24 – Laughter in the Flames

"Always maneuver so your back is to the sun and the light is in the eyes of your enemy. If you are fighting at night or indoors try to make your enemy face any nearby flames." –Davo Abraxus, A Manual on the Art of Combat

"If there are no flames available maybe it's time to set one of your enemies on fire" -Anonymous note scrawled in the margin of Candlekeep's copy of A Manual on the Art of Combat

Lantern light bobbed gently between brambles and saplings, illuminating the forest path. Within the weak band of light two men in green cloaks and sturdy leathers made their way, heads swishing as they gave the forest around them cursory glances. The midnight foot-patrol could see little beyond their path and a few nearby trees; it was an overcast evening, the sharp sliver of Selune faint behind gloomy clouds. All around them the forest was still and silent.

That silence was shattered by the sudden thump of a bowstring, followed by the swish of an arrow and a gasp from one of the men. Another bowshot followed almost instantly. The first man went limp and fell face-first into the brush, the feathered arrow that had lodged deep in his back shaking as violent shudders ran through his body.

The second patrolman managed to stay upright, gripping at the shaft that protruded from his side as his lantern clattered to the forest floor. His other hand pulled clumsily at the hilt of his sword.

Branches snapped and flew aside as something heavy bounded through the undergrowth close by. The patrolman took a deep breath and yanked at his weapon, but failed to pull it fully from the scabbard before Shar-Teel rushed into the field of lantern-light, her blade leading the way. It plunged through the thick layers of leather that covered the man's chest, and with a ripping sound and a splash of gore the tip of the blade burst out from between his shoulder blades.

The stab and the shock dropped the man to his knees, and when Shar-Teel yanked her sword from his chest he was dead-weight flopping to the ground. More branches rustled as people emerged from the trees, following Shar-Teel into the lantern light; first Kivan and Imoen with their bows out and ready, followed by the Flaming Fist soldiers. The warriors filed onto the forest path in an orderly, well-rehearsed fashion.

Safana opened her eyes at the sound of snoring and the rhythmic rise and fall of the broad chest beneath her ear, a sure sign that Tenhammer was down for the count. Pressing her palms against the sleeping man's torso, she rose and stretched briefly before tossing the furs back and disengaging herself from his bulk. There was no need to go about it carefully, for she had no fear of rousing him. The sleeping poison she had slipped into his rum (darfly venom and a pinch of black lotus essence,) would insure he did not wake for a while.

Indeed Tenhammer didn't stir a bit, and likely wouldn't have if an army came marching through the tent. For a moment Safana admired how content and at ease he looked laying there, naked and sprawled out fully across the surface of the cot. The rum and poison would insure that when he finally did awaken his memory of tonight would be a blur if not a complete blank. Hopefully he'd never realize exactly how he got put to sleep.

As Safana gathered her clothes and belongings her hand rested on the hilt of her dagger, and she gave the sleeping man one more lingering look. Taurgosz Khosann would make a dangerous enemy in the future, if he put two and two together, and he'd never be more vulnerable than he was right now. It also wouldn't be the first time she had killed a man in his sleep after putting him to sleep, though that had been under very different circumstances.

But no, he'd done nothing to deserve that. And she rather liked the big brute.

She turned away and slipped her leather halter on, then climbed into her leggings and laced them up. Next she strapped on her belt and the long knife that hung from it, and then came her boots, followed by her jewelry. Finally she strapped on a bandolier of throwing knives. After dressing and pushing her way past the flaps of Khosann's tent she gave a nod and a smile to his bodyguards and slipped out into the darkness.

Judging by the smear of silver behind the clouds that marked Selune's location it was just a little after middark. Safana plotted a leisurely course around the camp, enjoying the momentarily quiet and biding her time before she approached Tazok's tent. Ash and Garrick stood in the shadow of a nearby hut, trying to look inconspicuous. Sauntering up to the pair, Safana gave them a grin and a low whisper. "Khosann won't be a problem," she said with a little pride. "And I see you two are ready."

Ash tapped one of the swords at her hip. "Yep," she said, stone-faced as always.

"Shame you weren't willing to take Ardenor out the way I suggested," Safana whispered teasingly.

