23rd Day of Sunsebb, 565 CY
Wizard's Guild, Willip, Furyondy
Zantac sat hunched over on Aimee's bed.
He had survived but as of right now he was not so sure that was a good thing.
His time in polymorphed form, although less than an hour ago, already seemed hazy and dream-like.
The wizard could remember running around and around that curved corridor, taking every staircase leading downward when he saw it.
He thought he was outpacing the fiendish scorpion pursuing him but didn't dare take the time to look behind him.
He passed the third-tier wizard Edward on the last one, nearly bowling the poor man over, but Zantac was thinking only of the magic shop.
The door was thankfully open but when he burst in Zantac had been horrified to see no one behind the counter.
The cooshee had bounded up to the counter and rising up on his hind legs and pounded the top of it repeatedly with his right paw like an angry customer. He knew the items were kept under magical lock and key; in this form he'd never be able to retrieve them.
Dammit! Where was Hogeth?
Then Zantac remembered that the Guildmaster Zelhile was teaching a class on the second floor.
A full class, which meant attendance was mandatory for every wizard.
Despite his recent exertions, Zantac was not breathing hard.
In fact, he was hardly breathing at all now.
"Umm," came a tentative female voice behind him, "is there something you want?"
Zantac turned his head to see to his absolute astonishment, a woman clad in a gold and white cassock.
It was Jinella.
The priestess of the Valorous Church of Willip, rising to her feet from the customers' waiting couch and just now shaking off the shock of seeing a giant elven hound bolt into this shop apparently with the purpose of making a purchase, walked towards him.
It suddenly occurred to Zantac that he had no idea who was in control of the polymorph spell; Cygnus the caster or himself, the spell's recipient?
Zantac had been about to try turning himself back into his normal form when his heart stopped beating.
Darkness.
His return to consciousness was more sudden than he would have supposed. A maelstrom of sight, sound and feeling broke over him like a crashing wave.
He was lying on the same couch that Jinella had just been sitting on.
Questions abruptly enveloped his brain in a suffocating cloud.
How much time had passed. What happened to Aimee? And Cygnus; was he-
"Cygnus!" he shouted and tried to rise but stopped as the room promptly became enveloped in a blur spell. He let the priestess lower him back down, closed his eyes and concentrated on regulating his breathing before opening them again.
When he did, he saw Jinella's face hanging over him, covered as it usually was by her brown hair, but he could just make out a nervous smile of relief on the cleric's face. Her hands were clutching her holy symbol of Heironeous so tightly her knuckles were bone-white.
"It's all right, Zantac" she said kindly. "You're going to be fine. Praise be to Heironeous, Archpaladin."
She rose and stepped aside as Cygnus came up and knelt down beside him.
"Ciggy!" Zantac said in as close to a shout as his current condition would allow. "What happened? Did you beat Aimee? And Martan; can they get him-"
But he broke off.
Forseti, the Fruz god of Truth himself could have told Zantac was Cygnus was doing, but if hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would have laughed right in the god's face.
Cygnus was crying.
Zantac could say nothing. Think nothing.
In the entire year he had known Cygnus, only direct danger to his son Thorin could have ever triggered this kind of emotional response.
He was still trying to process this when Cygnus produced a crystal vial of some clear liquid and shoved it into Zantac's hands.
"Antitoxin," said Cygnus, his voice hoarse. "Sell that and I'll kill you. Don't you ever do that to me again."
The tall wizard stood up, turned and left the room without another word.
And so here he was, an hour later, waiting for Aimee to return to her underground quarters beneath the Wizard Guild tower so she could speak with him as she had requested.
Begged, really.
Zantac felt no anticipation whatsoever about this meeting. Although he had been given the tale of what had transpired and been healed fully; no wounds or even scars remaining on either him or Cygnus, he still felt dead inside.
But no, he ruefully scolded himself. Zantac in truth had no idea of what being dead really felt like.
For that, he'd have to ask Martan.
Because Martan was dead.
