17th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Willip, Furyondy
Aslan could not stop being preoccupied with errant thoughts as the paladin strode down the Land Leg's Road towards the Willip Wizard's Guild.
Has it only been two days since I was here? Seems like a lifetime.
He noticed several people staring at him as he walked by. Aslan had enough local renown that some of them might have recognized him. Or it might have been the paladin's damaged plate mail that attracted their attention. He gave them no more than a passing glance as he headed towards his destination. Aslan certainly didn't feel like stopping to chat with any of them. He'd had plenty of talking already this morning, with much more still to come.
First had been the business at the Brass Dragon, of course. And then he'd gone out to check on his faithful steed, feeling rather guilty he hadn't thought to do so until Sir Dorbin had suggested it.
Perlial's large brown eyes had been even more expressive than usual. White Lightning stepped respectfully back a few paces as Aslan removed his gauntlets and stroked his horse over her neck and face.
"I am here, my old friend," Aslan said softly with a smile that he couldn't keep from being infected with sadness. "Please forgive me for my absences."
She whickered softly and nuzzled against him. "Always, Aslan. But can you ever forgive me?"
The paladin frowned in confusion. "Why would I ever need to do that?"
And Perlial told him. She told him of the nightmares she and White Lightning were still experiencing and how they had initially decided between them not to tell anyone, even Caroline, that they were continuing. Sir Dorbin however, had seemed suspicious, and eventually they had confided in them.
Perlial's head hung low in a purely human gesture of shame. "Will Caroline ever forgive us? We should have told her, but she seemed so happy. We could not bear to sully that with vague warnings with no details."
This had peaked Aslan's curiosity. "What's Caroline so happy about these days, anyway?"
Perlial had turned back to White Lightning. The two exchanged a look that the paladin couldn't quite read and then the latter horse stepped forward.
"We do not know. She said if she told us, one of you would worm the secret from us." The steed's expression almost seemed to show fear, and her great frame trembled slightly. "Will Elrohir forgive me, Aslan? Can any of you… ever forgive us?"
The paladin stepped forward, made an enveloping gesture with his arms and said, "Come here. Both of you and listen to me."
They gingerly stepped forward, and Aslan gave each one as gentle a hug as he could while still armored up.
"There is nothing to forgive, so the question is moot," Aslan said. "Even though we do not ride together as we did before, you two are symbols to each and every one of us."
The horses looked at each other in confusion and then back at Aslan, who smiled.
"Symbols of what can be. So often evil seems to surround us or worse yet, the specter of corruption- weal turned to woe. Yet you remind all of us that even the greatest of evils can unknowingly spawn forth hope, worthiness and love."
The paladin's voice was calm. "You are all these to us, and the dearest of friends. We shall stand proudly together until the very end of our days."
Aslan had felt better after that, but his next conversation sucked the comfort right back out of his mind again. Sir Dorbin had been waiting for him when he exited the stables, with his own warning, this time about the three members of his party who would eventually be accompanying Aslan back to Suderham.
"Aslan, heed me. It is foul fortune that I can spare you only Sir Menn, Sitdale and Unru." The knight held up a staying hand. "Now do not misunderstand me. They are all men of great courage, valor and ability. If not, they would not be a part of our band. Yet, they are the- how shall I say this- the ones most rough around the edges."
The paladin had smiled at the knight. "I've suffered Argo Bigfellow for years, good Sir. How bad could they be?"
Dorbin did not smile back. "They can be a handful. I speak of Unru in particular. Tell me, Aslan, have you spent any time with gnomes?"
Aslan had to admit he hadn't.
Sir Dorbin nodded sagely. "Unru has. He is, as you've seen, a prankster supreme, and furthermore lacks the good sense to know when to stop. More than once, we've all become embroiled in a brawl caused by our illusionist friend."
A memory of Elrohir's flashing fist popped into Aslan's mind. "That can happen to all of us, Sir Dorbin."
"True," the knight admitted, "but to some more frequently than others, it seems. Now, Unru is a brilliant battle tactician, but even there he carves his own way, often making decisions on the spur of the moment. Outside of battle, you must keep a tight rein on him. Unru's attention span is short and his instinctive desire to tweak the nose of almost anyone he encounters could be disastrous, given the particulars you've told me of your mission. Sir Menn and Sitdale will fall into line if you can control Unru, but I can almost guarantee you he may resist your authority at first. You have my leave to use any measures you deem necessary towards this end."
