(So, who missed me? =D)
Chapter VIII
"What in the Nine Hells was that?" Jarlaxle demanded, his voice cut short in his frustration. His fists were tight balls on the desk before him. His hat was tilted up so that everyone in the room could see the unmasked look of rage.
Melyac stood before the leader of the band stoically, although his composure was beginning to slip away as Jarlaxle's wrath crept forward. "We do not know, sir," he replied honestly. "Some sort of magic was used but-"
Jarlaxle's eyes narrowed in his fury and Melyac's voice fled him. "I know it was magic," Jarlaxle breathed, his voice dangerously quiet, restrained by some invisible leash. He took in a deep breath to steady himself. "Has one of the wizards traced the origin?"
"None have been able to, sir," another lieutenant replied. Jarlaxle glanced at him, his eyes leaving Melyac quickly. Melyac immediately felt relief.
"Why?" the mercenary questioned. He crossed his arms, his back straight and his head cocked to the side as he waited for the answer.
The lieutenant, a strong drow, muscles corded tightly, responded coolly, "The spell was protected by the caster. We have tried everything to find the one who cast it."
"You've tried everything?" Jarlaxle repeated, his voice subdued again as if his anger were ebbing. His lieutenants relaxed slightly as they nodded obediently. A long moment passed in a deathly still silence. No one dared to even move.
"Leave me now." The lieutenants did not question the command, but they glanced at their leader, watching as Jarlaxle's tense body seemed to loosen as he called out after them, "Find out who cast that spell!"
The drow shuffled out of the room without another word and once the door was closed, Jarlaxle began to pace quickly. Back and forth he went, briskly thinking, his hands folded behind his back.
That had been a powerful spell. Incredibly powerful. More powerful than he believed drow in Menzoberranzan were capable of, even Baerne herself. But he didn't know things that were terrible important to know.
Who had cast it? And more importantly, why had it been used? The magical orb that hung at Jarlaxle's neck alerted him to powerful or hidden magics, but never had he felt it alert him with such urgency as it had just minutes before. Something was happening.
He thought back to Lea'Veril. Perhaps she was correct in what she had told him.... Perhaps....
No, Jarlaxle reprimanded himself silently, don't make assumptions yet. Now he only needed to know who had cast the spell...but how?
Suddenly, the mercenary stopped pacing. Jarlaxle knew the comings and goings of the magic society in the city. He knew which wizards and priestesses were powerful enough to become a threat.
And now it was time to pay one of them a visit.
*** *** ***
"Did you feel that?" Helarin asked, his voice dulled with urgent worry.
Lea snorted caustically. "Of course I did. That wave of magic was hard not to miss." She looked around the room, her hand brushing past a stack of thick books to fall on a quill.
Helarin missed the obvious sarcasm. "Time is slipping away, Lea," he warned as Lea's scrawl began to trail from the quill in slick, sweeping ink. "I know you felt what was in that spell. She wants the MoonCrest and now she knows where it is."
"She will not get it," Lea replied shortly, accenting each word with a profound attack. She glanced up from the letter she was beginning to write. "The MoonCrest is safe for now," she assured the weapons-master.
Helarin shook his head, letting her words fall away, unheeded. "We don't know that," he breathed, desperately trying to make her see. Lea's eyes snapped to him, this time in a flaring anger.
"The MoonCrest has been protected for countless ages, Helarin," she said quickly. "Need I remind you where it is hidden?" Helarin fell silent, but Lea was not finished. "Time may very well be running short, but it has not all together vanished. That spell might have just given her an inkling of where the MoonCrest is, but she hasn't found it yet. And to our advantage, her little spell just gave Jarlaxle the push he needed to help us." She didn't let her gaze linger on Helarin. Instead, she went back immediately to her writing.
Helarin opened his mouth as if he were going to reply, but closed it quickly. Frustrated, he left Lea in the room, the constant scratching of the quill's tip driving into his mind well after he had closed the door.
*** *** ***
The fire flickered brightly even as Sapek walked away, the torch still tight in his hand. He walked towards the barrel of blessed water and plunged the burning torch into it. The water hissed and steam immediately brewed into the air, turning a dark purple in color. The magic of the steam twanged the heartstrings of Sapek as he returned to his wife's side.
