Author's Note: Hello all, and welcome to an actual real chapter six! Woohoo! (there is much rejoicing) A few quick notes first. I want to shout some heartfelt thanks out; first to my irreplaceable beta LaughingWolf for dragging me out of some major plot problems, and also to LadyZeia for her enormous help with my formatting woes. Biggs, if you read this far…Yes, Weylyn's "real" D&D exploits are just as entertaining, if not more so. Two words. Rabid squirrels. Ah…and in case anyone is confused, this chapter actually picks up a little bit before the last one ended. Peace, ~EC
Earlier
Ellywick hit the floor with a thump as the big smelly man knocked Weylyn to the ground. She rolled to her feet almost immediately, muttering darkly. The world was a confusion of running feet and brawling men and broken glass. The crashed and careened around her tiny frame, nearly trampling her to the floor several times. The jostling crowd had already closed in around where she had last seen Weylyn, and he was nowhere in sight.
Ellywick's eyes flared. This was impossible. Someone was going to have to teach these stupid big folk to play nice. She smiled as a warm flood of power coursed through her, and she raised her hands preparing to end this silly fight before someone got hurt.
The instant before she released her spell, an oily hand clapped over her mouth and another pinned her arms to her sides. Her eyes widened, and she struggled wildly against her captor, but he paid her no more head than a small rag doll and began forcing his way towards the door. Ellywick clenched her jaws together, preparing to stop her captor with a well placed hold spell. The rush of power lifted within her, crackling like minute lightning up her spine and down the tips of her fingers. With a muffled shout of triumph she let the spell loose, expecting to feel the dirty hairy hands holding her go stiff and unmoving. There was a brief flare of sickly green light, and then…nothing. Within a few short moments, her captor had barreled his way through the tossing crowd and into the dark street.
Ellywick's brow was furrowed in furious thought, and she barely noticed as the other waiting ruffians bound her hands and gagged her. Her spell hadn't worked. Why? WHY? A hold spell was simple. It was nothing. A wizard of her caliber and expertise should be able to… The dark elf that she had seen talking with the innkeeper slid elegantly into her vision, breaking in on her thoughts.
"Stone Brothers," he said simply. One of the thugs behind lifted her up so she was looking into his cold, amethyst eyes. He ran a tastefully manicured claw delicately along the line of her jaw. "A very…select group of murderer's, thieves and assassins. Able to completely absorb the effects of arcane magic." His lips twisted in a mocking half grin. "Though I'm sure you guessed that already. And please don't try casting against me, because as long as one of these delightful men is holding you, that won't work either. I hope you'll forgive me their brutality, but I'm afraid it's the only way I could assure myself of your. . .cooperation without dirtying my own hands. They are very very costly mercenaries, I'm sure you know, and almost impossible to hire. You should feel quite honored that someone wants to see you badly enough to go to all this trouble."
Ellywick bared her teeth as savagely as she could and lashed out at the dark elf with her feet. Catching him by surprise, she caught him full in the stomach and smiled as he was knocked backwards, the air leaving his lungs with a satisfying woosh. The elf paused to catch his breath, and with minute care, brushed the scuff of mud from her boots off the blood red velvet of his doublet. When he lifted his head, his eyes were burning with a barely controlled fury.
"That was not expressly wise, my little mage. While my instructions are implicit that you reach your destination alive, that does not necessarily mean you have to be well. So you had best…" He paused, listening intently, and turned sharply to look back towards the mouth of the alleyway. "Hist. Someone is coming." As one, the group melted silently into the shadows.
In the space of a few heartbeats, Weylyn stepped warily into view. Ellywick was forced to look on, struggling bitterly against the immovable arms of her captor and the stifling gag, as Weylyn and the dark elf confronted each other in the half-light of the dank alley. Ellywick tried to look away but couldn't, not wanting to see as the dark elf hammered Weylyn into the crumbling brick walls until he slid unmoving to the ground. She called for him then, but he didn't move or answer. He was either far beyond hearing or caring or… she shook her head. She didn't want to think about any other possibilities.
The dark elf swooped almost lazily back to them, landing lightly and refolding his wings elegantly around his shoulders until they once again resembled an unusual cloak.
"Mmmm," He said. "That was far more fun than it should have been." He glanced idly at Ellywick then turned sharply to lead his mercenaries from the dark alley. "Come," he snapped. "We've wasted enough time as it is. And my friend does not like to be kept waiting."
