
He felt as though he were only now able to take a breath and clear his head. What was the meaning of this? He stopped rubbing his face and slanted a glance over at the Witch, who was still lying silently in the hay. She looked asleep, but it was hard to tell for sure.
Impossible. the thought came to him at once and he could not dismiss it. That the Witch had something to do with his estranged state, he found he had no doubt. She was headed for Valis with a purpose that would stop at nothing, and he was part of that purpose. Had she somehow kept him.passive as they came ever closer to the Valisian border?
He thought for a moment. The last time he remembered actually being himself and in complete control was during the orc raid on Vesper. The night before the Witch had come. After that.
Ashuram nodded to himself. If he were the Witch, he would have done the same thing. Remove the odds working against her, and the likelihood that her plan, whatever that was, would come to fruition increased. As much as he resented the Witch, he respected her cunning, the same way a tanuki( might recognize the tricks of a fox while wanting nothing more than to outclass it.
If she was capable of putting a geas on him, then there was no doubt she could also quiet his thoughts, make him sleepy and compliant to her suggestions.
*I hate magic.* he thought, certainly not for the first time, although he was objective enough to add as an afterthought, *.that I can't control.*
Yet why was it, he wondered, that now he was able to stop and realize what was going on? What had happened that she was allowing him to get his bearings - surely she knew that he would in no wise be receptive to her commands unless he was bespelled? *Of course she does. This is merely part of her schemes. If it would suit her purpose for me to come to my senses..* Ashuram carried out a brief mental dialog with himself, which continued:
*Wait. She may be clever, but is she *that* clever? Perhaps she does not realize what has happened.* Ashuram slanted another glance over at the still form of the Witch. She was as powerful as a Goddess, but the important thing was, she wasn't one. Even she could not be perfect.
Was she still asleep? He could see Veris' body moving slightly up and down as she breathed. Karla asleep.
*Rare, odd..exploitable,* he thought. *Something isn't quite right here.*
He intended to make the most of it. As yet, however, he was not exactly sure how he could best do so. He nodded to himself slightly again, coming to a decision. Let her think, for the meantime, that nothing had happened. Let her think he was still.passive. Let her think what she would, the end would still be the same.
* * * * * * *
"The pass you want is called Rimmer's Gap," the little tavern mistress told Ashuram, pointing to the faded map she had pulled out with a kitchen-stained finger. He had already learned her name that morning but promptly forgotten it again; his brain was like that. Information he deemed important he kept and hoarded as jealously as a dragon with its treasure, but useless information left nary an imprint on his memory.
"It's about half a day's walk in normal weather, but in this snow." the woman cast a doubtful eye outside. Upon emerging from the barn, Ashuram had found the world covered in a layer of snow. Not deep snow, but cold and hard enough that he wished fleetingly for a decent pair of boots.
"Anyway, you'll find it by following the Grimmrflod," the woman told them, pointing northwest out the window. "If you come to a fork in the river, you'll know you've gone too far."
"They'll want to be careful," the old man felt obliged to add, stroking his beard contemplatively. The old man caught Ashuram's eye.
"That's a steep trail there through Rimmer's Gap. Merchants think twice about using it; some of its narrow enough that even the mountain burrows balk."
Ashuram almost snorted in derision. Mountain burrows indeed. Their legendary brave surefootedness was more of an old wive's tale than actuality. No, give him a light-footed Alanian horse any day. He supposed the healer's mare, whose name he realized suddenly, he had not ever learned (he would have remembered forgetting it), would have to do.
"You'll have to cross the Grimmrflod, too," the woman continued. "It's a treacherous stretch of water, so it's best to find a reliable ferryman. I can recommend-"
"We will chance it," Ashuram said.
"As you will, man, but the Grimmr's got some strange currents," the woman cautioned. "Moody river. I know a ferryman at Moss Bend-"
"If the Pass is so perilous, it's a wonder anyone makes it through alive," Ashuram smoothly cut in, voice cool. The woman colored angrily, as she realized he was having none of it.
This sort of thing was common in mountains like this, where the villages were few and far between. This tavern had probably made a deal with a ferryman on the other side of the Pass to send customers his way for a percent of the profit. Nothing like honest merchants. Ashuram could not help grinning maliciously.
"Well," the woman said after a pause, "we would be happy to at least sell you some sturdy travel clothes." She eyed Ashuram's cloak with a dubious eye.
Ashuram shook his head, even though he was in desperate need of some warm clothing.
"Not necessary."
"Well, in any case let me just show them to you." The woman disappeared once more, up stairs that squeaked under her feet.
Some time later, Ashuram was dressed warmly in a thick, long woolen coat. Having bargained with the few funds he had gathered from the Healer's house before leaving Vesper, he had driven the price down to less than a gold piece. He had also bought a blanket, and even the Witch had purchased a warm shawl (black, of course) that was now wrapped around the Healer's thin, grey-clad shoulders.