Aslan had thanked Sir Dorbin and departed, but despite the fact that he had gotten the reinforcements he had come back home for, the paladin had an unsettled feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with teleportation.
His first stop upon arriving at Willip had been the City Hall, which was bustling with activity even this early in the morning. The paladin had been forced to wait almost an hour to speak with the mayor, which irritated him, as much as for the fact that he no longer bore such delays as unemotionally as he once did as for the actual wait itself. He supposed it a side effect of his long association with people like Elrohir, Argo and Caroline, who were all notoriously impatient with such things.
Still, the white-haired aristocrat gave a genuine smile of relief when he saw the paladin, which Aslan appreciated. The Honorable LaSalle Main had filled the paladin on the latest doings as quickly as possible.
"We are done with Chic, and I must say, it gave me great satisfaction to see the tables turned on that monster. Wizards from the Guild used arcana to peer into the fiend's mind. It was not easy. He resisted the spells of the first two mages they used, but then the Guildmaster himself was able to succeed. Chic does not know if the Emerald Serpent truly betrayed him or not, but the creature oddly seems not to care. His promises of a 'deliverer' are only empty words that came to him from, he claims- his new master, whose identity we could not divine- who will save him via a proxy. Yet there has been nothing to date, security is at its height, and the creature is due to meet its doom tonight."
This gave little comfort to Aslan.
LaSalle had continued. "We have additional information, gleaned from other sources. Nodyath continues to associate with Sbalt's brigand band, which is still somewhere within the Barony of Willip. They are forced to move constantly to avoid raids from our churches or the Wizard's Guild, and this hampers them from gaining any additional strength. Baron Chartrain has spared no expense in his efforts to bring these fugitives, particularly Nodyath, to final justice. However," the mayor admitted, "we do think it likely that the Emerald Serpent has managed to deliver that 'Chams clothing' you spoke of to him. I shudder to think what fell purpose he may have in mind for it."
Aslan had turned back to Main once the aristocrat had finished speaking. "If the authorities are done with Chic, why has he not been dispatched already?"
The Lord Mayor grimaced.
"There was a dispute over matters of jurisdiction. Both the Valorous and Cuthbertine churches wished to be the ones to deliver the death blow. The Guildmaster wizard didn't care one way or the other, but he insisted on the creature's corpse undamaged for study, and then there was…
LaSalle Main shook his head and favored Aslan with a wry smile.
"Well, in the end it was all worked out. Both High Priests will be present tonight, as will Baron Chartrain himself and many other notable personages. It will be a public execution. Very instructive for the masses, or so they say." He stopped speaking with an air of distaste, but then seemed to remember something else. "Your druid friend will be there as well."
"Wainold? Do you know where he might be right now?"
"I am not certain, but I do know he spent a great deal of time with the Wizard's Guild while they were attempting to capture the beast. It'd probably be a good place to start."
The stone cylindrical tower of the Willip Guild of Wizards came into view as Aslan finished his reverie. He didn't have a good feeling about this. To him, large concentrations of arcanists carried the same potential for trouble as did taverns or brothels.
Worse, actually, Drunks and prostitutes couldn't fling fireballs.
He knocked on the door and waited. After only a few seconds, it opened.
It was all Aslan could do to keep his right hand from reaching for the hilt of his sword. A half-orc, larger than Argo, was gazing calmly down at him. It was probably the placid expression on the half-orc's face that reminded the paladin that first impressions could often be deceiving.
That, and the silver wizard's robes he was wearing.
Steel grey eyes peered down at the paladin from underneath a heavy brow and thick but well-trimmed eyebrows. He said nothing.
"Umm," Aslan managed after a moment. "Good morning to you, good sir. My name is Aslan. I am seeking the druid known as Wainold. Is he perchance here?"
"You're expected," the half-orc responded immediately in an unexpectedly quiet voice. He turned his back on the paladin. "Follow me."
Aslan followed the wizard around a short sloping corridor and then up two flights of stairs to a corridor that seemed to encircle the interior. Numerous paintings adorned the dark grey stone walls, but Aslan didn't recognize any of the portraits or tableaus.
