8th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Temple of Heironeous, Chendl, Furyondy
Argo Bigfellow Junior sat, along with five of his companions, in the main chapel of the High Valorous Temple of Chendl.
For the Worshippers of the Invincible One, this was widely considered the most holy location in all of the Flanaess. Located within the Royal Palace itself, it was said the power of the Archpaladin's righteousness pulsed through the very chapel walls. It was whispered that the god's loyal adherents could sometimes see the myriad frescoes of Heironeous turn their heads as they passed, as if looking directly at them. It seeped into the air directly from the priests' censors and could supposedly be inhaled as an invigorating tonic by the faithful. It flowed along the marble-tiled floors; rumored by some to be detectable by the pious as a slight tingling in the feet.
This was the Seat of Valor, and the Home of Courage. Evil fled from its halls, and justice flourished.
Argo was bored.
His feet were in fact tingling, but the ranger was pretty sure it was due to ill-fitting shoes and not religious fervor. He had spent the previous day, as he had the day prior, engaged mostly in shopping expeditions. Bigfellow had acquired a few items he was seeking, but the main one had proved to be completely unavailable, and he had been in a sour mood all morning.
The ranger grimaced and tugged at the collar of his tunic. Like all the others sitting with him, Argo had been very happy to dispose of his old clothing. He had been wounded so much during this last expedition that the clothes in his backpack had become soaked in blood, along with everything else therein. (The tailor had given him a rather forced smile when Argo had plunked the blood-coated coins into his outstretched hand).
Bigfellow currently sported a short, light green tunic along with gray trousers, both of spun flax. He had also purchased a traveling cloak in a green and red plaid, but he had this currently folded up and placed beneath him as a cushion. Argo found the hard wooden pew on which he was sitting to be no more comfortable than the rocky ground of their overhang shelter back in the Pomarj.
The tunic and the new boots he had also bought had all seemed to fit fine when he had purchased them, but now they both seemed too tight. Argo grimaced, reached down and gave a outwards tug on the lining of his boots, drummed his fingers on his knees, blew air through his lips, sighed loudly and looked around with exaggerated interest, as if new and fascinating sights that hadn't been there a minute ago were now just waiting for his discovery.
An almost subsonic growl emanated from his right. Bigfellow turned to see Talass glowering at him. Argo smiled and hugged himself while shivering, to indicate that he had received her icy message. The cleric's scowl merely deepened, and she turned away from him.
Argo rubbed his eyes. He really did feel sorry for Talass, whom he knew was now nearing the end of her agonizing wait, to one result or the other. He felt that he should be more sympathetic to the priestess, but he also had concerns of his own.
Aslan had caught up with the party on the following morning after his brief reunion with them. He had taken Cygnus, their most seriously wounded member, back to Chendl while Talass, now fresh again with prayer, had begun healing the others of their most grievous wounds.
When he had returned that evening, Argo had been chosen as the next to go, but he had strenuously requested to be transported back to the Brass Dragon rather than Chendl. He had made no secret of his desire to be reunited with Caroline as quickly as possible. Aslan had refused, stating his desire to keep the party together. He said that after matters had been dealt with at the capital, they would all indeed return home.
Argo had not been satisfied with this response and had asked, and then demanded, to go back home, saying that his presence or absence at Chendl would make little difference one way or the other. The paladin however, had remained steadfast, as he always did regarding matters involving the use of his Talent. When Argo had persisted, Aslan had retorted with words to the effect that the party didn't need people who put members who weren't even present over the welfare of those who were.
He hadn't really meant to, but Bigfellow had snapped back that the paladin's view might be colored just a touch by his complete and utter lack of experience in terms of what real love was really all about and had then followed that up with a rather nasty suggestion as to what form Aslan might try polymorphing into in order to correct that deficiency.
Aslan had not lost his temper. Worse, he had merely gazed at Bigfellow with that half-pitying, half-moralizing look that he got when he was in "full paladin mode," as Argo called it. The discussion was at an end, he had told Bigfellow quietly. Argo could either accept Aslan's offer of a teleport to Chendl, or he could walk home.