When they left, the woman and the old man waved them on their way with rather embittered expressions on their faces, having undoubtedly made less on their wares than they were used to doing.
The Witch was quiet, and remained so as they trudged out of the tavern yard. She rode in the saddle as tall as dignified as ever, however, the expression on the Healer's small face inscrutable and distant. It was left to Ashuram to lead the horse, and he did so, elbowing the mare without remorse when her muzzle got too close. They had learned by now to give each other space, but the mare had no fear of him. It was a shame, he thought, that the horse was so humble looking, for she had the proper temperament for a war horse - completely unflappable.
It was cold. The day was quiet, save for the high, thin whine of the wind that blew powdery snow up into their faces. Ashuram pulled his new coat closed against it, tramping through snow that was crisp and clean underfoot. The road was a white, sunken depression, and here and there the brown of the hard pack underneath showed through in faint patches.
The sun looked like a wan, sallow flat disc overhead in a sky the color of winter. There were no birds singing, and the trees with their new growth just barely marking a green fuzz along the branches looked poor and threadbare under the thin coat of snow. The mare, when she blew out, made puffs of steam at her nostrils, looking like some strange dragonlet.
"This weather, of course," Karla said suddenly and as casually as if she were simply making conversation, "is unnatural." Her voice seemed unusually loud and precise in the snow-muffled quiet all around them.
"Is it?" The Witch nodded once, the small silver hoops hung from the half-Elf"s ears jangling faintly.
"Indeed. Someone, or something, has stopped the Spring. Perhaps they think to slow me down."
He felt a brief chill go through him that had little to do with the cold winter chill.
"Return the weather to normal, then," Ashuram said, and whether he meant it intentionally or not, it sounded imperial, like an order. The Witch simply laughed.
"What, and let your new coat go to waste?" She murmured with a faint smirk, and fell silent again.
Late in the afternoon, they came in sight of the Grimmrflod. Ashuram had been hearing it roar in the distance for some time, and then suddenly as they rounded a bend in the trail, there it was before them. Against the snowy banks, the river looked dark and cold, and the air blowing up to them from it had a damp, bitter bite. The river was wide and the current deep and fast, water purling violently around large, slick black rocks that emerged from the water like the heads of some strange amphibious beasts. The roar of the water as they came upon it was nearly deafening.
Here the path become narrow and steep, and suddenly Ashuram could see why Rimmer's Pass had the reputation it did. On their left, the mountain face rose up sheer and rough, its slick, snow-coated surface offering little handhold or even much of an incline to lean against. On their right, the trail fell away sharply to the Grimmr below, waiting like a loud, angry maw.
Ashuram looked up at the sky, dark and close and hung with heavy clouds, and hoped that whoever was stopping the Spring would also see fit to stop the snow from falling again.
* * * * * * *
"Very interesting indeed," the thin man murmured, bending close to peer at the Demon sword and the Conqueror's sword side by side, both giving off slightly pulsating auras that did not increase nor diminish when they were separated. The man's long, fine hands fluttered like birds above the swords as if he wanted to touch them, but did not alight. He knelt in the plush carpet, the sleeves of his simple brown robe pushed up to the elbows, looking rather stork-like and awkward even on his knees.
"And you say the swords have been glowing like this only recently?" The man turned now to look up at Parn, large grey eyes solemn in his narrow face
Parn nodded.
"Yes," he told his bookish, scholarly friend, who pushed a thatch of straw-colored hair off of a rather high forehead. Even Slayn's hair was thin, Parn thought, although he had to conclude his friend had put on a little weight, thanks to what could only be Leylia and her mother's care. The wizard no longer had deep sunken pockets under his cheekbones, and his wrists no longer looked so fragile and bird-like. He actually, Parn saw, had wiry muscles built up in his thin arms, and there was breadth to his shoulders that lent him a dignified intellectualism.
Parn shot a glance to the tall, grave girl standing behind Slayn, dressed in grey Healer's robes. Her long hair fell in a thick wave of curls down her back where she had pulled it up away from her face. How different Leylia looked now that she was no longer under Karla's power! It was hard to believe it had even been the same body. Her eyes were a clear grey blue and wide, a frown of concentration between her dark brows as she studied the swords over Slayn's head. It seemed she took her role as Slayn's apprentice seriously.
His eyes fell on where her slender hands rested on Slayn's shoulders. Here, too, was another job she took seriously, he thought, and felt a terrible pang of jealousy that surprised him. Deedo was still not back, or she might be here, standing with her hands on his shoulders.
Then again, she might not. Parn stifled a sigh, and mentally shook himself as Slayn asked another question:
"Did you notice when, exactly, the swords started to do this? And the humming?" Parn shook his head.
"No Slayn, I'm sorry," he replied. "I don't know when exactly. I just sort of discovered it one day, and at first didn't think anything of it." Parn paused and thought for a moment.
