Chapter Four: Wraith and Dream
Northern de'Arnise lands, 19 Uktar, 1369 DR
The farmhouse was a ruin.
Although the walls still stood, the rocks and bricks were cracked and the roof had gaping holes. Nalia was grateful as she entered the dark abode that it was not raining anymore.
She took another step in, and wrinkled her nose. The place smelt of decay, of old blood and bone- of mould. Squinting, she could only make out the faintest outlines of a table and two bookcases. Anything else was lost in the deepening shadows of the falling dusk.
With a bored tone, Nalia murmured a brief spell, and a globe of spinning azure light appeared in her hand, lighting up the room clearly. She looked at the table first, and noticed that it had been scratched by great claws. A dagger had been slammed into the wood, and there were numerous cracks where it had impacted.
Frowning, Nalia stepped past the table, and peered at one of the bookcases. There were three books, heavily wrinkled. Reaching out with her right hand, she pulled one out, and looked at the front cover. A history of Amn. The second book was the journal of the farmer. The third…
As Nalia opened the cover, she felt a shocking chill race along her hand. Trapped! Flinging the book to one side, she murmured a counter spell, and watched as the blueness in her skin faded. Muttering, she reached down and picked up the book once again, looking at the first page.
Arcane symbols gleamed, and she smiled. A spell book. She placed the book in her bag of holding, intending to study it when she returned to the keep. Turning, she approached the second, but saw nothing there, except for a few blank sheets of parchment.
Nothing else.
A few broken, scattered bowls near a window- a smashed window. A torn curtain beside the same window- the other curtain had been ripped completely. It was as if a wild animal had attacked.
Nalia swallowed.
Whoever had been living here must have left in a hurry.
A sinister thought slithered through her mind… what if the person had not left at all? What if the smell of blood and bone were the decaying remains of the unfortunate farmers? Nalia licked her lips nervously.
And what if the animal was still here?
Immediately, she walked out of the farmhouse, into the continually darkening dusk. She could see Cernick in his plate armour waiting beside their horses, and Tomas with his harp standing beside him. They were safe.
Pulling her cloak tightly around herself, Nalia moved towards them. She needed company now. The poor inhabitants of this place were dead, because she had not been here protecting them. As she walked, she realised that the air was becoming colder. With every second.
Her breath now left her as grey mist, pale against the dark.
It was not a natural cooling. Something supernatural was causing it.
Focusing on Cernick and Tomas, she saw something that had not been there before. A lithe, slim shape of shadow that was moving closer to the men with every passing second. There was a faint flickering of red where eyes should be.
Wraith.
Panic surged through her, and she rattled off a powerful spell urgently, pointing towards Cernick and Tomas- who drew their swords when they saw her casting. They needed no other warning to know that something was wrong.
From her pointing hand, a blast of white energy leapt, flying through the air, and surrounding the two men. The wraith leaped towards them both with a primal shriek, but was thrown backwards by the power of the spell.
Quickening her pace into a run, Nalia chanted a quick spell. Magical research into the energies employed by clerics had allowed her to create a new spell, an arcane version of turning. She clenched her fist as she drew closer to the wraith, and felt the energy coursing through her veins.
With a scream of pain, the wraith was forced back.
Taking advantage, Nalia intoned another spell, this time a simple spell of fire. A single beam of roiling flame moved from her splayed fingers, striking the centre of the wraith's dark form.
It screamed again, but did not seem to be overly affected.
Not waiting for the thing to attack her, Nalia shouted another spell, linking her hands with her thumbs. A blast of freezing ice rolled over the wraith, knocking it back about six feet.
Hardly pausing for breath, she chanted the same spell again, and watched as the creature of death was forced even further back. Nalia risked a quick glance at Cernick and Tomas- the protective ward had faded, and they were moving for an attack. Their enchanted weapons would allow them to hurt the creature, just as her magic hurt it.
Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out a pinch of crushed diamond, and hurled it at the wraith, roaring a word of power as she did so. Magical forces flashed, and then surrounded the indistinct shadow, holding it still- although it struggled against the bonds placed upon it.
By now, Tomas had reached her side, and attacked with his two long swords, both glowing a brilliant blue. The creature could not block the attack, held by her magic, and so could only watch helplessly as the potent swords sliced off a segment of its shadowy form.
Cernick then lunged with his enchanted two-handed sword, and another shadow was torn from the wraith. Its screams of rage and pain were resounding around them, making Nalia's head throb, but it did not distract her enough to release the holding spell.
With a shout, Cernick and Tomas both struck again at the creature.
With a final scream, it faded into the dusk.
* * *
The de'Arnise keep, 19 Uktar, 1369 DR
"What was it doing there, my lady?"
Cernick stood opposite her in the audience hall, frowning in puzzlement. Tomas was sitting beside the hearth, piling up wood ready to light a fire. They had been sleeping in the hall for the days they had been here, as none of the other rooms were of suitable enough condition in which to sleep.
Nalia was not entirely comfortable with sleeping in the hall, where she had found the slaughtered bodies of Roenall and his men, but at least the blood had been cleared up. From this room at least.
The three of them had spent most of the afternoon cleaning the first floor of the keep, taking charred goblin and gnoll corpses, and burying them in a huge pit beside the keep. The gems and gold dropped by the dead creatures had been piled in the audience hall.
Nalia sighed, "Whatever evil does, Cernick. These lands are the perfect place for exiled powers, for no force of goodness has made a stand. This, I intend to change, though. We have killed a wraith tonight. Tomorrow, we will sweep the land clean around the keep, and will continue to defeat any evil that lurks here until once again, it is a free, peaceful place in which to live."
