20th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Suderham, The Pomarj
Elrohir was glad that their quest was going to resume tomorrow.
One more day cramped up together like this, and tempers might hit the boiling point.
The team leader sighed and looked around again at the large number of people crammed into the remains of the Leatherworker's Guild. It was late in the evening, but no one particularly seemed in the mood to retire. They sat in small cliques talking, or alone in silence.
There were other, smaller rooms than the one in which they all currently sat, but the ranger had discouraged anyone from using them other than as a privy. It was distasteful in the extreme, but their options were limited. With one exception, no one could dare risk going outside.
Wainold was not able to assume so small a shape as Aslan could, but as a hawk he could easily slip in and out through one of the holes in the ceiling of the building's upper levels for his scouting forays. The second story was not structurally safe for the most part, and only Aslan stayed there, sleeping in polymorphed form. He had originally intended to sleep downstairs with the others, but Unru had started laughing so loud at the paladin's snoring that it was the only place he could find peace.
Now Elrohir watched as long-time friend finished up the last of his evening meal- assorted fruits created via Talass' faith. It was no secret that whatever food the priestess of Forseti created always tasted like a pale imitation of whatever form it assumed, but it was sustaining, and that was the important part. The water at least was always clear and fresh; better than well water by far.
Aslan was staring into the center of the room now, a somber expression on his face. Around Cygnus' continual light pendant was scattered everybody's armor; a huge jumble of leather and metal. Greaves, gauntlets, pauldroons, breast plates, sabatons, gorgets and helms lay in a heap like the scavenged pickings of battle. Sir Menn's full plate was conspicuous by its relative cleanliness and by its visored helm.
Elrohir could see that the paladin wasn't looking at the armor pile. He was lost in thought, although the ranger didn't know about what. These days Aslan seemed to have enough worries, concerns and troubles for several men, and Elrohir wasn't sure how to comfort him.
Aslan noticed Elrohir watching him. The paladin brushed the dust off his cotton green shirt and brown trousers and favored his group leader with a wan smile that nevertheless spoke volumes to the ranger. It was a smile of encouragement
Elrohir was about to try and think up something encouraging to say back to Aslan when he noticed Argo and Cygnus, who had been huddled together nearby, stand up and approach the ranger. As they squatted down beside him, Elrohir could see that their expressions clearly indicated they did not wish to be overheard.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
Cygnus looked over at Argo. "You go first," the mage said. Bigfellow nodded and began.
"This is how we see it, Elrohir. You know we've done some sparring with our new allies, to test their capabilities; as often as your good wife can afford to send a silence our way, anyway."
Elrohir nodded his understanding.
"Well," Bigfellow continued. "Sir Menn's and Arwald's fighting skills are on a par with our own; perhaps slightly less, but not by much. Sitdale's skills are rudimentary, but since he's also a wizard and a priest-and I think he cobbles shoes on the side, too- I'm not that concerned. It's Hengist that worries me. It looks like he's no more experienced than he was the last time we met, and that was years ago."
"Argo says Caroline could still probably beat him in a fight," Cygnus added. "And there's more. We had a little wizardly get-together earlier; swapping notes, organizing what spells we're going to prepare for tomorrow and so forth. Well, it turns out Thorimund, son of the great Thormord of Willip, is still the same neophyte he was the last time we met; a first-tier wizard."
The ranger shrugged at the phrase. "Give that to me in layman's terms, Cygnus."
The tall wizard sighed. "He's significantly less powerful than Zantac. His spell inventory is probably less than half of mine."
"Can't you give him some of your spells to copy?"
Cygnus shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Elrohir. He couldn't grasp how to use them."
Elrohir looked over. Hengist was sitting with Wainold and Arwald. Wainold was talking to his cohorts; perhaps giving him some instructions for tomorrow.
"Any suggestions?" Elrohir asked."
Argo shook his head. "Not really. If we suggest Wayne leave them behind, he'll erupt worse than Mount Flamenblut ever has. He's made it plain he's not happy to be here in the first place. We'll just have to watch over them as best we can."
"We're not planning to get into a massive free-for-all with the Slave Lords, anyway," put in Cygnus, "so hopefully it won't become an issue. When you come up with the new marching order, stick them in the middle; they should be a little bit safer there."