All the appropriate noises were being made, of course. The Guild wizards were all talking about a collection to get Martan raised but Zantac knew it wasn't going to happen. Without a formal contract, such as the one he had his friends had been able to secure from the Royal Court before setting out on their commission to destroy the Slave Lords, no one got raised without their family or friends paying the appropriate church, and the average cost for that was at least fifteen thousand in gold, including the cost of the diamonds needed to cast the prayer. Furthermore, it was a time-sensitive ritual. If it didn't happen within a week or two, it could never happen.
If it had been Aimee, maybe. Everybody in the guild loved the Succubus.
Martan? His one good friend in the guild had been Zantac, before Zantac decided that his new best friend Cygnus was worth the price of getting kicked out. He'd only seen Martan a few times after that and it had always been business. For all intents and purposes, Zantac had left Martan behind forever.
Before he'd returned today and gotten him killed, of course.
Now his own tears fell onto the orange chapeau twisting in his hands; the felt cloth absorbing them one at a time.
He couldn't bear these thoughts. He'd rather have the deathblade.
Zantac looked around again at Aimee's quarters.
Not much had changed in a year. He knew this room of course; especially the bed. He and Aimee had spent one night of pure rapture on this bed and then three weeks later begun a second when something that other people might have called a conscience had raised its stupid head and cut that evening short for him.
He didn't even want to sit on this bed anymore, but he was tired and there were no chairs in this room.
A caw to his left drew his attention. Aimee's familiar Duplos was sitting on his perch near the door. The raven tilted his head and gave Zantac a beady eye.
A smaller meow made Zantac glance downward. Aimee's pet cat weaved his tortoiseshell form around Zantac's legs and looked up at him, his amber eyes wide and expressive.
Zantac managed a wan smile and stroked the cat, who mewed with pleasure.
"You'd better be careful, Gallo," he told him. "If something happens to Duplos there, Aimee may promote you from pet to familiar, and that's not-"
He broke off, the thin smile dissipating.
The Willip wizard choked up again as he remembered holding Martan's familiar in his hand; the look and feel of the bullfrog.
Zantac had no idea what had happened to Hemoth, but he hoped that no one would offer the frog to him. He'd refuse the offer with his usual and not untrue opinion that familiars were more of a liability than an asset; a small animal just waiting to be killed some day.
But the truth was that bullfrog would remind him of Martan, every minute of every day.
He wiped his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time and gazed around listlessly again.
There were small figurines of either glass or crystal on Aimee's end table. They were of animals Aimee apparently had a fondness for.
They were certainly an odd bunch. Cows, spiders, unicorns.
Loud voices in the corridor outside drew Zantac's attention. It was Aimee and Zelhile; Zantac couldn't make out the words, but it was patently clear that the two were arguing.
He frowned. That was very odd; those two never argued.
The voices stopped. Zantac heard approaching footsteps, a pause, and then a knock on the door.
"Zantac?" Aimee called. "May I come in?"
"It's your door," he replied, hoping the Succubus could hear the shrug in his voice.
Apparently she could. The door opened more slowly than usual. Aimee stepped gingerly inside, meeting Zantac's unblinking gaze.
Her hair was currently its natural dark brown.
"Sit," Zantac said, trying to channel Talass' frostiness and making a you-might-as-well gestureat the bed.
Aimee sat down but kept an arms-length distance between the two.
Zantac occupied himself with Gallo again.
"Zantac," she began but the Willip Wizard abruptly whirled to face her, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"When did you know, Aimee?" he demanded. "When did you know it was Naury? You knew it was him when you met me at Dialamen's! How long did you know before that? Who else did you tell? Why didn't you-"
But he broke off. Those tears, those damn stupid tears that he never deserved were starting again.
Just like they always did when Zantac had let someone close to him die.
"Zantac," Aimee began again, her own voice choking up now. She laid a hand on his shoulder, but he angrily jerked it away.
"I'll try to start at the beginning, Zantac. Please, just hear me out."
He glanced over at her and saw the tear tracks down her heart-shaped face; something he'd never seen before.
Zantac was suddenly reminded of sitting with Talat and the others at that campfire in the Vesve Forest; of the former priestess of Hextor trying to explain herself to Elrohir; the ranger's stony mask that he had adapted to hide his own pain only adding to Talat's own.