Ellywick shook the rest of the dirty gag from her face, straining against the man holding her to shout at the elf's retreating form.
"What friend? Where are you taking me?" She kicked out viciously, trying to struggle free. "And why did you do that to Weylyn? He wasn't very smart, but at least he was *nice.*"
The elf didn't even turn as he answered. "If you're referring to that scruffy human spawn, I did that to…Weylyn is it?" The name was mocking on his tongue. "Because his type usually frowns on the kidnapping of innocent maidens. I really don't have the time or the patience to deal with someone doggedly trying to rescue you. As to my employer, I find that names are best whispered far away from prying ears, and the middle of a busy town is hardly that."
By this time, they had made their way quietly through the little town and slipped into the dark border of the forest. The night was almost oppressive beneath the black canopy of leaves. The forest was old, very old, and only a few faint pricks of starlight were able to escape the tangle of twigs and leaves to fall in small patches on the forest floor. Ellywick worked subtly on freeing herself from the gag once more. Now she was angry. She might not be able to use spells, but just let this stupid mean elf turn his back for ONE second, and she'd show him how "helpless" she was.
* * * * * * * *
Weylyn smiled. He hung at a crazy angle a good fifty feet above the deck, one hand holding fast to the rigging, both feet braced against the slowly rocking mast. The black sails were roaring behind him, snapping in the crisp sea wind that blew his black hair into a wild tangle about his face.
"I found him in the alleyway. No, they were well away by the time I made sure this one was going to live. I'm not sure who…"
The gulls were crying as they spun and dived around the tall sails. The wind was up and they were fairly flying along, cutting through the blue green waters of the southern coast with the dolphins racing in their wake. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The air smelled of salt and spices and citrus ripening in the sun. He had to shade his eyes against the bright golden light reflecting one thousand times off of the white breaking waves. The crisp air was singing with the hiss of the breakers, the comfortable creaking of the rigging, and the dull hum of a crew at work.
"Oh come now, look at him. I don't think he's much like to cause any trouble. Yes, you have my word on it. When have I let you down, Nissa? Don't you give me that look…"
He glanced lazily down to the deck as a shout rang up. Rellan stood laughing up at him, his red hair burned to copper in the midday sun, that absurd raven of his flapping on his shoulder. Men scurried to and fro over the pitching deck on one errand or another. His men. Pale Jack at the tiller with his white blonde hair pulled back in a long braid and old Connor with his pock-marked face swabbing the deck near his cabin, and little Freyd, who most of them called Twitch scrambling up the lines like a monkey…
"Easy, friend. You rest easy now."
The innkeeper paused at the door, watching as the hooded man pulled a chair up to the half-elf's bedside, watching his pale face for signs of waking. She sighed softly.
"You almost hate to try and wake him, don't you?" she said. "By that grin on his face I'd wager he's having some right lovely dreams."
He tried to call out to them, but they gave no answer. His voice was empty and echoing and the wind was growing harsh and cold around him. The sky darkened and one by one the faces of his crew paled and drifted out of his sight. Rellan went last of all, and Weylyn reached out for him desperately, but the sad silver blue eyes of his friend flashed once and he was alone…
When he awoke, the world was still in darkness. This was probably a good thing as, judging by the way he currently felt, he had been recently beaten up by an entire party of enthusiastic four hundred pound dwarves. With hammers. Big ones. As such, he had no desire to see what kind of shape his poor, abused, thin frame was in. He closed his eyes again jadedly. He really had to stop waking up like this.
He stretched his fingers experimentally, and was surprised to feel the soft brush of linen and wool against his hands. A bed. He was lying in a bed of some sort, though where this bed may be or who had put him there he didn't know. Memory returned slowly to him, and he clenched his jaw as the last thing he remembered, the terrified face of Ellywick, floated behind his eyes. It would be so much easier to go back to sleep. To forget his pounding head and aching muscles to roll over and dream of a fat Maerish galley with her hull stoved in. He sighed. It wasn't any good. He had to go. He had to go now and find her before… before that bastard freak of an elf did whatever it was he was planning to do.
He slowly tried to push himself up, but a wave of dizziness and nausea flooded over him and he collapsed over the side of the bed, retching. A hand reached out of the darkness and pushed him gently back to a lying position. A low measured voice chided him softly.
