15th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
Highport, The Pomarj
Cygnus would just as soon have kept his eyes closed.
Looking at the ground (mostly occupied by an angry mob) passing by at what seemed like far too small a distance was bad enough, but the horrid sight of the winged devil above him was even worse. The mage had to keep continuously telling himself, That's Aslan, that's Aslan.
He opened his eyes again but couldn't quite believe what he saw.
They were now flying directly towards the burning ship.
"Aslan!" The mage squealed. "What the hell- I mean, what the devil- I mean, what are you doing?"
There was no reply. An awful thought occurred to Cygnus. Although Aslan had assured them all time and time again that it could never happen, what if taking the form of a devil had twisted the paladin's mind towards evil?
Cygnus began to struggle, pinwheeling his arms about.
"Stop that!" barked out Aslan in a horrible, gravelly voice. "I'm having enough trouble hanging onto you as it is!"
"The ship!" Cygnus gasped. "Aslan, we'll be-"
"No, Cygnus," Aslan said, his voice a little softer now. "We won't."
"Aslan!" The mage cried out. "Why-"
"Why a devil? You were expecting an archon, maybe?"
Cygnus nodded as well as he could while hanging upside down. "Well, actually, yes."
The paladin's voice sounded unnaturally harsh, even considering the form he was now in. "Use your head, damn it! An angel or such would have drawn fire from every missile weapon down there- more than enough to break through our protection. Seeing a fiend gave them pause; they're weren't sure if I was an ally of theirs or not." His voice grew lower. "They know now I'm not."
As he carried Cygnus over to the main deck and slowly began to lower the mage down, the wizard realized that he was feeling no heat from the flames at all.
"An illusion!" the wizard cried out. "Aslan, it's an illusion!"
And with those words, the flames disappeared.
Cygnus had an upside-down view of the crowd, which had begun to pull back from the spectacle of the burning ship and the winged fiend, turn around, point at them and start muttering amongst themselves.
Cygnus looked up again to see a very angry-looking horned devil, indeed.
The magic-user managed a weak smile. "I guess that wasn't my shining moment, was it?"
The devil snarled and opened his hand, letting Cygnus fall. The mage didn't even have time to shriek before his head crashed into the wooden deck from a height of maybe one foot. Moaning in pain, by the time the mage had regained his feet, a great flapping of wings presaged Aslan's touching down beside him. The paladin immediately started walking towards the rail of the ship.
Cygnus looked around him. There was still no sign of any crew onboard. Although Cygnus himself could feel no wind, the sails were slightly filled as the ship slowly moved forward. As the wizard watched, they flattened, and then billowed out in the opposite direction, as if a strong headwind was blowing the ship to a halt. The ropes comprising the ships rigging magically animated, tying and untying themselves at will.
The mage saw that a solid wood railing surrounded the ship's sides, about five feet high off the deck. Amidships, there was a space about five feet wide that had no railing, but a rotating dowel had been carved into the space, only a few inches above the deck. Both ends of the dowel fit snugly into holes in the railing on either side. Cygnus saw that the dowel was merely one end of a long wooden ramp, about twenty-five feet long and five feet high. It was this ramp, which had been lying across the deck, that Aslan the devil was now lifting up. When the ramp pointed straight up, it teetered for a moment and then fell outwards, landing on the pier with a solid thump just as the ship came to a halt.
The mass of former slaves stood there on the pier, staring up in fear at the ship.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Come on! Get on board!" Aslan shouted at them.
"Er, Aslan…"
The devil whirled on Cygnus. "What?"
The mage folded his arms and gave him a sour grin. "Are you planning on sailing them directly to Hell, or do they get a cruise on the River Styx first?"
Aslan looked at him in puzzlement for a moment, and then his eyes widened and the devil slapped his scaly forehead with his palm. By the time he turned back to the slaves below, he was his old self again. "Come on, then."
Slowly, at Cygnus' urging, the slaves moved up the ramp and onto the ship. The odd crossbow bolt started coming their way, so Aslan told them all to lie down on the deck. Crying and moaning, they did so. The last to board were a solemn-looking man of about fifty and the teenaged girl with the blackened foot.
Between them, they held the unconscious body of the Slave Lord. They dumped their cargo unceremoniously on the deck before the man turned to Aslan.
"You said he was important to you," the man said.
Holding onto each other for support, the two ex-slaves joined the others in hiding from the erratic fire of missile weapons.
Elrohir slowly regained consciousness, although he didn't have the strength to open his eyes yet. He was lying across what he figured was Glarg's arm. Judging from the fact that it wasn't moving, he assumed that the ogre was at last dead. He sighed, then winced at the sharp pain that brought to his ribs. His eyes popped open in surprise.
Directly in front of them was the face of his wife. The bulging eye, the smashed cheekbones, the obliterated nose and the ruined mouth; he saw it all at a glance.
The ranger slowly cracked a smile. "Hey there, beautiful," he whispered.
Talass' face distorted even more as she began to help her husband to her feet. "Rease, own ake ee raff. Urs oo utch."
Argo and Caroline walked slowly and unsteadily down the safe corridor, holding onto one another. For the most part, the mob had pulled back, but they glared at the party as they slowly made their way towards the ship.
"So," said Caroline, too weary even to smile, as she looked up at the face of her husband. "Is this what the others used to do all the time before they retired?"
"Not all the time," Argo replied, his face expressionless. "As I understand it, sometimes they actually got into a little trouble." The ranger looked down at her, the smile in his eyes rather than his mouth.
Caroline rested her head against his shoulder. "I quit," she said softly.
Argo squeezed his wife's shoulder and planted a kiss on the top of head, but said nothing. Together, they walked on.
