Chapter 24
No one said anything for several long moments. No one really knew what to say. The silence continued though each person standing there wanted someone to say something, anything, just to get things moving again. Even if they could not believe it, the wind picked up in intensity and the cold dug further into their bodies.
Seeing the betrayer in front of him, Valen had to physically force himself not to do something he would regret. From what Donnia had told him she was not to be trusted, was not to be given the chance to ruin their chances of survival, and the survival of everyone back in the Underdark and the whole of Toril. And yet, it was Donnia who had brought her out to them; brought her to help. Valen could feel his blood begin to boil, his eyes becoming more red with each passing moment, his heart pounding furiously knowing the history between her and Aribeth and knowing himself to be powerless against what had happened, but wanting to change it with every part of his being.
Despite this, Donnia seemed pleased that Aribeth was there. So, he did what he thought was necessary. "Why don't we find some place out of the wind so we can...talk." He looked to Donnia and gestured for her to lead the way. Aribeth went to her side. Nathyrra quickly glanced over to Valen before following them. Valen walked several paces behind them, watching, waiting for whatever would happen next.
Still no one spoke as they walked back to the tavern. Valen used this time to better observe Aribeth. She walked like a warrior, though her shoulders did seem to sag slightly. He wondered if it was from death or from responsibility. He noticed that she nearly matched Donnia in height, coming to her nose when she stood tall. The reflection of the armor she wore at her death seemed to be of the highest quality, shining even in its nonexistence. She carried nothing but a long sword hanging from her side. Her long brown hair was stuck behind her pointed ears removing any doubt that she was of elven blood.
From his observations of her...physical form he guessed her to be quite skilled in both battle and in serving whichever god had called her to their service. She carried no scrolls, no books, nor did she even carry a pack to store them in. He was just about to ask her about the lack of her spell casting materials, or better yet, the lack of them when he heard Donnia say something quietly to herself.
"I wonder what that is," Donnia murmured, gesturing a large crystalline form protruding up from the hard ice. She walked over to it slowly at first, then guessing that it would not do her any harm, jogged up to it and peered in.
Immediately she felt nothing but the pull from the crystal. Even the cold dropped away as she began to see colors forming into shapes inside the crystal. As the scene came into focus she recognized Zorvak Mur, the village outside the illithid stronghold. She also noticed the bodies of those she, Valen, and Nathyrra had killed in their attempts to break the allegiance between the illithid and the Valsharess. Almost without warning there was a great burst of flame and an all too familiar figure came through one of the portals. Mephistopheles had grown in strength since killing them. He stood tall over the carnage before him. Donnia could tell he was casting a spell, seeing his mouth move, forming words. The hope she had been building that maybe he would be alone in his conquest was destroyed as the corpses rose to life and began following him. She knew then that any time that they wasted now was going to be the death of everyone they all knew and loved.
As quickly as the image came, it disappeared. Slowly, Donnia pulled away from the crystal and looked around to the faces looking at her intently. The flakes of snow were blowing chaotically all around them, clinging to their hair, freezing to their armor. Donnia knew that they were it; there was no one else that could help them. "We have to hurry."
No one said anything else as they rushed forward into the tavern. All three of them were very curious as to what Donnia had seen in the crystal. They had stood there, transfixed on her form, as she peered into the crystal. They had heard her breath catch and saw her hands tremble once, wondering what could cause her to worry so. But no one asked, each knowing her well enough that she would tell them when she thought it necessary and important.
The tavern was still full of different species of mine workers. Some were in small groups talking about the injustice of everything, some were joking with each other, and there were those who sat alone, staring off into space. The spirits stood in many of the same groups, but each of them had a worried look etched into their face, wondering when they would be devoured into Mephistopheles' cause.
The four of them moved to a table in a corner so as not to be disturbed by any of the other patrons. Donnia sat first, pointing Aribeth to the place across from her, Valen sat next to Donnia, and Nathyrra joined Aribeth on the opposite side of the table.
Looking straight at Aribeth, Donnia began speaking, "Did you come here immediately after...after I killed you?"
