A/N: Bizak means bitch.
Yay! With this chapter, I've hit the 100,000 word mark. Kind of like being in a brotherhood, except nobody cares and the cake tastes like crap.
Read, enjoy, review... in whatever order you prefer.
Chapter 17
"…Hurry up, his heartbeat's slowing!"
Voices. Confusing, distant… meaningless. All that mattered was the grayish light floating a few inches in front of him. Pale, teasingly inviting, like a malign will-o'-the-wisp. He had to get it, had to reach it.
He reached out a hand to grab the light, but he was too slow, and the glimmer flitted out of his reach, retreating a bit further away from him. He chased after it with the dreamlike speed similar to moving underwater, his mind focused only on the light.
"Move out of the way, quick!"
Another voice. Female, commanding. It sounded like… Lavoera.
Lavoera? Who is…?
Delion froze, wondering, his mind working at half-speed. Confusing images surfaced like bubbles in boiling water, each presenting a more confusing picture than the last. He saw short swords glowing with a golden light… a bone golem towering over him… the cold stone, rushing up to meet him…
The grey light danced elusively to his left, and his thoughts were forgotten. They weren't important, anyway. The light was more important. So bright, and pretty…
Who's ever heard about grey light? A voice deep in the depths of his mind asked. Doesn't seem right.
Who cared about right? If he could just catch that light…
What will happen? the voice questioned him.
Well… he didn't exactly know what would happen, but it would be good, right? There had to be some kind of special reward for capturing to beautiful a glow. He reached his right hand, trying to catch the light in his fist, but he was, again, too slow. There was a sense of urgency now, which he did not fully understand but was compelled to obey nonetheless. He had to catch it soon.
A shudder went down his body, and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut in shock. His very flesh felt as if it were sizzling, burning up like so much cooking meat. He forced his eyes open and saw that the grey light before him was dimming, first brighter, then darker, as if its power source was being disrupted. But the grey light grew in size, growing brighter before him, in the shape of a doorway. At the same time, the burning sensation stopped.
"It's no good… I'm losing him…"
"There's one more thing I can try…"
More voices, becoming distant. The doorway of twilight, beckoning him forward. His face was frozen in an expression of ecstasy, bathed in the grey light. He began to approach the doorway, almost lusting for what was beyond…
THUMP!
Delion froze in his tracks, clutching his chest in a spastic movement. His heart… what had happened? Instead of burning, he felt a tingling sensation, pins and needles, spreading outwards from his heart across his body. The doorway dimmed in front of him, and for a moment, he could almost see into it, at what lay beyond.
THUMP-THUMP!
He gasped and fell to his knees, clutching at his heart frantically. It was now pounding so hard that it felt as if it would burst out from his ribcage. He forced himself to look up, a look of regret in his eyes as he stared at the doorway. So close, and yet so far…
A blow with the force of a hammer struck him squarely in the middle of his chest, and Delion wheezed in pain. The grey doorway faded from his sight, and slowly, the hazy images of Trey and Lavoera swam into focus. Lavoera, who was standing over the two of them, looked concerned. Trey, who was kneeling by his side, looked composed. Both of his hands were placed on Delion's heart, and for a moment, he thought he could see a glimmer of light, or energy hovering over his fingers. Does he know some kind of magic? He's never shown any signs before now…
The Drow quickly sat up, brushing the monk's hands from his chest quickly, before the pain caught up to him, a stabbing knife of pain in his side. He bit his lip, putting a hand to his ribs. What had happened to him?
"Whoops, I'm sorry!" Lavoera apologized, bending down and placing a hand on the offending rib. He felt a slight tingling in his body as the broken rib mended itself under the spell, the broken bone reforming as the individual splinters of bone formed into the whole. The process was painful, yet bearable, and when it was done, Delion found he could sit up comfortably. He took a few deep breaths, gathering his thoughts, which were cluttered about his mind uselessly. Trey and Lavoera said nothing, allowing him to recover.
"What happened? Did you beat Vix'thra? Where's Sodalis? Is the priesthood destroyed?" Delion demanded at last. There was more: what was the grey doorway? Where had he just been? But he thought he could figure out the answer to those questions on his own, given enough time. Also, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the truth.
"Vix'thra is gone," Trey answered, allowing a rueful smile to cross his face. The flood of questions reminded him painfully of Alain, who he had not seen in what felt like forever. All the more reason to return as quickly as I can… "Turned out to be a dracolich, not a vampire. Luckily for us, his true form was kept in a much more breakable container."
"I can't sense any lurking evil in this temple, either." Lavoera said, before resuming her natural, sunny smile. "By the power vested in me, I officially award this formerly-evil temple the rank of cleansed!" Then, forgetting the pains and aches of battle, she leapt to her fate and assumed a triumphant pose, her mace held high in the air, with her wings outspread wide.
Delion and Trey shared a look of mingled amusement and exasperation. By now, they knew enough about Lavoera to appreciate when she was being serious (which she was now) and when she was not. It would hurt her feelings to laugh. Besides, Delion reflected, that silly smile on her face and the fire in her eyes is priceless.
"So then, the god and the priests are destroyed? But… what happened to me?" Delion asked suddenly, clapping a hand to his cheek. He had completely forgotten about his own affliction in the shock of waking up. He must have blacked out from the exhaustion after his fight… right?
At this, Trey and Lavoera exchanged nervous looks. After a mental debate, Trey elected to be the one to tell him the news. "You destroyed the golem, and then, I suppose the exhaustion and the disease must have overcome you. You fell into a coma of some kind, which Lavoera tells me is the last stage before vampirism sets in." Lavoera nodded dutifully at this, all the while watching Delion's face for signs of his reaction.
"Wait a minute… a coma?" Delion looked down at his scorched hands, where he could still make out the faint outlines of the sword handles, and mentally replayed his last memories. He had sliced through the golem… fell down to the ground… and…
Lavoera took up the conversation now, an uncharacteristically solemn expression on her face. "Your heartbeat was slowing down. I think it was the will of Vix'thra, trying to attack us one last time from the beyond…" Delion pondered this. It was certainly true that since their arrival in the lowest level of the Temple, Vix'thra had taken an unnatural interest in him. Killing a god but losing a comrade would demoralize the group, perhaps keep them from catching up to the Valsharess.
