26th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj
Elrohir and Talass looked at each other.
For once, husband and wife were on the same page.
"We have to get out of here," Talass said again to the quartet at her feet, as Elrohir turned back to keep watch towards the south, his eyes and straining to catch any movement or sound that would herald the return of their enemies.
But something seemed to be happening to the four individuals who were kneeling around the fallen Nesco Cynewine. Their eyes went back and forth to the dead body between them and each other, the silent grief building with each second. Their limbs stiffened with sadness even as their eyes watered.
"It's my fault," Aslan whispered.
Elrohir turned around, frowning. "What? Aslan, I'm the party leader, remember? For better or worse, I-"
"She's only here because I asked her to come, Elrohir!" Aslan replied sharply. The paladin kept his eyes focused downward. "I asked her to come because we needed a replacement for Argo!"
Aslan abruptly raised his head, but the paladin wasn't looking at anyone or anything in the wrecked laboratory. His fists clenched, his lips pressed together, and he began visibly shaking with anger.
"Because Argo wouldn't go..." Aslan spat out the name.
"Don't go there, Aslan," Elrohir muttered, but the paladin said nothing more.
"She brave so," Tojo said softly. "She die with honor. She terr me-"
The samurai abruptly shook his head, trying to hide the quick swipe of the back of his hand across his eyes. He then turned away and studied a featureless spot on the west wall.
Talass narrowed her eyes as she watched. Cygnus was also trembling, although the mage said nothing. His hand slowly reached out as if to touch Nesco's face, but recoiled at the last instant, as if a magical field of some kind prevented contact.
He must be thinking of Hyzenthlay, Talass decided, even though that explanation for some reason didn't seem like quite a perfect fit.
She couldn't even hazard a guess about Zantac, but chalked it up to the Willip wizard not being as seasoned a combat veteran as the rest of them. He probably wasn't used to being this close to death before.
Talass turned and again studied her husband. He was currently facing away from her, but she could even decipher the back of his head. Elrohir was only partially functioning. The priestess closed her eyes and took a deep breath and tried to hang on to the lingering effects of her earlier bless.
She wasn't going to say it out loud, but as of this moment Talass knew she was in charge.
The cleric turned back to the others. "We're getting out of here now, and that means taking Nesco with us," she proclaimed. "Take her sword along if you want- she'll want it later, I'm sure."
May as well act as if the best case scenario is going to come true. What the hell, she thought with a bitter smile. Maybe a miracle will happen. "Leave everything else behind." Talass gestured at Nesco. "Get that chain off of her, then decide who's going to carry her. Aslan!"
The sharpness of her voice partially broke through the paladin's fog. He looked up at her.
Talass fixed him with her best icy gaze; an easy task, considering the chill that still pervaded her body. "How long until you can teleport?"
Aslan tried to concentrate. "Umm... it depends on what we run into, Talass. If we're constantly being forced to fend off attacks, it could be eight hours, or even longer. If not," he shrugged. "I doubt I'm going to get much rest here, so no less than three hours at the least."
When Talass next looked over to her husband, she saw he had moved to the edge of the double doors. The ranger's hand went to the hilt of the sword at his hip.
"I hear voices," Elrohir said. "They're faint and far off, but I didn't hear them before." He glanced back at her. "We've got to go!"
Talass nodded in agreement and then turned back to the rest of the party.
They hadn't done a thing. All four of them looked like they were scared to death to touch Nesco.
"What's wrong with you people?" Talass shouted out as she dropped to her knees beside them. "Never mind- I'll do it!" she snarled, yanking off the dead ranger's chainmail coif, and then taking off her boots and gauntlets. The cleric then started peeling off the various sections of mail rings that covered Cynewine's legs, hips and torso.
The four men continued to act like they were in shock. Talass continued to mutter under her breath as she worked. Nesco's gambeson- the padded clothing that was worn underneath the chain shirt to reduce the chafing- was soaked with cold blood. The priestess considered. Wet, the gambeson added quite a bit of weight, but Nesco had on only a thin linen undershirt beneath which was probably in even worse shape. Leave it on, she decided, looking again at her petrified party members. Talass gritted her teeth. They were making this harder than it had to be.