The question seemed to pain them both, both the asking of it and its answering. Aribeth thought a moment before answering, "I think so. When I first got here, most of that is blocked from my mind. I know I wandered for a while before coming to rest near a fire. It was there that I learned of Mephistopheles and what he was doing. At first I didn't care. I didn't care about anything actually. I was more upset that Maugrim had betrayed his word to me. It hadn't yet occurred to me what I had left behind; the mess I had left for you to clean up. The warmer I got by that fire, the more I remembered. At first, there were just pieces of memories, vague emotions in my mind. Eventually they formed into the events that they were, and I remembered." A small tear began forming in her eye as she looked to Donnia, "I remembered Fenthick and what I had done in his name, and then I remembered that I never loved him. My planned marriage to him seemed logical, not because I loved him."
Aribeth stopped for a moment and Nathyrra spoke up, "I don't mean to interrupt, but why is whether or not you loved him important?"
Before Aribeth could answer, Donnia replied looking at Aribeth as she spoke, "Because everything you did was for what had happened to him. All of the death, pain, betrayal was because of your love for him. So if you didn't love him there was no reason for the destruction you caused."
Aribeth gave a half smile to her answer, "That about sums it all up. When I realized this sitting next to that fire, I was glad I was dead. For if I hadn't been, I would have made it so then. I knew that what had happened to me was what I deserved, maybe even better than what I deserved to suffer. I remembered fighting you, wanting your blood to spill on the floor at my feet. For all of the time that I knew you before you never once seemed emotionally involved. I'm sure you were, but you never let your emotions rule your actions. You never seemed to doubt what you were doing and why you were doing it. And you never lost. I began hating you for you still served Nasher and Neverwinter. And I partially blamed you for what happened to Fenthick. Somewhere I always knew that you had nothing to do with it. But I wanted to blame you. I knew that you were an easier target to accuse than Lord Nasher himself. So I planned for they day when we would once again meet. I planned out how many different ways I could kill you, make you suffer just as I had suffered. I wanted to hold your heart in my hands and crush it before your dying eyes as I thought you had done to my own heart. I wanted you to beg for your life. But most of all I wanted you to lose. It seemed that that would be the way to have you suffer most; to lose. And I wanted you to see it when it happened. I wanted you to watch, powerless to stop it, as Maugrim and I released Morag to once again rule the North. I wanted your life not worth living, just as mine had become."
Through all of this Donnia had sat motionless staring into Aribeth's eyes. She had no idea how long ago that fight had been. She guessed it around ten years, but it could have been 5 months ago for all she knew. All of that time she had been haunted by Aribeth and all of the different ways she could have handled that last meeting. It all seemed to be wasted time having heard what Aribeth had just said.
Before Donnia had the chance to say anything, Aribeth spoke up again, "Only when I remembered that did I take up the fight against Mephistopheles. I thought that if I could defeat him I would be forgiven of everything that I had done. So, I rebelled against him. I was able to get some support, but when it came down to it, they were too afraid to stand with me. By the time I faced him I had been able to put all of my own memories into a distorted image of what they were. I thought that they had happened so that I would have the chance to save these people when I hadn't had the chance to save those in Neverwinter. I made them seem as though they were a good thing, that they could give me power and strength. But Mephistopheles knew that and he used it against me. He brought out every last memory I had of ever serving Neverwinter and helping you and made me look at it for what it was. He made me see that everything I had touched died because of my interference. He made me believe that the world would have been better, that the plague never would have even happened if I had never been. I ran from there in tears. When I found that cave, I just sat down and let the cold win. I never felt it as I sat there frozen. I embraced it for it was nothing less than I deserved."
Donnia murmured, "So that's how he knew."
Valen looked away from Aribeth to see what Donnia was referring to, "So that's who knew what?"
Donnia stared intently at the table, playing through her meeting with Mephistopheles in her mind. "Mephistopheles. That's how he knew so much about me. That's how he found me; why he made his relic, because of what Lady Aribeth remembered."
Aribeth sat there horrified. "He was right then. Everything I touch dies."
