23rd Day of Ready'reat, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
Cygnus stared at Zantac while his friend and fellow wizard examined the empty cocoon in his hand.
It was a common caterpillar's cocoon; grayish and roughly ovoid in shape and featuring a ragged opening where the newly-created butterfly had pushed its way through the silk. It was a typical component of sympathetic magic and completely ordinary, but Cygnus had the feeling, from watching Zantac's expression, that the Willip wizard was trying to think of some profound conclusion from this story of metamorphosis. Some pithy metaphor of transformation that he would use to try and bolster his seemingly never-ending efforts to get Cygnus to stay.
Zantac however, shrugged and handed the cocoon back to Cygnus, who carefully replaced it in his spell component pouch.
"Polymorph," Zantac eventually offered after a few moments time and another swig of his tea. "A legendary spell. I hope to be able to master magic of that sort after I'm done training up, but…"
He let the thought trail off.
"I've barely ever used it," Cygnus told him, not for the first time. "Each time, I've found it to be disorienting and unpleasant. Aslan's had decades to get used to it. I'm only keeping it in mind these days since I soon won't have his Talent to rely on anymore."
Silence descended again between the two mages as they sat, sipping their drinks. Outside, the thunderstorm continued to rage; a rarity this late in the year, but all the more unpleasant for it. The freezing rain had drenched Cygnus to the skin in the short walk from his cabin to the inn. Zantac had looked similarly bedraggled, but with a smile had simply waited until Cygnus was in range, and then violently shaken his mass of uncombed hair, adding both to Cygnus' soaked state and his sullen mood.
"Remind me again why we keep you around," Cygnus had growled at him. "If I wanted to catch lung rot, we've got Dudraug and Grock around to drench me with stunts like that. They probably smell better, too."
Nonplussed and still smiling, Zantac had merely sat down by the table he had been standing at and pushed a cup of mint tea Cygnus' way. The tall mage sat down without another word and grudgingly took a sip. He was in no mood for another of Zantac's entreaties, but since those had always taken place in surroundings devoid of other people like the Tall Tales Room he guessed that it might be safe, as long as they kept the topic of conversation off of his impending departure. Safer subjects were Zantac's upcoming training, Tojo's quest, and arcane matters in general, such as the polymorph spell.
"I wonder if it's raining like this in Keoland," Zantac wondered aloud after a moment, after finishing off his own mug of apple cinnamon tea.
Cygnus offered a noncommittal grunt by way of reply. He spared only a glance as the door opened and another bedraggled traveler wandered in. The tall mage took another sip of tea when he noticed that his fellow wizard's face had become unusually solemn.
"Cygnus," Zantac said in a low voice, "our new arrival is staring at you."
Even at second glance, nothing about the man seemed extraordinary. He wore wool breeches and a shirt underneath a rather frayed jacket. An equally worn cloak and broad-brimmed hat suggested the man had spent a lot of time outdoors. From above a full blond beard, the man's eyes were locked on those on Cygnus. His expression was grim, but perhaps colored with a tinge of nervousness or uncertainty.
Cygnus continued to return the man's gaze, frowning. He heard Zantac ask, "You know him?" and was about to reply in the negative when the words died on his lips.
He did know him.
The man had lost a few pounds in the last few years, and the blond beard had then been nothing but a short mustache above his lip, but the eyes had been the same.
The last time Cygnus had seen those grey eyes, they had been staring back at him behind a cage on the forecastle of the Bygone Lich, as the man shot spells at Cygnus and his friends as they battled Scurvy John and his band of cutthroats.
Cygnus did not recall rising to his feet.
"Alabin," he breathed.
A twitch in the man's cheek told Cygnus he was right.
Alabin continued to stand in front of the front door and stare, water dripping off the brim of his hat onto the common room floor.
He's here to enact vengeance for his brother, Dak!
Cygnus' hand had already entered his spell component pouch as that thought burst into his brain when Alabin raised both hands in a gesture of placation.
"Parley, Cygnus!" he cried. "I bring no violence with me!"
Cygnus stopped, looking around. The common room had gone quiet. Two tables held other customers, all currently wide-eyed with fear, while Jack the bartender gazed nervously at the scene. Cygnus knew Laertes was currently working in the stables, but Caroline and Nesco were probably still in their cabins.