Tomas spoke up from his position beside the hearth, "Three are hardly strong enough to cleanse acres of land, Nalia. You may be one of the most powerful archmages in the Sword Coast, if not Faerûn, but a stray arrow or blade can kill you as easily as the next person."
She nodded, and paced the room for a moment. "Yes, I know. For that reason, I need Cernick to travel to Amnwater, to locate any folk who are still loyal to me. They will have fled rather than bow to Roenall. Anyone you find, bring straight here, captain."
Cernick said, "I cannot leave you and Tomas to fight alone."
Nalia walked until she stood beside him, and placed a hand on his armoured shoulder. "Do not worry about us. My magic and his blades are more than strong enough to clear the immediate area. In a few days, you will return here with loyal warriors, and we can begin to rebuild my inheritance."
The captain of her non-existent guard sighed, "I don't like it."
Shrugging, she said, "You don't have to like it, Cernick. It just has to be done. We will rest tonight, to celebrate the defeat of the wraith. Tomorrow though, we will begin our reclamation in earnest."
* * *
She knew that she dreamt, but even so she found it difficult to disassociate herself from the terrible slaughter that surrounded her. On the wall in front of her, she saw the bloody corpse of Isaea Roenall, his skin pasty white, and his eyes torn from their sockets.
Bile rose in her throat, and she had to focus on keeping the contents of her stomach where they belonged. Behind her, a pained groan made her turn. A guard, stripped of his armour and clothes, was walking towards her.
From the blood dripping slowly to the floor, it was clear that he was badly hurt. His wrists had been cut severely, and his chest had been sliced with sharp nails. Nalia remembered a time in her hours of awakening, when she had seen torn curtains.
Was it the same creature?
The guard whispered something, but no sound came out. Nalia took a step closer, trying to understand what he was saying. To no avail. Another groan left his lips, but still he could not speak, though the fervent desire to tell her something was evident in his eyes- the frustration, the pain.
"What is it you wish?"
A strangled gurgle, but still no words.
Nalia tried again: "Speak! You hold words that are craving release! Speak to me, and be burdened no more in your spirit."
Silence- broken only by a faint rasping sound.
Again she tried, but as she opened her mouth to speak, no sound came out. Her heart hammered wildly. What was happening? She took a step back from the approaching guard, whose gleaming eyes had now changed in their desire.
They wanted blood now, not release for words that would not come.
Fear- Nalia had no ability to cast spells, for her words had been…
A feeling of coldness spread- her words had been torn out of her throat
-pain!
Black fire leapt from the eyes of the god, hammering into her chest.
Nalia screamed! She could make sound!
Crossing her thumbs together, she prepared to unleashed a devastating blast of ice. But she could not release the words. What sorcery was this?
Another step back.
The bloody guard took a step forward.
She took a step back.
A step forward.
A step back.
A step forward-
There was no more room to move, for she had backed into a wall.
Hands reached for her, and a crooning sound issued forth from the lips of the guard, who, she realised now- was dead. Dead, just like all the corpses who surrounded her. Like Isaea, who was somehow pulled himself from the wall, and was walking towards her with slow, lumbering steps. His eye sockets shone with black fire. Fire that swirled and moved.
Clammy hands clasped her throat, and she gasped for breath.
The grip on her throat tightened- continued to tighten.
She was growing colder.
Colder with every second.
The screaming sound of the dying surrounded her, and her spirit wilted in her chest. Vainly, she tried to kick out, but the guard would feel no pain.
He was dead.
She screamed again, and her own cries of fear mingled with the echoing memory that was held within the room. She would die, just like Roenall and his men. Her blood would be scattered across the room- her life's breath would fade like the summer heat.
The coldness would claim her forever.
No.
A feeling of calmness appeared amidst the chaos of her thoughts.
No.
The feeling grew stronger, and she could hear other sounds apart from the screaming.
Like music.
Or in particular, the thrumming of rich and vibrant harp song.
The guard faded away, as a blue glow filled the room.
The blood on the walls disappeared.
The clammy grip was shattered.
She was free…
Nalia moved forward, intending to become one with the power of the blue glow. But something kept her back, and she knew she was not meant to go this way- yet. She looked deep into the energy, and watched as a woman stepped from it, wearing robes of swirling blue and purple- and pink.
Pink, the favourite colour of the Bhaalspawn bard.
Pink, the colour of the rose.
Pink, the colour of inspiration and hope.
The woman spoke, her hair shining a bright white, "Nalia."
The words were filled with power, a thrumming sense of music, a rich resonance that was unmatched anywhere in Faerûn. Nalia fell to her knees, a sense of deepening respect rising within her.
"Kathryn," she asked, "What is it that you want from me?"
There was a faint touch of laughter, followed by a breezy murmur that was louder than any shout, "Nothing. I wish nothing but to aid you, my friend. I sensed your death drawing closer, and I could not allow it. The thread of music that you create is not ready to disintegrate yet. There is so much more for you to do."
Nalia sighed, "I am not powerful enough. Without you and the companions, I am just a naïve girl with power, but not the calculating will to use it."
Kathryn laughed, "You are what you are. Your will is enough, your might is enough. The music I sense from you is powerful indeed. It thrills, it hums… the vibrations echo through eternity. Mystra has her touch upon you… her tune is rare."
"Mystra?"
The Harpist chuckled, and the light danced merrily. "Yes, Mystra. Her magic you use daily, and you prayers send her strength. But yours send me strength. I feel your faith, I feel your friendship… I remember."
Nalia swallowed. "What is it like, Kathryn?"
"Lonely."
She breathed out heavily, "I am working for you all the time, my friend. Once I have my position strengthened, I can begin to further your name throughout Faerûn. The Harpist will have a home in Amn."
There was another laugh, and the light started to fade into darkness. There was a giggle.
"I know, silly."
Then the light was gone altogether.