22nd Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
Monsrek sat in one of the armchairs in the Tall Tales Room, staring into the fireplace.
He barely noticed the heat coming from the flames within, or the sounds of customers in the common room outside being served a morning meal or making ready to depart.
Nor could the priest have commented, if he'd been asked, on the quality of the ale in the half-empty pewter mug he held in his right hand.
His concentration was focused inwards; on thoughts, ideas, possibilities and explanations. It had been a painstaking process for Monsrek to slowly but gently extract the full tale from Caroline Bigfellow of everything she had seen, heard and felt while in the "dream," and no doubt it had been even worse for her.
There was no good the cleric could see at all in this scenario, but the one theory that was the least fantastic; a natural tragedy brought on by an extreme nightmare, had seemed as fragile as delicate crystal even when Monsrek had first thought about it.
That theory was irrevocably shattered when Sir Dorbin told him about the horses.
"I've been looking for you."
Monsrek blinked several times before he returned himself to the room. Turning his head, he saw Sir Dorbin standing in the open doorway of the Tall Tales Room. The knight, now clad in his silver plate mail, scowled at his long-time friend.
"You know," Dorbin continued from where he stood. "Technically, we're not supposed to use this room while they're absent."
Monsrek returned his gaze to the fireplace. "What about if they're dead?"
Sir Dorbin moved so quickly to Monsrek's side that if his clanking armor had not given him away, the priest might have supposed the knight had teleported the distance.
"What?"
"Bigfellow never received my sending."
The knight bit his lip. "Well, according to you there are three possibilities for that- not counting the unlikely one of magical interference. He's asleep, he's unconscious-"
"- or he's dead," the cleric added with a sigh. "Hell of a time for it."
"It was nighttime in The Pomarj, same as here," Sir Dorbin countered. "Argo could easily have been asleep when you used the prayer."
Monsrek looked up at his friend with a sour expression. "How many hours do you sleep per night when we're out in the field?"
"Could still be the case," Dorbin grumbled stubbornly.
The priest shrugged. "We'll know soon. enough. I'll try Elrohir or Aslan later today, after I've rested up." He took another swig of his ale and asked, "Did you leave Caroline under guard?"
The knight nodded. "The serving girl is staying in the front room, and I have Fee Hal and Flond in rotating shifts outside."
"You were planning on heading back to the Castle Chauv tomorrow. Do you still intend to?"
Sir Dorbin nodded. "Yes- and I'm taking Lady Bigfellow with me. I think it may do her good to get away from this place for a while."
Monsrek nodded in agreement but said nothing.
With several grunts, Dorbin eased his armored bulk down onto the other armchair and stared grimly at his friend.
"Tell me the truth, Monsrek. What are we up against here?"
The cleric sighed. "I don't know yet, Dorbin- and that is the truth."
He shot a return glare at the knight.
"I know that look, Dorbin. Anything I keep in confidence is nothing you need to know. You'll have to trust me on that."
The fighter shrugged. "Guess I'll have to, won't I?" He paused a moment, then continued. "All right then, Monsrek-;answer me this. Of all the possibilities here, what's the absolute worst one?"
"A lich."
The Tall Tales Room was quiet for a while, except for the creaking of two chairs and the crackling of burning wood.
Sir Dorbin looked thoughtful when he finally spoke again.
"We've battled so many kinds of undead, I've lost track. All abominations; all unholy. I've only heard tales of liches back home. To be honest, I'd doubt if I could tell one on sight from a skeleton or zombie."
Monsrek finished off the last of his ale in one swig.
"Your misperception," the cleric announced, "would not last long."
The serving girl looked up, startled, as Monsrek entered the Bigfellow cabin. The priest could see the poor child was weary from lack of sleep.
She inclined her head towards the closed bedroom door. "She won't eat, Monsrek, and I don't think she's slept, either."
The cleric gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can do. I'll stay with her for a while, child. Go and get yourself some rest. Than you for staying with her."
The girl nodded, cast a worried look towards the rear of the cabin again and left.
It was evident at first glance that Caroline Bigfellow hadn't slept. She was wearing Talass' nightrobe, which the serving girl had brought her, and was sitting hunched over the edge of her bed in the same position she had been in when Monsrek had last left her some four hours earlier. There was no depressions in the blanket anywhere but where she was sitting. Grock sat nearby, a silent guardian.