"Tojo!"
The samurai looked over to her.
"I know I can depend on you for honesty and straightforwardness, Tojo-sama," Talass began in what she hoped was a calm and collected tone. "I know your left shoulder is in bad shape, Tojo, but I also know you're one of the strongest men here. Tell me truthfully, now. Can you-"
But Tojo's violet eyes went wide, and then began darting around the room in the samurai's characteristic display of discomfort.
"I... cannot..." Tojo ground out, and then went silent, his eyes closing in shame.
Try as she might, the priestess couldn't stop the sigh of exasperation that escaped her lips. "Now what?" she blurted out.
"Talass."
She looked over. Aslan was looking at her again. For some reason, Tojo's plight seemed to focus the paladin somewhat. "Talass," he began hesitantly, "Tojo cannot handle a dead body. It's against his spiritual beliefs."
The cleric frowned and glanced back at the samurai, who studiously avoided her gaze. She hadn't known that about Tojo, and while she of all people could respect someone's religious taboos, this was a hell of a time to start finding out about new ones.
"What about you, Aslan?" Talass asked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. "Is it a paladin thing?"
Anger flashed in Aslan's eyes for a moment but was quickly replaced with sadness again. Talass could see him slipping back into his torpor of grief as his gaze turned back to Nesco. The paladin's head slowly shook from side to side.
"I can't do it, Talass," he whispered, and when he looked back up to her, his light blue eyes were filled with tears. "And I don't even know why."
The cleric tried to digest this but couldn't. There just wasn't time.
"I'll do it," she said, bending down and slipping one hand under Nesco's knees and the other around her ribcage. "I doubt she weighs any more than all that extra weight you made me lug around because of Nodyath," she added. "I'm sure I can-"
But Talass' side under her left armpit exploded into agony as she tried to stand up. She didn't make it a foot before collapsing, her head falling down onto Nesco's stomach. She lay there for a moment, trying to rein in her tears of pain.
"I'll do it, Talass."
The voice was so soft, the priestess couldn't even identify it. It was only when she saw Cygnus' long, thin hands coming in to relieve her of the burden did she look up.
She had seen Cygnus more grief-stricken before, but Talass had never seen the wizard look more uncomfortable than he did at this very minute. With surprising strength, the tall mage straightened up, grimacing only slightly at his own wounds clamoring for attention. He adjusted his right arm so that Nesco's head fell against his shoulder.
Cygnus couldn't even look at Nesco- he kept his eyes focused straight ahead, but those brown orbs kept threatening to fill up with tears.
"Zantac," he croaked out. "Take my staff and dispel that ice I created. Let's get moving."
Slowly, the sextet headed towards the rear doorway. Talass walked silently alongside Cygnus in the middle of their current marching order.
Just as they reached the now-open exit, Talass felt the need to say something encouraging to Cygnus, who was now turning sideways to get through the space with Nesco. The cleric decided on something safe.
"I had no idea you were that strong, Cygnus."
She was wrong. It wasn't safe.
The wizard turned his head to look at Talass. The look on his face brought a sickening reminder to the cleric. Cygnus looked the way that she had felt when she thought that Elrohir was lost to her forever.
"I'm not, Talass. I'm the weakest one here."
Inside the cavern, the din was deafening.
What had to be close to a hundred slaves (they hadn't gotten a headcount yet) were milling all around the party as they moved through the maze-like sections of underground caverns that served as the holding pens for the stockade slaves. They were of all races and ages, united only in their desire for freedom. Elrohir, Tojo, Zantac and Talass were moving through the crowd, asking questions and giving answers as best they could. Although very hungry and thirsty, most of the prisoners seemed to be in fairly decent health.
No goblinoids, or any other guards or overseers for that matter, had been encountered. The prisoners housed closest to the cavern entrance had reported seeing a dozen or so of them running by a little while ago, apparently heading for a back exit.
Just as in their experiences in Highport, crowd control was proving to be a difficult issue. Some of the prisoners did not get along with some others, accusing them of being "sell-outs" to their captors. Of course, exactly who these supposed traitors were proved impossible to easily verify, so for the moment the quartet was concentrating on simply getting everyone formed into some kind of semi-cohesive unit.
