13th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY

Drachensgrab Hills, The Pomarj

"Have some more water, Cygnus."

The tall mage, currently sitting propped up against the cave wall, shook his head. "Take it for yourself, Argo. Healing or no, you still look like you just came out of the oven."

The big ranger glanced down at Cygnus, drained the cup he held, and then smiled. "Cosmetic damage only. Looks like my magic ring trumped yours- if only barely."

"That reminds me, Argo. Catch."

Argo only needed a half-turn to catch Icar's- no, his- ring of fire resistance. Slipping it back on, he cocked an eyebrow at the once-again human paladin who had tossed it to him. "How'd you know that ring would resize itself to fit your fat ogre finger?"

Aslan could only shake his head and shrug. "I suppose I might have read of a magic ring doing that somewhere- but it was basically a blind hope that Elrohir knew what in the Nine Hells he was doing."

Bigfellow turned his gaze to the group leader. Elrohir stared steadily back at him, his expression grim.

"You'd have less faith in me if I told you the truth, Argo," he began, but then fell silent.

Argo regarded his fellow ranger curiously. Eventually, Elrohir walked up to Bigfellow. His expression softened as he laid a hand on Argo's shoulder.

"You shouldn't have done it, Argo. You had no of knowing whether that ring was sufficiently powerful to protect you from Cygnus' shooting stars. As it was, you might have died without Aslan's healing."

The big ranger's face assumed a thoughtful gaze that Elrohir knew, this time, was all too real.

"To be honest, Elrohir," Bigfellow said sheepishly, "I'd clean forgotten about the ring."

"Damn you, Argo," his friend whispered. "I knew you were going to say that."

"Where do we stand now, Aslan?" Nesco asked quietly.

The paladin took a deep breath before replying. "My Talent's down to the dregs. I fired two psionic blasts at that thing before I realized they weren't working. I didn't want to skimp on healing, though." Aslan looked around the circular chamber. "We'll camp here tonight. If we have unfriendly visitors that need etiquette lessons, we'll have to rely on mine or Talass' faith to patch us back up."

Nesco kept her voice low. "Argo still looks a mess, and he's lost so much; his sling, his bow, half of his armor."

"Our wizards may be able to help a little with Argo's armor, but getting it replaced isn't feasible on our timeframe. We'll just have to make do. We should reach Suderham sometime tomorrow- if your calculations are correct, Lady Cynewine."

The paladin finished with a sudden smile that left Nesco speechless. Eventually she managed to return the smile, but by then Aslan had already walked over to Tojo, who was pointing out several small gems lying on the floor. Apparently, they were the sole undigested remains of the stalagmite's previous meals.

Nesco glanced over to her other side. On the far side of the room, Zantac sat huddled on the floor, his head on his drawn-up knees, and buried in his arms. Talass was squatting down on her haunches next to him.

"Zantac- it's all right."

"No." The Willip wizard sniffled and raised his face, tearless but flushed and swollen with the effort to avoid them. "No, Talass, it's not all right. I could have killed you," he added plaintively, eyeing the ragged gash in her chain shirt.

The cleric maintained an even tone. "You were not responsible for your actions, Zantac, and no one here- even me- holds you accountable for them. Haven't you ever been charmed before?"

Zantac shook his head. "No. I was the enchanter when Zelhile paired us off in practice, not the victim."

Talass smiled gently. "I can't speak for Nesco, but all the rest of us have been, at one time or another."

The mage seemed to consider, but then shook his head again, more violently. "But it wasn't just that my body was doing terrible things." His light blue eyes seemed to looking back on his recent self.. "I wanted to kill you, Talass," Zantac said, his voice threatening to crack from shame.

The priestess was silent for a few moments. Her face assumed a neutral expression.

"And you have trouble accepting that?"

"Accepting it?" Zantac cried, loudly enough to turn all the heads in the room. "I'm having trouble living with it!"

He buried his face in his arms again. His shoulders shook.

Talass waited silently, watching the wizard cry. Without moving her eyes, she held up a warning hand, telling the others to keep back. She listened to the half-intelligible expressions of remorse and pleas for forgiveness.

"Zantac," she said eventually, her voice still even and controlled. "Zantac, look at me."

Slowly, wiping his eyes, the mage lifted his head. Talass continued to wait until Zantac's eyes finally settled on her face like a nervous bird coming home to roost.

Talass suddenly slapped Zantac as hard as she could across his cheek.

"OW!" The magic-use scooted backwards on his butt, holding his cheek with one hand while trying to hold off Talass with the other. "What the hell was that for?"

The cleric, who hadn't moved, merely shrugged. "You said it yourself, Zantac- you tried to kill me. Frankly, you deserve much worse."

"But, but- I was charmed! You just said-"

"Ah, ha!" Talass leaned forward suddenly, her index finger raised in front of Zantac's nose in a gesture of triumph. The mage flinched at what he thought was another attack coming, but soon confusion registered in his face.

It was soon replaced by a sheepish smile, but before he could speak, Cygnus' voice came drifting over from the other side of the chamber.

"Can I slap him too, Talass? I still own him one!"

"I owe you three, Cygnus," Argo suddenly mused. The big ranger's face was a study in neutrality that absolutely unnerved the tall wizard. He didn't know if Bigfellow was joking or not. Cygnus turned to Aslan, but the paladin already has his arms across his chest.

"Don't look at me, Cygnus. I'm a charter member of your fire club, too."

Zantac couldn't resist a shaky smile. "Cancel mine and slap him twice," he offered to the room at large, then faced Cygnus directly as he stood up." How come you're only accurate when you're blasting your allies, Skinny?"

Cygnus smirked. "This coming from the only wizard to ever miss with magic missiles."

"What? I never-," Zantac spluttered. "Where did you hear that?"

"Thormord told me during my training."

Zantac stuttered something about a blink spell, but everyone was too busy smiling to pay much attention.

The memory still brought a smile to Zantac's face as he lay down on his bedroll an hour later, his black-and-red cloak draped over him. He raised his head just enough to peer towards the center of the room.

Talass sat atop her backpack in the center of the room, having drawn first watch. She was wearing Cygnus' continual light necklace and was currently facing away from Zantac. The wizard watched the light cast Talass-shaped shadows on the walls as the priestess looked towards the entrance to this cavern, then down the tunnel, about ten feet deep, that led to the continuation of the slaver passageway. She then glanced around at her sleeping party.

Zantac quickly lay back down and closed his eyes before her gaze reached him. The memory of his thrusting and digging his dagger into her flesh unexpectedly came back, and a fresh wave of guilt overcame him.

I'll make it up to you, Talass, he vowed silently. I'll make it up to all of you.