With a smooth, silent motion Ash pulled her sword an inch out of its sheath, showing a little steel. "This'll work just as well for him," she stated calmly. "Maybe better. Don't think I'm his type." The sword slid back into the scabbard.

Bah. That girl was just no fun. When you tease them about seducing hobgoblins they're supposed to blush or get all indignant, not casually brush it off.

From their staging ground beneath the trees the little force had a good view of the guard stations that marked the edge of Tazok's camp; crude wooden barricades lit by torches and manned by pairs of hobgoblins or humans. The posts were sparsely arranged, and if the Flaming Fists struck and moved quickly they would be inside the camp before the rest of the outer guard knew what was happening.

"I still mislike her presence on the battlefield," Kivan whispered, attempting to glare arrow-holes through the head of the dark elf who was huddling close by. "As likely to stab us in the back as assist in any way, and I don't see why such a self-concerned creature would even wish to assist us."

There was a clink of armor as Ajantis nodded solemnly, kneeling beside the ranger. "There is a stench of evil about this woman. I told Lieutenant Vai of it when we first captured her."

Upper lip twitching, Viconia glared back at the both of them. She was hunched down close to Imoen, whose side she had kept to whenever she could over the past two days. The dark elf gripped a sharpened throwing-disk tightly in her hand. "There's nothing remotely sweet about your smell either, riivil," she snarled at Ajantis. "I'm grateful to the Nightsinger to be upwind at the moment." Next she turned her full glare on Kivan. "And as I have explained before: this girl saved my life, and I intend to repay. Is it my fault a wild beast such as yourself cannot understand the concept of debt?"

"I understand honor and obligation better than any drow," Kivan whispered. "Your kind-"

Viconia actually let out half-a-laugh at this, interrupting him. "Drow have no honor, yes. But you forget that I serve the Lady of Loss now. She teaches that-"

"Would you two stuff it?" Kagain interjected. "The battlefield is not a place to give sermons or 'mislike' anything. Just do your damn jobs and you can debate elven culture or fuck or rip each other's throats out or whatever on your own time."

Kivan fell silent and Viconia simply nodded and said: "Yes alur."

"Well said," Vai hissed. "You. Elf." She gestured with her sword towards Kivan. "Seems you have some reach with that bow. At my signal put an arrow in that hob at the far right post. The one on the right side." Next the tip of her blade turned towards Imoen. "You. Girl. Try and hit the hob on the left when he does that."

Imoen gave her a frumpy look. Like the elf's automatically the best archer! It had been her arrow that instantly killed the first patrolman, after all.

"Rest of us will charge the central guard post as soon as those arrows fly," Vai went on. "Silence from here on out."

They obeyed, and not another whispered word was spoken as they inched forward, pushing through the last of the brush that separated them from the open grass. When the armor ceased clinking and the small force faced the unaware guard posts Vai held her sword aloft and took a deep breath, preparing to signal.

Ashura, Safana and Garrick glanced at each other as the first alarm bells began to ring. A moment later gongs clashed as well, calling the camp to full alert. "There's our cue," Safana noted.

Garrick readied his crossbow and focused on Tazok's tent. "Enter stage left." He began to march forward and Ashura quickly matched his pace, walking purposefully towards the great dome. Safana slipped into the shadows behind them as they went. Their job in this little part of the play was to draw attention. Hers was not.

"Stop right there!" a man barked at Ashura and Garrick as they placed their feet on the first wooden step beneath Tazok's great dome.

"Yeah!" Credus added, standing to the left of the guard. On the other side Knott silently stepped forward. "No one's allowed up here but us who've drawn the duty."

"We're here to relieve you," Ashura said.

"I never heard anything abou-" the first guard began, his words turning to a gasp and then a gurgle as Knott's dagger sank into his neck.

"Afraid she's right," Knott quipped as he twisted the blade. There were two more guards posted by the tent flaps who were not Safana's men, but they had barely begun to move when a crossbow bolt caught one in the chest and Ashura launched herself up the steps, charging the last guard standing. The unlucky woman managed to draw her sword just as Ashura closed and batted it aside, driving her second blade between the guardswoman's ribs. It all happened too fast for an alarm to be sounded.