Standing back about forty feet from the cavern entrance, Cygnus stood quietly, still holding Nesco Cynewine's dead body in his arms. Sword and shield in hand, Aslan stood guard next to him.
"She kept looking at me."
Cygnus turned to regard Aslan. "What?"
The paladin shrugged, while avoiding the magic-user's gaze. He didn't know how to express this.
More importantly, he didn't know why he was even trying.
"Nesco," he elaborated, trying to keep his voice from choking up. "Every so often, I'd catch her... just kind of staring at me."
Aslan hesitated, unsure as of how to continue. He hoped that Cygnus might chime in with some sort of comment to help him along, but there was nothing at all from the mage. He glanced back over at him.
Cygnus was giving Aslan a cold glower that would have done Talass proud.
"I'm sure you were mistaken," was all that he said, before turning his attention away, ostensibly back towards the cavern entrance.
Aslan adjusted his grip on his shield and sword. He was aching all over but didn't dare say anything. Not while Cygnus was still carrying Nesco.
Even at this distance, the two could hear the low roar of the slave crowd. The noise did nothing to alleviate an uncomfortable (and to Aslan, unexplained) silence between them.
Eventually, the paladin cleared his throat and tried again. "I am feeling better now, by the way. If you'd like me to take Nesco for a while, I'd be-"
"I've got her." A low, monotone response.
Aslan could feel himself starting to simmer but stamped down on those emotions. We're all strained to the breaking point, he reminded himself. It's not the first time this has happened. It's your responsibility to be the stabilizing influence here, he reminded himself.
He put on a thin smile and turned back to his friend. "We'll get her raised, Cygnus," he offered, feeling an unexpected lump rise back up in his throat as he said so.
The tall wizard shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe," he said, still not looking at the paladin. "Or maybe Heironeous will say no. Talass has a strong point, you know."
Aslan's simmer was going up, not down. "Then I'll take her to Melinjaro, in Willip."
Now Cygnus did look over at his fellow party member, albeit with a smirk on his face. "The Church of Zeus is not under the jurisdiction of the Royal Court. Melinjaro won't do it for free-"
"Then I'll pay for it myself!" Aslan shouted, abruptly boiling over. "Don't you want her back, dammit? What's wrong with you?"
The two glared at each other. Slowly, and with a great deal of conscious effort, Aslan forced deep, regular breathing back on himself. Cygnus' expression slowly transformed from a cold cynicism to- something else.
Again, silence.
This time, it was Cygnus who spoke first, once more turning away from the paladin.
"I remember us sitting around the table at the Willow Tree, in Willip. She... she was saying something to me, and all of a sudden she just reached across the table and took my hands in hers. I looked at her- and suddenly all I could see was Hyzenthlay. And I always thought I'd made my peace with what happened. Her memory gave me comfort; it gave me strength- it never made me weak. Even when it spurred my thirst for vengeance against Iuz, it never made me weak. But this time... this... terrible feeling of loneliness came over me."
He turned back to eye Aslan. "And no matter how well it hides, it's been with me ever since."
The paladin furrowed his brow, remembering. "The Willow Tree? I don't remember Nesco doing that-"
He stopped. Cygnus was shaking his head.
"No. Not then. This was back in Fireseek, when you, Elrohir and Tojo were off at Sandcat's lair."
This did not nothing to relieve the paladin's puzzlement. "But we hadn't even met Nesco then-"
"Not Nesco!" Cygnus interrupted. "Torlina!"
"Torlina?" Aslan was lost, and not adverse to admitting it. "Cygnus, help me out here."
The wizard took a deep breath of his own, while shifting his weight back to his other foot. "It's not as if I was in love with her!" he said loudly, again not looking at the paladin. "But Torlina just looked at me, and I remembered my wife... I remembered loving my wife!"
Aslan closed his eyes. He was suddenly much more uncomfortable than he had been a moment ago.