"Your heartbeat was slowing. I tried to revive you with my divine magic, but I… failed." Lavoera bit her lip, as if ashamed to admit her own shortcomings. Then again, healing was supposed to be her profession, and Delion supposed failing in this way might shake her to the core. "You were fading fast, you should have been dead, only to be reborn a few minutes later. Only as a vampire."
Delion's response came as a whisper. "So what happened?"
Lavoera's eyes fluttered as she assumed a prayer-like position; knees bent and hands clasped. "And then," she said dramatically, "a miracle happened! Trey laid his hands over your heart, and I sensed some sort of energy flowing from him… and you awakened!"
Trey scowled at Lavoera, annoyed. What he had done was not a miracle, but, as usual, connected to his own discipline. He had lent some of his Ki to Delion, pushed it towards his heart in the hopes that it would restart, similar to how an electric shock can revitalize a comatose patient. Delion would demand an explanation, and though he had qualms with discussing the concept of Ki… it would use up valuable time. Time they didn't have.
During his time in the Temple, it had seemed as if time had stopped. Now, with Vix'thra gone, time had become a palpable thing, slipping and sliding away from them in leaps and bounds. Each second wasted was another step closer for the Valsharess…
It couldn't be helped, though. They weren't completely done here. There was still the future of Drearing's Deep to think about.
Delion, felt both confusion and a sort of reluctant gratitude well up in him. He didn't know what Trey had done, but he was painfully aware that the monk had saved his life again. It was never a good thing to be indebted to anyone in the world of the Drow, as it was rare for anyone to do anything for anyone else. Maybe that accounted for some of the trepidation he felt now: he didn't like owing Trey anything.
Let it go. You belong to no House, and Trey is no Drow.
Yes, this was true… but still. Old habits die hard. He would think about it later.
"We should leave soon," Trey said brusquely, standing up and attempting to change the subject.
"Yes," Delion agreed, slowly getting to his feet. No bursts of pain, no sudden nausea… it was strange to feel so…well. "But, my blades…" he looked over the swords on the ground. The blades, never meant to harbor divine power, had cracked under the pressure. Their fighting days were done.
"I thought your swords might not be strong enough to contain the blessing, so I brought you a replacement!" Lavoera said, presenting Delion with two beautiful curved short swords. Delion took them in awe, marveling at their beauty. They were wonderfully light, and seemed to glitter from whatever angle he looked at them from. Their scabbards were encrusted with jewels and made from silver, expensive yet tasteful.
"Where did you get these?" Delion asked, astonished.
"I found them in Vix'thra's hoard," Lavoera explained cheerfully. When Delion blanched, she added quickly, "Don't worry. Surprisingly, the hoard wasn't tainted in any way. In a such a place of heavy evil… that's rare."
"Maybe he didn't feel the same sense of greed live dragons do," Trey suggested distractedly. The three had left the chamber before Vix'thra's lair, and the monk was more concerned with trying to find his way back to the surface.
"Maybe. Whatever the case, I took the liberty of blessing these swords, which should add substantially to their effectiveness."
"Why can these swords contain the blessing?" Delion asked, clipping the blades to his belt. "You saw how my old ones handled it. Will these crack too?"
"Those swords are enchanted. I'm not sure what kind of magic they may hold, but whatever it is, they can hold the blessing much better than your old ones."
The deva stopped speaking as the group reached the dangling rope hanging down from the pit. A daunting climb awaited them, and quite frankly, Delion didn't know if he had the strength for it. Going up would be a lot harder than climbing down. Lavoera looked unworried, though. To their surprise, the deva simply muttered an incantation, grabbed their wrists with each hand, and flew upwards with a hard flap of her wings. Despite the fact that both men were no lightweights, Lavoera was able to fly upwards with no trouble at all.
It was an exquisitely strange feeling for the two of them, soaring up in the darkness with no effort on their own part. Still, their was no denying the speed of the matter; within minutes they had reached the top of the pit.
"That was helpful," Delion muttered, rubbing the spot on his wrist where Lavoera had grabbed him. Though the deva looked frail, her grip had been vise-like, and being suspended in the air held only by his wrist had not been comfortable. In truth, he had felt like his arm would rip out from its socket.
As they ascended to the first floor of the Temple, Trey noticed the oppressive, almost watchful air of the Temple had departed. It was this feeling, more than anything else, that convinced him that the evil had truly been destroyed. I wonder what shall be done to this place, afterwards. He doubted that the inhabitants of Drearing's Deep would ever find any use for the Temple: there were too many negative feelings surrounding it. It would be better off burned to the ground, as a final cathartic experience.
A small, gray figure bowled into Trey as they exited the doors of the Temple, knocking him to the ground. Delion placed a hand on his swords, startled, but the creature turned out to be Cordigan, who embraced Trey with a bone-cracking hug. "Thank you, thank you, a thousand thanks!"
"Cordigan…please, it's nothing," Trey rasped, trying to break the rock-gnome's hold to no avail. Thankfully, Cordigan got the point and released him. The spoke-gnome stood in front of them, beaming widely.
"But I must thank you. Thanks to you, we are no longer Almost Free. We are Free!" Cordigan cried, and Trey saw tears welling up in his eyes. The monk stood up quickly, fearful of receiving another hug.
"How do you know we did anything?" Delion asked curiously. The Temple looked no differently than before, and he could see no outward signs of Vix'thra's absence.
"It's the bats! The bats have all died!" Cordigan went on to explain that the large bats they had seen when they had first arrived had all dropped dead, one by one, with no logical explanation. The bats had served as the vampires' eyes and ears. Because of them, it had been impossible to plan an uprising against the priests. Anyone who did usually disappeared inexplicably. Now, with the destruction of the priesthood, the bats had perished.
"Listen to me, Cordigan," Trey said, and the rock-gnome looked up at him expectantly, that same silly grin still on his face. "Vix'thra's lair is at the bottom-most level of the Temple. The god had collected a great amount of gold and weaponry, lying in a pile. Consider that a gift from us, to the village of Drearing Deep. But you people have to go get it yourselves. Fear will never rule you again, because you will see the home of your enemies."