The chapel was fairly empty, Godsday being another four days off. The few people passing through were mostly lay workers, involved in cleaning the building or the maintaining the various stocks of weapons and supplies kept in readiness here in case of need. Occasionally, a chainmail-clad priest would walk by on one errand or another, or a worshipper would quietly walk up to the altar at the front of the chapel and kneel down to pray for several minutes before getting up and leaving just as quietly.
Bigfellow stole another glance to his right at his companions. He smiled again as he noticed that they had all unconsciously arranged themselves in the exact same order they had been sitting in under the overhang. The ranger supposed there might be some significance to this, but right now he couldn't concentrate on any one subject for long before another image of his wife came into his mind. Argo would then gulp, and then lose his smile as he listened to his heart splashing down into his stomach again.
Talass tried to keep herself together.
Yes, it was true that Bigfellow was getting on her nerves, but that was hardly anything new. Talass could sympathize with Argo's agony at being separated from his wife, whom he believed to be in mortal danger, but the cleric knew that the Bigfellows would soon be reunited.
She didn't have that certainty for herself and Elrohir.
Once more, Talass glanced over to her right. The party had moved this particular pew from its customary spot in the back of the chapel to underneath one of the large stained glass windows on the west wall. About twenty feet to the right of their new location, they could see a small niche in the back of the chapel. It was empty save for the large symbol of Heironeous that had been painted upon the floor- a hand grasping a lightning bolt.
This was the memorized location for teleportation. Here, Aslan had appeared in the form of an ogre five nights previously (and from what they had heard, it had caused a bit more ruckus than the paladin had remembered).
And it would be here that, if Aslan's daring plan worked, he would be returning here with her husband at any moment.
The priestess closed her eyes, aborting the tears that again threatened. She was truly tired of crying now and had politely refused all offers of sympathy for the moment. She opened her eyes again and smoothed out her new, light blue pantaloons she had just purchased yesterday. Along with a matching blouse, it had been the only thing Talass had wanted- aside from a new warhammer, of course. The sight of that weapon with her "off-duty" clothing was somewhat incongruous, she knew, but it gave her hands something to do as they kept clenching and unclenching the leather-wrapped handle. Normally, her holy symbol of Forseti fulfilled that duty, but in deference to their current surroundings it had been tucked underneath her blouse.
Again an overwhelming feeling of shame came upon her. Talass was a priestess of The Justice Bringer and yet here she sat, in the temple of a foreign god; helpless to act, to actually do anything to save her husband. She was forced to rely upon the kindness not only of her friends such as Aslan, but that of strangers. Just for a moment, an intense feeling of homesickness washed over her and she sat still, breathing heavily, until it passed.
Recovering her wits, Talass looked back to the holy symbol painted on the floor and frowned again. From what Argo and the others had told her, there had been quite a loud discussion between Aslan and the individual who was essential to the paladin's plan. In fact, she had been told it had almost degenerated into a shouting match, which she found very surprising indeed. If there was one constant about Aslan, it was that he very rarely raised his voice, even when being baited by Argo. It certainly spoke volumes about the lengths to which the paladin was willing to go for those whom he cared about, and for that she was very grateful.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Despite outwards appearances, Yanigasawa Tojo was not oblivious to Talass' nervousness beside him. The samurai was uncertain as to whether the cleric would be able to detect the positive chi energies he was sending her, but he knew they would help soothe her troubled spirit, even if only slightly.
Tojo sat quietly, his eyes closed and his hands resting motionless in his lap. His friends might have supposed he was in his standard meditative state, but most knew him well enough to note his breathing; heavier and more irregular than normal.
Meditation was clearly a lost cause at present, but Tojo persisted in the attempt, nonetheless. He just didn't know what else to do.
The very real possibility of his life ending was starting to gather in his mind's eye like an approaching storm. The samurai had managed to force those thoughts, and all that they implied, out of his head, but that merely left room for others to crowd in. Unable to stop them, to Tojo it was like a lingering weakness he felt even though the medusa's venom had been purged from his system.
Elrohir's fate. Talass' anxiety, just waiting for the opportunity to turn into grief. The children Thorin and Barahir, possibly growing up fatherless.
There was something else, too. Something very, very elusive- and distant. Yet another task that had been left unfinished. Undone.
Tojo shook his head. Whatever that task might be, it was much too far from his conscious mind for memory to recall. The samurai instead concentrated on the smooth feel of his new silk pantaloons under his palms.