"No. I just wondered how he would have found me out of everyone else there was in Plane of Shadows. Now I know."
"But this has caused you pain, I hurt you again, didn't I?"
Donnia did not have to say anything for Aribeth to know the answer. "It doesn't matter. Now there is something more pressing I need to know. Do you know anything of the Sleeping Man and the Five-Fold Mystery?"
Aribeth knew that what she had said to Mephistopheles and her memories were somehow to blame for something, that they more than mattered, but she would wait until later to bring it back up. "Yes, I know of the Sleeping Man. I went to him not long after my memories started coming back to me. I thought that maybe he could help. What is it that you need to know about him?"
"I need to know what the Knower of Places said when he found her."
"I'll never forget it. It is written next to his sleeping form. 'She will find you by the gates of Cania'. It seemed so vague, and yet so specific to me, sitting there listening to the sounds of his deep breathing as he dreamed of his true love."
Just as Donnia finished writing down the answer in her journal, she jumped out of the chair and started to head for the door, when she turned right into someone standing behind her. The tall form had great silver wings and horns. She guessed him to be Arden Swift, someone she had heard a great many things about, and none of them were nice.
"Are you Arden Swift?"
The man seemed pleased that he was recognized, "Yes, I am. Can I be of some service to you?"
"Yes, I'm told you can be. How did you try to wake the Sleeping Man?"
"What is it with you people and this damned Sleeping Man? Between the pilgrims and the sensei I've had it up to here with the stupid being." Swift then went into the story of how he had attempted to wake the Sleeping Man with a great trumpet that could shake the very foundation of a great building into dust. "I didn't mean any harm, really, just wanted to have some fun."
"Well, could I have that trumpet?"
Swift narrowed his eyes at Donnia's request, "How much is it worth to you?"
"More than you could ever comprehend, but how much do you think it is worth?"
Valen stepped forward, "Donnia, I would be careful around him. You don't know what he's capable of."
"No, but after all of this I'm not about to let some jester stand between me and home. So, what do you want from me?"
Swift seemed to be thinking it over, "I don't think you own anything valuable enough to pay for it. It nearly cost me my life to get it, and I don't think you deserve it."
Donnia didn't want to get into a petty argument about the worth of his life, but couldn't stop herself from playing right into his hand, "And what, exactly, is your life worth?"
Nathyrra began to grow worried, Donnia's green eyes seemed to glow brighter than ever before, and she never could remember Donnia ever being petty.
"More than you could ever comprehend I'm sure."
"So what is stopping me from making you fight for your life to keep it again?"
At the hidden threat, Swift's wings seemed to puff up to nearly twice their size. "You speak bigger than you can act, little girl."
Donnia clenched her jaw tightly at the last comment. She had no idea why she was acting as she was, but for some reason, she wanted his blood, and she wanted it immediately, "So let's turn the question around, how much do you want for your life to be spared?" She removed her sword from its resting place at her side and held it so that Swift could appreciate it in its entire fiery splendor.
Valen too was becoming worried about what Donnia was up to. He thought he knew her pretty well, despite the short time they had been together, and he never thought she would act like this. It was entirely out of character for her, and he just hoped that she would not get hurt.
"Come on, little bitch, what are you going to do?"
It was then the memory clicked into place. Suddenly she was eight years old again, clinging tightly to her wooden practice sword looking up at the man who had just killed her mother. Now she understood why he seemed so misshapen under his cloak. His wings would have caused his cloak to sit in a funny way, and she remembered the hood falling back slightly as she hit him.
She raised her sword, much in the way an eight-year-old girl would and Swift remembered too, but he was too late. During her years of adventuring and traveling she had become faster than any other she had ever encountered at sword fighting. Now she called upon it instinctually. Before Swift had so much as moved into any defensive posture, Donnia swung her sword with all of her strength.
Too late, Valen reached out to stop her, but only stared at her, the blood dripping from her sword, and down at Swift's head as it rolled to a stop at Donnia's feet.