"It is started!" Aniyia called out to the crowd of people that had gathered to watch the ceremony. Her voice seemed to defy the woman's age for it rang with the underlining of a youth's strength. "Let it continue as well!"
She walked to Dessaven and slowly prodded her for the baby. Dessaven looked longingly at her daughter, suddenly wishing that the ceremony would not take place.
"Don't worry," the wise-woman whispered, offering a comforting smile. "Everything is fine." Dessaven struggled to nod, a lump in her throat. She was so nervous, despite Aniyia's words.
Aniyia took the baby into her arms and circled the fire once with her. Once she had made a complete circle, she knelt down. Her hand brushed through the baby's hair as she set Nevina on the ground.
And then Aniyia stood, her hand on her knee to help her upright. She reached into the folds of her clothes and produced a small leather satchel. Pulling apart the closing knot, she walked close to the fire, spilling the contents-a fine black powder-onto the licking flames.
The fire burned brighter and then changed to a smoky white, sending dark green smoke up. Sapek glanced at his wife and he saw her shudder despite the warmth of the glowing fire.
"Gods above us and gods around us," Aniyia chanted slowly, her old voice filled with a wisdom none around her possessed. The baby lay near the huge fire, just out of reach of the licking flames, but close enough so that Nevina's face glowed by the light of the fire.
"Gods of air and sea, gods of earth and flame...." She stood before the fire, her chanting steadily growing louder in the heat of the ceremony. If Aniyia felt the eyes of the crowd behind her, she did not show it. She was absorbed by the burning magic of the ceremony, consumed by the flicker of the gray fire.
"Nothing is happening," Dessaven whispered nervously. She and Sapek stood just out of reach of the fire's glow, their faces covered in nightly shadow, an eerie absence of light.
Sapek didn't reply, but he took her hand into his and held it, squeezing it slightly for comfort. Dessaven watched fearfully as Aniyia lifted Nevina and began to circle the fire once again.
"Nevina!" she cried. The baby began to cry, too startled to remain silent. Aniyia did not break her pace. "Nevina!" she screamed again. The gray fires flared upward instantly.
"We bring her forward into this world," Aniyia screeched as the fire's cackle and hiss began to grow. "Let the gods know her name and let her foes tremble at her sight! Let her learn the way of her people! May she grow and learn in the way of nature's temple. May she respect life and the gods. Let it ring! Let it be!"
The fires scorched up, higher than before so that they towered over Aniyia. Nevina cried and Dessaven trembled, the power of Aniyia's words falling over them and chilling them like ice.
The fires suddenly died, leaving only glowing embers in the night's darkness and a gentle smoke that rose in the wind.
"Nevina she is and Nevina she will remain," Aniyia said quietly, holding the baby in the crook of her arm. She walked towards Dessaven and Sapek slowly.
"She is alright?" Dessaven asked worriedly, reaching for the whimpering baby. Aniyia nodded, smiling weakly, her eyes showing her age.
Sapek draped one arm around his wife and looked down at Nevina, who was wriggling in her mother's arms. "Thank you, Aniyia," he said. The old woman gave a single nod and then turned away.
The crowd behind Sapek and Dessaven followed suit, leaving Dessaven and Sapek alone with their daughter, alone with the dying embers of the forgotten fire.
*** *** ***
"What did you see, Zaknafein?" the leader of the raid asked crossly. "You were sent out as a scout nearly an hour ago."
Zak was hardly concerned with the harsh look he was being given. "The people were having a ceremony of some sort."
"A ceremony?" one of the drow echoed questionably. Zaknafein nodded.
"I believe they were baptizing one of their young," he explained. "Nothing more," he added, glancing at the head of the raid. "Will we still attack as planned?"
The silence was difficult and Zak had time to pray to whatever gods that might be listening, to pray that the raid would be called off.
"We will attack as we planned. Hurry, the moon is almost above us."
"Time for the fun," the leader of the raid laughed. Zak beside him forced a grim smile, hoping it passed for the demented of eagerness of those around him. The leader's hand moved quickly, giving the signal to the second group of drow.
"Let's go!" he whispered in the drow tongue.