The samurai had been very reluctant to part with his old robes. They were one of his few remaining physical reminders of home, but even he could see that were far beyond repair. Tojo had been with Talass and the others when the cleric had purchased her new outfit and had been curious enough to try a similar set of trousers, although he opted for a leather vest to go with it, over a linen undershirt. He had noted the tailor's gaping look of astonishment as the samurai had ran through some unarmed combat exercises right there in his shop. Tojo, satisfied with the comfort of this new clothing, had favored the merchant with a raised eyebrow, and wound up purchasing more clothes than any of the other party members.
His new outfit notwithstanding, Tojo was nervous. He knew that the fact that he was currently sitting wedged between two women has something to do with it.
However, while he also knew that the fact that one of those women was Nesco Cynewine was increasing that nervousness, he could not for the life of him figure out why.
The samurai's hand unconsciously brushed his cheek.
Like Tojo, Nesco was worried.
Unlike the samurai however, Cynewine couldn't have hidden her uneasiness if she had tried- so she didn't try.
She simply sat there on the pew, wringing her hands together. Like the others, Nesco also sported a new outfit. In her case, it was a short brown tunic, ruffled on the bottom; linen trousers, undyed, and a gray-green traveling cloak of elven make. In fact, it had been her family's clothier that she had taken the others to. Everyone, even Tojo, had noticed how nervous the ranger had been the whole time they were in the shop. How she kept glancing towards the doorway, almost cringing when a new customer would enter.
Although her armor and weapons were currently elsewhere, a large sack sat on the floor by Nesco's feet. The ranger's gaze alternated between the teleportation circle and the chapel entranceway.
Among all the party members, it had been Nesco who had been the most reluctant to return. Aslan had noticed that, of course. While it made sense to everyone that the last person to be taken home should be a ranger, she knew that he had sensed in her an additional hesitation.
"Are you all right, Nesco?" the paladin had asked, as he stood with Talass the previous morning, ready to teleport back to Chendl with the cleric.
She had nodded and flashed a spectacularly unconvincing smile. "I'm fine."
"If you'd rather, Nesco, you can go back with Aslan now," Talass had offered cautiously. "I'll be all right until this evening. My prayers will-"
"No." Nesco shook her head, still smiling. "Thank you, Talass, but I'll be all right. I'm just nervous about what will finally happen when all of this is over."
Aslan eyed the ranger for a few moments. For some reason, Nesco would not meet his gaze.
"All right then," the paladin had said finally. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Take care of yourself, Nesco," he added after an uncomfortably long silence.
Lady Cynewine had looked back at him then, an odd kind of grin on her face, as if differing emotions were fighting for control. Aslan, however, couldn't identify any of them.
"You too, Aslan," she had said softly. "I'll see you soon."
Talass had raised an eyebrow at that but had said nothing. Nesco had stood and stared at the empty spot that had held their presence for quite a few moments before continuing on her westward trek.
Cygnus just sat and stared morosely at the symbol. Despite being healed fully, he was far more taciturn and grimmer since returning to Furyondy than he had been while in the Pomarj. Apart from some words of comfort to Talass, he had said little to anyone beyond one-word answers to questions.
Despite some major needling by Zantac, the Aardian wizard had not been very adventuresome at the clothing shop. He had purchased new boots, a pair of brown trousers and a frock-style robe with a hood.
"Am I the only one who thinks he looks just like Flond?" Zantac had whispered to Talass when they first saw Cygnus so attired.
The cleric had nodded but said nothing as her eyes narrowed.
Flond. A father forever mourning the absence of his son from his life, she had thought.
Zantac sat on the edge of the pew and sulked.
Everything seemed to be going much better now. They were safe; they had survived. The Willip wizard was sure that Aslan's plan to save Elrohir would be a success. To be sure, they had not attained their goal of eliminating Markessa, but they could certainly return once they had rested and resupplied. He couldn't understand why everyone seemed so somber, even beyond the matter of Elrohir. And as far as the Aslan/Tojo situation was concerned, Zantac was confident that a simple heart-to-heart discussion would sort everything out.
Cygnus' behavior though, more than anything, had really taken the wind out of Zantac's sails. He couldn't understand why his fellow magic-user was acting so gloomily.