"Be careful, Cygnus," he heard Zantac say. "This guy's bristling with abjurations."
"Precisely for this reason!" responded Alabin, indicating Cygnus' spell component pouch with his right hand. "Would I be so bold as to stroll into your home and attack you?"
"Your brother did," snarled Cygnus, choosing to disregard the fact that technically, he had been attempting to get a first spellstrike in when Dak had counterattacked.
Alabin shook his head, an expression of disgust on his face. "My brother means nothing to me. Dak was an arrogant fool and a jerk and deserved what he got. Think not that I am here for vengeance."
"Then what are you here for?" asked Cygnus.
"My brother's castle," said Alabin. "It fell to me upon his death, but my treacherous steward Nenelgis has seized it from me. He cites unpaid debts, but he has no authority for what he has done."
Cygnus remembered the note from Wainold about Alabin. The tall mage took a deep breath.
"So you come to your worst enemies for aid? Are you mad?"
"You've slain Scurvy John," Alabin replied, making an effort to keep his voice calm. "Those days are behind me now. I entreat you; put them in your past, as well. We can do great things for each other. You've seen the castle, Cygnus. Would not such an edifice make a safer home for you than this inn? Help me retake it from Nenelgis, and I will give you an equal stake in it."
Cygnus was aware of Zantac behind him moving towards the bar, but kept his attention focused on Alabin even as he could feel the hatred swelling up within him.
"You're a murderer and a cutthroat many times over, Alabin. How dare you sully my home with your presence? You deserve nothing but-"
"I think he deserves a free drink at least, don't you, Cygnus? The man's travelled a long distance. We mustn't forget the Brass Dragon's reputation for hospitality."
Cygnus gaped in astonishment as he watched Zantac stroll casually back to their table and place a flagon down upon it.
"Are you mad, Zantac? Did you not hear me just now mentioning what a monster this man is?"
"Cygnus, Cygnus," said Zantac, shaking his head. "One little drink won't ruin us."
Alabin's eyes could not conceal his thirst. He walked up to the table, still keeping a wary eye on Cygnus.
"Listen to your friend, Cygnus. He seems full of wisdom to me."
"Oh, I'm full of it, all right," Zantac said, smiling.
Cygnus cast a puzzled glance at Zantac, but the red-robed wizard's eyes were downcast, looking at the flagon that Alabin had greedily grasped. Cygnus had just enough time to grasp a fleeting grasp of bright green liquid within…
Alabin's first torrent of vomit had not yet splattered on the table before the other inn patrons backed away in disgust.
Zantac roared with laughter as the former pirate mage doubled over, retching again and again, now coating a good section of the floor with sick. Cygnus had started to laugh as well, but the merriment died in his throat as soon as Alabin had glanced over at him.
The sheer hatred in that glance. It was the same expression that Cygnus had seen those years ago, when the man had been trying to kill Cygnus and his friends. Despite Alabin's sickened condition, Cygnus' hand hovered over his spell component pouch, at the ready.
Alabin turned away however, and staggered across the slick floor towards the door, barely managing to straighten up as he threw the door back and lunged back out into the thunderstorm.
Zantac sat back down, his howls of glee trailing off into chuckles. Cygnus however, felt tense and unable to relax.
"Nice to see somebody other than me fall for for that one," Zantac said through his giggles.
"I suppose," Cygnus mumbled. "Still, I can't help but-"
The loudest thunderclap they had yet heard obliterated every other shred of noise.
It sounded close enough that Cygnus thought the Brass Dragon must have sustained a direct hit from a lightning strike, although there was no evidence of it. Surely, the fact that the inn's front door was still ajar could have contributed to the extraordinary loudness of the sound, but Cygnus' legs were in motion before his brain had even begun to process the possibilities.
He was glad that he sensed Zantac was only a few paces behind.
Sheer instinct turned Cygnus' arc of travel around the corner of the inn. A momentary glimpse of a small string of vomit dissolving on the rain-soaked ground told him he was on the right track. The tall mage was just about to round the corner of the stables when a mounted Alabin thundered out past him, nearly knocking the wizard over. Cygnus was about to dive into his spell component pouch for the miniature glass rod and piece of fur he needed to cast lightning bolt when Zantac rushed past him and into the stables. Cygnus hesitated a moment and then followed into a din of neighing and screaming horses.