Still, the commotion on the porch didn't go unnoticed. A bulky hobgoblin stuck his head and shoulders out between the tent flaps, holding a longbow. "What the hells-" he began before he fully surveyed the scene. As realization dawned in his eyes his hand snapped back to clutch an arrow.

Before he could pull the bowstring back a throwing knife lodged in the side of the hobgoblin's muscular neck and his hand went limp, the arrow clattering to the floor. With a dash and a stab of her sword Ashura finished him off.

Readying another dagger, Safana leapt to the upper portion of the porch beside Ashura. Several of her men followed and took up guard positions as the two women silently shouldered their way through the flaps of the tent, followed closely by Garrick and Knott.

The interior of the great dome was spacious and clean, dominated by a massive throne of cushioned iron that sat upon a fine rug of spun silk. Banners and stolen paintings decorated the hide walls, and a wide, square firepit sat at the center of the room beneath an iron stove. Near the pit was an oaken table, its chairs overturned by the two occupants of the room. They had apparently been enjoying a midnight card game before the commotion and the invasion.

Ashura instantly recognized one of the pair: Raemond, the blonde Black Talon who had tested her in the ring. The other guard was one of the biggest gnolls she'd ever seen, tall and broad with scarred orange fur, clad in the strips of mismatched leather his species tended to wear for both armor and clothing. The pair reacted much faster than the other guards had, the gnoll hefting a two-handed ax and rushing the intruders without hesitation while the human drew a bow. The arrow was loosed in an instant, whistling by Safana as she dove behind the stack of wood by the cookfire.

The gnoll swung his ax in a broad stroke aimed at Ashura's head, which she managed to duck, but she gasped and stumbled back when the creature slammed the oaken shaft of his weapon against her chest in the same motion. As the gnoll slashed out again Garrick's crossbow thumped, but the bolt that struck its chest hardly seemed to slow the creature, simply eliciting a roar from its frothing mouth as Ashura desperately parried the double-blades.

By then Raemon had another arrow knocked and aimed, and he didn't hesitate to shoot. The arrow sped towards Garrick and cut through the fabric of his cloak, missing his body by a hairbreadth as the bard danced to the side. Raemon quickly plucked another arrow and drew, but before he could let it fly Garrick managed to sing out a few clipped words and a misty latticework shimmered into being between them. It solidified in an instant; a wall of white mudbrick that blocked off the far side of the tent and left Raemon cursing.

One of Safana's throwing knives sank into the gnoll's bicep with a thump, but the ax kept swinging, drawing a narrow slash across Ashura's shoulder as the leather tore. Thankfully the gnoll's attacks seemed to slow a little after that, and Ashura finally managed to catch its ax with one sword and slip under the creature's guard with the other. Her blade bit deep, opening a gash across the beast's broad stomach. The shock of the creature's guts spilling out onto the hardwood floor was enough to end the ax swings, and a high slash across its neck finally brought it down.

As the beast struck the floor the brick wall wavered slightly and Raemon stepped through the illusion, his bow abandoned and his longsword leading the way. He burst into view right next to Ashura, their swords instantly locking in a close and frantic melee.

Armed as she was with her favored weapons, Ashura managed to make her second duel with Raemon even quicker than the first. After a few ringing blows and counters she had his sword locked high and managed to bring her offhand blade in at the same time and drive it through the front of his neck. She disengaged from the dying man with a kick and shook the blood from her swords, glancing around.

"Well that went smoothly enough," Safana noted, rising up and walking over to a pile of chests, weapon racks and other assorted treasures in a corner of the tent. Some tools appeared in her hands as she approached the biggest, gaudiest chest and began applying alchemical powder before picking the lock.

Knott was silent and wide-eyed, staring at the two corpses. Ashura shared a look with him, then gave the man a cold nod.

By then Safana had pulled the lid of the chest back. The lamplight glinted off jewel-encrusted cookware, necklaces, rings and bracelets piled high inside. She ignored the jewelry and picked the most mundane object from the chest: a wooden scroll case that she didn't hesitate to open. Her lips curled into a content smile as she unrolled the sheet of hide within and looked it over briefly. Satisfied, she rolled it back up and slipped the case into her belt.