"If it helps, I noticed it in King Fahn's sword first." He gestured to Soul Crusher with distaste. "Truth is, I don't go near that thing much."
"I don't blame you," the wizard said, looking at the dark- sheathed sword with thin-lipped antipathy. "It's got a nasty feel to it."
"You can say that again," Parn muttered.
"So, can you tell us what's happening here?" Etoh asked, his hands clasped behind his back. Parn could not fail to notice that even Etoh looked different, his round face perpetually rosy and a bemused, perplexed smile always hovering around his eyes. No doubt Fianna's influence. He was a little less successful stifling another sigh.
"Well," Slayn said, standing up like a marionette unfolding and brushing his hands against his robes. "I'm not sure, of course, but I do have my suspicions. Almost a month ago a mutual friend of ours pointed out to me something strange in the way the poles were aligning-"
"*What* mutual friend?" Parn interrupted, sounding a little belligerent even to his own ears. He hated it when Slayn went into wizard mode, and felt much better about things when everything was spelled out clearly and simply. He wanted names, not obscure references.
Slayn blinked mildly.
"I don't think he's ready to be known quite yet. We sort of had to drag him out of retirement, you see."
"Not quite true," Leylia said, clear eyes drifting from Slayn to Etoh to Parn. "This friend told Slayn that he was the best argument he could find for not remaining passive and told us he was ready to come out of retirement if Slayn was ready to become his apprentice."
"Leylia." Slayn was blushing slightly, although there was a grin on his face. Parn nearly rolled his eyes. He knew he ought to be happy for his friend's happiness, and truly he was - but for the Goddess' sake, enough was enough.
"So anyway," Parn said, "this mutual friend said something about poles misaligning."
"Not quite misaligning," Slayn corrected. "Strange alignment. The way the stars fall in the third-" he caught sight of the truculent look on Parn's face, and said hastily, "Well, all the signs point to something strange going on, and I have some idea as to what it might be."
"Well?" Parn prompted. Slayn blinked at him again, looking bemused.
"He's upset, because Deedolito isn't back yet," Etoh said to Slayn in an aside. He gave his friend a stern look when Parn would have protested and said, in his mild voice, "She'll be back soon, you'll see."
Parn sighed.
"It isn't confirmed yet," Slayn continued, reaching for Leylia's hand, "but I think the Grey Witch is on the move again." He squeezed the girl's fingers as if for reassurance, and Parn could see a barely perceptible shudder run through her at the mention of the name.
Parn himself felt something of a shudder. Not that creature again. Of all the foes they had come up against, she was the scariest..mostly because she was unpredictable and ineluctable. Even the Black Knight. Parn stopped thinking about it with an effort.
"Is she still alive?" Etoh asked.
"Oh, very much so," Slayn said grimly. "And still the self- proclaimed Steward of Lodoss."
"I suppose it was too much to hope she'd just disappear and not reappear." It was Etoh's turn to heave a sigh. Then he brightened slightly. "Perhaps if she's resurfaced, we can finally rescue."
There was a commotion out in the hall that interrupted him. They all turned to listen, and Parn reached for the Conqueror's sword.
Several voices were raised in what sounded like a shouting match, and the sounds of scuffling reached them.
"I tell ya, let me in already! He'll know me!" A belligerent voice reached them.
"What in the.?" Etoh spoke all of their thoughts, and there came a pounding on the door.
"Come," Parn called, his voice deep and resonant.
Three soldiers came in, bearing a thin, wiry figure between them.
"My Lord," one of them said, bowing to Parn, "This man has been causing quite a fuss. He claims to know you, Sir Parn, and has very. persistently insisted on seeing you."
"What? But I-?" Parn took a close look at the scruffy man hanging by his arms between the solid mass of the soldiers. He found himself looking into a familiar thin face, marked by a long, beak-like nose and a thin, weasel smile. The hair was as matted and disheveled as ever, the clothes threadbare and worn.
"Ho," said Woodchuck with a sly grin. "So much for my grand entrance. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
* * * * * * *
When the commotion had died down and they could hear themselves talk again, they sat down for a talk. Someone had the forethought to call for a bottle of wine, and they poured it around. Even Slayn and Leylia partook, allowing Etoh to pour a little into their glasses.
"I don't believe it, you scruffy dog," Parn said, pounding the thief on the back. "How did you manage to escape?"
Woodchuck took a large swallow of wine and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Ah," he said with satisfaction. "Some real wine. So much better than the swill I've been drinking on the road."
"How long have you been traveling? What's happened? Tell us everything," Parn demanded.
"Yes," Slayn echoed, more gravely. "I'm very concerned about what this may mean." Woodchuck held up his hand.
"Hold on there, My Lord," Woodchuck said mockingly. "I'm getting to it. First of all, though, can't a man enjoy life for a little in peace?"