"Shhh… Rest now, friend. You took a nasty knock, and aren't in any shape to go charging off again any time soon."
Weylyn moaned softly as the splitting pain piercing through his skull throbbed with every beat of his heart. The stranger pushed a cup to Weylyn's mouth and he swallowed the lukewarm water gratefully, rinsing away the sour taste of dirt and blood. When he had finished, he laid his head stiffly back onto the pillow and turned to better face his shadowed host.
"Where am I?" he whispered. "What happened, and more importantly; who in the nine hells are you? I suppose I should thank you for your kindness, but my . . . companion has been taken, and I have to find her, whether I like it or not." He tried to lift himself once more from the tattered mattress. "Now."
To Weylyn's extreme annoyance, he was too weak to resist as his host once more pushed him kindly but firmly down to the bed. "To answer your first question, you are in The Tipsy Dragon, against the innkeep's better judgment I might add." He grinned. "She seems to think you have a look of trouble about you. I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere for awhile yet, my friend. You were hit by some pretty powerful magic, and you need to rest lest you do yourself more harm than good." He lifted a hand to stop Weylyn's protest. "No. You wouldn't even make it out the door in the shape you're in."
The man leaned forward and the moonlight coming through the cracked window picked out the lean features of a young man in stark relief. His skin was a light copper and dotted across the nose with freckles. The long tousled hair framing his face was a light brown faded to red speaking of a life spent in the sun. His eyes were a bright grey, gentle, but surprisingly intense. Weylyn blinked. He had seen this man before.
"You were in the tavern," Weylyn said. "I saw you at one of the corner tables before the fighting broke out." He winced and put a hand to the back of his aching head.
The man nodded. "My name is Tal. I am a ranger of the Westwood, and I know who took your friend. They were Stone Brothers, members of a group of mercenaries from the Dourn Hills that I have been trying to rid my forest of for quite some time now. They do not fear that you will follow them." He looked to the window, his thin cheeks sunken in the moonlight. "They have no need to. The men you fought. . . well, suffice to say I am highly surprised that you managed to take one down. The fact that you did makes me near certain that the gods favor you. The man who bought their services I have never seen before, but from what I have heard of Drow…" He shook his head. "You should not even be alive."
Weylyn grimaced. "I believe he was rather more interested in making a speedy departure than with making sure I was dead. Rather nice of him. Remind me to thank him later." His lips quirked up in a feral smile. "Personally."
This actually solicited a laugh from the somber young human. "You may yet, friend. You may yet." He placed a hand on Weylyn's shoulder. "For now, though, we both rest. The sun is nearly up, and I do not think the dark elf will travel in daylight if he can help it. We have some time; use it to regain your strength." Tal stood and made his way slowly to the door.
Weylyn let his head fall to the thin pillow with a muffled thud, closing his eyes wearily, listening to the soft tread of Tal's retreating footsteps. Before the young ranger had left the room, Weylyn called out to him. "Tal… Far be it from me to question the kindness of strangers, but…why? You do not know me." He grinned lop-sidedly. "Perhaps it's better that you don't, but…why help me?" He listened to the moment of silence as Tal paused quietly by the open door.
The young ranger smiled slowly. "Because you fight like a man possessed, Weylyn. We both hunt the same men, and I believe we can help each other. You seek to rescue your gnome friend, and I…" He gazed again at the silver moon hanging heavy in the slowly paling sky. "Well…I have my own reasons to wish an end to the Stone Brothers. It's a long story, and you need your rest right now. Perhaps another time. Sleep well." The ancient wooden door creaked once, and he was gone.
* * * * * *
They left the small, dusty town when the sun was just beginning its slow descent from high noon. Tal had bought them provisions, but they took no horses with them.
"I followed the tracks from the alley where I found you," he said, shouldering a laden leather satchel and adjusting the twin curved daggers at his belt. "They must have thought you dead, or at least unlikely to follow them, as they made no great effort to cover signs of their passing.
Weylyn finished running his dagger over the whetstone and began to slowly peel the skin from an apple with it as they walked. "Lovely. To what picturesque corner of the globe are we headed, then?"
"West," Tal nodded. "Through the forest and perhaps beyond. The woods are untamed in these parts, even by the rangers. Tulley here is the only notable town for miles."