The half-orc pushed open a door to reveal a large room that apparently took up the entirety of this floor. It featured a thick, bright red wall-to-wall carpet and a half-moon shaped table made of dark wood, possibly ipt. The mage gestured Aslan inside, then closed the door behind him.
Seated at the table was Wainold. An unopened decanter of wine and two glasses were nearby. The druid looked up and gestured towards one of the other chairs scattered around the room.
"Grab a seat, Aslan. I'd give a cheerier welcome, but you don't make purely social calls, do you?"
The druid's hazel eyes raked the paladin over. He wasn't smiling.
"It's been known to happen," Aslan replied as casually as he could while pulling up a chair and easing his armored bulk down upon it. "How'd you know I was coming?"
Wainold snorted.
"The natural world is all around you, paladin. Animals, plants, wood, stone, sky. Unstick your holy head from your sacred ass. Look. Listen. Become friends with what's really out there, and you'll know things even your Talent could never tell you."
"Then you know why I'm here, as well?" Aslan forced himself to concentrate on the druid's face as he unstoppered the decanter and poured two glasses of wine.
Wainold shook his head. "Only that I'm probably not going to like it."
There was a long silence after Aslan had finished his tale and made his request.
Wainold did not look at the paladin. He drummed his fingers on the table, apparently lost in thought. Then he took his vine-wrapped oaken staff from where it had been leaning against the table. His right hand grasped it firmly while his left squeezed his ball-shaped beard. His eyes seemed clouded and dim, and Aslan had to fight back the urge to ask if he was communing with nature; perhaps with the wooden table.
Suddenly, the druid replaced his staff. His eyes snapped back into focus and he looked over to Aslan and shook his head again.
"No. I'm sorry, Aslan, but no."
The paladin took a deep breath. "May I ask why?"
"Those three have been with me for years; particularly Arwald. Despite their shortcomings, they've served me well in that time. This quest of yours really has no bearing on me. I see no reason to risk their lives on it."
Aslan leaned back as far as he dared in his chair. "Come on, Wainold. You're not going to give me that old "Balance" horse dung again, are you? You're a good man-"
The druid cut him short. "No. No, I'm not, Aslan. I'm just a man, and as a man I'm part of nature. We all are, but most of humanity is just too stupid to realize it."
Really?" Aslan shot back. "So, you don't bother with abstract ideals like freedom? Let me give you a few names besides mine who might have disagreed with you."
Wainold looked at him sharply.
"Bar. Wanda. Huey. Pherat. Kolum."
There was another silence.
Wainold swallowed hard. One hand fingered his braided hair. His eyes seemed to have lost focus again.
"The Council of Ten," he breathed.
"Exactly," the paladin said. "Wasn't that long ago, was it? Only three or four years? Aside from Tadoa, you're the only one of the Council still alive. Now sit there and tell me the Council's work had nothing to do with the cause of goodness."
The druid seemed to be mustering up for a counterattack. "We plotted against the machinations of the Prince of Undeath himself, Aslan." His hazel eyes bore into the paladin's light blue ones. "Orcus is no friend of the natural order."
Aslan shrugged. "And Kar-Vermin? The Council aided us against him, as well."
"All of the undead are perversions," Wainold mumbled.
"That's not the point!" The paladin slammed his gauntleted hand down on the table, causing the druid to start. "You helped create the Council even though you were already a member of the Old Faith! But you never told your fellow druids about it, did you? If your work on the Council was so balance-based, why not? Was it because they would have accused you of putting the welfare of a part of nature- humanity- above that of nature as a whole?"
Wainold stared at him. His lips tightened and his fists clenched, but he said nothing.
"Like it or not, Wainold," Aslan continued, more softly now. "That part of you that cares about the fate of the innocent is very real. Sometimes it's closer to the surface than others, but it's never gone away, and Odin willing it never will. But whether you acknowledge it or not, it's there. We can see it."
The druid's eyes seemed to register something. Aslan nodded.
"That's the part of you that Argo calls Wayne."
Wainold harrumphed. "You think mentioning Bigfellow is going to sway me towards your cause? That alone makes me want to aid these Slave Lords against you!"
Aslan let his face break out in a big smile.
