15th Day of Reaping, 565 CY
The Jewel River
(the Ulek/Pomarj border)
At the last moment Elrohir decided not to pray.
Everyone was about to begin descending the final hill, and the sacrilegious thought had occurred to Elrohir that perhaps with a little less distance to cover between Oerth and heaven, the ranger might actually receive a sign of receipt if he sent a quick prayer up to the All-Father while he was still at the summit.
In all honesty, he didn't much see the point. It seemed to Elrohir that he and the others, for better and worse, had for the past two months been the architects of both their own fortunes and misfortunes.
On the positive side, they had made the grueling journey across the Pomarj.
Most of them.
The headcount this morning at breakfast had been ninety-eight. They had lost a total of twenty-four ex-slaves, mostly to hostile ambushes, before the attacks had petered off almost a month ago for unknown reasons.
Whether this was an acceptable loss ratio was irrelevant. It was what it was. As the leader, Elrohir had no choice but to accept it.
Elrohir looked behind him as the rag-tag mass of humans and demi-humans began walking down the hill. Some, eager in their knowledge that the worst of their travels were almost over, began stumbling in their downhill haste. Some checked themselves by grabbing a nearby tree, but a few took a tumble in the dirt and leaves. Their peers would help them to their feet, and the hike would continue with smiles on nearly every face.
Elrohir wasn't smiling.
He didn't know why. Part of him was indeed ecstatic that this grueling voyage, which had taxed his skills as a ranger to the limit, was indeed nearing its end. Once the former prisoners were delivered to the waiting dwarven contingent from Ulek at the banks of the Jewel River, Aslan would commence the teleportation process that would return the party home over the course of several days.
On the negative side, sometimes Elrohir didn't think they had much of a party anymore.
The focal point of their current schism was of course, Aslan and Nesco. These two were so studious in avoiding each other that even the ex-slaves had noticed it, and their gossip and speculation did little to relieve matters. Worse, each absolutely rebuffed all efforts by anyone else to mediate a diplomatic solution. Aslan had taken to spending more and more time scouting ahead in one polymorphed form or another, so that he rarely spoke with anyone anymore for any longer than it took to get or receive a status report on this matter or that.
Although the paladin had not been explicit, the few words he had muttered to the party leader the morning after Nesco's rejoining the team had indicated that Nesco had somehow learned the truth about her brother's fate. Or at least Aslan believed this to be the case. This was impossible for Elrohir to verify one way or the other, although to be fair no one had come flat out and asked Nesco. Instead, Elrohir had tried to draw the subject out in casual conversation but Lady Cynewine, perhaps aware of Aslan's close friendship with Elrohir, would not respond to a personal inquiry of any nature.
The ranger had felt that Nesco might perhaps open up to Argo or Caroline due to their common deity-worship. Both Bigfellows had refused to do so however, stating that it was none of their business, and all of Elrohir's entreaties about party unity fell on deaf ears.
Worst of all, his own wife Talass refused to use her divine powers to ascertain the truth of the matter, saying the distrust created by Nesco's realizing she had been the target of covert divinations would create a much worse problem than any which might be solved by the use of such power.
Elrohir sighed as he continued the downhill trek. His ranger instincts kept a lookout for trouble while the party leader's conscious mind continued to dwell on their problems.
The Aslan/Nesco situation had somehow spawned other discomforts. While the others tended to keep their difference, Cygnus had continued to spend more time with Nesco- or at least had tried to. Lady Cynewine had not seemed very comfortable with this, either. Elrohir still wasn't sure exactly how a fistfight had started between Cygnus and Zantac on this matter, but at least neither had thought to resort to spell-slinging. The two wizards' friendship seemed to have quickly mended, but Elrohir knew enough from bitter experience not to take anything for granted.
Speaking of taking things for granted, Elrohir took some comfort in that at least Tojo seemed his old, unperturbed self. Although she had not spoken to the samurai as far as Elrohir knew, Tojo was the one party member Nesco still seemed to be at ease around.
At least that's something, Elrohir thought to himself and tried to force 100% of his attention back to the task at hand.
Argo, Caroline, Cygnus, Zantac and Talass were all more-or-less walking abreast with the party leader.
Like Elrohir however, they alternated between a watchful awareness of their surroundings and a semi-detached state.
Argo Bigfellow Junior was in a considerably brighter mood than his fellow ranger.
