3rd Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj
"DROP!"
Argo Bigfellow, a fraction of a second away from death, gasped as Tojo's hands opened involuntarily and his katana went sailing by less than an inch from the ranger's neck.
Tojo roared and spun around, fully aware despite his battle rage that he had been the victim of Talass' command spell.
The samurai's hand cocked into a hard fist the instant before it slammed into the cleric's nose. Talass cried out and fell backwards, stumbling over a small crate and crashing to the floor. Tojo advanced on her, then suddenly spun around again, but once again a second too late as Argo's armored bulk crashed into him with a flying tackle.
Talass rolled out of the way just in time as the two warriors hit the floor. Containers and casks scattered as they wrestled. Five more figures were almost upon them when Tojo managed to knee Argo in the groin, pull himself free and shoot to his feet. The samurai backed into the kitchen's southwest corner, his face that of a wild animal.
The others moved to surround him in a loose arc at about fifteen feet distance, Bigfellow limping and Talass keeping one hand over her bloody nose.
"Dammit, Tojo!" cried Argo, still trying to raise his posture above a half-crouch. "I didn't touch the damn swords! I didn't desecrate anything!"
"His armor!" yelled Tojo. "It is oroyoi! Great Armor- for samurai only! You shall not touch it!"
"Then why didn't you tell us that before?" Argo roared back. "You never mentioned that their armor held the same status as their swords! You mind letting us in on your customs before you take off my head because of them?"
Tojo's eyes dropped down to the floor, and he clenched his fists. "No! Not same; it is..."
The words switched to Nipponese briefly, and then trailed off into silence.
Elrohir spread his arms wide in what he hoped was an understanding gesture, but he couldn't quite keep the pleading out of his voice. "What is it? Please, Tojo. Talk to us. Aren't we your friends? Haven't we earned your trust by now?"
Tojo looked up again at all the faces around him. They could hear the restraint the samurai was trying to interject into his words. "Not matter of trust." He was breathing heavily, deciding if any words existed in any language that could bridge this gap.
The party waited.
Tojo was starting to tremble again. They could see the muscles in the samurai's face twitching, and his eyes darting around, hoping to alight on something that would miraculously let him communicate what he considered a concept best left unspoken.
Nesco couldn't let this continue. She felt sure Tojo was going to explode again soon. She had to try and reach him.
"Tojo," she said gently, taking one step forward. "You are a man of great honor, and-"
"No!" yelled the samurai with such force that the ranger jumped back a foot in sheer fright.
"No! Not honoraber! You not understand! No gaijin can understand!"
"Try us, Tojo." Cygnus' voice was loud but even. "Try us!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Nesco saw Aslan biting his lip. It seemed to her that the paladin desperately wanted to say something but was holding his tongue. He caught Nesco looking at him and dropped his gaze.
With a shaking hand, Tojo was pointing at Icar's body now. "He! He honeraber! I want to redeem honor, but it cannot be! I enter into batter under fawse pretense! I am punished for my deception!"
The party glanced at each other. Confusion was written on every face. Aslan continued to stare at the floor.
Tojo's face flushed. His finger jabbed again at the fallen samurai.
"He not know of my dishonor!"
"WE not know of your dishonor, Tojo!" Elrohir screamed out. "You're always there for us- why won't you let us be there for you? Do you realize how frustrating that is for us?"
Tojo swallowed hard. His lip quivered.
"I don't think you're helping, Elrohir," Argo said in a near-whisper.
"Can you do better?" his fellow ranger snarled, rounding on him.
"No," Bigfellow answered, his gaze turning back to Tojo. "No, I can't."
But Caroline could, he thought. I don't know how, but she can reach him like no one else can. Yet another reason I wish she was here.
"I really think that door needs to be shut," muttered Zantac.
The others looked at the red-robed wizard, who avoided their gazes and began to unsteadily head back towards the door they had entered from, which still sat ajar.
"And I think this one needs to be opened," Aslan said.
Very slowly, the paladin began to walk forward, his hands held up in a sign of peace.
Tojo's eyes grew wide and his lips curled. "You do not understand!" he shouted out again. "How can you not understand? Dishonor is not to be shared! It must be borne- arone!"
"You shared it once," Aslan said quietly, continued to step forward.
Those violet eyes narrowed. They shot cold fire at the approaching paladin, and then darted over to the faces of the others. Tojo pressed his lips together, his breath blowing hard and fast through his nostrils.
"Look me in the eye Tojo and tell me you did not feel better for having done it."