"Actually, time may be of the essence," Slayn said. "Sorry to rush you, Wood, but-"
"Alright, alright," the thief grumbled. "I get it."
So he told them. Everything, and then some, embellishing when he felt the mood take him, but he conveyed the important things.
".So you see," he concluded, "I thought you might appreciate a little warning that she's headed towards Valis wearing a new body. Not as pretty as yours, though." He leered at Leylia who stared back, unmoved. Slayn frowned at the thief.
"But what does she *want*?" Parn asked, rubbing the fine stubble on his chin.
"Excellent question," Etoh said. "It must have something to do with the swords."
"Swords! Yes, I remember something about swords," Woodchuck said excitedly. Then he grew very serious for a moment.
"That's the other thing," he said. "The Black Knight is with her."
The room became so quiet Parn could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He felt his palms go cold and clammy.
"What.was that?" he asked in a low voice. Woodchuck nodded.
"You heard me. No joke. The Black Knight is with her, or at least he was last I checked. He looks terrible, too."
"He should be dead," Slayn said, with a severe frown, confronted with something that defied common sense. "Was he a zombie?"
"No more than usual," Woodchuck said wryly with a droll smile. Everyone was too serious to rise to his humor, and he dropped it quickly.
"The Black Knight," Etoh said slowly, and shook his head. "Now there's a name I thought I would never hear again unless in a bard's tale. I don't see how he can still be alive, Woodchuck. Are you sure it was he?" Woodchuck gave him a look that was eloquently sardonic.
"Let's put it this way," he said. "Do you know anyone else who's tall, emaciated, has a penchant for black, thinks looking like the Prince of Darkness is a fashion statement and answers to the name of Lord Ashuram? I certainly don't."
"Alright," Etoh said meekly. "Just checking."
"This is news of great import," Slayn said, and shared a troubled gaze with Leylia. "I knew the Witch was moving, perhaps even towards Valis, but this.." He frowned, rubbing the underside of his lip with a long, thin finger.
"The swords," Parn said numbly, feeling strange. His gaze fell on the two swords, stood side by side, pulsating faintly. "He's coming for SoulCrusher." He was suddenly very sure of this, as sure as if it were written in some Book of Things To Come.
"Ah," Slayn said, and the enlightened way he said it did not reassure Parn at all. "Very possibly."
Parn's mind felt empty and distant. He had never really won the fight against Lord Ashuram, and coming as close as he had nearly cost him his life. Did this mean he was going to have to fight him again? What happened to the "happy ever after" ending that all heroes were entitled to? His wasn't working out very happily at all. He wished again, futilely, that Deedo were here with him now. If he was going to fight the Black Knight again, he wanted her at his back. Regardless of what else happened between them, she was still the best partner he'd ever had.
"Just because the Black Knight is still alive doesn't mean he's spoiling for battle," Etoh said, taking pity on his friend and trying to comfort him.
Parn snorted.
"It's not over," he said. "It can't be. There was no clear victor." He looked at Etoh and shook his head sadly. "I don't think I can beat Ashuram, Etoh. He's very strong."
"Things change," Slayn said, sounding sage and scholarly, "and as ever, you're not alone. Whatever happens, we're all together in this, as always."
Parn smiled at Slayn, at all of his friends.
"Yes," he said, and nodded. But he couldn't help feeling sadness even as he smiled. They weren't all together on this one. Parn directed his gaze out the window into the star lit night, as if somehow he could make Deedo appear in front of him. He hoped wherever she was, she was safe.
And, there was one more they were missing that not even hoping would bring back. Parn shook his head. It still hurt too much to think about Ghim, and that was one sadness he would always carry.
"I think that definitely calls for a toast," Woodchuck said, diving for the wine bottle.
* * * * * * *
( Author note - Tanuki is one of those strange animals out of Japanese folklore that doesn't really have a translation. I've heard them called "Racoon dogs" in English. Hmm.. :P Anyway, they look more like badgers, and they're irrepressible tricksters.
No leaf or bark fairies were harmed in the writing of this chapter. Completely 100% spirit-free.
Chapter 19: Slowly Waking Up
Ashuram opened his eyes sweetly. For a moment he was not sure where he was, and lie on his back blinking upwards for several long seconds. He was surrounded by muffled wan light and sound, soft and reassuring as the warmth of the bed he lay in. For the first time in a long time, he had not come awake with a start, hand on his sword. He had slept deeply, and if had dreamt he could not remember it.
He remembered where he was little by little, looking up at the time-strained grey wood of the barn ceiling above him. Dust motes floated lazily through the dim light that filtered in weakly. The smell of hay that filled his nose was pleasant, and underneath that, the warm, sweet scent of the horses. He could hear them below him, shifting their weight, getting restless as the morning waxed. Soon they would be whickering for their breakfast, he thought.
