15th Day of Harvester, 565 CY
Vesve Forest
(About 20 miles west of Ironstead)
Nesco Cynewine made her way quietly through the woods.
The ranger chose each step with deliberation, her mailed boots making the absolute minimum of noise she was capable of. While most rangers eschewed any but the lightest armor, Nesco had learned to compensate as much as possible over the years, and the rustling of the chain links seemed at the very least, not unduly loud.
Nesco did not fear imminent attack, but here in the Vesve it was always an all-too-real possibility. She held aloft Sundancer in her right hand, while her left clutched several empty waterskins.
A few hours earlier, Zantac, the least experienced horsemen of their group, had let his stallion get a little too close to the mare that Nesco had been riding ahead of him. Suddenly, horses were neighing, rearing and kicking. Zantac had once again taken a tumble to dirt, and his horse was galloping off. Nesco had swiftly retrieved it, but the stallion had brushed by several tree branches in its flight, one of which had punctured the waterskins inside the saddlebags it carried.
Aelfbi had already cast his prayers to supply food and water for the day, so while the others had set up camp and drank their remaining water, the priest set about to sewing the ripped waterskins, while handing the others to Nesco and asking her to find water so they would have enough until they set out again tomorrow morning.
It strictly wasn't necessary; no one was going to die of thirst in the next twelve hours or so, but as a ranger the means of surviving were always uppermost in her mind when she was out in the wild, so she had readily agreed.
Water seemed a little further away than Lady Cynewine had anticipated, however. She was now perhaps a half-mile east of their camp and had not yet seen signs of any. She stopped and looked around her again.
The oblique rays of the setting sun behind her did not penetrate very far through these thick woods. Nesco's eyes, long accustomed to picking out details, strained to catch all movement around her. Fortunately, the wind was calm, so the rich orange, yellow, gold and red canopy all around her was not swaying. Here and there, cones of stubborn verdant showed the location of evergreen trees. High above her, a squirrel ran across an oak branch and disappeared into a hole in the tree's trunk.
The forest floor was a multi-colored carpet of fallen leaves, broken here and there by protruding tree roots, small rocks and pine cones. Nesco noticed the ground sloping down to the north and followed it, still taking care to move as silently as possible.
"Who? Who? Who cooks for you?"
Nesco smiled to herself. While city dwellers like Zantac were often startled by the sounds of the forest, they were second nature to her, and the call of a barred owl was like the voice of an old friend.
It did remind her however, that soon it would be dark. While Nesco carried torches in her backpack, she had no desire to make an absolute bulls-eye of herself as a target for any darkvision-blessed orcs that might be nearby.
She quickened her pace just slightly, skirting around a tangle of thick trees. And then stopped. The ranger tilted her head and listened.
Among the growing symphony of crickets and katydids, the ranger heard a faint but unmistakable peeping.
Lady Cynewine smiled again, even more broadly this time. They were the sounds of spring frogs.
And where there were frogs, there was water.
Despite her best efforts, snatches of the past few days ran through Nesco's mind as she continued down the slope, trying to pinpoint the frogs by ear.
According to Sir Corvis, Agarth had, like them, come up empty in his examination of the pod. The mercane seemed to be convinced that there should exist some kind of mechanism- his word- that would serve to summon the Mary Celestial, but he had been unable to locate any sign of one. The mercane had been in a foul mood indeed as he had announced to Golatunt and the Journeymen at first light that it was bad business practice to renege on a deal with his kind.
And then he had disappeared into thin air. Even Cygnus, who had memorized a spell to detect invisibility, had seen nothing when he had cast the spell and looked around him.
Agarth was gone, and soon one scout and three mercenaries had left to track down Rashlot. There was little to do now but wait for them to return.
No one did.
By day's end, Lady Cynewine had decided that they may as well stay the night and depart the following morning. They had all slept poorly, convinced that at any moment they would hear the call of whoever was currently standing watch, announcing the return of Rashlot and/or Quthfor, Bertram or Robert.