"Ah," Weylyn mused. "I assume this is why I'm being forced to forgo the comfort of a horse."
Tal laughed. "The forest itself is nearly impassable, the roads aren't being kept as well as they should, and it's doubtful that our quarry is even staying to the well traveled areas." He ducked to avoid the low branches of an oak as they passed into the wild borders of the wood. "Then there is the possibility that they may make for the Dourn Hills and the Wolveswood beyond. The Dourn are far from mountains, but they are nonetheless treacherous, mostly piled boulders and broken shale—you'll start a landslide if you look at them funny. No, I'm afraid you'll have to settle for your own two feet, my friend."
Weylyn grimaced as Tal released an ill timed branch and caught him square in the face. He sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens. "Wonderful."
The days passed in a blur for Weylyn. They rested little and slept less. The forest was an unbelievable labyrinth of towering black oaks and tangled bracken where the sun seldom reached in more than infrequent dapples. Tal had spoken truly though, the men they hunted had not taken much thought as to who would follow them, and the ranger's keen eyes found the trail easily.
The forest seemed endless. They hiked through halls of towering elms and clear open glades lit silver in the moonlight. They clambered over tangles of moss covered boulders and crossed an ancient rope and timber bridge that stretched precariously over a ravine. Nearly two hundred feet below, a white ribbon of river tumbled over stones the size of pebbles. After nearly a week of slow travel, Tal told Weylyn he wagered that they were less than a day or two behind the dark elf and his mercenaries, and pushed the march even more ruthlessly. Weylyn was footsore, haggard, and weary by then, and starting to hate the perpetually tireless Tal.
He muttered darkly to himself one evening, trying to tease a sizable thorn out of his foot as the two rested in a little clearing. Tal had built a small fire and was busy skinning a rabbit. He glanced up and gave a short laugh at the sight of Weylyn bent nearly double and grumbling dire threats at his feet.
"Have a care, Weylyn," he said, trying to keep his face straight. "There's many a man has lost his foot and worse to the dire thorns of the Westwood."
Weylyn winced as he finally grasped the broken barb and removed it. "I have more of a care for what the damn thing did to my boot. Look at that." He held up the black leather sole for closer inspection, running a finger woefully around the ragged hole the thorn had made. "I had these made in Ilyenni. It will be years before I can get them properly replaced." He pulled the damaged boot on with an irritated grunt.
Tal had spit the rabbit and was reclining lazily next to the fire. He raised an eyebrow. "Ilyenni? You're a long way from home, friend. Ilyenni is nearly a thousand leagues from here, and across the Black Spine to boot."
Weylyn glanced at him warily from half closed eyes. "The…sailor has no home," he said indifferently. "And Ilyenni is not so far as the ship sails."
"That's true enough." Tal said amiably and rose to give the rabbit a turn. "I thought I caught the scent of salt about you…" He would have said more, but Weylyn lifted his head suddenly and held up a hand for silence. The half-elf was staring somewhere off into the distance, his head slightly cocked, listening.
"Do you hear that?" He spun suddenly, striding to the nearest tree and vaulting into the lower branches. "Put the fire out. Now!" He wasted no more words, but clambered higher into the thick branches.
Tal gave Weylyn an odd look, but did as he was asked, dousing the low flames and mentally giving a mute apology to the rabbit. He padded silently over to the tree Weylyn was perched in, glancing up through the twisting branches.
"What do you see?" he whispered urgently. There was no answer for a moment, and Tal opened his mouth to call again. He shut it with an audible snap as Weylyn dropped down next to him, landing on his feet soft as a cat.
"There's smoke. A cookfire or some such. We've found the Stone Brothers." He paced restlessly around the clearing, buckling on his sword belt, and gave a short mirthless laugh. "Gods, we're nearly on top of them."
Tal started hastily readying their gear. "How far?"
"An hour's march, maybe two. Less if we don't stand around jabbering at each other like Halflings on holiday."
Tal kicked dirt into the smoldering ashes of their fire as Weylyn picked their trail to the North and West. The ranger stretched his strides to catch up with him.
"Weylyn? What made you climb that tree?" Tal reached forward and laid a slim calloused hand on Weylyn's shoulder. "What did you hear?"
The young half-elf stared stonily forward, his face blank. Finally, he sighed and raised a hand to rub tiredly at his eyes.
"Voices, faint on the wind." He sighed. "Someone screaming."