"When was this?" Elrohir cried out, but no one answered him.
"I kept my promise, Tojo" Aslan continued. "I told no one."
Aslan stopped. He was now standing directly in front of the samurai. Tojo spoke again, his face pained.
"It was mistake," he said. "I show you discourtesy by sharing my dishonor with you. I fert weak then, and ashamed." Tojo's head sank.
"I did not feel dishonored." The paladin's voice was soft. "I felt honored that a good friend would confide in me so."
Still looking down, Tojo shook his head, a bitter smile forming on his lips. His voice was also soft, but it carried an air of finality.
"You are gaijin. You wirr never understand."
Now it was Aslan's turn to shake his head. "You can't have it both ways, Tojo."
The samurai's head snapped up.
Aslan continued. "If I don't understand your ways Tojo, I cannot be dishonored by them. I might dishonor you unknowingly, but you cannot dishonor me in kind. And if I do understand, then I accept the dishonor willingly, if I think it can help to start you back on the road to redemption."
Tojo's face grew thoughtful. There was a long pause. His purple eyes bored into the paladin's light blue ones.
"How cood you make such a thing happen?"
Aslan took a deep breath.
"By myself, I do not know, Tojo. But Elrohir always says that we are stronger as a group than apart, and I agree with him on this with all of my heart." He gestured back towards the others. "If you will confide in them as you did me-"
Tojo's eyes blazed. "No!"
"Tojo, please! You can-"
"No!"
Aslan was frantic. The samurai looked like he was starting to melt down all over again. The paladin tried to speak again, but Tojo cut him off.
"I wirr not make same mistake again! I wirr not spread dishonor among my arries! If you cannot herp, then they cannot!"
The samurai suddenly grabbed Aslan by the shoulders. He thrust his face to within inches of Aslan's, something the paladin knew he never did. To anybody.
"You do not know what it is rike!" Tojo cried. His face was red, as if the emotions on it were literally burning the samurai alive from within. His eyes no longer met Aslan's, but swept wildly around the room, alighting on nothing.
"Dishonor weighs upon the so! Every night, it reminds me of what I have done- of my fairure! I have brought shame upon my daimyo- upon my famiry! Many times, there are days, there are weeks, when I do not think upon it, and awe seems better- but this onry increases my shame! To ignore one's dishonor is to murtipry the sin! I have done nothing to regain my honor! Nothing!"
Tojo suddenly went deathly quiet. He removed his hands from Aslan's shoulders and took one step backwards, so that his back was up against the corner of the room.
Then he bowed. Deeply.
The paladin was in shock. His whole body was rigid in astonishment. The others were too far away to see it, and before today, they might not have believed their own eyes anyway.
Aslan wasn't even sure he could believe his own anymore.
"Sayanora, paradin Asran-san."
Tears ran down Yanigasawa Tojo's face as his whole body trembled in a brief paroxysm of fear, and then relaxed into a soothing calmness.
"I find my honor now. At rast, I find peace."
His right hand became a blur.
Aslan never even knew what happened.
A second ago, he had been staring into the crying face of his dear friend, and now somehow he was grappling with him, both of his hands locked around the samurai's hands, trying to stop Tojo from plunging the wakazashi he held into his own stomach.
He had no recollection at all of the intervening second.
The paladin turned back towards the others and roared.
"Stay back!"
The others were so stunned by hearing the exact opposite of what they had expected that several of them nearly lost their balance as their feet stopped before their brains processed what they had heard.
"Aslan!" Talass cried.
"Stay back!" he shouted again. "He's right- this cannot go past me!"
"Aslan, either he'll die, or you will!" Elrohir yelled. "Are you insane?"
"I'll let you know!"
This was the longest struggle of Aslan's life.
Both combatants strained to their limits. Tojo could not make the final cut, but neither could the paladin pull his arms back. The tip of the one-sided short blade shivered inches away from the samurai's flesh.
Aslan's eyes widened. It was only now that he saw Tojo's dastana lying in the corner.
He had never even noticed the samurai remove his bracers. Nothing would save Tojo if Aslan's grip slackened now.
The paladin looked up to see Tojo's face once again right up close to his own. Instead of grief though, now he could see only rage.
And it tore his heart.
"You dishonor me, Asran!" the samurai spat. "Why wirr you not ret me die?"
"BECAUSE I'M YOUR FRIEND, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!"
Now it was Aslan had lost all composure. He felt like he was burning up with panic and frustration and sadness. He couldn't believe how things had managed to go so wrong, so quickly.