"So that's what this is all about?" Ashura asked. She had wasted no time searching through the weapons and picking her own enchanted short swords out. She was searching for her boots now. "Looked like a map."

"That's what it is," Safana replied evasively, picking out a few choice pieces of jewelry before stepping back and inviting her companions to do the same.

Ashura shrugged and didn't press, instead searching through the racks of magical items until she had her full kit back: enchanted boots, plumed helmet, protective ring and all, a shimmer running over her body as she slipped the ring onto her finger.

"That's a pretty minor enchantment," Garrick noted, picking out some musical instruments and wands.

Ashura shrugged. "I went through a lot of shit for this ring," she admitted. Now if she could just find some decent chainmail she'd feel complete. Unfortunately nothing on the armor racks looked like it would fit her. Instead she picked out a pair of studded bracers attached to fingerless gloves. Lines of draconic script were stitched across the leather.

"Now those are nice," Garrick said. "They'll quicken your arms when you swing your weapons. Not that you need to be any faster but I guess every little bit helps."

"Flatterer." Ashura nodded and slipped the gloves on, flexing her fingers. In a blur of motion she drew her swords and cut through the air, enchanted steel whistling. "Yeah. Very nice."

"I think this is about all I can comfortably carry," Safana said, and Knott nodded as well, his belt pouches stuffed with gems. "Time to give the boys a chance to snatch what they can and then see what's going on outside. If we just walk in the opposite direction of the chaos we'll be able to slip out of the camp, and you two can go help your friends if that's what you want."

"It is," Ashura said instantly. "My best friend's out there. Not leaving without her." After Safana gave her a nod she added: "Thanks for helping us escape. And everything else you've done."

"Yeah," Garrick smiled. "We owe you."

"You do indeed." With that Safana wheeled towards the flap of the tent and they followed her. The sounds of alarm had never ceased, and in the distance they could hear shouts and the occasional ring of steel on steel. Close by, however, all was silent, and there wasn't even a word of greeting from the others when Safana and Knott pushed the tent flaps back.

The familiar creak of bows greeted them. It came from a ring of Black Talon archers and hobgoblins at the base of the wooden steps. Ardenor Crush stood in their midst, a large grey worg pacing behind him, and beside him stood Credus, a self-satisfied grin on the junior bandit's face. At the top of the steps lay the bodies of Safana's men, pin-cushioned with arrows, likely killed while the others had been fighting inside the tent.

"Credus," Safana stated coldly. "Never would have guessed you'd have the initiative."

"Figure I'm going up a few rungs on the ladder after this," he replied.

As she dove back into the tent Safana's arm shot up and over her head, flinging a throwing dagger through the gap. Crush managed to swing his shield up and the blade lodged there just short of plunging into Credus' forehead. At the same time the arrows flew, and Knott fell face forward with three of them sticking from his torso.

Behind Safana Ashura was scowling, weapons out as she crouched low. "Very loyal men you've got," she noted.

"Not now," Safana growled, genuinely furious for the first time Ashura could think of. The fact that she didn't have all of her men as tightly wrapped around her finger as she had thought seemed to be a sore spot. That and they were surrounded by archers. And royally fucked.

The sounds battle-cries and clanging weapons were quickly being replaced by panicked screams and general chaos. It would have all been terrifying to Imoen if the chaos didn't seem to be favoring her side. Even then it was a little scary.

Still, she did her part to add to the mayhem, drawing her bow back and sending a sputtering fire-arrow in the direction of another hut, then another. Flames bloomed and spread wherever the magical arrows struck, illuminating the battlefield and sending fingers and smoke and cinders into the air, as well as flushing more and more bandits from the burning tents.

Up ahead between the fires the enemy forces had formed orderly ranks, hobgoblin shields locking and gnoll shock troops towering over them with spears out and ready. A wave of Xan's magic that rippled through the air and the lines of soldiers changed all that, sewing confusion just as the Flaming Fists surged towards the enemy force. Half the hobs and gnolls turned on each other and began to exchange blows, while many of the rest stood with stunned, vacant looks in their eyes, offering no resistance as the swords of Ajanatis and Lieutenant Vai tore into them.