But again, no one came, and so they had left the encampment at daybreak, Nesco wondering in her heart if any good at all had come of their trip.
The only results she had seen were disappointment and now, quite possibly, death.
Nesco heard the water before she saw it.
A dark strip meandered along the forest floor where the slope finally evened out. It wasn't much- hardly two feet wide- but it was more than enough for her purposes. She was just about to jog down the remaining fifty feet or so to the brook when she stopped.
There was someone already there.
His back to her, a figure clad in either plate mail or field plate- it was now too dark to see which- was on its knees by the water's edge, filling up a waterskin.
Nesco ducked behind a tree, suddenly breathing hard.
Rashlot? It didn't seem likely. He'd had no mount. How could he have covered the distance?
Of course, he could have lied. If the man had lied about his aims, he might easily have had a horse tied to a tree back in the woods. But that explanation didn't quite satisfy Nesco. Nothing about Rashlot, from his sudden appearance to his incredible tale to his unexplained failure to return, made sense. Did he suspect, or know, that they distrusted him? If this was him, was he on his way to Ironstead? There were clerics of Heironeous there. Perhaps he felt more comfortable seeking help in a settlement than taking his chances among strangers out in the middle of the woods.
Or perhaps, Nesco thought grimly as her grip tightened on her longsword, Rashlot merely wanted the chance to bring forth his curse in a more populated area.
Either way, she had to know.
Nesco Cynewine slowly sheathed Sundancer, stowed her waterskins in her backpack, drew Tojo's composite longbow that she had borrowed, notched an arrow and stepped out from behind her tree, aiming directly for the armored figure's broad back.
"You're at bowpoint!" she called out. "Don't move! Identify yourself!"
"Identify myself?" The man repeated before slowly turning around and taking a deep breath.
"Well, it all began about a quarter-century or so ago in the Lone Heath. There was this stern but dashing Ranger Lord named…"
But Nesco was already rushing down the slope. Relief swelled in her breast and laughter burst from her throat.
And this time, it was Argo Bigfellow Junior who gasped from the force of their hug.
"Where are you camped?" Nesco asked after they separated.
"About half a mile back," responded Argo, indicating the east with a jerk of his head.
"We're about the same westward," Nesco said. "Get Aslan and the others. I'll lead you to our camp. We may as well all spend the night together."
"Sounds like a plan," said Bigfellow, "but I gathered from your appearance here that you're heading back to Ironstead. If we're turning around, it'd make more sense for you to come to us."
"Oh. That's right," said Nesco, slapping herself on her forehead for her stupidity. The gesture caused her to wince from the remnants of a burn scar there.
Argo had noticed.
"You've been in battle," the big ranger noted, "and against more than orcs, I'd wager."
Lady Cynewine nodded as she withdrew the waterskins from her pack. "You'd win that bet, but it's a long story, and I expect you have one of your own to tell. Let me fill up here, and we'll save our tales for when all ears can hear them."
It was a number of hours later when both parties were together again at last.
It had been tense at the beginning. Argo had suggested, and Nesco had reluctantly agreed, that they should each return to their own camp so that their respective groups would not worry over excessively long absences and do something foolish like send out their own search parties. Bigfellow had described the path Nesco needed to take to find his campsite, but it had been dark when the ranger and her companions had finally set out. It was a clear night, and the sliver of a waxing Luna and a quarter-full Celene had aided their passage. Still not daring to use torches while traveling, they relied on Aelfbi Gemblossom's keen eyes and Nesco's tracking skills to keep from becoming lost.
But it had worked. A great roar of delight went up from both sides as Nesco and her allies entered the circle of light cast by Elrohir's campfire, which he was stoking just as they arrived. Much hugging, shouting and laughter ensued, but Elrohir insisted that Nesco's group pitch their tents before they all relaxed, and Lady Cynewine agreed. Fortunately, with extra hands to assist, that task was soon accomplished.