"I'd never betray Hyzenthlay's memory!" Cygnus continued, apparently unable to stop now. "It's just that... I'd never been able to love another person before I met Hyzenthlay. She not only gave me her love, she taught me how to love! How could I betray that by feeling lonely- for wanting to be with someone else, if only because they somehow reminded me of her?"
"I... uhh..."
Cygnus gave a short, barking laugh. "I don't think you're the best qualified person to give me advice here, Aslan!"
The paladin slowly resheathed his sword as he turned back to the mage. "I admit that freely, Cygnus. Maybe I'm just a fool, but I still don't see what any of this has to do with Nesco."
For the first time, Cygnus looked down at the still figure nestled in his arms.
"I lied to Thorin while we were in Welkwood," he said softly. "I looked my own son right in the eye and lied to him. I told him how I should be feeling, rather than how I actually felt."
"You're blaming yourself for how you feel, Cygnus?" Aslan asked, shaking his head. "Come on, now. We both now you're smarter than-"
"I loved Hyzenthlay, Aslan, and now she's dead. I looked at Torlina... and just imagined what it would be like to be with her... and then she died."
His long face turned back to Aslan, and he stared directly into the paladin's eyes.
The wizard said nothing more, but Aslan's breath momentarily caught in his throat.
"I don't think I want to talk about this anymore, Aslan," Cygnus muttered. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't-"
Aslan waved the concern away. "Don't worry, Cygnus. I won't. Believe me, I won't."
The mage nodded and turned away, apparently satisfied, but now Aslan felt like he was sinking into some kind of swamp.
The paladin kept stealing sidewise glances at Cynewine, as if ashamed that she might suddenly awaken and see him. He knew this was insane, but he couldn't help himself.
Nesco was not a pretty sight. Despite her position, she did not look asleep in the slightest. Her face and all her exposed skin was either blue, black or covered in dark, dried blood. Sections of it were cracked, with an ugly white pus frozen in the act of seeping out from within. The jagged hole in her gambeson was a horrid reminder of her death wound. Even the smell- Aslan knew the smell of cold death. He knew it ever since his youth in Rekamifoke, back on Aarde. And he smelled it on Cynewine.
That's not Nesco, Aslan rammed the thought down his throat. That's only a reminder of her. We'll get her raised, and then I'll... I'll...
The thought blocked up his throat, and suddenly the paladin couldn't breathe. His heart began pounding so furiously, he was certain it was going to burst.
"Aslan? Are you all right?"
Aslan turned back to Cygnus, unsure of what to say, but then realized with a start that it hadn't been the mage's voice he had heard. The paladin spun around again to lock eyes with a very concerned Elrohir.
The realization that he had to hide all this from Elrohir- from everyone- shocked Aslan back into new awareness.
"I'm fine, Elrohir," the paladin lied. "Let me guess. We have a problem."
The ranger smiled.
Elrohir, Aslan, Zantac and Tojo stood outside the corner cell. Talass was guarding Cygnus now. For their part, the former slaves were all standing far back from the quartet, with only the bravest peaking at them from around the corners of rough-hewn stone walls.
This particular cell seemed no different from the others. The back wall and the wall on the left were formed by the stone cavern, while the right and front walls were composed of bars, with a cutaway section of bars in the front that functioned as a door. Elrohir's sword having destroyed the lock, the door was currently swung open.
They stepped inside, Zantac's light-equipped quarterstaff and Gokasillion shedding the only light in this area.
In the center of the ten-by-ten cell was a stone stalagmite, about five feet high, which had obviously been placed here from elsewhere. It was roughly cylindrical shaped and had been even more roughly chipped at until an extremely vague representation of a humanoid head and torso had begun to appear.
Aslan's lip curled in disgust as he walked around the stone formation. A scalp encrusted with dried blood drooped long blonde strands of hair down the statue's "head." The face was as crudely done as the rest of the idol and equally as repulsive. Two squashed beetles, glued to the stone by some unknown adhesive, functioned as eyes. The mouth, a crude hole chipped into the stone, featured a white, dessiccated centipede as a tongue hanging out. Small teeth, probably humanoid and filed to points, were set all the way around the rim of the mouth in a ring of fangs.