The team leader nodded. "All right. Thanks for the heads up." Cygnus nodded back and rejoined Zantac, Unru and Sitdale, but Bigfellow's auburn eyes flashed to a darkened corner of the room before alighting again on Elrohir.
"Any change in Tojo?" he asked quietly.
Elrohir glanced around as well, even though he knew full well what he would see.
"No," he whispered back.
Argo bit his lip. He seemed about to say something more, but then just nodded and moved away.
Elrohir looked over- not at Tojo again, but at Sir Menn.
Even out of armor, Sir Menn dressed better than anyone else. Currently clad in a ruffled silk shirt of navy blue and matching cotton trousers, the knight was folding up his blue traveling cloak, presumably for a pillow. He glanced over at Elrohir, but the ranger quickly turned his eyes away.
It really wasn't his fault, Elrohir knew. Even among his closest friends, inadvertently trampling on the samurai's sense of honor- or worse, his own perceived lack of honor- was a mistake they all seemed to make sooner or later.
No one had paid any attention earlier the previous day, when Sir Menn had been sitting together with Tojo and talking. The topic had apparently come around to the fistfight with the rakes that had sent them all into hiding.
"I don't understand," Sir Menn had said. "If everyone, including you, had been engaged only in fisticuffs, why would you risk ruining your mission by-"
And Yanigasawa Tojo had leapt to his feet, his eyes ablaze. His shout was undercut with pauses between each word, in which he seemed to continually renew the urge to resist drawing his katana on the spot.
"Daisho… are… for… samurai… ONRY!"
He'd then stalked off to a corner, lit only by the very fringes of the continual light. He'd sat in lotus position, facing the corner, and had not moved since except to curl up there and go to sleep.
It had not helped that when Elrohir and his friends described the general nature of bushido and the status of a samurai's weapons, Sir Menn would only partially apologize.
"Look, I am sorry for upsetting your friend," he huffed. "But he's not in Nippon now, and he's going to have to learn to adapt. I'm an easy-going fellow, so I don't mind. But look what happened earlier. You're all fugitives now because of him. There's a time and a place for everything, you know."
Elrohir rubbed his eyes, thinking. He had to admit; sometimes he shared Menn's sentiments. Even before Tojo's dishonor had been brought out into the open, they'd all had to make adjustments for the samurai, rather than the other way around.
But what was the alternative?
When he looked up again, it was to see Nesco Cynewine stand up and head on over towards the samurai. His fellow ranger was still clad in her grey blouse and long pants, but she had her overcoat slung over one arm.
Tojo still sat in the half-darkness, unmoving. Nesco could see several pieces of fruit laying nearby, untouched. She could hear his deep, consciously regulated breathing.
She took a deep breath and squatted down to his left and slightly behind.
"Tojo-sama?" she whispered.
The samurai did not respond.
Nesco held out her coat where she was sure Tojo could see it in his peripheral vision. "The temperature is dropping again, Tojo. I've already got a blanket in my bedroll. I thought- I thought perhaps you could use this to help keep you warm."
Still nothing.
Trembling slightly, Nesco laid the coat down next to him. "Well, it's here if you want it."
Tojo continued to stare at the wall.
Nesco was about to murmur a good-night and head back to her spot when she stopped.
No matter how difficult the words might be for her to say, she felt she owed them to him.
"Tojo-sama," the ranger said quietly. "Sir Menn and the others; they think you're feeling guilty, but I- that is, us; we know that's not the case. Guilt implies you're sorry for what you did and if you had the chance, you would have acted differently. We know that's not it; you'd do the same thing a hundred times over, because you are samurai. We know it hurts you that holding to your honor as you must do sometimes hurts the feelings of your friends. People you care for."
She hesitated. "People you love."
The samurai's breathing lessened. The ranger had the impression his eyes had started dancing around.
"I know sometimes… it's hard to share things like that. Confessions. Experiences."
Tojo turned to look at her. The striking color of the samurai's eyes was not visible in the dim light, but they looked directly into her own.
Nesco was suddenly frightened, even if she didn't know why. She held his gaze though, and even managed a tentative smile.