He could also not believe how Tojo had managed to work his right hand free without him noticing.
The samurai's fist slammed into the paladin's face.
Again, and again.
Aslan was amazed at how fast and hard Tojo could strike with his bare hands. Through the haze of pain that was already spreading throughout his face and back into his brain, he wondered dimly why Tojo even bothered with his swords.
The samurai's fist continued to pound home. Aslan's nose was already bleeding, and a cut in his forehead ran mixed blood and sweat into his eyes.
Faintly he heard someone yelling.
Aslan could feel his grip beginning to loosen. In just a few seconds he was going to black out.
The paladin knew his friends were starting to move now. No, he thought. If they interfere, it's all over.
He couldn't get past the pain to cry out, however.
This is it, he thought.
Aslan suddenly let go of Tojo and took a giant step back.
The samurai had not expected that. It took only a moment for him to regain his bearings however, and he was again ready thrust his sword into his belly when he saw Aslan's fist coming at him.
Only Aslan's fist had never been the size of Tojo's entire head before.
Grock's punch threw Tojo back against the wall with such force that the wind was knocked out of him. By the time he could recover, the ogre had grabbed both of his forearms and hoisted the samurai into the air, standing back far enough so that Tojo's kicks could not reach him.
Bellowing and screaming in rage, Tojo continued to struggle.
Aslan, still bleeding even in ogre-form, regarded him with Grock's dark, beady eyes. The paladin took huge breaths to try and regain his composure while the others had moved up next to him. Unsure what to do, they decided to wait and follow Aslan's lead.
"What are you going to do, Aslan?" asked Nesco. "Keep him tied up for the rest of his life? He'll kill himself the first chance he gets!"
Before Aslan could reply, Tojo suddenly swung backwards slightly, just enough to push off with his feet from the corner. His right foot came around and slammed into Aslan's mouth. The ogre nearly choked as he swallowed a tooth, then roared with anger.
"Tojo! Stop this right now and listen to me, or so help me, I'll take your swords!"
The samurai stopped struggling and hung there in Aslan's grip. His expression was half anger, and half incredulity.
The ogre's head bobbed up and down. "I'll do it, Tojo, and then where will you be? Even your death won't wipe away that stain!"
A weary sadness appeared on Tojo's face.
"Why, Asran? Why do you do this to me? You say you my friend- have arways show yourserf to be such in past. Preese, ret me die with honor. Ret me die with dignity. It is my way. I- wish it."
Aslan licked his bloody lips. Strangely, the salty liquid tasted refreshing to him.
He suddenly had a craving for more.
The paladin shook his head to clear that thought, then regarded the prisoner he held dangling in his outstretched arms.
"I have a proposition for you, Tojo-sama."
The samurai eyed him through narrowed slits but said nothing.
Aslan took a deep breath and slowly lowered Tojo to the floor and released his grip.
The samurai stared up at the ogre's face for a moment, and then very slowly resheathed his wakazashi. He then crossed his arms. A faint flicker of his old inscrutability returned to his face. "Speak."
The paladin pointed at his allies. "We're in trouble, Tojo. We're all in trouble. We're in the midst of hostile territory, and we're hurt. We're low in resources, and some of what we had left we've spent against each other, instead of our real foes."
Tojo said nothing. His face did not change expression.
"This is what I propose, Tojo. Stay with us, as one of us, until we are safely away from here. Then, and hear me out, I will explain to the others the burden you are under." Aslan held up a huge, brown, wrinkled finger to forestall any interruptions, but Tojo merely swallowed and continued to listen, although his skepticism showed.
"And after that, we shall confer, and see if together, we can discover a way for you to regain your lost honor. If you agree, than we are on our way towards that goal. But if you do not, or if we can arrive at no solution that you find acceptable, then," and Aslan took a breath larger than any human could ever have done, "then I myself will act as your second for seppuku."
"What?" Talass cried. "Aslan! Are you saying you're going to help Tojo kill himself? After what you just went through?"
"Yes, Talass." That massive head swiveled around to stare directly at the cleric, and then at each of the others in turn. "That is exactly what I am saying, and if that is Tojo's choice, his friends, those that love him, will let him go."
Cygnus could only whisper. "And we're to just stand by as we watch our friend end his own life?"
Aslan looked at him hard. "You don't have to watch if you don't want to, Cygnus." The ogre took another look at his allies, his gaze landing on Talass' bloody nose, and Tojo's bruised and bloody face.