Nesco cried out and went down on one knee again. She angrily wiped away the tears that came to her eyes and forced herself back to her feet. Great Zeus, but she was in pain. She had no idea the human body could withstand such torment. From head to toe, she hurt. The ranger gritted her teeth and tried to focus on Argo and Caroline ahead of her, but her strength ebbed again, and her view started to topple sideways.
A strong arm grabbed Lady Cynewine around her waist and helped her stay upright. Nesco's head jerked around and she literally gaped in astonishment.
Without even any kind of acknowledgement, Yanigasawa Tojo helped Nesco along. The samurai's face was set in a stare of grim determination.
Nesco was bewildered.
"Tojo?" she asked him.
He did not look at her. He did not reply.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cynewine saw Caroline Bigfellow, ahead of her, look at Nesco and shake her head at the ranger, as if to say Don't talk to him.
Out of nowhere, an image flew into Nesco's mind. Her baby brother Lencon, perhaps five years ago, when the daughter of a neighboring noble, all of seven as he was, had tried to practice a ballroom waltz with the youngest Cynewine. He had complied, but the boy's chubby face had the same look of brave stoicism while doing something distasteful that Tojo's held now that Nesco would have laughed, if the effort had not been so costly.
Nesco could just barely hear the samurai sigh. She looked away from him as the smile washed over her face.
Trudging along, Zantac brought up the rear. He was wounded, he was dirty, he was hungry and thirsty, but most of all, he was depressed.
Argo was right. I sure know how to pick them, don't I? The red-robed wizard thought ruefully to himself. The only women who seem to have any interest in me are self-serving harlots or flesh-craving abominations!
His eyes narrowed as he regarded the part ahead of him. On the other hand though, look at Elrohir and Argo. They're madly in love with their wives, and yet every day they have to worry that by the end of it, they may be widowers, or their wives widows. Is that kind of heartache really worth it?
The mage considered briefly, and then nodded to himself, picking up his pace just a bit.
Guess, I'll just have to find out for myself, won't I?
The party had just finished boarding the vessel. Aslan's rather terse behavior was surprising everybody. The paladin had given everyone a quick rudimentary healing, just enough to let them function, but had not spoken a word to anyone. He had only snapped out reprimands at anyone who let themselves be exposed to the incoming missile fire.
Aslan glanced up. It looked like the sails were starting to billow again. He bent over the railing and grasped one end of the ramp. "Elrohir," he said. "Take hold of this, and flip it back."
At that moment, the rain of comets ceased. Everyone's head looked shoreward.
The mob suddenly surged towards the ship, although one voice carried above them all.
The party looked further inland. Rushing towards them along the temple wall was Rezshk, his spear held aloft. He was screaming for those nearest the ship to board her.
"Great Zeus!" Bigfellow exclaimed. "Doesn't that guy know when to quit?"
Talass tested her tongue out before replying, somewhat sardonically. "It surprises you that a witch doctor could cure the very poison that he brewed up?"
Argo turned towards her and flashed his trademarked smile. "I'm just a lowly ranger, my good lady. Green goop is the extant of my alchemic knowledge."
Talass' voice was grim. "As long as you know how to duck. Get down!"
The two of them ducked behind the railing. Argo flinched as the barbed head of Rezshk's spear protruded through the railing right next to his head. It quivered for a moment, and then withdrew.
Elrohir's eyes widened. The mob had already reached the gangplank. It was now too heavy to lift.
"I am done playing!" Aslan shouted.
Elrohir saw nothing, but he knew what was about to happen.
And it did. The mob hesitated and then cried out in pain as the wave of psionic energy washed over them. Although all of them didn't flee, the ones in front did, slamming into the ones behind them. Many fell off, into the water. A second psionic blast cleared the plank as the ship began to move off.
The paladin whirled his head around at a sound to his right. Two orcs, apparently under the influence of spider climb potions or spells had leapt from the docks and were now clinging securely to the hull. Aslan snarled and fired another blast at them. They cried out and fell off the hull into the sea.
Slowly but surely, the ship left Highport behind.
Cygnus chuckled as Aslan, after using his remaining energies on healing friends and former slaves, finished checking out the ship for any hidden stowaways or signs of damage. He had found neither.
The wizard counted on his fingers. "Let's see. Polymorphing into an ogre in order to lie your way into the slaver's lair, an orc in order to deceive the jailors and free the slaves, and a devil to fool an angry mob."
Aslan glanced over sharply at him.
Cygnus smiled. "For someone who hates lies as much as you do Aslan, you've been using an awful lot of deception lately. Is this something that-"
The paladin suddenly grabbed Cygnus by the front of his robes and slammed him back against the railing.
"YOU HAVE A POINT TO MAKE, CYGNUS?" He screamed at the mage.
There was a long silence. Only the creaking of the hull, the movement of the sails, and the squeak of bats flying overheard could be heard.
"No," whispered Cygnus. "No, I don't."
Slowly, Aslan released his hold on the mage's brown robe. Sensing something, he looked behind him.
All his friends were staring at him. Even the mass of freed slaves were silent, watching.
Elrohir spoke first, softly. "Aslan," he said. "Is everything all right?"
The paladin closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his long-time friend could see the hurt there. Hurt, and something else.
"No, Elrohir, it's not all right," Aslan replied. "It's not all right at all." He looked back at the wizard. "Cygnus," he said. "Tell the others what we found back at the Brass Dragon. Tell them what happened to those who depended on us; who trusted us." The paladin stormed off towards the lone door in the forecastle. "I need to mindrest."
The door slammed behind the paladin. The others turned their gaze to the magic-user.
Cygnus swallowed hard as tears came to his eyes. He didn't know where to begin.