He tried to take a deep, calming breath. It was only semi-successful, but he nodded wearily at the Succubus.
"All right, Aimee. I'm listening."
"First of all," Aimee began, "I never knew for certain, but I suspected. Naury was first approached by an emissary from the Emerald Serpent back in Fireseek; about the same time that we became aware of Cygnus and the others from the Brass Dragon, and where they were really from."
She took a deep breath.
"I was never on good terms with Naury, but we spoke a few words here and there. He told me that someone from an agency that did not name itself had approached him and offered him substantial amounts of gold for what he called surveillance. More gold, he said, than he'd ever be able to earn by simply casting spells for hire, what with the kickback due to the Guild on that."
Zantac nodded knowingly. "Did he say who he was being hired to spy on?"
Aimee shook her head. "No, but I'm certain it was Cygnus and his friends."
"How do you know that?" asked Zantac, frowning.
"Because," Aimee said simply, "a few days later they came to me with the same offer."
Zantac gaped at her.
"Who was it?" he managed at last. "What did they look like?"
"It doesn't matter," Aimee replied, waving her hand dismissingly. "The members of The Emerald Serpent are all masters of disguise; you know that better than I do. The person who came to see me said I could have gold if I wanted, but he said he knew that I wanted power more than coin; magical power, without having to expend a whole lot of time and energy to get it."
Her deep brown eyes caught and held his.
"They have ways of looking inside a person, Zantac." She looked off to the side and gave a bitter laugh. "They sure had me pegged right."
She fell silent. It took Zantac almost a full minute to get his next question out.
A question he did not want answered, but knew it had to be.
"And what did you tell them, Aimee?"
Now it was the Succubus who sat hunched forward, her eyes downcast.
Zantac saw Gallo walk off in indignation as a tear fell onto his back.
"Without getting any specifics, this man was very clear that this was not an offer to be refused."
She looked at him again; fresh tears falling. Zantac could feel his heart, if not melting, at least thawing a little.
"I waffled," Aimee went on before Zantac could speak. "I told him that it was tempting, but I'd have to think it over before accepting; get my own plans together, that sort of thing."
Again the bitter smile.
"Whoever he was, he was no reptile. I don't think he normally would have accepted such a stalling tactic, but I'm told I can be charming when I want to be."
She stared at the wall, her breath catching again. The smile was gone.
"I never wanted that name, Zantac. I know I deserved it, but I… I never wanted it."
She looked down with a small gasp to see her hand in Zantac's.
He gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go.
Her smile of gratitude through her tears continued his slow thaw.
"So," Zantac continued after Aimee had composed herself again, "did you tell Naury that you had been asked to spy on us- I mean," he corrected himself, "Cygnus and the others, as well?"
"Yes," she said, nodding.
"And?"
Aimee looked thoughtful, resting her chin in her hand.
For a split-second, aside from the color of her eyes, Zantac thought she could have been Beryl.
"He didn't seem at all happy about it, but he wouldn't comment other to say that since I had been approached, it would be best if I cooperated."
She looked over at him again.
"You probably won't believe it, Zantac, but I think he was actually trying to protect me. At least at first."
"Actually," the Willip Wizard replied, "it's not that hard to believe."
Zantac stopped and looked away again. He didn't want to elaborate, and he guessed that Aimee had followed his line of thought.
Naury was one of the very few Guild wizards, aside from Martan, who had never shared Aimee's bed.
"I think," Aimee said after a moment, moving away from that uncomfortable topic, "that the Serpent has many contacts that serve them purely on a mercenary basis, but if they think that their employee has useful talents like, say arcane abilities or the Talent, they eventually bring them fully into their fold."
Her expression was now deadly serious.
"They have ways of corrupting people, Zantac. If that dark seed is already in a person's heart, they have ways of making it flower. I've heard rumors that a certain unspeakable ritual called morality undone can even force it, a permanent change upon some vulnerable souls. From what I heard, Nodyath was never a paragon of virtue, but he wasn't as evil as he originally turned out in the end. Even with his vast powers, the Emerald Serpent corrupted him further!"