Behind the wavering footsoldiers a line of Black Talon archers had drawn their bows and promptly been enveloped in a cloud of billowing darkness before they could get a proper volley off. Viconia, who had summoned the cloud with an invocation to the Nightsinger, grinned at the shifting wall of blackness with pride from her position next to Imoen. One by one the archers stumbled from the cloud, disoriented and turned in random directions. They made easy targets for Kivan and Imoen that way.

"Forward!" Lieutenant Vai shouted from the vanguard of their little formation. "Press it!"

And press they did, cutting through the disordered mass of bandits like a knife, ever forward. There were sickening crunches and high-pitched cries all around Imoen as heavy boots stomped on the fallen and swords swept down, piercing anyone who was still moving.

Although speed, surprise and magic were on their side numbers were not. Everywhere Imoen looked she saw more and more bandits streaming out between the huts. Their little formation of soldiers seemed a tiny island in a sea of hostility and bristling steel. The march forward ground to a halt as they were assailed from all sides, and soon Imoen found herself lost in the chaotic melee, ducking and dancing away from enemy blades and trying to make herself very, very small as she fired point-blank again and again.

A few deep breaths later she was clear of the pressing bodies, back against the wall of a hut. She felt a gentle hand upon her shoulder and gasped, looking over into the violet eyes of the drow woman. The firelight seemed to dance within them.

"You said you can see in the dark abban?" Viconia asked.

"Ya," Imoen nodded breathlessly. "With my magic ring."

"Then you have use," the drow stated brusquely. "Follow my lead." With that she turned towards a large contingent of Black Talon soldiers that was flowing towards them, through the gap between two large huts. Stretching a hand forward the dark elf's voice rang, almost musically: "Nightsinger, cut a path through the light."

In the midst of the advancing enemy a starburst of darkness bloomed and swiftly grew. It was hard to tell but it seemed a slightly different spell than the one Viconia had summoned before; the substance of the darkness was uniform and absolute, rather than an undulating cloud. The effect was the same though: surprised shouts rising from the enemy ranks as they were blinded and enveloped.

Without hesitation Viconia dashed forward and plunged into the wall of darkness, her sharpened throwing-disc leading the way. Imoen followed as quickly as she could, and when she passed through the envelope of the spell and her eyes adjusted the drow's game became clear to her.

Blinded by the sudden darkness the humans were frantically shifting around, many in a panic, trying to feel their way out. Viconia had no such problem. When she came within striking distance of the nearest Black Talon she swung her sharpened disc out in an arc. The slash was followed by a burst of glowing red from the man's throat, which he desperately clutched at.

What followed was a swift and merciless hunt through the dark as Viconia and Imoen silently attacked one glowing red silhouette after the other. After a pointblank shot from her bow felled one of the men Imoen slung the weapon over her shoulder and drew her dagger instead, avoiding the wild slashes of some of the panicked mercenaries and stabbing at vital spots as she danced from one enemy to the next.

The last of the mercenaries proved the most challenging; blinded as he was he kept lashing out at the air around him with quick but methodical strokes of his sword. In the end he lost his footing when a throw from Viconia's disc bit into the back of his ankle. The drow followed through by plucking the mace from her belt and bringing it down on the back of the man's head with a two-handed swing and an ugly crunch. As the darkness lifted, Viconia looked across at her companion and gave Imoen a pleased, toothy smile.

"You dance well in the darkness," the drow stated. A compliment, but the look the dark elf was giving along with the eight warm corpses at their feet made Imoen's stomach roll, and though she thought she had gotten used to the hideous sights and smells of battle she felt bile rolling up in her throat and turned her head suddenly, retching while Viconia let out a mirthful laugh. It wasn't the sights or smells, but the hot blood that smeared her hand and blade which made her sickest.

"I can kill any number of opponents, provided they come one at a time."

The words from one of the old combat manuals bubbled up to Ashura now as another band of hobgoblins tried to push through the flaps of the tent. It was more like three at a time, but the entrance was an effective choke-point, giving the tightly packed warriors far less room to maneuver than Ashura and her companions.