He was content to lay there for a while, folding his arms beneath his head and indulging in a rare moment of relaxation. There was something familiar about waking in a barn. Still, not quite fitting accommodation for the Black Knight, although he had to admit it was a step up from the hard earth he had been sleeping on in the past month.
He had stopped wondering how it was the once-mighty general of Marmo could wind up in such places as a barn on the Valisian border, counting his luck that it wasn't a hard, root-broken patch of earth on the forest floor.
Perhaps, he reflected, it was time he did so.
He felt different this morning.
It was as if he had been moving through a reverie the past month and was only now coming back to his senses. He rubbed the side of his face meditatively, brushing thick strands of sleep-ruffled hair off of his forehead. What had he been doing? When he stopped to think, he could remember nothing specifically about the last month. Days and days of travel..they all blurred into one long stretch that meant little to him now.
He felt as though he were only now able to take a breath and clear his head. What was the meaning of this? He stopped rubbing his face and slanted a glance over at the Witch, who was still lying silently in the hay. She looked asleep, but it was hard to tell for sure.
Impossible. the thought came to him at once and he could not dismiss it. That the Witch had something to do with his estranged state, he found he had no doubt. She was headed for Valis with a purpose that would stop at nothing, and he was part of that purpose. Had she somehow kept him.passive as they came ever closer to the Valisian border?
He thought for a moment. The last time he remembered actually being himself and in complete control was during the orc raid on Vesper. The night before the Witch had come. After that.
Ashuram nodded to himself. If he were the Witch, he would have done the same thing. Remove the odds working against her, and the likelihood that her plan, whatever that was, would come to fruition increased. As much as he resented the Witch, he respected her cunning, the same way a tanuki( might recognize the tricks of a fox while wanting nothing more than to outclass it.
If she was capable of putting a geas on him, then there was no doubt she could also quiet his thoughts, make him sleepy and compliant to her suggestions.
*I hate magic.* he thought, certainly not for the first time, although he was objective enough to add as an afterthought, *.that I can't control.*
Yet why was it, he wondered, that now he was able to stop and realize what was going on? What had happened that she was allowing him to get his bearings - surely she knew that he would in no wise be receptive to her commands unless he was bespelled? *Of course she does. This is merely part of her schemes. If it would suit her purpose for me to come to my senses..* Ashuram carried out a brief mental dialog with himself, which continued:
*Wait. She may be clever, but is she *that* clever? Perhaps she does not realize what has happened.* Ashuram slanted another glance over at the still form of the Witch. She was as powerful as a Goddess, but the important thing was, she wasn't one. Even she could not be perfect.
Was she still asleep? He could see Veris' body moving slightly up and down as she breathed. Karla asleep.
*Rare, odd..exploitable,* he thought. *Something isn't quite right here.*
He intended to make the most of it. As yet, however, he was not exactly sure how he could best do so. He nodded to himself slightly again, coming to a decision. Let her think, for the meantime, that nothing had happened. Let her think he was still.passive. Let her think what she would, the end would still be the same.
* * * * * * *
"The pass you want is called Rimmer's Gap," the little tavern mistress told Ashuram, pointing to the faded map she had pulled out with a kitchen-stained finger. He had already learned her name that morning but promptly forgotten it again; his brain was like that. Information he deemed important he kept and hoarded as jealously as a dragon with its treasure, but useless information left nary an imprint on his memory.
"It's about half a day's walk in normal weather, but in this snow." the woman cast a doubtful eye outside. Upon emerging from the barn, Ashuram had found the world covered in a layer of snow. Not deep snow, but cold and hard enough that he wished fleetingly for a decent pair of boots.
"Anyway, you'll find it by following the Grimmrflod," the woman told them, pointing northwest out the window. "If you come to a fork in the river, you'll know you've gone too far."
"They'll want to be careful," the old man felt obliged to add, stroking his beard contemplatively. The old man caught Ashuram's eye.
"That's a steep trail there through Rimmer's Gap. Merchants think twice about using it; some of its narrow enough that even the mountain burrows balk."
Ashuram almost snorted in derision. Mountain burrows indeed. Their legendary brave surefootedness was more of an old wive's tale than actuality. No, give him a light-footed Alanian horse any day. He supposed the healer's mare, whose name he realized suddenly, he had not ever learned (he would have remembered forgetting it), would have to do.
"You'll have to cross the Grimmrflod, too," the woman continued. "It's a treacherous stretch of water, so it's best to find a reliable ferryman. I can recommend-"
"We will chance it," Ashuram said.
"As you will, man, but the Grimmr's got some strange currents," the woman cautioned. "Moody river. I know a ferryman at Moss Bend-"
"If the Pass is so perilous, it's a wonder anyone makes it through alive," Ashuram smoothly cut in, voice cool. The woman colored angrily, as she realized he was having none of it.