Her lower lip trembled.
"Now do you understand, Zantac? Do you understand why I hemmed and hawed and never gave any of you more than the vaguest of warnings? It wasn't just because I'm a coward and afraid to die; I've always been that, but because… because…
Without warning Aimee reached over, snatched a unicorn figurine and hurled it against the far wall, where it shattered into fragments.
"It's because I have that dark seed in me, too!"
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
"Martan died because of me!" she wailed. "I knew he was investigating who the mole was; I pointed him in the right direction, but I refused when he suggested that we should go to Zelhile together with our suspicions. I said we had no firm proof but that wasn't the reason; the real reason was that I was afraid the Emerald Serpent would find out and kill me! I stood back, aloof, while a kind, lonely soul showed himself to be braver than I'll ever be!"
Zantac just stared at her in shock.
"Gods protect me," Aimee went on, crying softly, her face again hidden in her hands. "I never gave in to the Emerald Serpent, but I turned out to be just as bad as if I had!"
Ever so slowly, not knowing how or even why, Zantac slid across the bed and took this sobbing woman into his arms.
But maybe he did know, he thought as he held her shaking head against his shoulder.
Maybe Zantac's own dark thoughts had made him believe he was all alone.
The only really bad person in this world, or even all three.
Unworthy of friends.
But this frail and pitiable woman, whom Zantac had once yearned for, lusted after and looked up to as the pinnacle of style and sophistication, had shown him he was just the same as anyone else.
And everyone, Zantac realized now for the very first time at the age of thirty-nine, was worthy of friendship.
And maybe, even love.
It took Aimee several minutes to calm down. When she finally whispered, "thank you," and looked up at him, he gave her a smile that nearly set both of them to crying again.
After a while, in what he thought was a lame attempt to make conversation, Zantac asked, "so what was that with you and Zelhile outside?"
"Oh," she said, sitting up a little straighter and sniffling. "He wasn't very happy when he found out I was leaving the Guild."
Zantac gaped at her. "You're leaving?"
He was about to ask why but stopped himself. The answer was obvious.
"Cat's among the pixies now," Aimee said. "The entire guild knows the truth."
"But wouldn't you be safer here?" Zantac asked. "You know, safety in numbers and all that."
Aimee wiped her eyes again with her dress sleeve and shook her head.
"The Emerald Serpent fixates on vengeance, Zantac. That much I was able to glean from my recruiter. It's part of the mystique that makes them so terrifying. I'm in just as much danger now as you are."
A hint of her old confidence flickered across her face as her hair turned dark gray.
"I did try to warn you in Dialamen's, you know."
"Speaking of which," Zantac said, reaching out to touch her hair, "I always meant to ask you. Just how do you do that, anyway?"
Aimee shrugged as her hair color returned to normal. "It came out when I was about sixteen, about the same time my powers did."
Zantac gaped again.
"Your powers?" he managed after a few seconds. "You're a sorcerer as well as a wizard?"
"Yes, but don't get the wrong idea," Aimee replied. "I thought that when my abilities emerged, they would grow over time as I'd heard they always do with sorcery, and I'd be able to leave my farmstead and make it in the real world!"
She sighed.
"But it never happened. I never gained any further sorcerous powers beyond the first few. My father made me use them for the farm's benefit and I suppose I can't blame him for that, but I couldn't wait to get out of there! I was going to be either an actress or a wizard."
Her smile grew thin again. "I guess you could say I wound up just a little of both."
Zantac hesitated. Suddenly unable to face her directly, he looked down at his lap but glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Uh, just to refresh my memory, you never had a younger sister, right?"
Aimee laughed for the first time.
"No siblings at all, Zantac; I told you that already, remember?"
She tilted her head and looked at him.
All of a sudden, he was staring at her again.
Lost in those unbelievably beautiful eyes as of old.
"So," she said softly, "a doppelganger looked into your mind and created what it thought you wanted most in a woman."
She moved closer, her voice dropping low.
"A safer version of me."