When Donnia looked over at him, he stood still from shock. The pain etched into her face, the tears in her eyes, and her face itself looked just like a little girl of about eight years old. When she spoke, it chilled him to the bone, despite his demonic blood, "Is Mommy okay?" She sounded like the little girl he imagined her to be from her stories.
Without even having to look to Nathyrra, she walked up to Swift's body and took the trumpet and whatever else of value he had so that Valen could deal with Donnia.
Donnia stood there, looking at him with those hauntingly young eyes full of trust, full of hope, but also full on knowledge. Valen reached out to her, "No, Donnia, she's not."
She stepped forward into his arms and he held her again while she cried for mother. The sobs much like those from earlier in their adventure, but the image held true; they sounded just like a young girl's cry, a young girl who has had already seen too much suffering.
Valen looked around at the other people in the tavern, most were avoiding looking over at them, but others did not hide their curiosity as well. He tried to urge Donnia to walk to the door, but her legs couldn't carry her. Nathyrra and Aribeth had both already left and were waiting for them outside. Donnia's sobs had not quieted, so he did the only thing left to do, he braced one arm under her legs and the other under her back and carried her outside with her clinging to his shoulder, crying for herself, the eight-year-old girl who saw her mother murdered and her murderer's spirit form so many years later.
Despite having fought his demonic blood most of the time they had been in Cania, he found it no trouble now. His humanity was in full control as he carried her out of the tavern. His heart broke with each sob she cried. He wished that there was something he could do, but also knew there was nothing left; Donnia had taken care of it herself.
He walked around to the back of the entrance of the tavern where the wind was less severe, the cold less brutal and sat down, Donnia still clinging to him. Nathyrra and Aribeth followed not long after and sat with them out of the wind.
Valen said nothing but just held her much as he had before. He knew that they needed to hurry, but they could rest for this little while as Donnia wept only for the second time in her life for her mother.
The wind blew calmly around them behind the entrance, swirling their hair, lightly guiding the small flakes of snow around them in a dance. Their joyous movements seemed out of place in the harsh cold city, moving to the sounds of heartbreak.
No one said anything for several long moments. No one really knew what to say. The silence continued though each person standing there wanted someone to say something, anything, just to get things moving again. Even if they could not believe it, the wind picked up in intensity and the cold dug further into their bodies.
Seeing the betrayer in front of him, Valen had to physically force himself not to do something he would regret. From what Donnia had told him she was not to be trusted, was not to be given the chance to ruin their chances of survival, and the survival of everyone back in the Underdark and the whole of Toril. And yet, it was Donnia who had brought her out to them; brought her to help. Valen could feel his blood begin to boil, his eyes becoming more red with each passing moment, his heart pounding furiously knowing the history between her and Aribeth and knowing himself to be powerless against what had happened, but wanting to change it with every part of his being.
Despite this, Donnia seemed pleased that Aribeth was there. So, he did what he thought was necessary. "Why don't we find some place out of the wind so we can...talk." He looked to Donnia and gestured for her to lead the way. Aribeth went to her side. Nathyrra quickly glanced over to Valen before following them. Valen walked several paces behind them, watching, waiting for whatever would happen next.
Still no one spoke as they walked back to the tavern. Valen used this time to better observe Aribeth. She walked like a warrior, though her shoulders did seem to sag slightly. He wondered if it was from death or from responsibility. He noticed that she nearly matched Donnia in height, coming to her nose when she stood tall. The reflection of the armor she wore at her death seemed to be of the highest quality, shining even in its nonexistence. She carried nothing but a long sword hanging from her side. Her long brown hair was stuck behind her pointed ears removing any doubt that she was of elven blood.
From his observations of her...physical form he guessed her to be quite skilled in both battle and in serving whichever god had called her to their service. She carried no scrolls, no books, nor did she even carry a pack to store them in. He was just about to ask her about the lack of her spell casting materials, or better yet, the lack of them when he heard Donnia say something quietly to herself.
"I wonder what that is," Donnia murmured, gesturing a large crystalline form protruding up from the hard ice. She walked over to it slowly at first, then guessing that it would not do her any harm, jogged up to it and peered in.