This sort of thing was common in mountains like this, where the villages were few and far between. This tavern had probably made a deal with a ferryman on the other side of the Pass to send customers his way for a percent of the profit. Nothing like honest merchants. Ashuram could not help grinning maliciously.
"Well," the woman said after a pause, "we would be happy to at least sell you some sturdy travel clothes." She eyed Ashuram's cloak with a dubious eye.
Ashuram shook his head, even though he was in desperate need of some warm clothing.
"Not necessary."
"Well, in any case let me just show them to you." The woman disappeared once more, up stairs that squeaked under her feet.
Some time later, Ashuram was dressed warmly in a thick, long woolen coat. Having bargained with the few funds he had gathered from the Healer's house before leaving Vesper, he had driven the price down to less than a gold piece. He had also bought a blanket, and even the Witch had purchased a warm shawl (black, of course) that was now wrapped around the Healer's thin, grey-clad shoulders.
When they left, the woman and the old man waved them on their way with rather embittered expressions on their faces, having undoubtedly made less on their wares than they were used to doing.
The Witch was quiet, and remained so as they trudged out of the tavern yard. She rode in the saddle as tall as dignified as ever, however, the expression on the Healer's small face inscrutable and distant. It was left to Ashuram to lead the horse, and he did so, elbowing the mare without remorse when her muzzle got too close. They had learned by now to give each other space, but the mare had no fear of him. It was a shame, he thought, that the horse was so humble looking, for she had the proper temperament for a war horse - completely unflappable.
It was cold. The day was quiet, save for the high, thin whine of the wind that blew powdery snow up into their faces. Ashuram pulled his new coat closed against it, tramping through snow that was crisp and clean underfoot. The road was a white, sunken depression, and here and there the brown of the hard pack underneath showed through in faint patches.
The sun looked like a wan, sallow flat disc overhead in a sky the color of winter. There were no birds singing, and the trees with their new growth just barely marking a green fuzz along the branches looked poor and threadbare under the thin coat of snow. The mare, when she blew out, made puffs of steam at her nostrils, looking like some strange dragonlet.
"This weather, of course," Karla said suddenly and as casually as if she were simply making conversation, "is unnatural." Her voice seemed unusually loud and precise in the snow-muffled quiet all around them.
"Is it?" The Witch nodded once, the small silver hoops hung from the half-Elf"s ears jangling faintly.
"Indeed. Someone, or something, has stopped the Spring. Perhaps they think to slow me down."
He felt a brief chill go through him that had little to do with the cold winter chill.
"Return the weather to normal, then," Ashuram said, and whether he meant it intentionally or not, it sounded imperial, like an order. The Witch simply laughed.
"What, and let your new coat go to waste?" She murmured with a faint smirk, and fell silent again.
Late in the afternoon, they came in sight of the Grimmrflod. Ashuram had been hearing it roar in the distance for some time, and then suddenly as they rounded a bend in the trail, there it was before them. Against the snowy banks, the river looked dark and cold, and the air blowing up to them from it had a damp, bitter bite. The river was wide and the current deep and fast, water purling violently around large, slick black rocks that emerged from the water like the heads of some strange amphibious beasts. The roar of the water as they came upon it was nearly deafening.
Here the path become narrow and steep, and suddenly Ashuram could see why Rimmer's Pass had the reputation it did. On their left, the mountain face rose up sheer and rough, its slick, snow-coated surface offering little handhold or even much of an incline to lean against. On their right, the trail fell away sharply to the Grimmr below, waiting like a loud, angry maw.
Ashuram looked up at the sky, dark and close and hung with heavy clouds, and hoped that whoever was stopping the Spring would also see fit to stop the snow from falling again.
* * * * * * *
"Very interesting indeed," the thin man murmured, bending close to peer at the Demon sword and the Conqueror's sword side by side, both giving off slightly pulsating auras that did not increase nor diminish when they were separated. The man's long, fine hands fluttered like birds above the swords as if he wanted to touch them, but did not alight. He knelt in the plush carpet, the sleeves of his simple brown robe pushed up to the elbows, looking rather stork-like and awkward even on his knees.
"And you say the swords have been glowing like this only recently?" The man turned now to look up at Parn, large grey eyes solemn in his narrow face
Parn nodded.
"Yes," he told his bookish, scholarly friend, who pushed a thatch of straw-colored hair off of a rather high forehead. Even Slayn's hair was thin, Parn thought, although he had to conclude his friend had put on a little weight, thanks to what could only be Leylia and her mother's care. The wizard no longer had deep sunken pockets under his cheekbones, and his wrists no longer looked so fragile and bird-like. He actually, Parn saw, had wiry muscles built up in his thin arms, and there was breadth to his shoulders that lent him a dignified intellectualism.