Cordigan smiled, nodding so enthusiastically that he almost fell on his backside. "Yes, yes, that we shall certainly do. But please sir, tell me your name. Drearing Deep will never forget its saviors!"
Delion smiled, taking a liking to the energetic leader. "My name is Delion, a Drow from a House of no consequence."
Lavoera, who had been silent, brightened at the idea of being remembered in history as a champion of good. "I am Lavoera, a hospitaler from the Upper Planes. It was a pleasure to help you."
"And you, sir?" Cordigan said, scribbling the names on a scrap of parchment. He looked expectantly at Trey. "What do you call yourself?"
A sudden thought struck Trey, and he smiled widely. "Just refer to me as the traveling salesman," he said, remembering his first encounter with Sodalis.
Cordigan looked puzzled, but accepted the name without objection.
"What was that about?" Delion muttered, as they headed towards the exit of Drearing Deep. Trey only smiled and said nothing.
Within minutes, the three had left Drearing's Deep behind them. The cavern widened and elongated, opening up into the open, craggy land that was characteristic of the Underdark wilderness. After a few minutes of walking, Lavoera stopped, looking deep in thought.
"Something wrong?" Delion asked. One look at her face answered his question for him. Lavoera's quest had been finished quite a while ago, and soon she would have to return.
"Well…" Lavoera began uncertainly, wringing the handle of her mace as she searched for words. "It's just that…um.."
"You have to return home, right?" Trey asked. Despite the affection he felt for the deva, he couldn't suppress the impatience bubbling within him, urging him forward. The battle may have already begun at Lith My'athar, while he was wasting his time here. Still, they owed their lives to Lavoera. A quick good-bye would only serve to sour the memories of their time together.
"Yes," Lavoera admitted, eyes on the ground. "I've been here even longer than I've needed to, and my superiors will be getting worried about me. Ohh, I don't even want to think about what they'll say when they find out I failed in my mission!"
"Failed?" Delion questioned, smiling. "I don't see a failure here. I see a holy warrior who doesn't recognize her own strength, I see a God-slayer, the bane of vampires everywhere. Lavoera the Mighty!"
Lavoera looked up, a tentative smile appearing on her face.
"Delion's right, though I'm not so sure about the title," Trey added, his eyes twinkling. "You give yourself too little credit. We would have been in serious trouble without your help."
Lavoera's smile widened as her natural optimism righted itself. "You're right! I'm glad I failed- otherwise, we never would have met. I guess everything worked out for the best."
It always does. Trey thought. Such is fate.
She came forward, and to their surprise, kissed each of them on the cheek, unabashed. The smell of her hair was clean and sweet, and reminded each man of different things. Trey was reminded of the slight, almost spicy odor of desert sand after the occasional rain; Delion remembered the feelings he experienced on his first hunt, of being poised on the edge of attack for what seemed like hours. Good, pure things. Magic that can't be called upon, natural magic, if that makes sense.
"Good-bye, Lavoera," Delion said softly.
"Stay safe," Trey said.
"I'll miss you two," Lavoera said solemnly, "but I won't say good-bye. I'm sure we will meet again, somewhere, somehow." She smiled at them broadly, then walked a few feet away. She murmured the incantations to a spell softly, and faded from view almost instantly. The light around seemed to dim, as if warping around her vanishing form.
"Well… there she goes." Trey said. Delion only nodded and said nothing.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Myrune's time had come.
The army of the Valsharess was less than a day away, but in a way, she was already here, in the Mae'vir ancestral house. When the time was right, Myrune would turn on the Seer, at the worst attacking from behind, at the least, opening the main gates for the Valsharess to march in. She needed to be dealt with before she became a problem.
"So how do we do this?" Alain whispered to Valen. "You're more experienced with the Drow than me."
The two were slowly approaching the house of Mae'vir, early in the day. Alain didn't know how many soldiers Myrune commanded, but the odds were going to be against them, and Valen was the only person he knew he could trust in such a one-sided battle.
"Bluffing our way in is out of the question. Our only option may be to move in fast, get in and out as fast as we can."
"We don't even know where Myrune could be," Alain argued.
"As the matron mother, she's apt to be in the highest place in the building. She's vain, remember that."
"Halt!" cried one of the soldiers, standing authoritatively in front of the door.
"Remember," Alain muttered, already going for his shuriken, "don't kill them unless they make you. We need as much support as we can once Myrune is taken care of."
"Halt!" the guard cried again. His friend was smarter, who, seeing the resolve in the eyes of the monk, had unsheathed his sword. Alain's hand whipped out, and a shuriken flew from his hand burying itself in the sword hand of the guard, who dropped his weapon at once. Valen swung his flail low, knocking the shouting guard's legs from out under him, then followed up with a kick to his head. Alain punched the other guard in the solar plexus, then shoved an elbow into the back of his neck, flooring him.
"That was simple," Valen commented, taking the door-key from the belt of one of the fallen guards. He unlocked the door and the two entered the Mae'vir compound proper.
"Come on, quick!" Valen hissed, running through the vestibule and up the stairway. At the top of the stairway lounged three Drow outside of another locked door. All three had the same dumbstruck expression as they sank to the floor, falling victim to the flail and fists of the two fighters.
"Would Myrune give her room key to Drow like these three?" Alain asked, rubbing his knuckles.
"Definitely not. But I think I know who she would give them to," Valen said, thinking of how close Tebimar had stood next to Myrune in nearly all of the times he had seen him. If anyone had access to her room, it would be him. "We need to find the Captain of the Guard."
Valen stealthily took another hallway to their right, Alain following behind him. There were many doors along the hall, but all it took was an understanding of the Drow mind to intuit where the Captain would be. The Captain would have knowledge of all House weaponry and soldiers, and would be the most skilled fighter.
"Where do we go?" Alain asked, looking behind them nervously. Drow ears were sharp, and chances are that they had already been noticed.