Tojo nodded to her once, and then turned back to the wall. His utterance was so soft, Nesco barely heard it.
"Domo arigato gozimas, Nesco-san."
Nesco wasn't sure what that meant; an acknowledgement, perhaps even an expression of thanks. It seemed clear that, whatever it was, it was all Yanigasawa Tojo had to offer this evening.
She rose back to a standing position. "Good night, Tojo-sama," she whispered again, and then walked away.
The samurai resumed his meditative breathing. His left hand, seemingly of its own accord, moved slowly along the floor next to him until it was touching the woolen overcoat.
"Hey, flagpole. You still with us?"
Cygnus started at Zantac's voice. He hadn't even realized his attention had wandered. He looked back to his companion. He, Zantac, Unru, Thorimund and Sitdale were all sprawled out on the floor around a pile of spellbooks and stray pieces of parchment, vellum and paper.
"I was thinking about Thellent. I'm worried about him."
Zantac looked confused for a moment, and then nodded over towards Wainold.
"You mean because of that announcement he overheard?"
Cygnus nodded. Even now, he could recall Wainold's report from his scouting forays into the city.
The initial news had been bad, but no less than they were expecting. Their true names, along with their aliases had been posted up on several announcement pillars around Suderham, complete with sketches. There were also proclamations about the discovery of the bodies of the real Alomovar and his bodyguards, as well as the assault upon the rakes. Apparently, the youth Tojo had stabbed had survived.
It was the next thing of importance that the polymorphed Wainold had seen that worried
Cygnus. A young priest of the Earth Dragon was making a proclamation in front of the slave amphitheatre in the middle of the city. He was quickly gathering a crowd.
"Heed me, citizens of Suderham, for my words come from the Voice of the Sacred Scaly One! These invaders must be rooted out and destroyed, for their presence in anathema to our Lord! You all remember his displeasure several days ago- that is but the merest taste of what may come if they are not found! If this happens, do not bemoan your fate, for we are not blameless. The strangers have found aid from within!
The crowd, which had been muttering during all this, went silent.
"It is the truth! Traitors, perhaps from the highest levels of our society, have been giving succor to those who would destroy us! The fate of these vermin, once unmasked, shall be no better than the intruders themselves. They shall be cast into the caverns to be devoured by the Earth Dragon!"
I'm sure Thellent will be fine." Zantac sounded confident. "From what you told me, he was extremely careful not to do or say anything which could be deemed treasonous."
"But not the night before," Cygnus replied, frowning. "We got him drunk as a skunk."
Zantac was resolute. "I don't think just talking about The Nine is illegal, Cygnus. And Thellent is just a sage, anyway. That's hardly 'the highest levels of society.'
Cygnus narrowed his eyes. "You're thinking of someone in particular?"
"No," replied Zantac after a short pause. "But the Slave Lords are."
The tall wizard pondered this. "Then why not just name-"
"Excuse me, people."
Everyone turned towards Elrohir.
"I'd like your attention, please."
The ranger got to his feet and walked towards the center of the circle, stopping only when he reached the edges of the armor pile. His blue eyes swept around the room, meeting each face in turn.
Even Tojo's. Elrohir knew that he was still the samurai's commander, and he was honor-bound to obey any order given. Tojo remained where he was, but he turned his body around so that he now faced towards the room.
"All right, people. We need to turn in soon. Now aside from the two who will actually be going to The Rose, the rest of us will still be waiting here."
There were a few groans at this, but the ranger ignored them. "However, I want all us ready to move out at a moment's notice, and to be prepared for battle, if need be. Therefore, all warriors will don their armor once our brothel-goers depart. Now, each and every one of us should have two vials filled with potions of invisibility. Does everyone have theirs? Check again, and I want a verbal acknowledgement!"
There were more groans and mutterings. Backpacks and belt pouches were gone through. Slowly, a chorus of "yes" filled the room.
Elrohir stared at Tojo, who had slowly fingered his belt pouch without taking his eyes off the ranger. The samurai nodded.
The group leader continued to glare. "I want to hear yes, Tojo."
Even from here, the samurai's jaw could be seen clenching.