Parn shot a glance to the tall, grave girl standing behind Slayn, dressed in grey Healer's robes. Her long hair fell in a thick wave of curls down her back where she had pulled it up away from her face. How different Leylia looked now that she was no longer under Karla's power! It was hard to believe it had even been the same body. Her eyes were a clear grey blue and wide, a frown of concentration between her dark brows as she studied the swords over Slayn's head. It seemed she took her role as Slayn's apprentice seriously.
His eyes fell on where her slender hands rested on Slayn's shoulders. Here, too, was another job she took seriously, he thought, and felt a terrible pang of jealousy that surprised him. Deedo was still not back, or she might be here, standing with her hands on his shoulders.
Then again, she might not. Parn stifled a sigh, and mentally shook himself as Slayn asked another question:
"Did you notice when, exactly, the swords started to do this? And the humming?" Parn shook his head.
"No Slayn, I'm sorry," he replied. "I don't know when exactly. I just sort of discovered it one day, and at first didn't think anything of it." Parn paused and thought for a moment.
"If it helps, I noticed it in King Fahn's sword first." He gestured to Soul Crusher with distaste. "Truth is, I don't go near that thing much."
"I don't blame you," the wizard said, looking at the dark- sheathed sword with thin-lipped antipathy. "It's got a nasty feel to it."
"You can say that again," Parn muttered.
"So, can you tell us what's happening here?" Etoh asked, his hands clasped behind his back. Parn could not fail to notice that even Etoh looked different, his round face perpetually rosy and a bemused, perplexed smile always hovering around his eyes. No doubt Fianna's influence. He was a little less successful stifling another sigh.
"Well," Slayn said, standing up like a marionette unfolding and brushing his hands against his robes. "I'm not sure, of course, but I do have my suspicions. Almost a month ago a mutual friend of ours pointed out to me something strange in the way the poles were aligning-"
"*What* mutual friend?" Parn interrupted, sounding a little belligerent even to his own ears. He hated it when Slayn went into wizard mode, and felt much better about things when everything was spelled out clearly and simply. He wanted names, not obscure references.
Slayn blinked mildly.
"I don't think he's ready to be known quite yet. We sort of had to drag him out of retirement, you see."
"Not quite true," Leylia said, clear eyes drifting from Slayn to Etoh to Parn. "This friend told Slayn that he was the best argument he could find for not remaining passive and told us he was ready to come out of retirement if Slayn was ready to become his apprentice."
"Leylia." Slayn was blushing slightly, although there was a grin on his face. Parn nearly rolled his eyes. He knew he ought to be happy for his friend's happiness, and truly he was - but for the Goddess' sake, enough was enough.
"So anyway," Parn said, "this mutual friend said something about poles misaligning."
"Not quite misaligning," Slayn corrected. "Strange alignment. The way the stars fall in the third-" he caught sight of the truculent look on Parn's face, and said hastily, "Well, all the signs point to something strange going on, and I have some idea as to what it might be."
"Well?" Parn prompted. Slayn blinked at him again, looking bemused.
"He's upset, because Deedolito isn't back yet," Etoh said to Slayn in an aside. He gave his friend a stern look when Parn would have protested and said, in his mild voice, "She'll be back soon, you'll see."
Parn sighed.
"It isn't confirmed yet," Slayn continued, reaching for Leylia's hand, "but I think the Grey Witch is on the move again." He squeezed the girl's fingers as if for reassurance, and Parn could see a barely perceptible shudder run through her at the mention of the name.
Parn himself felt something of a shudder. Not that creature again. Of all the foes they had come up against, she was the scariest..mostly because she was unpredictable and ineluctable. Even the Black Knight. Parn stopped thinking about it with an effort.
"Is she still alive?" Etoh asked.
"Oh, very much so," Slayn said grimly. "And still the self- proclaimed Steward of Lodoss."
"I suppose it was too much to hope she'd just disappear and not reappear." It was Etoh's turn to heave a sigh. Then he brightened slightly. "Perhaps if she's resurfaced, we can finally rescue."
There was a commotion out in the hall that interrupted him. They all turned to listen, and Parn reached for the Conqueror's sword.
Several voices were raised in what sounded like a shouting match, and the sounds of scuffling reached them.
"I tell ya, let me in already! He'll know me!" A belligerent voice reached them.
"What in the.?" Etoh spoke all of their thoughts, and there came a pounding on the door.
"Come," Parn called, his voice deep and resonant.
Three soldiers came in, bearing a thin, wiry figure between them.
"My Lord," one of them said, bowing to Parn, "This man has been causing quite a fuss. He claims to know you, Sir Parn, and has very. persistently insisted on seeing you."
"What? But I-?" Parn took a close look at the scruffy man hanging by his arms between the solid mass of the soldiers. He found himself looking into a familiar thin face, marked by a long, beak-like nose and a thin, weasel smile. The hair was as matted and disheveled as ever, the clothes threadbare and worn.