"He's the Captain, so naturally, he will be the farthest away from the intruder. Let the grunts handle it, right?" Valen said, going to the last door at the end of the hallway. With a grunt, he swung his flail hard, smashing the wooden door into splinters. Inside were six armed, battle-ready Drow soldiers. At the rear stood Tebimar, holding a huge scythe. Alain groaned quietly.
"Intruders! Attack!" Tebimar ordered, and the group of commandos charged forward. Quickly, Valen and Alain stepped inside the room and distanced themselves from each other. The group of soldiers separated; four headed cautiously towards Valen, two approached Alain, swords upraised.
I think I've just been underestimated… again. Alain thought to himself, smirking slightly. The first soldier, seeing his smirk, growled and lunged forward, trying to run him through. Alain swiftly sidestepped the blade and closed the distance, slamming the palm of his hand into the soldier's chin. One hand went to the Drow's wrist, twisting and relieving him of his weapon. At the same time, Alain snap kicked his opponent in the stomach, pushing him backward into his fellow soldier. The young monk picked up the fallen sword and tossed it behind him, where it could no further damage.
Maybe it's time to try some of those Ki techniques I learned, Valen thought to himself, watching his opponents closely. Two of the soldiers moved to flank him, while a third came from his right. Valen took a deep breath, then let it out. As he exhaled, two of the soldiers moved forward in a pincer movement. Two blades, one coming low, the other coming high. Let your flail be an extension of your arm, Valen thought, remembering what Alain had said at his first lesson.
He ducked low, swinging his flail to his right. The sword snapped pathetically as the tip of the flail connected with the steel, strengthened by Ki. The higher blade cleaved the air above his head harmlessly. Valen kept moving, using his momentum to turn on his heel. His flail, its momentum barely slowed despite destroying a blade, connected with the midsection of the second Drow soldier, collapsing his rib cage and sending him across the room. Without medical help, he would almost certainly die. Well, let's just hope he knows a good cleric. Valen resumed his previous stance, glaring at the soldier holding his broken weapon, who backed away quickly.
Of the first six, only three soldiers remained. The one soldier blocking Alain's way, having seen how easily his comrade had been disarmed, was slower to move. The other disarmed soldier turned his attention to finding a new weapon. Alain moved towards the second, hoping to incapacitate him before he became a problem, but the armed Drow moved in front of him. The commando swung his sword in a quick vertical swipe, forcing Alain backwards. If I got backed into the hallway, I'm done for. There's barely enough room to move in here!
Alain hid his right hand from view, gathering Ki along the edge of his palm. When the Drow pressed his advantage, swinging his sword horizontally now, Alain was ready, swinging his arm on the same path of the blade. Fingers met steel, and the sword was knocked away from its previous path, cracked but not broken. Alain ignored the pain in his hand, thinking Sword must have been enchanted. I'm going to need a little more Ki if I want them to shatter. The Drow, off balance and sword down, only had to time to stare in horror before Alain's left fist collided with nose. The monk didn't even slow, leaping over the fallen Drow to charge his friend.
"Ah-ha!" cried the disarmed Drow, pulling a sword from a weapon rack in the corner. CLINK! Steel met steel, as the sword went flying out of the Drow's loose grip. Alain's shuriken thudded into the wood a few feet away. The Drow was still staring stupidly at his fallen weapon when the monk's foot found the back of his head.
Tebimar cursed as he watched the tiefling destroy the weapons of the last two soldiers and slam them to the floor with his flail. All six of the soldiers were either knocked unconscious or without weapon, and the two warriors advanced on him unchecked. How had he lost the advantage so quickly?
"What are you people!" Tebimar cried, rattled. How was the unarmed human able to destroy a steel sword so effortlessly, with his bare hands? Had Valen always moved so gracefully? The most discomforting thing was that between them, they had not killed a single Drow. That meant that they were after something (or someone) and considered the soldiers little more than distractions.
Whatever these two want, I won't let them get it! Resolved, the captain of the guard tightened his grip on his scythe before leaping forward and swinging hard, trying to slice through the two of them in one move. The younger monk ducked below the blade, while the tiefling shifted his weight, bringing his flail around in a quick clockwise motion. The shock ran all the way up Tebimar's arm as the blade of the scythe splintered upon contact with the flail. Alain charged the captain, coming in to deliver a finishing blow.
But Tebimar was desperate, and desperation can lend sudden strength. Though his scythe was little more than a pole now, he swung it back along the same arc, knocking the younger monk away from him with a cry. Then he swung it back, harder than ever, at Valen's midsection.
"Give it up," growled the tiefling, catching the end of the pole easily in the palm of one hand. Tebimar let go of the pole and made a break for the door, but Alain's foot shot out, catching his heel and tripping him up. The captain fell to the floor, but rolled, snatching up one of the swords that a soldier had dropped.
Alain threw a shuriken at Tebimar's hand, trying to knock the sword away, but the captain was too quick and deflected the projectile with a deft flick of his sword. While he was distracted, Valen threw the pole at him, javelin-style. The end of the pole slammed into his gut, pushing all of the air out of his lungs, and Alain took the opportunity to take the sword from his shaking hand and knock him to the ground.
"What do you want?" Tebimar wheezed, trying to put on a brave face. If he was going to die, he didn't want to die with tears in his eyes. Hell, it was bad enough dying on the ground!
"Give us the key to Myrune's room, and all you'll receive is a headache." Valen said threateningly. "Refuse, and…" Alain waved the sword ominously.
"What do you want with her?" Tebimar demanded, his mind working furiously.
"Let's just say she picked the wrong side."
They know! I've got to warn her… Tebimar slowly sat up, his hands raised, before taking a small key off of a fine chain around his neck. He tossed it to Alain, who caught it deftly.
"You've made the right choice, Tebimar. Now good night," Valen said, as Alain brought the handle of the sword on the back of his head. Neither one noticed the slight smile on Tebimar's face as he sank into blackness.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Myrune jerked awake out of her slumber, evil nightmares already fading in the new day. An odd sense of foreboding hung over her lavish bedroom, a creeping danger hiding in the shadows of her closet and the crack under her bed. She rose slowly, reaching for the brooch on her bedside table…
"Ahh!"