Immediately she felt nothing but the pull from the crystal. Even the cold dropped away as she began to see colors forming into shapes inside the crystal. As the scene came into focus she recognized Zorvak Mur, the village outside the illithid stronghold. She also noticed the bodies of those she, Valen, and Nathyrra had killed in their attempts to break the allegiance between the illithid and the Valsharess. Almost without warning there was a great burst of flame and an all too familiar figure came through one of the portals. Mephistopheles had grown in strength since killing them. He stood tall over the carnage before him. Donnia could tell he was casting a spell, seeing his mouth move, forming words. The hope she had been building that maybe he would be alone in his conquest was destroyed as the corpses rose to life and began following him. She knew then that any time that they wasted now was going to be the death of everyone they all knew and loved.
As quickly as the image came, it disappeared. Slowly, Donnia pulled away from the crystal and looked around to the faces looking at her intently. The flakes of snow were blowing chaotically all around them, clinging to their hair, freezing to their armor. Donnia knew that they were it; there was no one else that could help them. "We have to hurry."
No one said anything else as they rushed forward into the tavern. All three of them were very curious as to what Donnia had seen in the crystal. They had stood there, transfixed on her form, as she peered into the crystal. They had heard her breath catch and saw her hands tremble once, wondering what could cause her to worry so. But no one asked, each knowing her well enough that she would tell them when she thought it necessary and important.
The tavern was still full of different species of mine workers. Some were in small groups talking about the injustice of everything, some were joking with each other, and there were those who sat alone, staring off into space. The spirits stood in many of the same groups, but each of them had a worried look etched into their face, wondering when they would be devoured into Mephistopheles' cause.
The four of them moved to a table in a corner so as not to be disturbed by any of the other patrons. Donnia sat first, pointing Aribeth to the place across from her, Valen sat next to Donnia, and Nathyrra joined Aribeth on the opposite side of the table.
Looking straight at Aribeth, Donnia began speaking, "Did you come here immediately after...after I killed you?"
The question seemed to pain them both, both the asking of it and its answering. Aribeth thought a moment before answering, "I think so. When I first got here, most of that is blocked from my mind. I know I wandered for a while before coming to rest near a fire. It was there that I learned of Mephistopheles and what he was doing. At first I didn't care. I didn't care about anything actually. I was more upset that Maugrim had betrayed his word to me. It hadn't yet occurred to me what I had left behind; the mess I had left for you to clean up. The warmer I got by that fire, the more I remembered. At first, there were just pieces of memories, vague emotions in my mind. Eventually they formed into the events that they were, and I remembered." A small tear began forming in her eye as she looked to Donnia, "I remembered Fenthick and what I had done in his name, and then I remembered that I never loved him. My planned marriage to him seemed logical, not because I loved him."
Aribeth stopped for a moment and Nathyrra spoke up, "I don't mean to interrupt, but why is whether or not you loved him important?"
Before Aribeth could answer, Donnia replied looking at Aribeth as she spoke, "Because everything you did was for what had happened to him. All of the death, pain, betrayal was because of your love for him. So if you didn't love him there was no reason for the destruction you caused."
Aribeth gave a half smile to her answer, "That about sums it all up. When I realized this sitting next to that fire, I was glad I was dead. For if I hadn't been, I would have made it so then. I knew that what had happened to me was what I deserved, maybe even better than what I deserved to suffer. I remembered fighting you, wanting your blood to spill on the floor at my feet. For all of the time that I knew you before you never once seemed emotionally involved. I'm sure you were, but you never let your emotions rule your actions. You never seemed to doubt what you were doing and why you were doing it. And you never lost. I began hating you for you still served Nasher and Neverwinter. And I partially blamed you for what happened to Fenthick. Somewhere I always knew that you had nothing to do with it. But I wanted to blame you. I knew that you were an easier target to accuse than Lord Nasher himself. So I planned for they day when we would once again meet. I planned out how many different ways I could kill you, make you suffer just as I had suffered. I wanted to hold your heart in my hands and crush it before your dying eyes as I thought you had done to my own heart. I wanted you to beg for your life. But most of all I wanted you to lose. It seemed that that would be the way to have you suffer most; to lose. And I wanted you to see it when it happened. I wanted you to watch, powerless to stop it, as Maugrim and I released Morag to once again rule the North. I wanted your life not worth living, just as mine had become."