Although he was well aware of the group's current interpersonal woes, Argo felt assured that they would work out one way or another, so there was little to be gained by worrying about them. He had discussed with Elrohir about whether or not they would all be volunteering for the final mission; the one to Suderham. Bigfellow was pleased that Elrohir had decided to table this notion until after they had all regrouped at the Brass Dragon.
At this point, he himself had no clue as to whether or not he would go.
The big ranger's left arm, currently resting comfortably on his wife's shoulders, briefly squeezed, pulling Caroline in closer to him. She looked up at him and smiled. Argo bent down and their lips met without either of them breaking stride.
Neither spoke. Neither needed to.
Argo's smile took on a bemused air as Caroline returned her examinations to the wooded hills around them. His wife had been right all along to force his hand in rejoining the expedition. That itself had not surprised Bigfellow- he always was of the mind that Caroline was wiser than he was- but he did admit to being a little taken aback at how well she herself had adapted to being back in the field. Although she had not seen actual combat, Caroline had seemed as confident and competent as ever, and her return was a welcome addition.
Especially for her husband. The two had wasted little time in resuming the activities they had been involved in back at the Brass Dragon, and in fact had been requested to move their pup tent further out towards the perimeter of their nightly campsite, due to the noise involved.
Had Argo been possessed of Nodyath's helm of telepathy and the daring to use it, he would have discovered that his wife's thoughts pretty much mirrored his own. Despite the tension surrounding some of their current members, Mrs. Bigfellow felt more at ease personally than she had for many weeks.
Ever since she had left the Brass Dragon, Caroline's nightmares had completely ceased. She mostly credited prayer to Zeus for this, but also considered the possibility that there was some fell influence lingering over their home. She'd have to ask Talass to look into that when they returned.
Cygnus' hands involuntarily clenched into fists as he caught sight of the Bigfellows' buss out of the corner of his eye.
The tall wizard wasn't sure why the sight of someone kissing set his teeth on edge, but he-
No, he admitted. That was a total lie- he knew exactly why it bothered him.
His intentions towards Nesco had been strictly honorable (or so he had told himself), and to that end his conversations with her had been devoid of any personal content. Perhaps, he mused, that had been the problem all along. Lady Cynewine must have eventually begun to wonder why Cygnus was spending an inordinate amount of time talking to her, and since he had said or done nothing to dispel that confusion, his presence had eventually become an irritant.
Cygnus didn't know what the hell he was doing. He knew he wasn't in love with Nesco, or anything like that. Or at least, he was pretty sure he wasn't. It was just that- it was just that she was simultaneously a reminder of how utterly empty his life was, and a possible cure for the same.
And yet, here he was- still with these people. Still turning his back on the chance to cut and run. Still in the Adventurer's Game.
A game that, as Flond said, always ended in death.
Zantac frowned as he saw Cygnus's countenance darken.
The Willip wizard felt a pang of sorrow for his arcane peer. He knew things were rough for Cygnus and could even guess at why. But he considered Nesco a friend as well, and she seemed to be hurting even worse than Cygnus, although the reason for that Zantac wasn't sure of.
Zantac himself had found a distraction only a week or so into their journey. Her name was Shyla. She was one of the former slaves; a few years younger than him and- and, well, many of the personal details of her life had kind of passed by Zantac in a blur. To be fair, it was probably reciprocal (or at least he hoped it was). They were two people desperate for companionship and Zantac (an actual wizard!) had undoubtedly seemed far more interesting and desirable to Shyla than her fellow malnourished and unkempt former cellmates.
They'd spent a few nights together underneath Zantac's shelterdome.
Shyla had uncharacteristically not been on Zantac's mind when the mage spotted Nesco walk away from Cygnus after another aborted conversation one morning soon after.
"Let Nesco be, Ciggy. She's hurting."
Zantac had tried to be gentle in his dissuasion, but the Aardian mage's fuse had been shorter than he was expecting.
"Don't tell me what to do, you ox!" Cygnus had snapped at him. "Why don't you crawl back under a rock with your tart?"
That had hurt. In fact, it had hurt so much that Zantac snapped right back without thinking.
"At least I have a woman!" he had yelled.
"Are you sure?" was the response. "Did you cast detect magic on her yet? We all know you're a favorite among the doppelganger crowd-"
And that was about as far as Cygnus had gotten before Zantac's fist had slammed full-force into his jaw.
Cygnus had gone down, but he, unlike Zantac, currently had his quarterstaff in hand. Even before Cygnus hit, his staff had swung around and took Zantac out at the knees. Both magic-users had rolled around on the rocky ground, wrestling. Cygnus landed one good punch that had started the count on Zantac's nose before the others pulled them apart.
