3rd Day of Wealsun, 565 CY
Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj
(about 12 miles west of the slavers' stockade)
Aslan woke up locked in combat.
There was a roaring in his ears. Still clad in his plate mail, he grappled with the armored man who was pinning him down on the rocky ground.
The paladin went for his sword, but his opponent grabbed his right arm.
Aslan snarled and was about to fire off a psionic blast when he realized with a start that it was Elrohir who was straddling him.
And as his mouth opened in astonishment, Aslan began to hear the ranger's words.
"Aslan! Wake up! Snap out of, dammit! Wake up!"
The paladin went weak with shock. Slowly, Elrohir let go of his friend and awkwardly rolled off of him.
Both men stood up; Aslan still in a state of confusion, and Elrohir with a deep sense of worry written on his face.
Aslan looked around. Argo Bigfellow, just now resheathing Harve, was sitting back down on a mid-sized boulder. Cygnus was sitting upright staring at him; the wizard's hands clenched the sides of his bedroll in consternation. None of his other friends were immediately visible.
Four or five campfires, each surrounding by a dozen or so ragged former slaves, continued to blaze away undisturbed on the hillside. Every face was turned towards Aslan.
The paladin felt little like talking and even less like smiling. However, he did both in an attempt to placate his audience.
"Sorry," Aslan nodded at Elrohir, then made a weak stab at humor. "Was I snoring?"
"You were screaming," Argo noted quietly from his roost.
The paladin took several deep breaths as he tried to absorb this. "I'm fine now," he eventually mumbled as he walked over to the nearest fire and slowly eased his armored bulk down next to it.
"Aslan," he heard Cygnus say, "you've still got some time before your watch. Why not get out of that plate and see if you can get back to-"
Aslan cut the mage off with a shake of his head. "I'm fine," he repeated tersely, staring into the flames as if they were the most important thing in the world.
Everyone seemed to get the hint. No one else spoke to the paladin, although he could hear snatches of assorted conversations from the ex-slaves around him.
Most centered around how many people had died that day.
After a while Aslan could feel his face starting to grow uncomfortable from the heat of the fire. He blinked and looked around him.
Only about half the camp was visible. They had been travelling along the crest of a long, low hill. Argo and Elrohir had wanted to find more level ground before stopping for the night, but it wasn't an option. They were just moving too slowly.
So tonight the horde was camped on both sides of the hill. In theory, this wasn't a problem. Aslan could see the lights from the campfires on the other side of the ridge and knew they were close enough that if he yelled, they'd hear him. For that matter, they'd probably heard his screams earlier.
Aslan sighed, pulled off his left gauntlet, poured some water from his waterskin over his head and rubbed it all over his hair, his face and his beard with his left hand. It made him feel a little better, and he looked around again.
Low hills and mountains surrounded them on three sides. To the south, a black triangle rising high into the deepest blue of twilight's last gasp, was the silhouette of Mount Drachenkopf, largest mountain in The Pomarj. They were skirting by only about three miles north from its base.
For some reason, this seemed too close to the paladin.
Out of the corner of his eye, Aslan saw Elrohir sit down on his right. The paladin tightened his jaw, but said nothing.
After a few moments, Elrohir gestured towards the south. "They say that the Earth Dragon lives underneath that mountain."
Aslan shrugged. "Tojo claims it lives in a sacred valley in Nippon."
There was a brief silence.
"I guess when you're a god, you can live anywhere you want," Elrohir finally offered.
Aslan hunched forward as far as his armor would allow. It was completely against his conscious desire that the words came out of him.
"I feel cold inside."
The paladin picked up a piece of kindling and tossed it into the fire.
"Unclean... diseased."
Elrohir clenched his fists. "Aslan," he said quietly. "You can't keep this stewing inside you. Keeping secrets like this will-"
Aslan's head snapped around to glare at his party leader.
"Keeping secrets will what, Elrohir?" he hissed softly. "Hurt me? Have you told Tojo yet how his daimyo betrayed the Chosen One? No? Is that keeping you up at night? Then don't tell me what to do!"
The paladin returned to his study of the flames.
Elrohir looked at his friend for a moment, then clenched his fists in frustration, stood up and walked off to sit with Argo.
"Wretched wasteland."
Aslan glanced over. Wescene had just arrived from over the ridge. The elf looked exceptionally dusty and sported several new scratches and bruises. She flopped down on the ground near the fire and dropped her bow and quiver next to her in disgust.
"What happened?" Elrohir asked.
Wescene grimaced as she carefully wet a cloth from her waterskin and began to clean herself off. "I tumbled down a rock face while chasing a hobgoblin."
"I thought elves were supposed to be graceful," Argo piped up. He said it casually and with an easy smile, but Wescene only scowled back.