Outnumbered, even by one or two, and the enemy can easily overwhelm you, but if the fight can be broken down into manageable chunks it's a different matter.

Little chunks. A swing. A twist of the body to the side as the hobgoblin's sword cuts the air close by. A breath in as he reels back to readjust, his body language indicating that he's about to go for a backhanded slash. A breath out as you slip low and jab.

With a pained grunt and a spurt of blood the hob crumpled to the hardwood floor. He was instantly replaced by another, but it was a simple matter to run through the motions again. Breathe in, breathe out. Lock swords and press forward. The next hobgoblin to shoulder through the gap went tumbling back a moment later with a great gash across his chest. The one after that fell forward with an open throat. Number five took a crossbow bolt through the eye before Ashura could get a sword past her guard.

There were no more after that, and the three companions took a moment to catch their breath.

Pacing in front of his great war-wolf, Ardenor Crush glanced back at the growing fires on the west side of the camp. The screams and shouts were getting closer, and they sounded urgent. He could even make a few of the words out now.

"Someone put some arrows through that damned bat!"

"We can't see!"

"Where the fuck is Khosann?"

Crush shook his head. Credus hadn't mentioned the big distraction that had accompanied his group's little heist. Likely he hadn't been told about it. Safana was a clever one, and it's always smart not to tell your men the entire plan if you can help it.

The fight right in front of him looked just as ugly as the one behind. He had sent twelve of his Chill soldiers into the tent, and only two had stumbled back out, bleeding to death. The traitors inside were dug in, and there was just one entrance, unless he ordered teams to start hacking at the layered hide walls. That would have been a good idea a little while ago, but they were quickly running out of time and options.

Turning on his heel, Crush marched towards his worg and snatched up a spear. "Archers!" he barked over his shoulder as he climbed onto his mount. "Fire arrows to the dome! Burn them out!" Tazok would have flayed him alive for burning the tent and endangering his precious treasure, but Tazok wasn't here, and they had to turn this battle around right now, loot be damned. No one present objected, and in a moment burning arrows were hissing through the air and flames were rising from the wooden foundation of the dome.

Wheeling his mount towards the battle to the west Crush continued shouting orders. "Garclax, Wilsa and Daelon, you and your troops are with me. The rest of you stay behind and pick the traitors off if they come out!" With that he pressed his thighs against his worg, hefted his spear and took off at a full charge.

Tendrils of grey smoke were slithering up the wall of the tent as Ashura desperately hacked at the opposite side. There seemed to be multiple layers of hide, pulled taut and annoyingly thick. Tazok had built himself a bloody fortress, though apparently it was quite flammable. And to top it all off once Ashura managed to slice a hand-sized tear in the wall an arrow immediately struck nearby before she could even peak out.

"They have archers covering every side," she said with a frustrated growl, followed by a cough. Garrick was coughing too, a hand covering his mouth and tears welling in his eyes.

Ashura turned towards the main entrance of the dome, bent low and took a deep breath while she still could. The sound of crackling flames surrounded them, and beneath the wall a hellish red glow peaked through. As the light, smoke, and fiery roar grew Ashura was more and more reminded of the dreams she had been having the past few nights. She could almost imagine that leering skull beyond the thinning barrier. Was she hearing laughter in the rhythm of the lapping flames?

She found herself walking forward towards the entrance, swords pointing the way. "We'll be choking in a minute," Ashura pointed out. "Might as well charge while we still have breath."

"It's suicide," Garrick protested.

"Yeah," Safana agreed. "Death awaits you out there."

"Yes," Ashura said absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the tent flaps and the growing inferno beyond. She kept walking. "Death awaits."

Death. He was quickly becoming a familiar friend. And she had her dancing shoes and her enchanted swords now, along with the arrogant, youthful confidence that Death only awaited other people.

A rush of scorching air blew the flaps of the tent back further, giving her a clear view of the fire that raced across the wooden stairway and up the walls. Looking out, she did not see earthly flames.

No. This was the furnace of Gehenna.

Abban - Drow for 'ally.' More accurately translated as 'not-enemy.'

Alur – Superior.

Riivil – Human.