Through all of this Donnia had sat motionless staring into Aribeth's eyes. She had no idea how long ago that fight had been. She guessed it around ten years, but it could have been 5 months ago for all she knew. All of that time she had been haunted by Aribeth and all of the different ways she could have handled that last meeting. It all seemed to be wasted time having heard what Aribeth had just said.
Before Donnia had the chance to say anything, Aribeth spoke up again, "Only when I remembered that did I take up the fight against Mephistopheles. I thought that if I could defeat him I would be forgiven of everything that I had done. So, I rebelled against him. I was able to get some support, but when it came down to it, they were too afraid to stand with me. By the time I faced him I had been able to put all of my own memories into a distorted image of what they were. I thought that they had happened so that I would have the chance to save these people when I hadn't had the chance to save those in Neverwinter. I made them seem as though they were a good thing, that they could give me power and strength. But Mephistopheles knew that and he used it against me. He brought out every last memory I had of ever serving Neverwinter and helping you and made me look at it for what it was. He made me see that everything I had touched died because of my interference. He made me believe that the world would have been better, that the plague never would have even happened if I had never been. I ran from there in tears. When I found that cave, I just sat down and let the cold win. I never felt it as I sat there frozen. I embraced it for it was nothing less than I deserved."
Donnia murmured, "So that's how he knew."
Valen looked away from Aribeth to see what Donnia was referring to, "So that's who knew what?"
Donnia stared intently at the table, playing through her meeting with Mephistopheles in her mind. "Mephistopheles. That's how he knew so much about me. That's how he found me; why he made his relic, because of what Lady Aribeth remembered."
Aribeth sat there horrified. "He was right then. Everything I touch dies."
"No. I just wondered how he would have found me out of everyone else there was in Plane of Shadows. Now I know."
"But this has caused you pain, I hurt you again, didn't I?"
Donnia did not have to say anything for Aribeth to know the answer. "It doesn't matter. Now there is something more pressing I need to know. Do you know anything of the Sleeping Man and the Five-Fold Mystery?"
Aribeth knew that what she had said to Mephistopheles and her memories were somehow to blame for something, that they more than mattered, but she would wait until later to bring it back up. "Yes, I know of the Sleeping Man. I went to him not long after my memories started coming back to me. I thought that maybe he could help. What is it that you need to know about him?"
"I need to know what the Knower of Places said when he found her."
"I'll never forget it. It is written next to his sleeping form. 'She will find you by the gates of Cania'. It seemed so vague, and yet so specific to me, sitting there listening to the sounds of his deep breathing as he dreamed of his true love."
Just as Donnia finished writing down the answer in her journal, she jumped out of the chair and started to head for the door, when she turned right into someone standing behind her. The tall form had great silver wings and horns. She guessed him to be Arden Swift, someone she had heard a great many things about, and none of them were nice.
"Are you Arden Swift?"
The man seemed pleased that he was recognized, "Yes, I am. Can I be of some service to you?"
"Yes, I'm told you can be. How did you try to wake the Sleeping Man?"
"What is it with you people and this damned Sleeping Man? Between the pilgrims and the sensei I've had it up to here with the stupid being." Swift then went into the story of how he had attempted to wake the Sleeping Man with a great trumpet that could shake the very foundation of a great building into dust. "I didn't mean any harm, really, just wanted to have some fun."
"Well, could I have that trumpet?"
Swift narrowed his eyes at Donnia's request, "How much is it worth to you?"
"More than you could ever comprehend, but how much do you think it is worth?"
Valen stepped forward, "Donnia, I would be careful around him. You don't know what he's capable of."
"No, but after all of this I'm not about to let some jester stand between me and home. So, what do you want from me?"