"Ho," said Woodchuck with a sly grin. "So much for my grand entrance. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
* * * * * * *
When the commotion had died down and they could hear themselves talk again, they sat down for a talk. Someone had the forethought to call for a bottle of wine, and they poured it around. Even Slayn and Leylia partook, allowing Etoh to pour a little into their glasses.
"I don't believe it, you scruffy dog," Parn said, pounding the thief on the back. "How did you manage to escape?"
Woodchuck took a large swallow of wine and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Ah," he said with satisfaction. "Some real wine. So much better than the swill I've been drinking on the road."
"How long have you been traveling? What's happened? Tell us everything," Parn demanded.
"Yes," Slayn echoed, more gravely. "I'm very concerned about what this may mean." Woodchuck held up his hand.
"Hold on there, My Lord," Woodchuck said mockingly. "I'm getting to it. First of all, though, can't a man enjoy life for a little in peace?"
"Actually, time may be of the essence," Slayn said. "Sorry to rush you, Wood, but-"
"Alright, alright," the thief grumbled. "I get it."
So he told them. Everything, and then some, embellishing when he felt the mood take him, but he conveyed the important things.
".So you see," he concluded, "I thought you might appreciate a little warning that she's headed towards Valis wearing a new body. Not as pretty as yours, though." He leered at Leylia who stared back, unmoved. Slayn frowned at the thief.
"But what does she *want*?" Parn asked, rubbing the fine stubble on his chin.
"Excellent question," Etoh said. "It must have something to do with the swords."
"Swords! Yes, I remember something about swords," Woodchuck said excitedly. Then he grew very serious for a moment.
"That's the other thing," he said. "The Black Knight is with her."
The room became so quiet Parn could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He felt his palms go cold and clammy.
"What.was that?" he asked in a low voice. Woodchuck nodded.
"You heard me. No joke. The Black Knight is with her, or at least he was last I checked. He looks terrible, too."
"He should be dead," Slayn said, with a severe frown, confronted with something that defied common sense. "Was he a zombie?"
"No more than usual," Woodchuck said wryly with a droll smile. Everyone was too serious to rise to his humor, and he dropped it quickly.
"The Black Knight," Etoh said slowly, and shook his head. "Now there's a name I thought I would never hear again unless in a bard's tale. I don't see how he can still be alive, Woodchuck. Are you sure it was he?" Woodchuck gave him a look that was eloquently sardonic.
"Let's put it this way," he said. "Do you know anyone else who's tall, emaciated, has a penchant for black, thinks looking like the Prince of Darkness is a fashion statement and answers to the name of Lord Ashuram? I certainly don't."
"Alright," Etoh said meekly. "Just checking."
"This is news of great import," Slayn said, and shared a troubled gaze with Leylia. "I knew the Witch was moving, perhaps even towards Valis, but this.." He frowned, rubbing the underside of his lip with a long, thin finger.
"The swords," Parn said numbly, feeling strange. His gaze fell on the two swords, stood side by side, pulsating faintly. "He's coming for SoulCrusher." He was suddenly very sure of this, as sure as if it were written in some Book of Things To Come.
"Ah," Slayn said, and the enlightened way he said it did not reassure Parn at all. "Very possibly."
Parn's mind felt empty and distant. He had never really won the fight against Lord Ashuram, and coming as close as he had nearly cost him his life. Did this mean he was going to have to fight him again? What happened to the "happy ever after" ending that all heroes were entitled to? His wasn't working out very happily at all. He wished again, futilely, that Deedo were here with him now. If he was going to fight the Black Knight again, he wanted her at his back. Regardless of what else happened between them, she was still the best partner he'd ever had.
"Just because the Black Knight is still alive doesn't mean he's spoiling for battle," Etoh said, taking pity on his friend and trying to comfort him.
Parn snorted.
"It's not over," he said. "It can't be. There was no clear victor." He looked at Etoh and shook his head sadly. "I don't think I can beat Ashuram, Etoh. He's very strong."
"Things change," Slayn said, sounding sage and scholarly, "and as ever, you're not alone. Whatever happens, we're all together in this, as always."
Parn smiled at Slayn, at all of his friends.
"Yes," he said, and nodded. But he couldn't help feeling sadness even as he smiled. They weren't all together on this one. Parn directed his gaze out the window into the star lit night, as if somehow he could make Deedo appear in front of him. He hoped wherever she was, she was safe.
And, there was one more they were missing that not even hoping would bring back. Parn shook his head. It still hurt too much to think about Ghim, and that was one sadness he would always carry.
"I think that definitely calls for a toast," Woodchuck said, diving for the wine bottle.
* * * * * * *
( Author note - Tanuki is one of those strange animals out of Japanese folklore that doesn't really have a translation. I've heard them called "Racoon dogs" in English. Hmm.. :P Anyway, they look more like badgers, and they're irrepressible tricksters.