Their rancor hadn't lasted long, though. By that evening, they were back to insulting each other in the traditional fashion. It just hadn't been worth it.
Sadly, the fight had spelled the end of Zantac's relationship with Shyla, though. The young woman became terrified that Cygnus was angry with her now and was convinced that he was going to turn her into a frog unless she backed off from Zantac, so she did so.
"Thanks a lot, Stickpin," Zantac had muttered at his companion that night at dinner.
Cygnus shrugged. "Well, I can't actually turn her into a frog you know- but if it would help, I can give her some pretty nasty warts."
Zantac had laughed so hard, his nose had started bleeding again. Cygnus chuckled, then winced at the large bruise on his chin; purple turning to yellow.
Neither Talass nor Aslan would heal them, the former preaching that perhaps this would teach them to behave from now on.
"Don't count on it," Zantac had grinned at her.
"Just another one of our shining moments, Talass," Cygnus had added with an identical smile. "Besides, Monsrek already said he'll do it."
Talass had growled in frustration and stomped off.
Despite the many weeks that had elapsed since then, Talass' scowl deepened as that memory inexplicably flashed back into her mind. The priestess tried to shake it off, once again forcing herself to look around and make sure they weren't about to lose any of their charges right before the end of their long trip.
Talass was restless. Only nestled in her husband's arms at night had she known any real peace, and even then it was intermittent. Too many ideas and images were clamoring ceaselessly for attention in her mind- and that was not usual for her.
She'd spent more time than anyone else talking with Monsre and learning a few tidbits of what was going on back home via the Trithereon cleric's intermittent sendings to Sir Dorbin.
For one, it was heartening to hear that Baron Chartrain of Willip, reportedly furious over the disappearance and presumed death of Baron Chauv, had apparently made the destruction of the Emerald Serpent a top priority. Several members of the Sir Dorbin party had allied with the churches of Heironeous and St. Cuthbert in an attempt to capture Nodyath. They'd actually manage to scry on him and teleport to his location several times, but he'd always managed to escape thus far.
Also, Flond had reported that the Wizard's Guild of Willip was now allied with, of all people, Wainold the druid and his cohorts in a full-scale attempt to either capture or kill Chic. Unfortunately, those efforts had not yet born fruit either.
A few members of Dorbin's group remained behind at the Brass Dragon, where they reported all was quiet. Dorbin had also directed at least one of their party to stay at the Castle Chauv at all times now. The knight believed that the Lady Chauv might be the Serpent's next target.
Yet as engrossing as all this news was, it was other things that kept intruding onto Talass' serenity.
A sudden image of a volcano, stolen from a dream.
And a nameless, formless dread that had jerked her awake one night. Elrohir hadn't awoken, and Talass saw no point in doing so, so she had just snuggled back up against her husband, thinking only that some task, unclear but very, very important, had lain uncompleted for a long time. Years possibly.
And their time to correct it was rapidly running out.
"What's the name of this dwarf we're supposed to speak with when we meet up with these people?" Talass asked her husband as they walked, in an attempt to clear her head.
Elrohir looked at her and shrugged. "Thunderaxe. Aslan's probably with him right now, waiting for us. We should link up in about twenty minutes at this pace."
The priestess of Forseti nodded and fell back into silence.
Far in the rear, Nesco Cynewine kept a watchful eye.
A multitude of feelings were crashing through the ranger like ocean waves slamming into a rocky surf.
Nesco was glad that their long and dangerous trek was at last over. In an effort to avoid the others; she'd pushed herself on her hunting and scouting forays almost to exhaustion and had insisted on performing them alone.
Alone.
Initially of course, only Aslan had been the source of her discomfort, and he had quickly begun avoiding her just as readily as she had him. But it soon became apparent that the others were uncomfortable and nervous around Nesco, as well. They never said anything obvious, but that just made it all the worse.
Nesco didn't know if everyone knew about Aslan's rejection of her, but it didn't matter anymore. After two months, she just wanted to go home.
She didn't hate these people. Far from it. In fact, she still cared for them in a way beyond anyone else she had ever known, or likely ever would. They had literally brought her back from the dead. They had been through unimaginable agonies together and somehow- somehow, they'd made it through every time.
Victorious, but not unscarred.
Too many scars for Nesco. Fresh scars that still hurt. Still ached with every thought of him.