Tal raised an eyebrow. "The gnome?"
Weylyn gave no answer, but quickened his pace and stormed ahead, disappearing quickly into the forest gloom.
* * * * * * * *
Ellywick glared sullenly at the strange Drow stretched next to the fire, idly cleaning his claws. She had tried an escape when they had first stopped to set up camp, but that had only resulted in a black eye and another guard watching her every move. The dark elf lifted his deep nigtshade eyes and returned her gaze with a smirk. Stretching lazily, he smoothed the invisible wrinkles in his immaculate doublet.
"Well, my dearest little gnome," he said. "We're nearly there, and you're none the worse for wear; though in dire need of a bath."
She wiggled in the grip of the beefy Stone Brother who kept one hand around her throat and one around her arm at all times.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," she snapped. "Kidnapping innocent beautiful maidens!" She wrinkled her brow at him in a stern glower. "What would your mother say if she knew how mean you turned out?"
The look the dark elf turned on her would have made rocks bleed. "I have no mother," he growled through clenched teeth. It was the first time he had truly shown signs of losing his temper. Most people would have realized that they had touched a nerve. Most people would have been frightened by the dark hissing tone and the elf's softly burning eyes. But Ellywick was not most people.
"You don't have a mother?" Her huge brown eyes started slowly leaking tears onto the gruff hands that held her. "Oh you poor poor thing! That's the saddest thing I've ever heard! No wonder you're such a big mean grouch!" The Drow looked on in disbelief as the little gnome started wailing in sorrow on his behalf. Quicker than thought, she had torn out of the Stone Brother's grasp and pelted across the short distance between her and the elf. With a flying leap she was into his arms and clinging to his chest like a little limpet, sobbing into his priceless silk shirt. Thrown off balance by her tackle of kindness, he landed on his backside with a loud grunt, flailing his arms in an attempt to defend himself from her cuddling.
"That's okay," she said, hugging him tight. "I forgive you. I knew all you needed was a big warm hug."
The elf's eyes widened in near panic, as he tried to detangle himself. "What in the name of-- Get it off of me!" The mercenaries raced forward, pulling Ellywick away from him with more difficulty than would seem possible. He staggered to his feet, hair and clothing in disarray, and nearly spitting with fury. Before he could round on Ellywick though, the Brother they had left as lookout dropped lightly from the trees and raced up to the elf.
"We got unwelcome company, sir. They're coming fast."
"What? Rot you for a half blind dog; I knew I should have set wards." The elf grabbed at the front of the man's soiled tunic. "Who? Quick now, or I'll have your tongue as well as your eyes."
The thug scratched agitatedly at a jagged scar on his nose. "That goat's son of a half-elf what killed Torek. And a ranger, like as not the same one that me brothers have had trouble with before in these woods."
The dark elf growled in irritation, and turned to scan the woods for the intruders.
Weylyn!, thought Ellywick, bouncing around in her captor's grip. He isn't dead then. Now's my chance or not at all! Summoning up all the fury in her little frame, she opened her mouth and bit down hard on the hand that held her. The mercenary gave a distinctly feminine shriek and dropped her like a hot coal. Landing on all fours, Ellywick went racing off into the dark shelter of the trees.
The dark elf closed his eyes for a moment as he heard the shout of alarm and the sound of mercenaries scrambling suddenly around the clearing, beating the bracken for a sign of the little gnome. He counted to ten. He cleared his throat.
"I am going to open my eyes and then I am going to turn around," he said in a calm measured voice. "And when I do, I am NOT going to find that you have dropped the gnome and lost the entire reason we have made this wretched trek halfway across the country." He turned around, his face a stony mask, to the sight of his six mercenaries standing around looking sheepish. Sans one blonde gnome.
He put an elegant hand to his temple, his eyes closed in pained resignation. "Apparently that was too much to ask." His voice was low and amiable, but the men shrank back from the white hot anger behind his cold eyes. "You." He pointed to the nearest Brother, a wiry man with dirty blond hair. "Are to follow me. The rest of you listen, and listen well. You will wait here for our uninvited guests. You will surround, overpower, and kill them." He paused, fixing them one by one with his dark gaze. "Or I will personally tear the skins from your worthless carcasses and nail them to hell's black gate as a warning to the incompetent." With a flash of black wings, he disappeared into the night shrouded wood.