And now they were all sitting together. Elrohir had brought down a deer that day, and it was shared among everyone. Nesco and her band had subsisted only on Aelfbi's bland conjured food since they had left the crash site, and they were all looking forward to tastier fare, even if it couldn't be matched with a fine ale. Lady Cynewine looked over to the half-elf with a twinge of guilt.
"We are all indebted to you, Aelfbi Gemblossom," she said. "You have sustained us in the wilderness and allowed us to make speed."
He waved her off with the chunk of cooked deer meat in his head. "No need for apologies, Lady Cynewine." He smiled at the ranger. "I'm enjoying this as much as you."
"Still, you have worked miracles for us," Nesco replied, and Aelfbi could see in her eyes that Nesco was referring to his healing her wounds as much as food and water.
Gemblossom gestured to Elrohir and the others. "And do you think our reunion here with our dear friends here deep in the woods was anything less than another such miracle?"
Nesco chewed on her portion of venison as she considered that. She lifted her eyes to see Aslan sitting across from the fire at her, just finishing his own meal. His light blue eyes caught hers, and they flickered to the fire for a moment before coming back to rest on her face. The paladin flashed her a brilliant smile and Nesco knew he was recalling that first night in The Pomarj, just as she was.
She returned the smile in kind and was pleased- if a bit surprised- that the heartache that so often accompanied thoughts of Aslan did not make itself known this time.
Nesco turned around and looked to the person who had offered to stand guard at the firelight's edge as they ate. The one person who had partaken of neither feast nor laughter. The one person who spoke hardly at all.
Talat.
Lady Cynewine had been surprised to see the former priestess of Hextor amongst Aslan and his companions. The paladin had explained it to her. How, when they had finally confronted Talat in Fenlun's hidey-hole, Elrohir had insisted that she would leave them no longer. He had even wanted to bind her hands and feet, but the others had protested and eventually prevailed.
Still, Nesco saw her fellow ranger's expression darken and his jaw clench every time his eyes passed over his sister-in-law.
What must he be feeling? She wondered.
He had hurt. Elrohir had hurt. He had expected the ache, and the ranger had not been disappointed. But as he gazed down at Talat, who crouched down in the corner of a dirt cellar staring up at him, even his pain had been eclipsed by his anger.
It was not a blazing, white-hot rage but rather a cold, dull malice. With her hair newly-blond again, Talat looked like the ghost of Talass, gazing at Elrohir with her ice-blue eyes, reminding him every second of what he had lost.
Or rather, what he had let slip away.
His chest heaving as if he had just run a great distance, it had taken Elrohir nearly a full minute to get the words out.
"You cost me my wife."
Even as he spoke the words, the ranger wondered if they were really true. But he did not want to question them. He wanted them to be true. He wanted this woman before him to be completely and fully responsible for his loss. Elrohir wanted his anger.
He wanted it so it could hide his pain.
"Rashlot?"
Elrohir blinked in surprise, broken from his sulking. It was not so much the name but who had spoken it. And he had not been alone.
Accustomed to her silence, everyone present had turned to Talat. Now it was they who fell quiet and for a moment, the crackling of the fire was the only sound.
The Fruztii woman slowly walked towards Zantac, who had been recounting the tale of the mephit battle and the subsequent appearance of the mysterious Aerdian warrior.
Talat's eyes were wide, and she seemed to be trembling, although the fire was warm. Her hands were clenched at her sides- they might have clutched at the handle of a weapon if Elrohir had not ordered her disarmed- and she moistened her lips twice before she spoke again.
"You said his name was Rashlot?"
Zantac nodded.
"That name means something to you," Elrohir said. It was an accusation.