"It's Markessa."
The others looked at Zantac, but the wizard merely continued to stare at the statue.
"How you know this, Zantac-san?" inquired Tojo.
The mage shrugged and indicated the far wall, where a roughly triangular section had been removed, about three feet wide at the base, tapering down to a foot at about five feet height from the floor. He gestured with his left hand, currently holding Cygnus' staff. "Her experiments in creating the perfect slave. Deformed, wretched creatures, like Cari and Filch. They live in natural caverns in there."
Elrohir nodded grimly. "The prisoners call them cavelings."
There was a slight pause. "How many are there, and do you think they're a danger to us?" Aslan asked.
"I don't know," the ranger replied, "but we've been told occasionally certain cavelings with the ability to squeeze between these bars would come out and slip into a prisoner's cell. Apparently, they can see in the dark, and that gave them the advantage. They'd kill the poor soul in the cell, then cut their body into pieces with knives and daggers and slip back into that hole with them."
"Guards not stop them?" Tojo demanded, his expression darkening. "Sraves worth so ritter to them?"
Zantac could only shrug again. "No way to know. Perhaps Markessa felt the fear her cavelings generated helped keep the prisoners in line. An acceptable price to pay- for her."
Aslan frowned as he examined the stalagmite again. "I wonder. Do the cavelings despise Markessa for what she did to them, or do they worship her as some sort of twisted Creator?"
Elrohir considered. "I don't know Aslan, but keep in mind this stockade has been operating here for years, and Markessa had plenty of time to practice her dirty little secret. This could be a major complication if they decide to come out after us. With a little rest and healing, I don't think we'd be in danger, but trying to protect a hundred defenseless-"
But the paladin had already drawn his sword. "Zantac- light this up, if you please."
Elrohir was getting his shield ready even as the mage complied. "Let's do it."
Aslan shook his head. "No. I want to reconnoiter, not attack. See what we're dealing with."
The ranger did not seem inclined to concede the point. "You could get lost too easily in there by yourself, Aslan. And without your Talent-"
"I think I've gotten enough back that I could polymorph once if I needed to, Elrohir."
Another lie.
Elrohir gave his friend a sour look. It had been less than an hour since the battle in the laboratory. "Scouting is not your forte in human form, Aslan."
The paladin did not look over his shoulder as he headed towards the hole in the cavern wall. "Our scout is dead, Elrohir."
Aslan cautiously stepped inside.
The illumination from Zantac's cantrip gave him about twenty feet of decent vision, with things darkening quickly outside that radius. He was standing at the endpoint of a corridor that more-or-less maintained a constant width of about six feet, and extended as far as he could currently see.
The paladin felt the top of his helm scrape the ceiling overhead at his next step and bent down slightly, grimacing. Aslan was pretty short as it was, and if the cave got any-
He stopped. There was something ahead of him in the tunnel. About thirty feet out.
Taking very slow (and very loud) steps, Aslan began to move forward again. It looked like a large mound of rags and old clothes, with what might be bones sticking out of the pile. The paladin grimaced. Leftovers, he thought and tightened his grip on the sword, directing his gaze to the blackness of the tunnel beyond.
At about twenty feet out, the pile of rags began to move.
Aslan stopped as a head pushed up out of the clothing fragments. It was only marginally human, with large dark eyes, a tremendous rounded mouth, and no nose that the paladin could detect at all. What had looked like bones suddenly revealed themselves to be two unnaturally long arms. Large hands, each with an extra thumb sewn onto the opposite side, pushed the creature's body off the ground.
What there was of it.
It looked as if the original creature had been sliced in half at the hips. The thing's lower body bulged out like a pear, and glimpses of a scar-covered bottom could be soon as it began to walk towards Aslan using its hands. Its gait was lurching, but easily equal to what Aslan could manage in his plate mail, and quite possibly faster.
Although he sensed no evil coming from the caveling, Aslan stood in battle readiness as the thing approached to within perhaps eight feet and then stopped, slowly lowering itself back down to the stone floor. Its eyes never left the paladin.
"The Outside!" it abruptly shouted. "The Outside comes Inside!"