Chapter VIII
"What in the Nine Hells was that?" Jarlaxle demanded, his voice cut short in his frustration. His fists were tight balls on the desk before him. His hat was tilted up so that everyone in the room could see the unmasked look of rage.
Melyac stood before the leader of the band stoically, although his composure was beginning to slip away as Jarlaxle's wrath crept forward. "We do not know, sir," he replied honestly. "Some sort of magic was used but-"
Jarlaxle's eyes narrowed in his fury and Melyac's voice fled him. "I know it was magic," Jarlaxle breathed, his voice dangerously quiet, restrained by some invisible leash. He took in a deep breath to steady himself. "Has one of the wizards traced the origin?"
"None have been able to, sir," another lieutenant replied. Jarlaxle glanced at him, his eyes leaving Melyac quickly. Melyac immediately felt relief.
"Why?" the mercenary questioned. He crossed his arms, his back straight and his head cocked to the side as he waited for the answer.
The lieutenant, a strong drow, muscles corded tightly, responded coolly, "The spell was protected by the caster. We have tried everything to find the one who cast it."
"You've tried everything?" Jarlaxle repeated, his voice subdued again as if his anger were ebbing. His lieutenants relaxed slightly as they nodded obediently. A long moment passed in a deathly still silence. No one dared to even move.
"Leave me now." The lieutenants did not question the command, but they glanced at their leader, watching as Jarlaxle's tense body seemed to loosen as he called out after them, "Find out who cast that spell!"
The drow shuffled out of the room without another word and once the door was closed, Jarlaxle began to pace quickly. Back and forth he went, briskly thinking, his hands folded behind his back.
That had been a powerful spell. Incredibly powerful. More powerful than he believed drow in Menzoberranzan were capable of, even Baerne herself. But he didn't know things that were terrible important to know.
Who had cast it? And more importantly, why had it been used? The magical orb that hung at Jarlaxle's neck alerted him to powerful or hidden magics, but never had he felt it alert him with such urgency as it had just minutes before. Something was happening.
He thought back to Lea'Veril. Perhaps she was correct in what she had told him.... Perhaps....
No, Jarlaxle reprimanded himself silently, don't make assumptions yet. Now he only needed to know who had cast the spell...but how?
Suddenly, the mercenary stopped pacing. Jarlaxle knew the comings and goings of the magic society in the city. He knew which wizards and priestesses were powerful enough to become a threat.
And now it was time to pay one of them a visit.
*** *** ***
"Did you feel that?" Helarin asked, his voice dulled with urgent worry.
Lea snorted caustically. "Of course I did. That wave of magic was hard not to miss." She looked around the room, her hand brushing past a stack of thick books to fall on a quill.
Helarin missed the obvious sarcasm. "Time is slipping away, Lea," he warned as Lea's scrawl began to trail from the quill in slick, sweeping ink. "I know you felt what was in that spell. She wants the MoonCrest and now she knows where it is."
"She will not get it," Lea replied shortly, accenting each word with a profound attack. She glanced up from the letter she was beginning to write. "The MoonCrest is safe for now," she assured the weapons-master.
Helarin shook his head, letting her words fall away, unheeded. "We don't know that," he breathed, desperately trying to make her see. Lea's eyes snapped to him, this time in a flaring anger.
"The MoonCrest has been protected for countless ages, Helarin," she said quickly. "Need I remind you where it is hidden?" Helarin fell silent, but Lea was not finished. "Time may very well be running short, but it has not all together vanished. That spell might have just given her an inkling of where the MoonCrest is, but she hasn't found it yet. And to our advantage, her little spell just gave Jarlaxle the push he needed to help us." She didn't let her gaze linger on Helarin. Instead, she went back immediately to her writing.
Helarin opened his mouth as if he were going to reply, but closed it quickly. Frustrated, he left Lea in the room, the constant scratching of the quill's tip driving into his mind well after he had closed the door.
*** *** ***
The fire flickered brightly even as Sapek walked away, the torch still tight in his hand. He walked towards the barrel of blessed water and plunged the burning torch into it. The water hissed and steam immediately brewed into the air, turning a dark purple in color. The magic of the steam twanged the heartstrings of Sapek as he returned to his wife's side.