She jerked her hand back, the small black brooch that she usually attached to her lapel, growing hot in her palm. The heat could only mean one thing. Each of the generals of her house had been given an identical brooch, which they were to keep on them at all times. The brooch was a kind of early-warning system, used to warn Myrune of approaching danger (incidentally, it was not designed for Myrune to warn her generals of danger; they weren't important enough for that feature). The heat grew hotter or cooler according to the proximity of the threat. The closest house general was…
"Tebimar," she muttered, all grogginess forgotten. Something was wrong in her house. Could Zesyrr, that treacherous bizak, have made another assassination attempt? No. If that was all it was, then Tebimar would not have bothered to warn her. Her daughter had no soldier that could equal the captain's skill. The Valsharess…? No, she had no reason to fear her any longer. After all, she had already betrayed the Seer. What more was needed to show her defection?
Who then? Some outsider? Who dared?
"There they are! Over there!"
Voices, coming from further down the hall. The invaders were approaching. Quickly, she rose and dressed, preparing herself for what might come bursting into her room. Her calm and collected manner hid the inner turmoil of her whirling mind. Methodically, she prepared whatever spell she might need, ignoring the cries of pain from outside the door… Closer now.
"Unnh!" THUMP! Her doorway rattled as the heavy weight of a limp body crashed against it, and she flinched, setting herself. She wanted to see the faces of the intruders before she killed them. There was a scraping sound as the body was dragged away from the door, then the soft click! of the key turning the lock.
The human monk who had been at the meeting and the tiefling general stepped into the room. Whoever she expected to see, it wasn't them. That's it then. She thought dismally. They must know, and now they've come to eliminate me. Well, it couldn't stay hidden forever. Now was as good a time as anyway to leave the camp.
But she would kill these two first, before her departure. It would further tip the scales in the Valsharess' favor. She pulled out a thin, gray wand from her robes, recalling the particular incantation for the weapon.
"Rezzat!"
The wand's tip, pointed at the two fighters, erupted in a magical explosion of light, before a jet-blue bolt of lightning burst forward. The deadly electricity would have killed them both if not for the quick thinking of the monk, who had chosen that moment to go for his shuriken. Three such shuriken, tucked in between each of the fingers on his right hand, were flicked into the air in different directions. The bolt of electricity suddenly changed course, splintering into smaller forks aimed at the shuriken. The small projectiles were burnt to a crisp on contact with a flash of light that made her eyes water, but the damage was done: the two invaders were unharmed.
Mentally, she summoned the concentration to begin another casting, beginning a silent spell. Rezzat! She cried in her mind, and the wand, reacting to her mental command, obeyed. This time, though, both fighters were ready. Alain tossed himself to the right, out of the way of the bolt, while Valen leapt behind one of Myrune's dresser, his heavy armor making him an easy target. The bolt of lightning blasted harmlessly into one of the stone walls, leaving a blackened scorch mark. A second later, the rod of lightning went spinning out of her hand, victim of another shuriken from Alain.
Even so, she was not unprepared. Her opposite hand dove into her robes again, this time coming with a different wand. This wand was gray in color, with strange, string-like lines running down the handle. She aimed it at Alain quickly, concentrating.
"Spinnero!"
At once, a clump of whitish-gray material burst from the tip of her wand, pushing the younger monk to the floor. Alain floundered, trying to climb to his feet, but the sticky white material seemed to liquidate upon contact, forming a gooey puddle that held him fast to the ground. He tried to focus his Ki, flailing out with his fists, but was only making slight progress in removing the barrier.
"Take your last look at the world!" Myrune cried triumphantly, beginning the hand signs necessary for another spell. A circle of flame etched itself into the ground around Alain, forming a shimmering barrier of heat and smoke. As Myrune's chanting continued, the flames grew higher and higher. Alain found himself getting short of breath. Valen quickly pulled out one of the dressers from the Matron's dresser, taking aim.
"Agagh no fintae delorna- Ahhh!" Myrune's chanting was interrupted by a flying chunk of plywood, courtesy of Valen. The piece of timber had left a bruise on one of her cheeks, and she glared angrily at Valen, her face twisted in fury. With her attention diverted, the flames surrounding Alain began to die away, allowing him to breathe easier. He shifted his body as much as he could, pushing his webbed body closer to the fire. For all its adhesive properties, the webbing was not fire-resistant, and immediately they began to run.
Myrune took no notice, turning her focus to Valen. "Damned tiefling! There is no hope for us here. Your precious, peace-loving Seer will have her head mounted on a pike before the week is over!"
Valen's eyes narrowed, his cold blue eyes shifting to a dancing crimson color. "Perhaps," he said softly, yet Myrune could hear every word. "But not before we mount your head first… as a warning to all traitors!" He charged forward suddenly as he ended his statement, his flail held high.
Myrune was remarkably calm considering the threat of an angry, 200 pound-tiefling with a blunt weapon moving toward her. She aimed the rod of entangling at Valen's leg and said the incantation. "Spinnero!" Valen, having dealt with his fair share of spell-casters, anticipated the spell and leapt to his left. A mass of webbing hit the ground with a wet SMACK!
No matter. Myrune gathered her will, preparing to take another shot. Before she activate the spell, though, a shuriken landed with a dull thud in the side of the rod. At once, a stream of kaleidoscopic energy began to flow like blood from a wound. Quickly, she threw the wand away from her, which landed in the middle of the room before detonating, separating the combatants with a wall of magical flame.
"Surrender, Myrune, you're trapped!" cried Alain over the roar of the fire. Despite the fact that the deceitful Matron had duped his teacher and the Seer, he still wanted to take her alive if possible. Most of the webbing had either melted or had been torn off, taking his shirt and pants off in patches.
"Looks can be deceiving!" Myrune said with a laugh, putting away her wand and beginning another spell. It was a teleportation spell, similar to the one she had cast on the boy's teacher and useful for a quick escape. But where to go? The Seer's camp was no longer safe, and she could expect no shelter from any of her followers. All that was left was the Valsharess, her former enemy. Her reign in Mae'vir had come to an end.