Every memory that wouldn't go away.
Nesco Cynewine took a deep breath and tried to focus 100% of her attention back to the task at hand.
Everything else could wait. Once they returned to Chendl, if the others decided to head out to Suderham, she'd wish them luck and let them go. If they requested a representative from the Crown to accompany them, she'd shove her brother Joseph into their arms.
Nesco had decided.
It was time to move on. It was time to say good-bye.
"There they are!"
An unknown ex-slave had been the first to shout out in joy at the sight below.
The tree line began about a hundred feet up the grassy slope of the hill. Once the party dropped below that line, the scene was clear below them.
The sun, just starting to set amongst gathering clouds, shone down on a temporary hamlet of huts and tents that had been erected on both sides of the Jewel River. The clear but fast-moving water, about fifty feet wide here, curved in a gentle arc from southwest to northwest. There were about a hundred individuals visible- more than Elrohir had been expecting. About half were dwarves; the rest humans or halflings.
On the far bank, three large wagons sat. About a dozen horses stood grazing contently nearby. A number of flags flew from posts sunk into the ground. Some were unfamiliar- the personal emblems of dwarven clans, Elrohir assumed. The rest all bore the insignia of the Principality of Ulek; a crimson, double-bladed dwarven battleaxe.
A large raft, clearly built onsite, was in the process of leaving the far bank and heading towards the east. Two humans steered it with long poles.
On the near side, not far from the bottom of the hill, Elrohir spotted Aslan talking to a dwarf that he assumed was Thunderaxe. Both individuals peered up at him.
Most of the former slaves rushed forward, and the party made no move to stop them. Some of them cried out thanks to Elrohir and others as they passed, but most were too intent on resting and gorging themselves on the mountains of food that they assumed were waiting for them.
Elrohir and the others were about halfway down when they noticed the other three.
Even from here, their standoffish posture and different garb marked them as apart. Two small figures clad in dark green cloaks, and a plate mail-clad warrior in a red cloak and wielding a spear.
Elrohir blinked in surprise. He turned to the others beside him, but they were already making the connection as well.
"Kingus' friends." Caroline was the first to state it. "Saxmund, Garoidil and Aelfbi."
Everyone was milling around. The Ulekians certainly seemed glad to see them, although it was evident this was mostly due to the fact that their week-long stay here by the Pomarj border was coming to an end. It was decided that the ex-prisoners would camp here tonight, and then they would all pull out tomorrow.
"We trailed you to Chendl," Saxmund was saying in her reserved, reedy voice, "but we were several weeks too late. We learned where you were due to meet up with the Ulekians and started heading down south. We had a few problems en route, but we made it. They've been very gracious," she added, indicating the dwarves and their allies.
"Why have you been seeking us?" Elrohir asked the obvious.
"That High Priest, Lancoastes," Garoidil added, his expression of distaste palpable, "said he needs to adjust the prayer he's using to send Dorbin and his allies back to Aarde, in order to utilize it for us." He scowled. "He said it might take weeks if not more, and even then, it won't return us to our home time."
Saxmund bit her lip. "Kingus seemed to think that the steelspheres of the Mary Celestial were two-way devices. He thought that it might be possible to fly one back into the astral plane, and from there back to Rolex. You people know more about our home than anyone else," Saxmund said quietly. "We thought perhaps you could aid us somehow."
Elrohir and Argo exchanged glances.
Meanwhile, Cygnus and Zantac were conversing again.
"I'll be glad when this is over," Cygnus said wistfully to his fellow mage. "I know there's going to be another contentious meeting about this Suderham business, but I don't know. I miss my son more every day, and Thorin needs me to-
Zantac abruptly nudged Cygnus and was now peering over the taller wizard's shoulder with his eyes.
"What?"
Cygnus turned to see Thunderaxe staring at him.
The dwarf's expression was clearly fluctuating between a deep-seated tendency to mind his own business and discovering whether some kind of insult to dwarven honor was at work here.
Cygnus gave him a tight smile.
"Your first name- it's Thorin, isn't it?"
"My son's name," was the curt reply. "Mine is Gundrum. Am I right in thinking you've given your son a dwarven name?"
The tall mage nodded silently.
Another silent debate was quickly resolved. "May I ask why?"
"My late wife's family had a dwarven governor named Thorin in their house for many generations," Cygnus explained. "She was always very fond of him and had always said if she were ever to have a son, he'd be named Thorin."