Caroline did not raise her head as Monsrek entered. Her black hair hung down in a greasy, tangled black mass, obscuring her face.
The priest sat down on lone chair in the room and looked around. On the end table beside Bigfellow's bed lay an untouched tray with fried eggs and coffee.
Monsrek took a deep breath and addressed the top of Lady Bigfellow's head.
"I will not besiege you with platitudes, Caroline. I do not pretend that I can comprehend the tragedy that you have suffered, or the pain it has wrought on your heart."
The cleric did not expect her to respond, but Caroline's voice, thin and listless, came from behind the ebony strands of hair.
"You were right, Monsrek."
The priest tilted his head. "Pardon?"
"You were right." Caroline repeated. "Back in Fireseek, when I accompanied you to Willip, remember? I asked you about children, and you told me they never mix with the lifestyle people like you and I have chosen. You were right- I should have listened. I…"
Her voice trailed off, and Monsrek could think of nothing to fill the silence.
Grock rose to his feet and walked over so that his face was directly under Caroline's. He nuzzled her knees, seeking attention. One hand moved absently to pet the dog's head.
The priest tried another topic. "Sir Dorbin will be departing tomorrow for the Barony of Chauv. I understand he wishes to take you with him. Is this agreeable to you?"
Caroline shrugged. "I don't care."
Another uncomfortable silence ensued. Monsrek knew the question he had come here to ask wasn't going to make Lady Bigfellow feel any better, but he could think of no small talk to engage in, so he just decided to get right to it.
"Caroline," the priest moved to place a reassuring hand on her knee, but the young woman started to flinch, so he abandoned it. "Caroline, please listen to me. I still have not uncovered the true import of your dream-"
"- His dream," she interrupted, her voice still dull.
Monsrek nodded. "His dream, very well. But there is an evil presence that may not be forever confined to the Region of Dreams, and I need your help, Caroline, to understand it better."
"It can't be Him. We destroyed Him." Caroline's head shook slightly from side to side. "We laughed and sang, there on the side of the cliff. We were so happy, we even danced. We…"
She fell silent, and then raised her head up.
Another pang of grief struck the cleric's heart. He had rarely seen someone look so utterly sad and worn, as if the vital energies of life itself were slowly leeching out from her.
"Monsrek," Caroline Bigfellow asked plaintively. "Why can't I cry?"
"I don't know, Caroline," the priest responded at length. "I suspect the horrors you have suffered are so great that even tears will not suffice to assuage them. Be assured, though. They will come in time."
The young woman nodded, although Monsrek didn't think she was convinced. He decided to return to his main topic.
"I need to ask you one question, and then I will leave you alone, if you desire, although of course we will never be more than a shout's distance away. But since you have mentioned the scene of His destruction, I need you think hard on it, and remember. Can you do that for me, Caroline?
He could see her start to tremble.
"I know this is hard for you, but Argo has told me again and again what a wonderful heart you possess, Lady Bigfellow- and yes, this one time I will call you that, for you are a lady indeed; a woman any man would count himself blessed to have as a wife, and a woman blessed in return to have one such as Argo Bigfellow Junior as her husband. He has told me how much you care for others. Well, all those that you love may be in great peril from this evil, and I need to ask you just one question. I have a theory which may be nothing more than folly, but your answer will tell me whether to pursue or discard it. Will you do this for me, Lady Bigfellow?"
Monsrek gave Caroline the best smile he could manage under the circumstances and was gladdened when at least a sickly reflection of it appeared on her face.
"All right," she whispered.
"Now, this is third-hand to me; I only know what Sir Dorbin told me, and he had heard it from Elrohir, but as I understood it your enemy was on the far side of a chasm which you managed to cross unexpectedly quickly. You surrounded and then destroyed Him in hand-to-hand battle, is that correct?"
Caroline nodded weakly.
"Now this is the question, Caroline. I need you to concentrate on the aftermath of the battle, starting from the point after you had destroyed Him. Besides the celebrations, besides the singing and laughing and dancing, before you left that scene…"
Monsrek took one more deep breath- he could feel the anxiety in his chest growing with every passing second; and thencontinued.
"At any point after you had destroyed this lich, Caroline; this Kar-Vermin, did anyone remember to destroy his phylactery?"
Caroline just stared at Monsrek with a confused expression on her face.
"What's a phylactery?"