And I have these two to thank for that, she thought, giving the warriors a poisonous look. "I may have lost this round, but your days are numbered! Do the smart thing, and give up. I promise your deaths will be quick!" She disappeared in a puff of red smoke as the spell activated, her laughter echoing in her wake. Valen swore angrily, a bitter curse that Alain did not care to hear again.
"We have to get out of here," Alain called as the flame began to spread outward, pushing them towards the exit. Green fire licked the cold stone hungrily. "We've done all we can here." Valen reluctantly agreed, and the two fled the Mae'vir home with haste. Within minutes, they were followed by the subjects of Mae'vir, who, if possible, were even quicker in abandoning the house.
Within minutes, the ancestral home of Mae'vir was reduced to smoldering stones by the magical fire, its former history of glory and conquest wiped clean.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Myrune was spared the sight of her house in her ruins, for at that moment, she appeared inside the quarters of Tenari, commander of the Valsharess' task force. The male was instantly up from his chair, a hand going to his blade hilt, but it wasn't necessary. His tent had been warded against unannounced appearances, hostile or friendly, and breaking through such wards didn't come without a price. Myrune doubled over in pain, her skin feeling like it had been rubbed rub with sharp gravel. Bypassing such extreme magical protections inevitably caused temporary damage to the nervous system.
"Well, well…" Tenari drawled, slowly approaching the Matron. His tone was friendly, but there was an amused gleam in his eyes that she didn't like. "If it isn't Matron Myrune herself. What brings you here?"
"I-" Myrune hesitated, then plunged on. While did she feel so uncomfortable around this Drow? "I was found out. This was the first place I could think of to go to." This was a half-truth, in reality, this was the only place she could go to.
"You were discovered?" Tenari's face deepened in concern. Not for Myrune, but for himself. Finding a spy in a high position in your army could prove disastrous, for both the opposing army and the defending. The Seer would soon make changes in their strategy, so as to negate any advantage a spy may have gained. "How? Who?"
"I'm not sure how, I just know I was!" Myrune cried angrily, the stitch in her side pulsing angrily. Tenari gave her an icy glare that she completely missed in a momentary wince of pain. "One moment I'm sleeping- the next that damned human and tiefling general come rushing into the room!"
"Human… monk?" Tenari said quietly, his eyes growing brighter. Myrune, in her agitation didn't notice.
"I'm a Matron, and I deserve more respect, even if I am your enemy! Get a cleric in here! The Valsharess would agree with me, and when I get back-"
"Shut. Up."
The words were soft, spoken without any real feeling, yet they had all the effect as breathless bellowing. Tenari's hand had crept to his sword hilt again, and Myrune was uncomfortably aware of how close they were. Close enough to slice her in two in one swipe…
"How can you say you deserve respect, when you are discovered as a traitor, working for the same enemy who had already defeated you once. You claim to be a Matron, but your House is in shambles, scattered far and wide. The one use that you had- the only work you needed to do is gone now. There can be no going back."
"I've already done plenty!" Myrune shouted, her eyes flashing. That was the difference: while the Matron shouted and carried, Tenari's voice remained low. "What more could you need to win this battle? You have their strategies- their weak points-"
"What we needed was a foot in the door." Tenari replied, his voice implacably calm. "Your task was not to manage an army, or maintain the troops. Your task was not to gather our forces, or prepare a strategy. "Your task," for the first time, Tenari's voice trembled in anger, "your task was to sit inside those walls and wait for us! Was that too difficult for you?"
Myrune, shocked at being spoken too in such a manner, didn't have the strength to reply.
"Well," Tenari said, his voice sounding disappointed. He turned his back on her slowly, and the effect was obvious. "I guess that's about what I expect. You can leave now."
"Leave!" Myrune nearly shrieked, her silence forgotten. How could she be told to leave after all she had done? I've sacrificed so much, given up all my protection… Part of her had expected a double-cross, after all, she was a Drow, and in his position, she might have done the same thing. But that wasn't the situation. "I have nowhere to go!"
"…No," Tenari said slowly, as if in deep thought. Myrune understood at once that he was talking to himself more than to her. "No, I couldn't do that. The Valsharess wouldn't like that at all, and than I would in for it, wouldn't I?"
Myrune didn't speak. Her future hung in the balance. Either she would live or die, depending upon Tenari's mood. It was surreal, the knowledge that someone could hold so much power over her, and for a moment, she felt a twinge of pity for the servants she had condemned to death.
But only for a moment.
Tenari turned back to her, his face expressionless. Then the Drow commander broke into a wide grin. Myrune watched his visage with bated breath.
"I'll just make sure that the Valsharess never hears of you," said Tenari with an icy smile, drawing his blade in a fluid motion. Normally, Myrune cared nothing for the weapons of her opponent- which was what Tenari was- but her eyes were entranced by the beautiful, somehow familiar sword. It was a long sword, with a polished golden hilt. The blade itself sizzled and crackled softly, buzzing with electricity so hot that it seemed to exist in its own pocket of air. Tenari noticed her grin and smiled.
"Seeing as how you procured this for me, I thought it would be fitting to end your life with your own mistake," he said, before rushing toward her. Myrune didn't waste her time on frantic pleas, or reason. The primal instinct, the need to fight or flee rose up in her, and Myrune acted as a cornered animal would: she would fight.
There was one more wand that she had left to unveil, one which she had not utilized in her earlier battle. She would use it now, whipping it out of her belt in a quick movement. The rod was small, about three inches from tip to tip, and a dark orange color. She leveled the wand at the approaching Drow and closed her eyes shut, lest she be blinded.
"Infernus das!"
A ball of flame boomed powerfully from the miniscule tip of the wand, dazzling her even with her eyes shut tightly. There was a resounding CRACK! as the fireball connected with what she hoped was Tenari, and a rushing backflow of air swept past her. When she opened her eyes, Tenari was gone, and there was a blackened patch on the floor. Not even a chunk of his armor had survived the blast.
"All too easy," she said to herself, allowing a small smile on her face. She slowly put the wand back into her robe, already plotting her next move. Someone must have heard the explosion, and they would come to investigate. She should cast a spell of invisibility, and try to sneak back into the rebel camp. Then, she would make up some story to tell the Seer… perhaps she had been kidnapped by spies of the Valsharess?