Thunderaxe considered for a moment, his hands fingering one of the axes at his belt, and then nodded. "It's one of the finest names a dwarf can bestow on their offspring. It bespeaks great honor- and great expectations as well." He eyed the human again. "Your son; are you training him as a warrior?"
Cygnus looked the dwarf straight in the eye. "A wizard. As I am."
Gundrum returned Cygnus' tight smile. "Our skalds say that wizards oft get involved in strange adventure, and wind up in desperate dangers on worlds far from home."
Cygnus' eyebrows raised, but he kept his gaze steady. "It does happen," he said simply.
Thunderaxe's face grew dour again. "I shall instruct my son to avoid all such matters."
Zantac watched as the dwarven commander spun on his heels and walked off. The Willip wizard smiled, shook his head and glanced over to Cygnus.
"You've got a son with a dwarven name living with elves," he quipped. "Poor kid's going to grow up as crazy as you."
"Talass?"
The cleric turned around. The half-elven priest, Aelfbi Gemblossom, was standing behind her, a worried look on his face that clearly didn't belong there.
"Yes?" Talass asked, after the silence stretched out longer than she thought it should have.
Aelfbi leaned in close to her, his voice almost a whisper. "My good lady, there is someone here who wishes to speak to you privately."
The priestess pressed her lips together tightly.
"Let me guess. The mystery woman who was with you at the Brass Dragon, perhaps?"
Flustered, Gemblossom stared down at the ground. "Indeed so. I would go so far as to say that this is one of the primary reasons we have sought you out."
That peaked Talass' curiosity, but there was still too much about this that set wrong with her. "Aelfbi," she said, speaking as peer-to-peer, "Forgive my presumption. I know little of you, and even less of the goddess you serve. Yet I must say this seems most secretive, and I find that not to my liking. Why does this person not reveal herself?"
The half-elf's reply seemed to contain a confidence that was as much wished-for as actual. "You will know that when you see her, my lady. Talass," he paused, "the opportunity for true redemption of a soul exists here. For that, I have risked much, and have even incurred the severe displeasure of my companions. It was only at my urging that Saxmund agreed to take her along with us."
Talass folded her arms across her chest. "I am not in the habit of keeping secrets, Aelfbi. I will speak with this person if you wish, but I will reveal her to the others in an instant if I so choose. Does she understand that?"
The half-elf paused, and then said simply, "I will ask her. Please wait here."
He walked off, towards the base of the hill but several hundred yards north of where the party had descended. For some reason, the trees at this point extended down to the hill base. She saw him stop there and stand still. After a few moments, he turned and slowly came back.
"She is agreeable, my lady," Aelfbi reported, leaning in close to her again. His green eyes darted around, seeking eavesdroppers.
"Go in with an open mind, and an open heart, Talass. That is all I ask."
Talass was only about fifteen feet from the trees when she saw her.
Set back a few feet up the hill, a large boulder perhaps five feet high was implanted in the earth securely. Atop it sat a mound that Talass had at first taken for a smaller boulder.
This person seemed not inclined to hide not only her features, but even the very fact that she was a humanoid. It took Talass another few seconds that the woman was seated on top of the boulder with her knees drawn up to the chest. The gray cloak this person wore was clearly oversized for her and draped over the rock's surface. The small rock on top- the hooded face- slowly rose to regard the cleric.
Talass was suddenly not so confident this was a good idea. If this person attacked her, the others might not even her screams from this distance.
If she was able to get off a scream at all.
Slowly, deliberately, Talass took her holy symbol of Forseti in her hand. "Forgive my caution," she called out, "but your insistence on meeting like this demands I avail myself of whatever security I can."
For a moment, there was no response. Then, the hood slowly nodded.
Talass prayed and let the power flow.
Nothing. No evil auras.
She relaxed. Partially.
"Well, I am here," she called out again. "Show yourself!"
Talass knew even before.
The pale white arms of the stranger bore no identifying marks or scars that Talass could see as they slowly emerged from the depths of the cloak to move up to her head.
But even before the hood fell away, Talass knew. Like a stale story told by a poor bard, the ending was obvious.
She stared into eyes as pale blue as her own, and a horrible realization came upon Talass.
Aelfbi was either speaking naively what he believed to be the truth, he was a duped pawn, or he had acted with true malicious intent.
Someone had just been betrayed, and Talass hoped with all her heart that it wasn't her.
"Hello, Talass," Talat said, smiling. "No hug for your little sister?"