Talat nodded. She did not seem to be looking at any of them now. Suddenly her knees gave out and she half-sat, half-fell onto the ground. Zantac helped her into a more comfortable sitting position and covered her shoulders with a blanket, as she was still shivering. Elrohir frowned at this but did not object.
The former cleric held up a hand, indicating that she wanted them all to wait and not ask questions yet. Elrohir found he could understand her face as rarely he had understood that of his own wife. Talat was trying to form emotions and ideas back into coherent words. Whatever the connection was between her and Rashlot, it was a powerful memory. Elrohir was forced to admit that he shared that quality, that inability to find the right words, with this woman.
Eventually, Talat began to speak and when she did so, her eyes moved directly to Elrohir.
"I am not sure exactly what my sister told you, Elrohir of Aarde, about the events which led to my departure from my home. That you know of Nitch Redarm I am certain, but do not believe that it was he who led me to flee my home. I did not meet him until afterwards, when I had fled to Spinecastle in the Bone March. It was my father, or at least my hatred and fear of him, who caused me to run away."
Talat's expression turned darker now. Her trembling lessened.
"You may wonder why I chose to take up the worship of Hextor, a god so seemingly in contrast to Forseti the Justice Bringer. But if you were to assume it was simply the rebellious act of a young woman against her upbringing, you would be mistaken."
She smiled bitterly.
"I was steeped in the dogma of truth, law and justice for as far back as I can remember, and such immersion can never be completely washed away."
"I see no sign of it." Elrohir said, his voice cold.
"The Scourge of Battle encompasses many domains," Talat went on as if she hadn't heard him. "What many outside His faithful do not know is that He is a god of law as well. Strict discipline and obedience to the law of the land is as important as strength in battle. It was to this area that I, with my background, was inevitably drawn, and it was at the Spinecastle church that I first encountered Nitch Redarm."
She swallowed hard. "Of Nitch and myself, there is no relevance now. But his closest friend in the church was another cleric; a priest who, unlike us, gloried in the six-armed manifestation of the Herald of Hell. The power of destruction, the laying waste to one's enemies; that was his special calling. It was the only thing that brought joy to his dark heart."
There was silence for a little while.
"Rashlot?" Aslan eventually asked.
Talat nodded again. "I heard your description of him. It can only be him and no other."
"What do you know about these mephits?" Caroline asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing. His association with them must have started after Nitch and I left."
"Then his story may still be true," Saxmund said, frowning. "Like I said earlier, the earth mephit did mention a curse."
"Rashlot lied to us about everything else," said Cygnus. "I doubt his tales of a curse are true. What you heard, Saxmund, was nothing more than a prescripted line given beforehand to the mephit by Rashlot."
Sir Corvis rubbed his chin. "No mephit landed a blow on Rashlot that I saw. I think it's safe to assume he was the true villain behind the attack."
"Which still leaves us with the question of why?"
"I don't know, Argo," said Nesco slowly, her head turning to look back at Talat. "Is he after you for vengeance?"
"No," said Talat, and the others were surprised to hear her voice crack. "He knows I'm carrying Nodyath's child. He knows it will possess the Talent. He wants…"
She hesitated, tears threatening in the corners of her eyes now. "He wants my child to grow up in the service of Hextor. A powerful champion for the forces of darkness. This," she finished, her voice a harsh whisper now, "is to be the price I pay for abandoning the Scourge of Battle."
"That will not happen," said Elrohir suddenly, rising to his feet.
For the first time, Talat looked at the party leader with surprise, and gratitude, in her eyes.
"Your unborn child is innocent," Elrohir proclaimed, his eyes locked on hers, before suddenly turning his back on her, flinging his final words over his shoulder.
"Would that I could say the same about its mother."
Elrohir had not removed his plate mail.
Brutal years of experience had hardened the ranger to where he could sleep in any kind of armor. To be sure, his sleep would be lighter; more fitful, less restful. But he did not feel safe in this forest.