Aslan hesitated. "I mean you no harm," he said.
Another lie? The paladin wasn't sure anymore just where the truth ended. "Do you understand me?" Aslan continued, trying to keep his nerves steady. He wasn't sure what he was doing- the paladin hadn't intended this to turn into a diplomatic foray.
The head bobbed up and down. "The Mouth knows! Only The Mouth knows the Outside words!"
Slowly, Aslan lowered his sword. He would have sheathed it entirely, but he needed the light. "We, uhh..." he thought furiously, unsure of how to phrase this. "We of the Outside are going to leave. You from the Inside have killed and eaten many of us. You must not do this."
The creature gave Aslan what he took to be an inquisitive look. "Be ye the thrice-curst messenger?" it asked. "Woe to the world now!"
It then rose up on its hands again and began a wordless lament of some kind, laced with hoots and wails. Throughout it, the paladin stood still and watched.
Faintly, from further inside, came inarticulate sounds that were clearly responses of some kind. Is he announcing me, or warning them of an intruder? Aslan wondered.
After about a minute, "Mouth" ceased his caterwauling. The other voices fell silent. There was no sign of any other cavelings approaching.
The paladin glanced back over his shoulder. Twenty feet or so back, Elrohir, Tojo and Zantac were crowding the entranceway. "We heard, Aslan!" Elrohir shouted out.
"That light won't last forever," Zantac reminded him.
Aslan had one thing in common with Argo Bigfellow, loathe as the paladin might be to admit it. He always felt better after making a decision and acting on it.
Unlike Argo however, Aslan always regretted it if it turned out to be a really lousy idea.
"I won't be long," Aslan told his companions, then slowly started moving forward again. He tensed momentarily when Mouth spit on him as he passed, but the gesture did not seem to be one of malice. The caveling just "stood" there, eyeing him silently.
Further on, Aslan could see the tunnel split off into numerous passages.
He mouthed a silent prayer and moved on.
Elrohir knew that only a few minutes had elapsed. The ranger also knew full well how time only seemed to move slower in tense situations like this.
That knowledge did nothing to help.
"I should have gone in there with him," he groused to the others. "Damn stubborn fool."
Tojo was quiet, but Zantac felt compelled to say something, even though he knew Elrohir probably didn't want to hear it.
"His light is going to give out any moment."
Elrohir turned and gave the wizard the stink-eye, but at that moment a sound came out from within the caverns. It was so faint that if they hadn't been so familiar with it, he and Tojo might have missed it altogether.
But they were, so they didn't.
It was the sounds of melee combat.
Elrohir concentrated. Aslan's voice all right, although he couldn't make out the words. He frowned. If Aslan was shouting out while fighting by himself, that probably meant he was in trouble.
Enough for a polymorph, my eye, the ranger thought. I knew he didn't sound right when he said that. He turned to the others. "I'm going in."
Tojo had already drawn his katana. Elrohir had intended to ask the samurai to remain here and guard the others, but a quick glance told him that would be a waste of time and breath. "Stay close to me, Tojo," he said, indicated the white light issuing from Gokasillion. Tojo nodded.
The two plunged in. Mouth, who had retreated back to his bed of filthy rags, rose up again as they approached, but they breezed right by him, ignoring his inarticulate shouts and rain of spit. It was then that they heard the sounds of footsteps. Running, armored footsteps.
"Asran-san!" the samurai shouted out.
"Tojo!" came the response from somewhere ahead. "Is Elrohir with you?"
"Right here, Aslan!" the ranger yelled back.
"Stop running!" came the response. "My light is out, and I'm trying to get a fix on yours!"
The duo stopped, Elrohir holding his sword steady out in front of him. Gibbering noises were starting now, on the edge of their hearing, but it was only a few seconds later when Aslan came bursting out of one of the side tunnels.
"Go!" the paladin shouted.
Yanigasawa Tojo stood by the hole in the wall, katana at the ready, looking obviously disappointed that combat did not seem imminent. Elrohir and Zantac stood nearby as Aslan caught his breath, stareing down at the floor.