She was too involved in her own thoughts to hear the scrape of steel leaving a sheath.
"Maybe too easy?" questioned a voice behind Myrune, impossibly close. She began to turn, but the plunge of a sword through her gut held her in place like a pig on a spit. She coughed, shuddering on the tip of the blade, feeling the rusty taste of blood enter her mouth. Tenari leaned forward, shoving the sword in deeper, until his lips were next to the Matron's ears.
"How does it feel? Painful?" He asked casually, giving the sword a little jerk. Incredibly, the overwhelming wave of agony she had experienced with the sword's entry into her stomach was fading, only to be replaced with a kind of dreamy sleepiness. She looked down at the blade, protruding out of her belly, and saw that the sparks of electricity were quite visible, shocking her from the inside. The nerves and synapses that communicated pain to the brain were being dulled, destroyed by the sheer voltage of the sword. The pain was entirely gone now, yet she knew she was dying, slowly bleeding to death. She tried to lift up her head, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
"A painless death," Tenari said, his voice sounding farther and farther away. "Call it a gift to you… a reward for your services."
The Drow pulled the sword out of her in one quick motion, pushing the Matron forward, where she flopped onto the floor face-first. He looked at the bloodied blade with distaste, and then concentrated, closing his eyes. The sword responded by flaring up in excess electricity, the voltage rising and boiling the blood along the surface of the blade. When he opened his eyes, the steel was spotless.
Wonderful, he thought, as he sheathed the blade and stepped out from the tent. It seems that the enchantments react to my thoughts, and changes accordingly. Whoever made this was a genius! Perhaps I should have asked Myrune where she had stolen it.. Oh well. Done was done.
Losing a spy was des'tai, but that he could deal with. But now that the enemy knew that they had been infiltrated… that was worse. If he didn't take action soon, then the strategies he had created with Myrune's information would be useless. He had to strike a decisive blow, and soon.
"Jarluk," he called to his sub-lieutenant, who was passing by at the time. Tenari jerked a finger over his shoulder, and said with a chilling smile, "I made a mess, and I need you to clean up. And when you're done there, rally the troops. We attack tomorrow."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
"What's the first thing you're going to do once the war with the Valsharess has ended, Delion?" Trey asked. The two had traveled on for hours since Lavoera's departure in silence. But the quiet was growing oppressive, and the dark seemed to be closing in on him. The Drow was unperturbed, but the human, who was used to a shining Sun and the scent of fresh air, felt as if he would soon crack under the pressure. Idle conversation was the best way to cut the tension.
"You mean, assuming we reach camp before the war's over?" Delion said, half-joking. Half-joking, because the signs weren't good. From the signs: disturbed rock and gravel, crushed fungi, and a lack of monsters, the Valsharess' army had passed through, ahead of them. Would they get there in time?
"Yes, assuming that."
"I suppose I…" he trailed off, trying to imagine a life when it was no longer necessary to look over his shoulders all the time: in the wild, where a lapse in thought meant death, and in civilization, where misplaced trust was assured death. "I had a revelation about Drow society many years ago. I suppose what I would want to do is to help others to have that same epiphany."
"What did you realize?"
"Well, the Drow are all about survival of the fittest. If you're weak for even a moment, then you can bet that someone's already plotting to take advantage of it. But that method's all wrong," Delion said, reflecting on his early years in Chad Nesad, a large Drow city to the north. "Drow are discouraged from showing any 'lesser' feelings: camaraderie, mercy, pity. You will never see a Drow cry. It's unnatural."
"So what would you do instead, if you could change things?" Trey asked, intrigued. Who would have known such an innocent question would have provoked such a discussion from Delion? Even though we've fought together in the dark and dim, there's still so much I don't know about him.
"I don't know," Delion said, allowing a frustrated expression to show in his face. "It's just… in the wild, the deadliest creatures aren't those who hunt alone, but those who hunt together in packs. If the Drow could forget all of this House nonsense, and come together… well, who knows what might happen? But when our very religion is set upon keeping us divided, how do you start?"
"Well, I've heard that Lloth has disappeared from the scene, hasn't she? Maybe your chance has come."
"Maybe. I hope so," Delion looked down at the ground, before raising his eyes, a smile on his face. "But I hope you didn't think you could walk on without telling me what you mean to do after this war? After all, this wasn't even your fight."
The shadows stretched over them as they passed under the heights of a large canyon, hemming them in on both sides. Trey took considerably more time to answer than Delion. Just when the Drow was about to repeat himself, the monk answered.
"You're right: this isn't my battle. When this is all over, I plan to return to the surface with my apprentice and continue my original mission."
"Your mission? Who tells you what to do? I always had you pegged as a drifter of some sort."
"Most of the time, I am. But my monastery has charged me with a contract, of sorts. My former student, a boy by the name of Maric, had killed three other students before fleeing the monastery. He had learned many skills under my tutelage, but the most important lessons: discipline, self-control, humility… these he knew nothing of. Imagine someone of my skill free to do what they want."
Delion tried to imagine a Drow with Trey's skills and shuddered. It was the only time that he felt grateful for Lloth, who only allowed one religion for her subjects. "What do you plan to do when you find him?"
"I want to ask him why." Trey said curtly, before falling silently. There were too many things he wanted to ask, in truth, but it all began with why. Delion, sensing his mood, decided not to press the matter.
It was when they were coming to the mouth of the canyon when Delion heard the first noise. It was a scraping sound, hardly audible in the undercurrent of their footsteps, but it was there. The Drow froze, listening hard. Trey immediately stopped as well, sensing that something was wrong.
All was silent, save for the occasional breeze stirring loose gravel along the ground. Gnik-gnik-gnik… Delion barely heard this strange sound a few seconds later. What could it be? It sounded like rubber, or thread, being stretched, pulled to its maximum length. It sounded like…
Taut bowstrings slowly pulled back for maximum accuracy. As his eyes flicked to the opening of the canyon, he realized, almost too late, what was about to happen. The mouth of the chasm seemed like the yawning maw of some monster, trapping them inside. It was the perfect site for an ambush.