Smoke rising from a spot on his upper chest, Laertes was struggling, and failing, to rise to his feet.
Even if he himself had never suffered the horrible experience of being hit by Markessa's shocking grasp, Cygnus' knowledge of magecraft would have enabled him to identify the spell and its effect.
Zantac was already kneeling down by the half-orc, although Cygnus didn't know what either of them would be able to do for the youth. He cursed the fates that had taken Talass from them. Having a stock of healing potions on hand would be the ideal alternative but, for what seemed like the millionth time, their lack of finances had prevented that.
Zantac was now moving towards the water trough. Cygnus noted with some surprise that the red-robed wizard still held his tea mug in his hand. Zantac scooped water into it and headed back towards Laertes.
"Go!" he yelled at Cygnus through the continuing equine din. "Get the bastard!"
Cygnus was about to comply when the horrible odor of burnt horseflesh assaulted his nostrils.
The fraction of a second that, in reality, it must have taken to turn his head seemed like an age...
Even as a griffon, Cygnus could cry.
His tears were swiftly lost in the cold downpour but his superior eyesight as a griffon allowed him to compensate for the water-clouded view. A small dark spot in the distance, slowly growing larger, was Alabin. The mage was pushing his horse to the limit, but it was no match for the power of Cygnus' wings and muscle. Rage drove the mage on. He would not rest until his target lay dead before him; under his very claws, if necessary.
Four white streaks of light slammed into Cygnus, causing a half-shriek, half-roar to erupt from his griffon throat in agony. He did not slow, however. The thought of how well Alabin must be able to concentrate in order to cast magic missiles from the back of a galloping horse never entered his mind either. All that mattered was the chase, and its conclusion.
Vengeance.
Now he was no more than twenty feet from Alabin, now fifteen, now ten...
He heard Alabin casting again, and suddenly the former pirate mage was yanking hard on the reins, bringing his hard to a hard stop. Cygnus overshot his target, then circled around and came in for a landing directly on his target, His griffon talons reached out for Alabin even as Dak's brother moved to block with his right hand; a suicidal move, thought Cygnus.
Except that Alabin's hand wasn't a hand anymore. It looked like some bizarre, organic dagger welded to his wrist. Some kind of partial polymorph spell Cygnus was not familiar with.
Claw and blade each found their target, and Cygnus' griffon-shriek merged with Alabin's scream of pain. Neither relented in their attack, but continued to slash at each other, and the blood merged with the rain, and Cygnus' head was snapped back as Alabin's warhorse reared and struck him in the face with one of its hooves. He ignored the animal however, and now his sharp beak was added to his claws, and now Alabin was faltering, and then he was no longer attacking, and now he was toppling off his horse, which bolted, and now Cygnus was directly on top of him, and the pain he had suffered only fueled his rage, and he kept tearing at Alabin's body long after he knew that the other wizard was dead-
"Cygnus!"
Zantac's shout was distant, but somehow that familiar voice penetrated Cygnus' brain. His keen griffon eyes showed a small figure standing in front of the stables, looking his way.
Zantac called out again, and Cygnus' muscles responded before his brain did, and now he was winging his back towards the stables, not even bothering to loot Alabin's corpse. The image that had spawned this fight returned to his mind's eye, and no amount of rain was going to wash it away.
Laertes was standing alongside Zantac now as Cygnus pulled up before them and resumed his normal form. He had no idea how badly he was wounded, but his muscles and sinews still seemed to be responding to his brian's commands, so he gave that no further thought for now.
The red-robed wizard and the half-orc said nothing. They merely turned and walked back into the stables. His expression grim, Cygnus followed. Only now did rational, conscious thought return to him. Even as that horrid stench returned, he was thinking of how he was going to explain this to Caroline.
But even that thought was moot, for Lady Bigfellow was with them now, along with Nesco. Neither made any effort to hide their expressions of horror.
Cygnus glanced over at Zantac. He wondered if his fellow wizard was feeling, or would feel once the shock wore off, the guilt of what he had done. There would never be a way of knowing if their prank had pushed Alabin over the edge, or if their refusal of his offer would have been enough to spur him to his final act of spite.
And now all eyes were on Caroline Bigfellow as the young woman slowly walked to the back of the stables and, without a word, knelt down beside the charred corpse of what had once been the pegasus Sequester.