"Yes, Errohir-san."
Elrohir nodded. "Thank you." He then returned his attention to the room at large. "Hopefully, these will give us just enough time to reach any destination we might need to reach, be it the brothel or someplace else. We'll probably have to hustle though, so be prepared to do some running."
"I'll do one last reconnaissance before the mages leave. I don't want them falling afoul of any last minute preparations the authorities might have set up."
Elrohir stared at Wainold, who his met eyes without flinching.
The idea certainly seemed tactically sound to the ranger. He only wished the druid had broached it to him beforehand. Now it sounded like Wainold was merely attempting to assert his independence. And at the wrong time, as far as Elrohir was concerned.
"Talk to me about that in the morning," the ranger replied, trying hard to keep his voice level. Before Wainold could protest, he moved on. "Has our arcane contingent decided on which members are going?"
The five wizards looked at each, and then at the others. It almost seemed to an exasperated Elrohir that they were making a game out of it.
Then Zantac and Unru clambered to their feet.
Elrohir asked the obvious question. "How will you disguise yourself, Zantac?"
By way of reply, Unru stepped back from Zantac, took his yellow chapeau off his head and offered it to the Willip wizard with a formal bow.
"I can glamor myself, oh fellow mage. I offer you the loan of my hat of disguise, my most prized possession."
Zantac smiled and took the proffered hat with elaborate formality. "And I thank you, Unru, for this magnificent gesture of generosity on your part." The magic-user tossed his orange chapeau aside and donned the yellow one. He turned to smile down at Cygnus. "Jaunty, no?"
"No," responded Cygnus truthfully, but Zantac's attention was already diverted by Unru, who had laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"And know this, Zantac. Should you lose that hat, I will slay you with a phantasmal killer."
The room went quiet. Unru was smiling broadly as he said this, but Cygnus felt he detected something serious in the illusionist's brown eyes. He glanced over at Sitdale, who shook his head at him with a smile.
"Don't worry. He always says that."
"But has he ever done it?" Cygnus hissed back. Phantasmal killer was a powerful spell by Cygnus' standards, capable of literally frightening an enemy to death. He had never learned it himself, although it was in Wimpell Frump's spellbook, which lay in the pile by them. Unru had already offered to buy the tome from them, but Cygnus had insisted that all matters of treasure would be deferred until after their mission was over, to which the illusionist had grumpily agreed.
Cygnus did not hear the half-elf's reply. Zantac was making elaborate promises of protection to Unru, which the latter seemed to accept gracefully.
"Remember," Unru added, pointing at the chapeau, "the hat won't disappear when you change, but it can become any form of head adornment you want; hat, helm, comb, ribbon, barrette, even a headband."
Zantac nodded in acknowledgement, and then turned back towards Elrohir. "Anything else, oh most thorough leader?"
There were few chuckles, which Elrohir didn't appreciate. "Just one," he said, frowning now. "I want you two to remember why you are going to this place. Do whatever it takes to get us a lead on The Nine, but time is against us. Sooner or later we're going to be found out if we just sit here. I don't want you two spending a single second there longer than necessary!"
Zantac merely smiled in return, but Unru's face hardened. He crossed his eyes and stared back at the ranger.
"My, my. Such jealousy. One would almost think you're not a married man, Elrohir- or at least not a content one."
Talass shot to her feet, her warhammer instantly in hand.
"One would think a wizard couldn't be such a jackass either, but obviously such things can happen!" She turned back to her husband. "I think dear Unru here needs a gentle reminder about which parts of his anatomy are more important than others." She tapped the hammer's head into her cupped palm repeatedly while blowing an icy cold at the illusionist with her eyes.
Elrohir's eyes flickered to her, and then back to Unru. He kept his voice even.
"You will do exactly as I tell you, Unru. Otherwise, someone else will go in your stead. Is that clear?"
The illusionist smiled, but his features remained hard.
"I only agreed to come along in the first place because there was a brothel involved, and if you think I'm going to deny myself an opportunity for a brief interlude of enjoyment just to satisfy your prudish morals, Elrohir, than you're sadly in need of some fox's cunning."