"We're moving out," the paladin announced between inhalations. "I don't know whether or not they're going to come out after us, but we need to get moving. Tojo," he ordered the samurai without looking up, pointing back to the corridor that paralleled the slave pens. "Go to the head of the crowd and get them moving. I think the back exit that leads to the outside is about two hundred or so yards down the way we were heading. Zantac, get back to Cygnus and Talass. Get them in the middle, or up front with Tojo- I don't care. Elrohir and I will cover the rear."
Elrohir frowned. Aslan's breathing returned to normal, but he made no move to raise his gaze up from the floor.
The party leader nodded to the others, and they left as instructed.
Elrohir waited as the mass of people slowly moved by out in the corridor. At about three minutes, he judged it was time for the two of them to move on.
"Aslan?" the ranger asked quietly. "Are you ready?"
The paladin did not reply. By reflex, Elrohir looked down to the floor as well, even though he knew there was nothing there to-
Elrohir had good eyes. Perhaps not the equal of Tojo's, but good enough to see the drop hit.
Aslan was crying.
And then Elrohir saw another drop hit.
A red one.
The paladin's sword was dripping fresh blood.
"Aslan, what is it?" the ranger asked.
When he received no reply, Elrohir slowly placed Gokasillion's glowing blade right under the paladin's face.
Aslan's face shot up to meet the gaze of his friend. Elrohir didn't know if Nesco's death was getting to him again, but he could never recall him looking this wretched. The paladin suddenly grabbed both of Elrohir's shoulders and moved as close to him as two suits of plate mail would allow.
"Pray for me, Elrohir," he whispered into his ear. "Pray to Lord Odin for my soul."
Elrohir began trembling, and he didn't know why. "What happened in there, Aslan?" he asked without turning his head. He could feel Aslan's beard as the paladin kept the side of his face pressed against Elrohir's, apparently unable to look him in the eye.
"Many small caverns," Aslan began, his voice thin and unsteady. "Cavelings in all of them. Most of them didn't bother me. A few came at me, but... they were nothing. I didn't even need to use my sword. I'd kick them, and they'd scoot away. Clicking, gibbering, moaning..."
Elrohir waited.
"I walked into one last cave," the paladin continued. "It was very small, with no other exits. Only two cavelings, and they didn't attack. There wasn't any other exit, and I had just decided to start heading back when one of the cavelings turned around."
Aslan slowly pulled back, his light blue eyes bloodshot with fatigue, tears and something else Elrohir didn't want to examine too closely.
"It was him, Elrohir!" The paladin's shout was weak, but he continued on. "His body was... all cut up and stitched back together... wrong... but the face... I knew as soon as I saw it that it was him!"
"Who?" Elrohir asked.
Aslan didn't seem to have heard him. His face contorted even further in anguish. "I didn't have to do it!" he cried out. "He didn't attack me- he never made a move! I just saw that face- and I knew what I had to do!"
The ranger could feel the echoes of the cone of cold starting to return to his body. He still said nothing.
"I smashed his face in with my boot!" Aslan yelled. It... it caved in like a pie! And then I-" He swayed for a moment, but Elrohir held on tight.
"It was mercy, Elrohir! It was the only thing that could be done! I couldn't take the chance that she would ever see him! But I can't tell her! And neither can you! No one must ever know!" he finished with a shriek.
"That WHO would see him? Who are you talking about? What happened, Aslan?" Elrohir yelled back, shaking his friend now.
There was no answer but the agony in those eyes.
In desperation, Elrohir tried a different tack. "Aslan," he said in a low but trembling voice, "when I pray to Lord Odin, what do I need to ask him?"
That got a response.
"That if Nesco Cynewine comes back, and if despite our silence, her god or any other god ever tells her, that she can... can forgive me."
The ranger stared.
Aslan's voice was going now. "Elrohir- Markessa didn't kill Nesco's brother."
Elrohir's gaze shifted to Aslan's sword. The dripping blood.
And suddenly he understand. His mouth opened in horror as he looked back at the paladin's face as he heard Aslan's last coherent words.
"I did."
Elrohir held onto Aslan as best as he could, the paladin's sobs echoing throughout the empty cells.
And he began to pray for his soul.