Aimee reached out and cradled Zantac's chin with her hand, but he cried out in sudden fear and yanked his head away.
He was sorry; he hadn't meant to do it, but the face of Naury disguised as Aimee; that same face inches away from his own with a fiendish look of glee.
Of murder…
"I'm sorry, Zantac," Aimee said after a moment, and from her tone he knew that she had again deduced the truth.
She's very perceptive, he thought.
Again, just like Beryl.
"I'm going down south," Aimee announced after a moment in an attempt at a business-like voice. "Greyhawk, as a matter of fact. Whether as wizard or actress, the opportunities are there as in no other city. I'm an outcast now, I guess, so…"
Her voice trailed off.
When it didn't resume Zantac looked back at her.
And now it was Aimee's face that showed fear.
Fear and loneliness.
"Maybe," she said now in little more than a whisper, clearly struggling to get the words out. "Maybe we could be outcasts… together?"
Holding back his own tears yet again, Zantac smiled and clasped her hand in his.
"I'm sorry, Aimee," he said softly. "I am so tempted by that. More tempted than I could ever say, or you'll ever know. But my friends are in trouble; Cygnus in particular, and I made a vow to someone that I'd never abandon him, even if it's not in my best interests to stick around."
Now his laugh was bitter.
"Or even his."
Aimee glanced down at her lap and then back at Zantac. When she did, her eyes were as deep and piercing as he'd ever seen them, and she shook her head sadly.
"You wouldn't do it, Zantac. Even with no best friend or promise keeping you here."
Zantac frowned.
"What are you talking about?" he said in an affronted tone. "Do you honestly think I'd-"
But he stopped talking.
Suddenly, Zantac felt as if he'd been administered another dose of deathblade poison.
This time, he did not flinch when Aimee lifted his chin in her hand, although he still felt no pleasure in it.
And when she moved her face again to within inches of his, he did not see those brown eyes.
He saw pink ones.
And for all Aimee's similarities to Beryl; none of which he had realized until this very conversation, she was not Beryl.
No one could ever replace Beryl. Zantac knew that.
But he knew now that no one had to.
Aimee was still smiling but her eyes were filled with sadness, although there were no more tears.
"A door opened for you, didn't it, Zantac?" she said.
He stared at her.
"And then closed again," Aimee finished, dropping her eyes and removing her hand.
He nodded, looking away. No one outside of his group other than Unru knew about Beryl and he wasn't going to start talking about her here, but Aimee had at the very least proven herself worthy of the truth.
"In Suderham," he said, his voice hoarse.
Aimee hesitated. "She must have been very special."
Despite his best efforts, Zantac could feel his eyes watering again. He wiped them clear and nodded without saying anything.
He could feel Aimee shifting her weight on the bed next to him.
"Well," she said after a long moment, "don't be too hard on yourself, Zantac. We all make mistakes."
When he looked up again, her face was again only inches away.
"My biggest one," Aimee said with a voice that was somehow both steely with purpose and heartbreakingly fragile at the same time, "was letting the best man I ever knew slip away from me."
And with that she cradled his cheeks with both hands.
He leaned forward into the kiss.
It was water; it was tears. It was ecstasy; it held passion and yet still bespoke the pain of loss.
But when Aimee finally pulled away, Zantac felt full of…
Life. That was it. Life.
Happiness and heartbreak, love and loss, bravery and fear.
At the very least, Zantac didn't feel dead anymore.
"Thank you, Aimee," he said, standing up on shaky legs.
And then, as he regarded this remarkable woman, an epiphany came to him.
"Aimee," he said. "You are the Anti-Succubus."
He took a deep breath.
"And you always were. You have a gift no arcane magic will ever match."
She gave an embarrassed grin, her cheeks turning red; another first for her.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow," she said.
An implied invitation.
Zantac smiled.
"Take care of yourself, Aimee," he said walking to the door and opening it.
That last look at her, sitting on the bed staring at him.
So very, very much like Beryl.
The real imaginary sister that Aimee had never had.
"If you're ever in Greyhawk, look me up," she said.
"I'll do that," he replied truthfully.
Zantac winked at her and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.