"It is started!" Aniyia called out to the crowd of people that had gathered to watch the ceremony. Her voice seemed to defy the woman's age for it rang with the underlining of a youth's strength. "Let it continue as well!"
She walked to Dessaven and slowly prodded her for the baby. Dessaven looked longingly at her daughter, suddenly wishing that the ceremony would not take place.
"Don't worry," the wise-woman whispered, offering a comforting smile. "Everything is fine." Dessaven struggled to nod, a lump in her throat. She was so nervous, despite Aniyia's words.
Aniyia took the baby into her arms and circled the fire once with her. Once she had made a complete circle, she knelt down. Her hand brushed through the baby's hair as she set Nevina on the ground.
And then Aniyia stood, her hand on her knee to help her upright. She reached into the folds of her clothes and produced a small leather satchel. Pulling apart the closing knot, she walked close to the fire, spilling the contents-a fine black powder-onto the licking flames.
The fire burned brighter and then changed to a smoky white, sending dark green smoke up. Sapek glanced at his wife and he saw her shudder despite the warmth of the glowing fire.
"Gods above us and gods around us," Aniyia chanted slowly, her old voice filled with a wisdom none around her possessed. The baby lay near the huge fire, just out of reach of the licking flames, but close enough so that Nevina's face glowed by the light of the fire.
"Gods of air and sea, gods of earth and flame...." She stood before the fire, her chanting steadily growing louder in the heat of the ceremony. If Aniyia felt the eyes of the crowd behind her, she did not show it. She was absorbed by the burning magic of the ceremony, consumed by the flicker of the gray fire.
"Nothing is happening," Dessaven whispered nervously. She and Sapek stood just out of reach of the fire's glow, their faces covered in nightly shadow, an eerie absence of light.
Sapek didn't reply, but he took her hand into his and held it, squeezing it slightly for comfort. Dessaven watched fearfully as Aniyia lifted Nevina and began to circle the fire once again.
"Nevina!" she cried. The baby began to cry, too startled to remain silent. Aniyia did not break her pace. "Nevina!" she screamed again. The gray fires flared upward instantly.
"We bring her forward into this world," Aniyia screeched as the fire's cackle and hiss began to grow. "Let the gods know her name and let her foes tremble at her sight! Let her learn the way of her people! May she grow and learn in the way of nature's temple. May she respect life and the gods. Let it ring! Let it be!"
The fires scorched up, higher than before so that they towered over Aniyia. Nevina cried and Dessaven trembled, the power of Aniyia's words falling over them and chilling them like ice.
The fires suddenly died, leaving only glowing embers in the night's darkness and a gentle smoke that rose in the wind.
"Nevina she is and Nevina she will remain," Aniyia said quietly, holding the baby in the crook of her arm. She walked towards Dessaven and Sapek slowly.
"She is alright?" Dessaven asked worriedly, reaching for the whimpering baby. Aniyia nodded, smiling weakly, her eyes showing her age.
Sapek draped one arm around his wife and looked down at Nevina, who was wriggling in her mother's arms. "Thank you, Aniyia," he said. The old woman gave a single nod and then turned away.
The crowd behind Sapek and Dessaven followed suit, leaving Dessaven and Sapek alone with their daughter, alone with the dying embers of the forgotten fire.
*** *** ***
"What did you see, Zaknafein?" the leader of the raid asked crossly. "You were sent out as a scout nearly an hour ago."
Zak was hardly concerned with the harsh look he was being given. "The people were having a ceremony of some sort."
"A ceremony?" one of the drow echoed questionably. Zaknafein nodded.
"I believe they were baptizing one of their young," he explained. "Nothing more," he added, glancing at the head of the raid. "Will we still attack as planned?"
The silence was difficult and Zak had time to pray to whatever gods that might be listening, to pray that the raid would be called off.
"We will attack as we planned. Hurry, the moon is almost above us."
"Time for the fun," the leader of the raid laughed. Zak beside him forced a grim smile, hoping it passed for the demented of eagerness of those around him. The leader's hand moved quickly, giving the signal to the second group of drow.
"Let's go!" he whispered in the drow tongue.