Elrohir didn't understand the reference entirely, but he was certain it was an insult. He could feel his own temper rising now. "You are here because Sir Dorbin ordered you to come!" he shouted.
"He ordered me to come, not to obey!" Unru shouted back, all friendliness gone from his tanned face. "Once again, you're mistaken if you think that I dance to Dorbin's tune. We have an understanding. He lets me go my own way, and I help him out. Ask Aslan there if you don't believe me," he finished, pointing at the paladin.
Elrohir turned to his left, just in time to see Aslan slowly rise to his feet.
"Unru," the paladin said in as level a tone as his team leader had first used. "You will do everything Elrohir commands of you. No more, and no less."
"And if I don't?" the illusionist asked, rolling his eyes.
"I will make you," the paladin replied calmly.
Unru stared at Aslan in genuine astonishment for a moment, and then burst out into laughter.
Zantac stared at his fellow magic-user in horror. "This isn't funny, Unru!"
"Oh… but it is, Zantac... it is!" Unru was holding a stitch in his side from laughing so much, he had difficulty speaking. "Imagine… me… kowtowing to him!"
"Would you care for a demonstration?" Aslan asked quietly.
Unru instantly stopped laughing. He tilted his head and regarded the paladin. "You're serious, aren't you?"
Aslan nodded; his light blue eyes hard. "Oh, yes."
Unru's smile returned, but it was now cold and mirthless. "What are you going to do, Aslan? Turn into an ogre and smash me flat? Even if you could- and trust me, you couldn't- how would that gain you my trust; my respect?"
"There will be no fighting here!" Elrohir yelled.
"Keep your voice down!" Talass hissed, pointing towards the wall, and by extension, the outside. She then looked at the others. "I'll throw a silence over the lot of you if you don't-"
"Not to worry, dearest Talass," Unru cut in. Both Elrohir and her wife turned red from the adjective, but the illusionist quickly continued. "I have no intention of hurting anyone. Physically, anyway."
Aslan stared at him through narrowed eyes.
"Why be so crude when what's in here is so much more vulnerable?' Unru continued, tapping his temple with his finger, and then placing his hand over his heart. "Or even better, what's in here."
Sitdale's eyes widened. "By the Glades," the half-elf whispered. "The Revealing Duel."
Sir Menn frowned. "Aslan," he said. "You may wish to reconsider this. I don't condone what Unru is doing," the knight added with a fierce glare at the illusionist, "but he can be-"
"I'm not afraid of him," the paladin replied quietly. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"You think so?" Unru leered at him. "Think being a paladin makes you immune to all that? Poor, poor, deluded Aslan. You're the ideal subject to have one's own hypocrisy, failings and embarrassments splattered all over the floor for all your friends to see! Without giving you so much as a scratch, I can have you curled up on the floor, crying like a baby!"
"And what about you?" Aslan responded. "Can you handle being torn down like that?"
The illusionist laughed again. "Me? You know nothing about me, Aslan- and even if you did, what powers do you have to bring such things to the fore? Your Talent? I've been around a Talent for years, remember? You have nothing I need fear, paladin."
Very slowly, Aslan raised his right arm out, and with his fingers beckoned Unru closer.
"Come on then, braggart; let's see what you've got."
Everyone rose to their feet-even Tojo- as the certainty of the situation became real. The circle was vacated as Aslan and Unru began to move slowly along the perimeter, keeping each other at about a forty foot distance.
"Aslan," Elrohir hissed. "Don't do this! As leader, I should be the one to-"
"I'm sorry, Elrohir," Aslan replied without taking his eyes off his opponent. "I don't mean to co-opt your leadership, but Unru needs to be put in his place, and it's going to require my special powers to do it."
"Watch and learn, everyone!" Unru cried out like a carnival barker. "See what a phony the mighty Aslan really is!"
Silence descended over the room again. Unru's hand hovered by his spell component pouch, his fingers twitching.
The two men regarded each other.
"Your move, Unru," whispered Aslan.
Unru smiled.
With lightning speed, the illusionist's fingers dipped into the pouch and came out holding a bit of fleece. His left arm was already in sinuous motion as arcane symbols flowed from his lips. He pointed at Aslan-
And the Revealing Duel began.