He had carefully lowered himself to the ground on top of his bedroll, made a pillow of sorts from his backpack and had just closed his eyes when he became aware of a figure approaching.
Elrohir opened his eyes to see a tanned face framed by black curls looking down at him.
The ranger raised an eyebrow.
"Sir Corvis?"
The knight bore an apologetic expression. "Forgive me, Elrohir. I wonder if I might have a private word with you before we turn in?"
Elrohir nodded while maneuvering into a sitting position. "Forgive me if I don't stand all the way up," he said with a wry smile. "Takes forever to get up or down in this thing."
Corvis returned it in kind as he lowered himself to the forest floor as well. "I well understand, Elrohir. Armor such as yours is my birthright as well, but sadly one beyond my family's means at the present."
The ranger looked at him keenly. "I know little of your story, Sir Corvis. Only bits and pieces have I heard, but my friends tell me you have served them well with both sword and counsel. I am grateful to you."
"Thank you for your noble words, Elrohir. You must be a great leader to command such a disparate, yet powerful, group of allies."
How little you know, thought Elrohir, but he assumed a grateful posture. "Most kind. Now what is it you wish to speak of?"
The knight looked around to make sure they would not be overheard. "The pod."
"The steelsphere?" Elrohir asked, frowning. This was not what he had expected. "From all that I've heard, Sir Corvis, that's a dead issue. Even the mercane Agarth found nothing."
"It may yet have some life left to it," Corvis replied, his expression guarded.
"Speak plainly."
The knight hesitated a moment before continuing. "I suspect that Agarth may have discovered more than he let on, and his actions were a ruse to deceive us to that end. As a lifelong merchant- and Heaven knows how old mercanes live- I would assume him to be a consummate actor. Even the most honeyed words can hide duplicitous intent. Surely Rashlot proves that."
Elrohir considered. "Possibly, but even if true, what can we do about it? Agarth is gone, and my mages found nothing."
"The mercane mentioned a signaling device of some kind. He said it was not in the sphere, but I have my doubts. When I descended to the crater floor to speak with him that night, he had already finished his examinations." Corvis' eyes narrowed. "And he had that magical chest of his with him. An odd thing to summon in that pit if he hadn't found anything, wouldn't you say?"
"That does seem unusual," Elrohir admitted.
Neither man spoke for a short while.
"The potential here is enormous if this Mary Celestial can indeed be summoned to Oerth, boarded and controlled," Sir Corvis went on. "It is ironic indeed that so many covet it, yet all have different motives. You and your friends seek the astralship for your interplanar voyages-"
"Few here on Oerth know that several of our band were not born here, Sir Corvis," Elrohir interrupted the knight. "I would have you keep it that way."
He nodded solemnly. "I swear it on my life, Elrohir."
The ranger nodded, satisfied, and Corvis continued.
"Agarth seeks it to find this mythical Observatorium of his. The gnome Herlendal wishes to increase his knowledge of effigies. King Belvor wants it to secure his hold on power, as any liege would do."
"And you?" Elrohir asked, studying the knight intently.
Sir Corvis again offered a sheepish smile. "I have been honest with your friends from the beginning, Elrohir. My motivation is perhaps the least pure. It is the money that the Celestial can offer, either by sale or exploration, that I seek. My house is desperate for gold, and it is my sworn duty to help my father obtain that which he needs to improve the fortunes of my family. While I could have sought it separately, I alone among these contenders chose to tie my fate to yours in this manner. I am willing to settle for but a share of the profits because I believe they will be large enough that a share is all that I will need."
"Your reasoning is sound, good sir knight," said Elrohir, "but you still have not revealed why you think we can recover anything out of this?"
By way of reply, Corvis pulled small object out of his belt pouch and handed it to Elrohir.
It was a small wooden chest, only three inches or so in length.
"In all aspects save size, this is an exact duplicate of Agarth's chest," explained the knight. "I suspect it may be linked to it in some arcane fashion. Perhaps we may be able to summon the mercane's stash and see for ourselves what he has uncovered."