Must be the robes. Gotta be the robes, he had thought to himself with a chuckle. Zantac himself had gone in the opposite direction in terms of his new attire. The mage now sported a bright yellow tunic, white trousers, snow rabbit fur-lined boots, and a large red cloak festooned in a black diamond pattern. The whole effect was rather eye-catching, he thought.
"Eye-assaulting," was Argo's comment. Zantac had smiled at what he considered a seal of approval, although he secretly wished the rebuke had come from Cygnus.
I really need a woman, he thought to himself wryly. Too bad Jinella's not here. She was kind of-
A loud pop signaled the appearance of someone within the destination circle.
Six figures leapt clumsily to their feet. Although there was no low ceiling for them to bang their heads on, Talass did manage to step on Argo's right foot, but the big ranger hardly noticed.
The figure started walking towards the sextet as they began to maneuver towards him. The new arrival wore the same gray robes and pointed hat he had when they had first seen him two months ago. His auburn eyes, a shade brighter than Argo's, swept over the party as an irritated frown settled on his wizened face.
"It's done," announced Karzalin The Master Elementalist in his hoarse voice, waving his hand as if to keep the approaching mob from getting too close. "They'll be back momentarily."
A wave of relief visibly swept over everyone, even Tojo and Cygnus. Talass, heedless of decorum, pulled her holy symbol of a bearded man out and touched her forehead to it while mouthing a silent prayer.
"Thank you, Karzalin," said Cygnus, with about the most feeling anyone had seen from him since their return.
The court wizard snorted. "I told you it would be inconvenient- and it certainly was that. I never said it would be difficult." About to turn away and exit the chapel, he stopped and stared at the two magic-users.
"Stone to flesh. It's not that difficult a transmutation. I thought that for once some freelance wizard might actually live up to his reputation, but once again it's Karzalin to the rescue. Can't anyone see I'm getting too damn old for this sort of thing?" he grumbled, heading off.
Just before he reached the door, Karzalin turned around one more time. He stared at Zantac, seeming to notice his attire for the first time. The Willip wizard flashed a smile at him, but the archmage merely frowned, shook his head and left, mumbling to himself.
Without saying a word, the party spread out along the perimeter of the holy symbol on the floor.
No one could really recall afterwards how long they had waited.
And then they were there.
Everyone drew in a sharp sudden breath. Despite all the happy words, the optimistic thoughts, and just now the confirming words of the Master Elementalist himself, it just seemed like it would never happen. Now, six people stared at their party leader from all angles. Nobody looked at Aslan.
Some saw the back of Elrohir's head, his hair caked with sweat. Others saw the terrible condition of his plate mail armor, most of the visible gashes outlined with dried blood.
Some saw him in profile, catching the very edge of a weak, almost dazed smile.
Talass stared directly into those deep blue eyes.
Although she had been vastly (even shamefully) emotional these past few days, now it seemed to Talass like it had been she herself who had just become revived from an unfeeling body of stone. The feelings that were now bursting from her heart couldn't possibly still be there after all her suffering, all her prayers, all her hopes, and all her fears.
Elrohir's smile stabilized.
"Hey there, beautiful," he said softly.
Talass began to tremble.
Then she began to shake. Violently.
She couldn't speak. Not that that mattered. The very concept of words had momentarily flown right out of her head.
Now it wasn't just Elrohir. Everyone was staring at the priestess.
"Talass?" Aslan asked quietly. "Are you all right?"
The cleric's eyes never left her husband's. Now her right hand came up, index finger pointing accusingly at the ranger.
Elrohir's eyebrows went up. He looked genuinely confused.
"This," Talass croaked.
Everyone waited.
And finally, anger, relief and love all positively blazing out of her light blue eyes, Talass got it out.
"This!" she shouted, shaking her finger at her husband. "This is what happens when you look at other women!"
A hundred yards away, through countless stone walls and secure doors, His Most Pious Majesty King Belvor IV suddenly held up a hand to silence the knight who had been addressing him.
Belvor peered around to his left, a puzzled frown creasing his handsome face. He stared at the side door to his throne room for a few seconds, and then looked down at Sir Hallian, who stood dutifully by the foot of the pink marble steps of the throne.
"Do you hear laughter?" the king asked.