Swift seemed to be thinking it over, "I don't think you own anything valuable enough to pay for it. It nearly cost me my life to get it, and I don't think you deserve it."
Donnia didn't want to get into a petty argument about the worth of his life, but couldn't stop herself from playing right into his hand, "And what, exactly, is your life worth?"
Nathyrra began to grow worried, Donnia's green eyes seemed to glow brighter than ever before, and she never could remember Donnia ever being petty.
"More than you could ever comprehend I'm sure."
"So what is stopping me from making you fight for your life to keep it again?"
At the hidden threat, Swift's wings seemed to puff up to nearly twice their size. "You speak bigger than you can act, little girl."
Donnia clenched her jaw tightly at the last comment. She had no idea why she was acting as she was, but for some reason, she wanted his blood, and she wanted it immediately, "So let's turn the question around, how much do you want for your life to be spared?" She removed her sword from its resting place at her side and held it so that Swift could appreciate it in its entire fiery splendor.
Valen too was becoming worried about what Donnia was up to. He thought he knew her pretty well, despite the short time they had been together, and he never thought she would act like this. It was entirely out of character for her, and he just hoped that she would not get hurt.
"Come on, little bitch, what are you going to do?"
It was then the memory clicked into place. Suddenly she was eight years old again, clinging tightly to her wooden practice sword looking up at the man who had just killed her mother. Now she understood why he seemed so misshapen under his cloak. His wings would have caused his cloak to sit in a funny way, and she remembered the hood falling back slightly as she hit him.
She raised her sword, much in the way an eight-year-old girl would and Swift remembered too, but he was too late. During her years of adventuring and traveling she had become faster than any other she had ever encountered at sword fighting. Now she called upon it instinctually. Before Swift had so much as moved into any defensive posture, Donnia swung her sword with all of her strength.
Too late, Valen reached out to stop her, but only stared at her, the blood dripping from her sword, and down at Swift's head as it rolled to a stop at Donnia's feet.
When Donnia looked over at him, he stood still from shock. The pain etched into her face, the tears in her eyes, and her face itself looked just like a little girl of about eight years old. When she spoke, it chilled him to the bone, despite his demonic blood, "Is Mommy okay?" She sounded like the little girl he imagined her to be from her stories.
Without even having to look to Nathyrra, she walked up to Swift's body and took the trumpet and whatever else of value he had so that Valen could deal with Donnia.
Donnia stood there, looking at him with those hauntingly young eyes full of trust, full of hope, but also full on knowledge. Valen reached out to her, "No, Donnia, she's not."
She stepped forward into his arms and he held her again while she cried for mother. The sobs much like those from earlier in their adventure, but the image held true; they sounded just like a young girl's cry, a young girl who has had already seen too much suffering.
Valen looked around at the other people in the tavern, most were avoiding looking over at them, but others did not hide their curiosity as well. He tried to urge Donnia to walk to the door, but her legs couldn't carry her. Nathyrra and Aribeth had both already left and were waiting for them outside. Donnia's sobs had not quieted, so he did the only thing left to do, he braced one arm under her legs and the other under her back and carried her outside with her clinging to his shoulder, crying for herself, the eight-year-old girl who saw her mother murdered and her murderer's spirit form so many years later.
Despite having fought his demonic blood most of the time they had been in Cania, he found it no trouble now. His humanity was in full control as he carried her out of the tavern. His heart broke with each sob she cried. He wished that there was something he could do, but also knew there was nothing left; Donnia had taken care of it herself.
He walked around to the back of the entrance of the tavern where the wind was less severe, the cold less brutal and sat down, Donnia still clinging to him. Nathyrra and Aribeth followed not long after and sat with them out of the wind.
Valen said nothing but just held her much as he had before. He knew that they needed to hurry, but they could rest for this little while as Donnia wept only for the second time in her life for her mother.
The wind blew calmly around them behind the entrance, swirling their hair, lightly guiding the small flakes of snow around them in a dance. Their joyous movements seemed out of place in the harsh cold city, moving to the sounds of heartbreak.