The druid snarled, waving his hand in front of the paladin's face. "I haven't changed my mind, Aslan! You also need to consider-"
Running footsteps from outside broke off the conversation. One of the four doors to this room swung open and a woman rushed in.
"Hogeth! I've just heard from Duplos! There's been a-"
She broke off, seeing that her quarry was not present. Wainold she took in with a quick glance that was evidence she'd seen him before, but then she stopped and stared at Aslan.
The young woman was astonishingly beautiful. Even Aslan, who all his life had made a conscious effort not to dwell on such things, couldn't help but see it. She had an enchanting heart-shaped face, lustrous raven-black hair, dark brown eyes and a curvaceous body clad in revealing golden robes. It all set off a long-standing instinct in the paladin to tense up.
The oddest thing of all was that this woman looked familiar. Then it hit Aslan.
Marisee! Zantac's slave girl from Highport who turned out to be a doppelganger! Zantac said she claimed to be the sister of a mage he knew back in Willip!
The paladin's eyes suddenly narrowed.
Which means this is Aimee. The one he suspects of being in league with the Emerald Serpent.
With a start, Aslan realized that he had completely missed several seconds of time. "You have a raven familiar?" Wainold was asking Aimee.
She nodded. "Something's gone wrong at the docks, where Chic is being held!" She shook her head in frustration. "I had a feeling something was going to happen- that's why I stationed Duplos there! But aside from Hogeth, there's no one else here now! Zelhile has taken everyone currently on active duty outside the city limits for a magic demonstration that he said was too dangerous to hold indoors."
What an auspicious time for an escape attempt, Aslan thought.
As if reading his thoughts, Aimee suddenly turned her eyes on him. "Well, hello there," she purred. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
Aslan couldn't believe it. Aimee was suddenly as casual as if they had met by happenstance while strolling in a park.
Wainold jerked a thumb in his direction. "This is Aslan."
The magic-user's eyes grew wider. "Not the famed Aslan the Paladin?" she queried.
"Just Aslan will do fine, thank you," he replied, crossing his arms to get his point across.
Aimee seemed undeterred. In fact, as Aslan watched, her black hair turned a lighter shade of brown- an exact match for his own hair color. "Really? I'd always heard that being a paladin was an integral part of one's being- that you couldn't separate yourself from it."
Wainold growled at the paladin. "You and she ought to get together and discuss philosophy sometime." He then turned back to Aimee. "Hogeth, that's the half-orc, right? Have him contact Zelhile." The druid then stood up. "I guess you and I are heading off there now, eh?"
Aslan kept a slight smile on his lips as he stood up. It was easier facing the druid than Aimee.
"Ready to re-join the fight against evil, are we?"
Wainold snorted. "We're talking about a fiendish creature, Aslan! How much more of an affront to nature can you get? By the Shalm, there's no intelligence test to become a paladin, is there?"
"Oh, I don't know," put in Aimee. "I'd suspect he's very intelligent, indeed."
Aslan turned again in astonishment, but Aimee was already starting to close the door behind her. "I'll notify Hogeth. Oh, and Aslan… I hope we can meet again later under better circumstances."
The door shut but a moment again it opened and Aimee's face reappeared. "Oh. If any of you planning on casting any spells before you leave, I'd go outside first."
Her eyes dipped downwards before settling back on Aslan. Her lips curved in a predatory smile.
"We've had some trouble with the carpet."
The door closed behind her.
Seconds later, the duo was also back out in the corridor. Aslan turned to Wainold. "You do realize that Aimee is probably in league with the Emerald Serpent, and by extension Chic as well? This could all be one horrific trap, you know."
The druid gazed down the corridor. "Figures," he grunted at last. "The evil ones are always the most beautiful, aren't they?'
"Not necessarily," Aslan countered.
Wainold stared at the paladin, but no elaboration was forthcoming.
Because Aslan had absolutely no idea what had made him say those words in the first place.
The druid dismissed this with a shake of his hand. "Hold out your arm."
"What?"
"Common your second language, is it? Hold out your arm! Fast as I can be, you're faster. Come on, let's go!"
When the paladin lifted his gaze from his outstretched arm he was taken aback to see that Wainold had disappeared. A red-tailed hawk settled serenely on his arm with a flutter of wings.
Aslan could have sworn the hawk was sneering at him as they teleported away.