Elrohir turned the miniature teak chest, fitted with unbelievably tiny platinum fittings and nails, over in his hands as he listened to Corvis speak. But now an uneasy feeling ran through him.
"Where did you get this?'
Sir Corvis smiled. "I stole it from his tent. Are you going to turn me in for that?"
Elrohir scowled. "That would hardly be practical, but it is thievery, and what you propose is more of the same. That is not our way."
Sir Corvis' face lost its smile. The knight's manner suddenly became much more serious as he leaned in closer to Elrohir; his voice now almost a hiss.
"And what are adventurers such as yourselves, but corpse strippers blessed with heroic names by the bards who sing of them? Besides, is it thievery if Agarth has already taken what we traveled so long to find? Hear me, Elrohir. The necessity of possession may make even honorable men do questionable deeds. We know the mercane is not to be trusted, and if you found that gnome half as irksome as I did, I'm sure you'll agree that Fenlun will not share the Celestial's secrets with us either, if he is the one to claim them. And as for the kingdom of Furyondy, I heard it from Major Standish himself that the Crown has claimed ownership of the pod. I can promise you, Elrohir, that you will never lay eyes again on the astralship if King Belvor secures it. I know that your standing with the Royal Court is not now what is once was."
The knight's eyes darted over to Nesco's tent before returning to the ranger.
"Lady Cynewine is an honorable person with a strong will, Elrohir, but you alone command this combined assemblage and that is why I speak with you now. Our alliance has been one of convenience to date, but I wish now to formalize it, to both our advantages."
"In what fashion?" asked Elrohir.
Sir Corvis took a deep breath. One hand clutched the yellow obi sash around his waist while the other took the small chest back from Elrohir.
"We will swear together, you and I, that we will use whatever means are needed to secure the secrets of this pod for ourselves, and to keep it out of the hands of those who are not worthy of this knowledge."
The knight's eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire. A thin smile creased his lips.
"I've heard the others speak about you, Elrohir. You have defied authority in your time. More than once, I dare say. I only ask you to place the welfare of those you love above that of those you do not."
Elrohir's blue eyes traveled from the knight's face back to the miniature chest as he thought.
"May our wizards examine that chest?" the ranger asked. "They could determine more than you could, I'm sure."
"Swear our alliance Elrohir, and by all means. I'll give it to you right now."
Elrohir thought. Possibly for a long time, but he wasn't sure.
The knight's words were convincing. He wished now that he had not agreed to come with Aslan on this blasted quest. They had gained nothing from the pod and wasted valuable time that could have been spent on the far more pressing problem of Kar-Vermin. True, they had Talat, but what were they going to do with her? Elrohir couldn't even think coherently on the subject without becoming wildly emotional. He knew this, even as he knew the others, particularly Cygnus, were waiting on him to make a decision about her.
And now this Rashlot. Yet another enemy; another problem? And what of the Journeymen? Were they merely lost in the forest, or were they lost for good? Either way, Elrohir could do nothing to help them.
Was there truly a way to salvage something from this mess?
The knight's words were convincing.
Elrohir listened to his head and then, as the beautiful face of his wife came to mind, did what she would have told him to.
He listened to his heart instead.
"If such time comes, Sir Corvis of Elredd," he finally said, "I will be guided by my conscience. I will do the right thing as I have always sought to do. I will swear to nothing before then."
There was another silence; this one short. Corvis' face had registered disappointment, but only for an instant.
"I respect your position," the knight stated, standing back up. "I shall seek information about this chest at Ironstead and will inform you of what I find. I will take my leave of you now, as I am scheduled for first watch. Good evening to you, Elrohir."
"Good evening to you, Sir Corvis," Elrohir replied. He watched the knight move off to join Aslan and Garoidil on guard duty.
Sleep was a long time coming.