"And I thought humans couldn't possibly be so depraved as to enslave their own kind and ally with monsters like hobgoblins!" she spat sarcastically. "See how much we can learn from each other?"
The ranger-priestess took a large swig, emptying her waterskin. Her face was already softening by the time she finished. "Sorry." She offered a brief but contrite expression to Bigfellow.
The big ranger shrugged. "I was about to say I deserved that, but I'm not proud. I'll take the apology."
The elf grunted. "Actually, I thought you were about to bring up the fact that Markessa was an elf. Didn't want you getting the moral high ground on me."
Argo smiled again. "You can have all the high ground you want, my dear. Just try to stay on top of it, okay?"
Wescene rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop her smile. It quickly vanished however, as she turned to address Elrohir. "How many did we lose today?"
"Two." The party leader was unable to look the elf in the eye. "One from the latest ambush, and one from the scrag that came out of that fishing hole."
Argo spoke up again. "How many of these stockade remnants do you think are tracking us?"
Wescene frowned as she concentrated. "About two dozen assorted goblinoids, I'd guess. Minus the three or four we've managed to take out."
"Who's leading them?" Elrohir wanted to know. "Blackthorn?"
She shook her head. "I've caught glimpses of a human, but I doubt it's Blackthorn. If he really is an ogre mage as you described, he and his werewolf cronies could decimate these people with a frontal assault." The elf's voice dropped lower. "Any survivors would scatter to the hills and be easy pickings. It's clear these attacks are aimed at the slaves and not us. They're trying to demoralize these people."
"If it hadn't been for the additional healing and firepower you and Monsrek have provided us with," Bigfellow added with uncharacteristic solemnity, "they'd have succeeded."
"Well, we're certainly not going to be able to lose our tormentors," Elrohir contributed, with a nod towards the former prisoners. "I wish we knew who that man is who's leading them. If we could-"
"Tancred. Estelrath Tancred."
All eyes turned to Cygnus.
"Who?" inquired Elrohir.
"The slave merchant you fought," replied the mage. Cygnus gave them a guilty smile while reaching into his backpack and pulling out the sheets of paper he'd found in Markessa's lab. "According to these, a slaver of that name is listed as arriving at the stockade the day before we did."
"What is it with you and lists, Cygnus?"
All eyes turned again, this time to Aslan.
The magic-user flashed him that embarrassed smile again, along with a weak shrug. "Must be a wizard thing, I guess," he called out.
Despite himself, Aslan smiled. The paladin slowly scooted himself around the fire to join the others.
"I take it food is still our major concern?" he asked as he arrived.
Wescene nodded. "Even between our hunting and what Monsrek and Talass are able to create, it's not enough." The elf's tone was grim. "Water isn't so much a problem, but food- there's little in the way of forage, and these aren't great hunting grounds to begin with. What little prey a hundred noisy, stomping humans don't scare off, our attackers either do or catch themselves."
"It must still be better than what they got back at the stockade," Cygnus protested.
"Depends," said Aslan. "The slaves that were due to be shipped out were probably fed fairly well, to give them at least a semblance of good health."
"The rest of them may think they're eating more," added Wescene, "but they're active now. On the move." The elf's green eyes darted to the other campfires briefly before coming back to rest on her companions. "In a few days at this rate, they'll start to feel it. They won't be able to travel as far each day."
"As far? We're not even making two leagues a day as it is!" Cygnus whispered harshly, looking around furtively.
"It's not a hopeless situation," Wescene said in an equally low tone. "We're not that far short of where we need to be." She sighed. "We'll just have to do better with our forays. We can-"
A commotion from over the hill cut her off. She and the others were instantly on their feet, but the sounds that reached their eyes were those of celebration, not alarm. The five looked at each other, but before they could speculate Caroline Bigfellow came running over the ridge at them.
"Nesco!" she cried out. "Nesco's here!"
Aslan's eyes went wide. The paladin gulped and staggered back a few steps, trying to hide behind Elrohir, a boulder- anything.
Not noticing him, the others crowded around Caroline.
"How?" Cygnus wanted to know.
Lady Bigfellow smiled. "Sir Dorbin! He's dropping her off! He's going to stay until tomorrow morning, before he returns to the Brass Dragon."
Elrohir frowned. "But how was he able to find us?"
"Monsrek was in touch with him via sending," Caroline beamed. "He told Dorbin where we were- his teleport was only about two miles off, and of course it was a simple matter for Nesco to find us from there!"
Behind them, Aslan squeezed his eyes tight while thinking of the rolled-up map of the area in his backpack that he'd picked up at Chendl. The one that Monsrek had been going over with him earlier that day. The two of them- they set this whole thing up, the paladin thought. Sir Dorbin probably thinks he's doing us a great favor.