"Archers!" he hissed to Trey, drawing his blades just as the first volley of arrows flew toward them. In the darkness, Delion could just barely make out the outlines of the missiles. Trey would see nothing, until it was too late.
Delion dove forward without a thought. He had never intercepted an arrow in flight before, and there was no reason to think he could so now. But there was no time to dwell on that. It was as if his body had moved on its own. He reached out with his arm, angling the blade just so.
CLINK! The tip of an arrowhead ricocheted off of the flat end of his sword, bouncing harmlessly away. Delion stared at the arrow in shock, his mind uncomprehending. Luckily for him, the monk recovered quickly, deflecting the remaining arrows away from the Drow.
"How did that…?" Delion asked in a daze. He looked at his sword in wonder, then at the arrow again. Trey slapped his shoulder briskly, searching the dark for the enemy.
"Snap out of it! Lavoera told you the blades were enchanted, remember? Try to focus!" Trey snapped, his eyes flicking from the right to the left, rapidly. There! A low flying arrow from his left, aimed at his thigh. He waved the arrow away with his left hand, using his Ki to shield his palm at the last moment. Guess that way is as good as any… he thought, running in the direction from where the arrow had come from.
Delion overcame his fascination and took off after the monk, heading towards his right. It made the most sense for the archers to flank both sides of the canyon mouth, where there was the least likely chance of retribution. Still, something didn't add up. Why didn't they just wait until we passed by them, and kill us in the crossfire? It's like they wanted to make themselves known…
Of course, the Drow archers didn't make it any easier to approach. Arrows flitted by the two, but the closest were easily deflected by Trey. Even Delion, who had no prior experience, slapped away a few arrows, thanks mostly to the magic of his swords.
There you are, Trey thought, spotting two Drow archers crouching low behind a large boulder just past the exit of the canyon. They wore red armor branded with the mark of the Valsharess, along with another brand he did not recognize. They were equipped with longbows crafted from polished ironwood, with bowstrings of hammered mithril. Only the best for the elite, he supposed. But only two of them?
One of the archers had time to loose another arrow at him, which he deflected without changing his course. The other drew a curved dagger, holding his bow loosely in one hand. As Trey got closer, the archer swung the bow in a quick, one-handed swing. Trey hung back for a second, then charged forward when the swing was at its apex. He pushed the bow out of his way with his left hand, blocking the archer's knife hand, and swung out with his right, a looping punch that broke the unfortunate Drow's nose. Keep one, he thought, turning to deal with the other archer, who was quickly readying himself for another shot.
The monk was too close, and the Drow's shot went wide, thudding dangerously close in the stone a few inches away from his companion. A second later, his bow snapped in two, courtesy of a chop from Trey's left hand. The monk's right leg collided with the Drow's windpipe, and the resulting pain was enough to push him into unconsciousness.
Two archers. Just enough, Delion thought. He concentrated, creating a globe of darkness over the Drow as he approached. The archers immediately abandoned their sniping post and separated, trying to confuse the swordsman. Well, at least they had done that much. A loose rock, kicked up one of the retreating archers, bounced away to his left, and he plunged in that direction, his swords held high. He struck out in the darkness, using the quick, shallow breathing of his opponent as a target and struck, the warm, sticky splash of blood along his forearm his only indicator. Moving on instinct, he raised his opposite sword arm, parrying a blow from the archer's bow that he intuited rather than saw. Steel met wood, and steel proved stronger, eating into the ironwood with ease. With the archer's only weapon pinned, the archer was wide open, and this time Delion struck again, for the heart.
Within minutes, the only survivor of the failed ambush attempt was the archer with the broken nose, who lay shuddering on the ground before them. Trey had tried to interrogate him, but had only received streams of Drow cursing in reply. The strange markings he had seen on the Drow's armor looked no differently up close.
"What do you think it is?" Trey asked, as the wounded archer glowered at them suspiciously. The symbol of the Valsharess: a tiny spider held pinned beneath the hand of a Drow, (obviously the Valsharess) was obscured by two black marks seared into the armor.
"They look like…horns," Delion said after a moment's thought.
"Horns?" Trey asked aloud. Who did he know who had horns?
"Whoever it is, they've got some serious resources. These bows," Delion said, picking up one of the archers' weapons, "are not standard for the bowmen of the Valsharess. Way too expensive."
Someone else is at work here, Trey thought. Someone with resources, horns, and a grudge. Aloud, he said, "I think that we better move a little quicker towards Lith My'athar. I've suddenly developed a really bad feeling about all of this."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Failed? Well, yes, I gathered.
There's someone else at work here. I told you that the Relic and I will be reunited: my will is firm, and nothing will deter it. No matter how much those monks fight, I will have my freedom. Such an unstoppable force cannot be held back with a mere punch.
Yet, at the same time, there seems to be some power, just as formidable as mine, that wants the old monk to reach that camp in time. It's like magnets of opposite poles calling out to each other miles away. A few archers won't be able to stop him any more than I could. It's fated to happen. Fine, I can deal with that. Let the boy have his teacher back. What harm could it do?
Tomorrow, yes, I know. After all this waiting, this confinement, tomorrow will be the day of my freedom. Serving this mortal has been the most excruciating punishment I have ever served (and coming from Hell, trust me, I know punishment.) I won't even begin to tell you the type of pain I am going to inflict on her the moment I snap free from my bonds…
But there's still a certain amount of planning involved, yes. The force that has been dispatched to deal with Lith My'athar is only a fraction of the Valsharess' power, even without my demonic minions. If the Seer's merry group of freedom fighters should come riding up to the palace of the Valsharess and meet her full power of her army… well, that wouldn't do, would it? Fortunately, I am more than equipped to deal with this little problem. A nice little disease, urged along by my prodding finger, should serve to decimate the Valsharess' forces and even the odds a bit.
After all, all's fair in love and war, right? Especially since I'm just going to kill them all, anyway.
Soon, so soon… I can't wait until I can start to forget the whining mewls spewing from this mortal's mouth…