For a moment, he had an image of their bodies, ripped completely apart.
Tojo's reply snapped him back to reality. The samurai was once again bowing.
"As you wish. Untir this mission done, I wirr fight with honor, Asran-san."
Aslan looked at the samurai again. I can see the wheels turning in there, Tojo, he thought, but there was nothing more he could do now. He had made an offer, and it had been accepted. He pointed back towards the edge of the fire pit, where Tojo's sword had landed.
"Take your weapon, Tojo-sama."
The ogre then strode off towards the northeast corner of the room.
"Excuse me, everyone. I need to rest for a few minutes."
The next few minutes were filled with awkward silences.
Tojo was again standing still. His hands were clasped behind his back, his bracers once again attached. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was deep and regular. His left cheekbone was smashed in from Grock's initial punch, and dried blood congealed on the back of his head from where it had smashed into the wall. The samurai gave no indication he was aware of any of this.
Zantac had pushed the large barrel back into the room so that it no longer blocked the northern doorway. The red-robed wizard had closed the door and now sat upon the barrel. He had grabbed a bite of hardtack and a swallow of water, and now waited sullenly for whatever lay ahead.
Argo had given Harve a cursory cleaning, and now walked slowly around the room to no obvious purpose. The big ranger avoided everyone's gaze. He had indeed confirmed that Icar's ring afforded some protection against heat and flames, but at this point in time no one seemed interested in even discussing the item, so it still rested on Bigfellow's finger, underneath his gauntlet.
Talass, sitting on an upturned crate, spent her time either praying or gingerly touching her nose, which she has washed clean and tended as best she could without actually healing it through prayer. Elrohir had suggested she do so, but she had merely glared at him until her husband wandered off.
Cygnus had joined Nesco in a search of the storeroom.
The ranger had been hopefully pulling on a dish that seemed stuck to the floor of one of the shelves on the north wall, then cursed as it abruptly jerked free of the dried material that had glued it there. It was just another of hundreds of filthy plates and bowls and pots.
Nesco tossed it aside impatiently and glanced over at the tall mage, who was brushing aside ants and maggots feasting on leftovers caked to a tall stack of dishes he was trying to move aside to get to the shelves on the south wall. The wizard grimaced in disgust, but then assumed a neutral expression when he saw Cynewine looking at him.
"Try the shelves themselves, Nesco," he said with a sigh. "See if any of them pull out or slide inwards."
She nodded and set herself to the task. "Do you think we're going to get out of here, Cygnus?" ahe spoke without turning around.
"I don't know, Nesco," came the reply. "I'm sure this Markessa is planning our demise as we speak. It's been over fifteen minutes since our fight, our initial fight, ended." The wizard's voice carried little comfort in it. "The fact that the hobgoblins from the guard tower haven't come swarming into this room can only mean they're waiting for us to leave before they make their move. And when they do…" his voice trailed off.
Nesco glanced over her shoulder. Cygnus, his hands stretched over his head holding onto the topmost shelf, looked back at her.
"Unless we get another rain of comets, I don't think it looks good."
Lady Cynewine returned her gaze to her task at hand. "You never said whether you had ascertained the identity of our mysterious savior in Highport."
"I haven't been able to find out anything more, and without divinations, I don't think we're going to. Right now all I have is a hunch. There is an elven king in Welkwood named Alias who might know more, but," he shrugged. "that's all of no use to us now."
The magic-user groaned as he pushed in against the shelf fruitlessly, and then wiped his dirty hands on his brown robes.
"Whether our savior is the person I'm thinking of or not, we have no way of knowing if he's planning to save us again. And if we have to rely on others to rescue us," Cygnus shook his head, "we shouldn't have come here in the first place."
Nesco felt like she had to say something positive.
"We'll get out of here, Cygnus," she said as she yanked back on a low shelf. The effort yielded her nothing but a splinter. The ranger cursed and tried to push the wooden plank in but there was nothing but solid stone behind them. She grabbed hold of the next highest shelf, and stole a quick glance at the wizard.
He was just standing there, looking at the wall in front of him. Lady Cynewine could hear the pain in his voice.
"I'm never going to see my son again, Nesco."
The ranger stared at the back of the mage's head, which began shaking slightly.
"I- I promised on the soul of my wife I'd look after him. She never even- she never even got to see him."
He turned around to face the ranger. She could see his face was wet with tears.