And the terrible thing was, Aslan realized that this was the most logical course of action- an extra ranger might make all the difference. This was the best thing for everyone.
Except him.
His eyes still tightly closed; Aslan listened to his heart pound in his chest as he thought back four days. To the Room of Return inside the Valorous Temple in Chendl.
He'd only had a few moments alone with Nesco, and she'd been fast asleep at the time.
He'd just stood there and stared at her.
She looked so peaceful.
She looked so-
The paladin had backed away in terror he had long thought he was immune from and nearly bolted out of the room.
And now she was here.
Aslan could hear her now, greeting the others. He imagined them hugging her- whirling her around. Inexpressible joy at having her back. Having her alive.
The paladin thought furiously. He was sure Nesco had already inquired as to why she'd been left behind. The others hadn't known that Aslan had already decided not to return with Nesco when he'd teleported back to Chendl with her body. All he had told them was that he felt Cynewine would not be up to plunging back into action so soon after such a harrowing experience. And in truth, they had seemed to accept that. After all, it did make sense.
Only Elrohir knew Aslan's real reason.
The paladin tried to pray to Odin, but he couldn't. Now even his prayers were jamming in his throat. He was going to-
"Aslan?"
Even as he opened his eyes, he knew there were tears in them. It was too late now, though.
Nesco Cynewine stood about twenty feet away, looking at him. She was clad in yet another suit of chainmail. Sundancer hung at her side, her bow over her shoulder. She had on a nervous smile, but those green eyes were looking straight at him.
Those eyes.
He had no idea what kind of an expression was showing on his face. Rooted to the spot in panic, Aslan could only stare at those eyes. He knew. He could see her piercing gaze. There were no tears in Lady Cynewine's eyes. This was not the hesitant, almost timid ranger that had interacted so cautiously with them at first.
They were hunting eyes. The eyes Nesco used when tracking her enemies.
And it was at that moment when The Absolute Truth came crashing down upon Aslan.
She knows! his mind screamed. She knows! Of course- she was dead, and so was he! They must have "seen" each other, or however that works! He told her that I-
"Nesco!" he said warmly, stepping forward and clasping her hands in his.
Aslan was shaking so hard; he could hear his plate mail vibrating.
"Thank Odin that you're back up to strength."
Pause.
"I don't know what I would have done if they hadn't been able to-"
The paladin choked up, but at least that part was real. God, that was so very true.
"You saved me, Aslan," Nesco said quietly, her face and her voice wildly out of sync, or at least it seemed to Aslan.
Now her eyes were starting to mist up. "I'll never be able to thank you enough."
Pause.
Aslan, you fool- say something! She's going to-
"Lady Cynewine," he began.
She looked at him expectantly. His hands- one gauntleted, one not- were still clasping hers.
"I'm sure you know by now that I had thought you would not be able to rejoin us so quickly," the paladin lied as he had never lied before in his entire life. "Obviously, I was wrong. I can only beg you." His voice cracked. "Please forgive me."
Yes, Nesco. Please forgive me- for murdering your brother in cold blood.
He couldn't believe how deep her eyes had suddenly become.
Nesco couldn't believe how deep Aslan's eyes had suddenly become.
She stood there, trembling, her hands in his. She could see he was nervous- even more nervous than she had been expecting.
She tried to make sense of all this in the space of just a few seconds. Everyone had seemed so genuinely happy to see her that she had decided her earlier conclusion about being a burden to the party had been in error. Especially Talass- she wouldn't lie about such a thing, would she? It seemed that everything was actually going to be all right after all.
So why was Aslan staring at her like that? It was making her more nervous with every moment, and she was always nervous enough around him.
And it was at that moment when The Absolute Truth came crashing down upon Nesco Cynewine.
He knows! her mind screamed. He knows how I really feel about him! Of course- he had to catch on sooner or later. I've been acting the perfect fool around him. And he-
Nesco gasped.
-and he doesn't feel the same way about me.
It was a long, slow fall as Nesco Cynewine's heart fell from her wounded chest and dashed to pieces on the rocky ground of The Pomarj.
"I'd better get caught up," she whispered, jerking like a zombie as she began to walk backwards away from the paladin. "I guess I've got a lot of work to do, starting tomorrow."
Aslan's head bobbed feebly. He desperately tried to say something to the ranger's back as she headed back up the slope towards the others.
Nothing came.
Elrohir slowly got to his feet.
He nodded silently as he relieved Monsrek. The cleric smiled wearily at him as he eased underneath his bedroll.
The hills were silent. For now.
The ranger looked downslope. Aslan was sleeping at the very edge of the encampment, by himself.
Elrohir frowned and walked up to the top of the ridge, where he stared down at the other half of the camp.
Nesco was sleeping all the way down at the other edge of the encampment, by herself.
It's going to be a long trip, he thought.