"We were retired, Nesco." The wizard's voice filled with pain and confusion. "We were retired! What happened? How did we wind up back here? I shouldn't have stayed at the Brass Dragon. I knew Elrohir was going to pull us back in! How can he do that? He's got a son, too- doesn't he care about him? Doesn't he care about his wife? Does he really want to experience that- to lie awake in an empty bed; to reach out with your hand and not feel that warm softness that you've gotten so used to, and then remembering that you're never going to see that again? Never hold it, never-"
He broke off, sobbing.
Nesco stared at him. The wizard's grief broke her heart, but there was another layer of pain that overlay even that, like a heavy blanket. She took a step and reached out to him, but Cygnus lifted his left hand to stop her.
"No. It doesn't matter, Nesco. It really doesn't matter."
He hurriedly dried his eyes and turned back to the shelves in front of him. He began pulling and pushing at shelves furiously.
Nesco stared at him for a moment, and then turned back to the north wall. Her breath suddenly and unexpectedly caught in her throat as she recognized the source of her pain, the pain that had nothing to do with the wizard standing nearby. Her own eyes blurred from tears.
"It does matter Cygnus, but so does dying without ever having known love at all. Try dying a virgin."
She couldn't believe she'd just blurted that out.
The ranger concentrated on her own shelves. Hoping Cygnus hadn't heard her.
She could feel his eyes on the back of her head.
Elrohir walked slowly over to Aslan.
The paladin, still in ogre-form, sat with his back against the kitchen's northeast corner. He was bent over at the waist as low as he could go, his head tucked down over his knees. His hand absently rubbed his right leg.
The ranger bent down and spoke as softly as he dared.
"Aslan? Are you all right?'
There was a pause, and then that massive head slowly lifted in Elrohir's direction.
The ranger swallowed hard. He just couldn't see as much of Aslan in Grock's eyes as he wanted to. The smell that wafted off that greasy, warty hide was not only unpleasant, but it was foreign. It was something the ranger associated with creatures he killed, not with his own friends, and his own face couldn't hide that thought completely.
But what really made him nervous was that just for a moment, he thought he had seen the exact same expression in the ogre's face.
"What is it, Elrohir? Are we ready to pull out?" Grock's bass voice rumbled.
Elrohir nodded. "I need you to break that door open," he said, pointing to the locked door. "Gokasillion tells me there is almost forty pounds of gold about twenty feet south of the door, almost to the corner."
Huge, bushy eyebrows lifted.
"Impressive indeed Elrohir, but what else is there? Right now, treasure is more of a burden than a blessing. Keep in mind, whatever is beyond that door may not lead directly to where that gold is. It might lay behind one of those doors we passed in the corridor on the way here. At best, I'm guessing it may link up, but if that's the case, there may be hobgoblins guarding it."
The ranger shrugged his shoulders. "There might be a secret passage that would lead us to Markessa, or perhaps another way out. I just think it's the way we should go. We can go-"
There was a shout from the storeroom, followed by the noise of stone grinding against stone. Elrohir, Zantac, Argo and Talass hurried to the storeroom's doorway, leaving Aslan to grumble and slowly rise to his feet.
Tojo remained where he was.
Nesco and Cygnus were standing inside, grinning like drunken fools at each other. Elrohir could see that a portion of the south wall had swung backwards, taking with it the attached row of shelves. Beyond it, the ranger could see as he crowded forth with the others, a stone staircase head downwards about fifteen feet before curving off to the east.
Elrohir clasped Nesco and Cygnus by their shoulders. "Well done, people. Well done!"
"What do you say, oh fearless leader?" Argo queried. "Which doorway to certain doom do we take?"
Their party leader took a deep breath. "I have a preference, but first I'll listen to any and all ideas." He looked pointedly back at Bigfellow.
Argo shrugged. "Depends on whether you want to get out of here now or find Markessa. My gut tells me she's down there," he said, pointing to the staircase. "Do you think we've got enough left to take her on?"
"No, we don't." Talass interjected.
Her husband raised her eyebrows at her. "You're that certain, Talass?"
The cleric set her jaw and nodded. "Yes. I am that certain. Aslan just shapechanged recently. He might not even have enough now for that one teleport. If he doesn't," she shook her head. "We need to get out of here."
"I agree."
Elrohir cocked his head at Cygnus. His wizard friend's face held none of its earlier levity.
"We need to regroup. Rest, resupply." He jerked his head towards the staircase. "We know where to head to when we return. It may already be too late to escape, but I don't want to die not even heading in the right direction."
There was a brief silence.
"Anyone else of a like mind?" the ranger asked, looking around him.
Argo and Zantac exchanged glances, and then the Willip wizard turned towards his party leader.
"Yes. I don't like the idea of leaving our job undone, but I like the idea of my head spinning on a chain and roasting above an open flame even less," he grimaced, pointing back towards the kitchen.
"That's not where all your good meat is, Zantac," Cygnus deadpanned.
"Well, fine! After they gorge on me, they can pick their teeth with you. That make you feel better?"
"All right, hold it," Elrohir interrupted. "If you people want to head back, that's fine. We'll do so. But two points first."
The others waited.
"One." Elrohir held up one finger. "I want to check out what's behind that locked door. Even if it's only treasure, Aslan can carry it all, if need be."
Nesco couldn't help shaking her head. "Forgive me Elrohir, but chasing after gold at a time like this seems like just about the most foolish thing we could-"
"Let me tell you something, Lady Cynewine!" Elrohir jabbed his pointed forefinger at his fellow ranger. "We are used to working without the support of patrons, even kings!"
Elrohir's face flushed as he continued. "Trust me, all expenses are never covered. The gold we take back from our expeditions helps equip us, helps feed us, helps keep our home solvent, helps train us up, helps do whatever it takes to insure that there will be a next expedition!" The ranger was breathing hard now. "Now I don't give a damn whether you consider us to be low-born grave robbers or not, but almost every useful item this party has was taken off either from the dead bodies of our foes, or from their treasure caches. Taking care of the present doesn't mean we don't plan for the future!"
"All right!" Nesco nearly shouted. She took a deep breath that utterly failed to calm her down. "What's your second point?"
Elrohir's voice assumed a calm, deadly demeanor as held up two fingers now.
"Remember, once we're out of here, Aslan has to fulfill his promise to Tojo." His lips pressed together, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
"Prepare to come back here one man short."
There was another brief silence.
"You really think it will come to that, Elrohir?" Nesco asked quietly.
The party leader's face grew angry again, but this time Nesco could see it was not directed at her.
"I don't know, Nesco!" he said, throwing up his arms in frustration. "Ask Aslan! He seems to know all about what's going on with Tojo! Lord knows I don't!"
Cygnus now looked as if he were trying to control his temper, as well. "Look Elrohir, I know that you've known Tojo as long as Aslan has, but we've all got to-"
A horrible noise came from back in the kitchen.
It started like the growling of a huge animal, a bear perhaps. Then it rose in pitch. There might have been words, or the attempt to form words.
It ended up as unmistakably, a roar of agonizing pain.
The others rushed back inside. Aslan was still standing by the northeast corner. One long hand still grasped his right shin. He turned to look at the others as he ran up.
His gaze stopped them all. Suddenly, they didn't look like Aslan's eyes anymore. Or even Grock's.
There was something else.
"Something's wrong," Aslan rumbled, his eyes squinting shut now. "There's a… burning. It starts in my leg, but it's running all through me now. Something's happening."
"Oh, no."
Elrohir somehow managed to catch Talass' whisper, but when he turned around his wife was staring at Cygnus. The two locked eyes for a moment in a terrible confirmation, and then Talass turned back to the ogre.
"Aslan," she said, her voice unsteady. "You were wounded by the were-creatures. No one else was. I don't know about wereboars, but I do know about werewolves. I've encountered them before."
Aslan managed to nod. "As have I," he said in a hoarse gasp.
Elrohir's eyes went wide. "Wererats," he said softly, then looked at the others. "Remember the wererats, back in the dungeons of Venom? They were-"
He suddenly stopped. "By the High One…"
Nesco was looking around, somewhat flustered. "Lycanthropes? I've heard of them, but," she stopped, confused. "Aren't paladins immune to their curse?"
Aslan slowly shook his massive head. He could barely manage to get the words out now.
"No, Nesco. We're not."
"Get out of here, Aslan," Argo said quietly. "Teleport back to Chendl. They can cure you. Get out of here- now!"
"Wait a minute!" Zantac interjected. "I've always heard the curse doesn't take effect until the night of the first full moon!" He looked around wildly at the others. "You rangers keep track of these things. When's the next full moon due?"
Nesco closed her eyes. She could remember the moonlight on their trip through the courtyard of the stockade. She could feel it.
She opened her eyes again.
"Tonight, Zantac," she said. "It's already here."
"What if he can't teleport?" asked Cygnus worriedly. "What if turning into an ogre dropped his Talent too low?"
"Then we're two men short," said Argo suddenly.
And he drew his sword.