32 – Scars, Old and New

"At times it almost seemed like the four old boys were throwing some meaningful words at each other, and perhaps getting closer for it. You'd recognized those moments cause next thing you know there'd be an awkward silence hanging in the air for fucking ages." –Lukin Ironfist, Journey to the Red Divide

They all dove into the bushes, even brave Ajantis, when the great shadow passed above the forest. It glided on segmented wings that were nearly as broad as a barn, with a solid reptilian body between.

A dragon! That was the first thought that came to Xan as he scurried beneath branches and brambles, shielding his face with his hand. But no; peeking through his fingers he realized that it was too small, and not quite the right shape. There was something about the creature that seemed more avian than draconic, and its tail grew larger towards the end, bulbous and barbed like a scorpion's.

Not a dragon. A wyvern. Though a stab from that tail would kill Xan just as easily as any dragon's breath.

Ha! Dragon's breath. Xan chided himself for thinking such a romantic thought. If he ever met a real dragon more likely it would just flatten him with a casual swipe of its tail. Or slice him to pieces with a swat of its claws. Or break him in half with a chomp, before spitting the top portion out in disgust. Or simply send him flying with a flap of its wings. He'd break his neck when he landed, and that would be that. Dragon's breath was reserved for worthy heroes, not frail little elves.

Speaking of which, Ajantis (That damned suicidal fool!) barely seemed to take cover at all. His shield was up as he half-knelt in the brush, the squire's sword out and pointing forward, gold and gleaming and easy to spot. The stupid boy looked prepared (Perhaps even eager!) for the circling beast to swoop down at him.

Xan tried to make himself very small by comparison, hugging his legs and pressing his bottom against the earth, as far beneath the bushes as he could go. Maybe if the flying lizard did swoop down it would be satisfied with Ajantis. He was big and meaty. But then again Ajantis was also incased in metal. And didn't they always say that predators instinctively go for the weakest member of the flock? That would definitely be Xan.

Oh, he was so doomed.

The wyvern only circled once, graceful and silent, then a lazy tremble ran through its wings and it banked a bit to the east. For a breath they watched it glide just above the treetops, and then it slipped out of sight. The encounter, if you could call it that, had only lasted a moment or two.

Kivan was first to stand and disengage himself from the brush. "Gone," he announced.

"Can you be sure?" Xan asked, still nervously watching the trees.

"No." But as he spoke Kivan had already started along the forest floor again, and the others felt obliged to follow.

So comforting. He could at least pretend that he has some sort of magical woodsman's sense. Clenching his teeth, Xan stood and sullenly took up the rear of their little column. His eyes shifted nervously to each rustling branch and shivering leaf above them, expecting claws and teeth and that terrible barbed tail to sweep back into view at any moment. Fortunately squirrels, birds and gentle winds were the only things that seemed to be moving the trees.

"You're like a trembling little lamb," Shar-Teel noted with a growl and a glance over her shoulder. "Pathetic."

Straightening himself up, Xan met her squinting eyes. "Yes, yes," he said, "for you it's just another stroll through the woods. I am sure you see wyverns every day."

Shar-Teel shrugged. "I'll dive down and eat a mouthful of dirt next time that thing comes swooping by, same as before. I'm not stupid. But I won't jump at shadows and rustling either. Pull yourself together."

It was a relief when she turned away and Xan could let his eyes fall to the ground. Still, the woman gave sound advice. Pull yourself together. He was a Greycloak after all, an officer sworn to the service of Evereska. He had taken a vow to lay down his life for the Vale and the Elders, and here he was at the back of his own team, acting like a coward.

No doubt the end of that life awaited him soon, likely somewhere in this forest. Even at his best, not full of jangled nerves, a lone, frail Greycloak would be no match for the task he had been put to. 'Investigate the tainted iron. Find out exactly who is behind it and stop them.' He and his partner had marched off with those orders like it was nothing. What fools they had been! Now he (and this handful of armed lunatics who had agreed to come along,) where up against a mercenary army and an ever-expanding conspiracy.

He would die in these woods. There was no way around it.

And there had been a time not too long ago -mere tendays really- when he had begged for death. Sobbing, snot running down his nose and shudders shaking his entire body, he had pleaded with Mulahey. 'Please! Please just kill me!' He had peered into those gleaming, piggy eyes and begged. And the orc had simply laughed.

The pain Mulahey had inflicted had been terrible, from the initial beatings to the lingering sting of the lash and the knives. Worse was the ceaseless ache in every muscle that came from being suspended by chains for hours (or days?) on end. Xan still felt a sharp pain in one knee every time he took a step, and there were aches in his arms when he carried any sort of weight now. Worse than the pain had been the humiliation and helplessness of it all; trapped in that dark hole at the mercy of his tormentor, laid bare in so many ways when those awful little reptiles took him down from the wall and put him on the table, sometimes on his back, or worse still on his stomach.

But worst of all had been the powerful healing spell the orc had called upon at the end of every session, when he finally got bored. Mulahey had enjoyed that part the most as well, a perverse gleam in his eye as he watched Xan's wounds shrink down to dull scars and the hope of release fade from his prisoner's eyes. Nothing had made Xan feel more helpless, and hopeless, than that demonstration that the orc had the power to make it all go on forever.

But it had not gone on forever. Xan straightened his posture and took a deep breath. That time in the dark was over. He was a Greycloak, and he had a mission. Shar-Teel was right. He had to pull himself together. And after all, he had begged for death once, not long ago. The least he could do was meet his doom with dignity.

Somehow that notion did ease his nerves a bit. Taking long breaths Xan trudged along the forest floor, the great river that cut through this part of the Cloakwood gurgling somewhere to their left as they made their way through the shade. Better to be resigned to one's fate. And when Doom comes I shall not flinch.

A while later, when branches something came barreling through the woods towards them, Xan surprised himself by calmly drawing his sword and turning to face the noise. The source of the commotion was a large, red-coated hart, bounding over bushes in great leaps. No sooner had they fixed their eyes on the animal than it hit the ground and a shimmer ran through its body, fur flowing and becoming clothing, hooves growing into hands, and the great antlers on its head streamed back to form stringy, blonde hair.

The fur and hide outfit the man wore looked familiar, similar to the clothing of the shapeshifting druids they had fought days ago. The deer-turned-man didn't slow as he transformed either, sprinting towards them, though there seemed to be fear in his eyes rather than anger. And behind him…

Wings beating furiously, the wyvern sailed between tree trunks and over brambles, its tail curled above its body and ready to strike. "Help!" the druid managed breathlessly, fleeing directly towards Xan and his companions with the wyvern close behind.

To Xan's great surprise he kept his grip on his moonblade and stood calmly as the predator and prey approached. Perhaps it was his new resolution, but it also probably helped that this wyvern was perhaps a third the size of the one that had wheeled overhead earlier. A juvenile or some dwarf species perhaps. It also helped that his three companions, all armed and armored warriors, stood between him and the wyvern. And of course the creature seemed focused on the desperately fleeing man. Plenty of meat-shields, all told.

As time seemed to slow down and the hunted man and the wyvern drew closer, Xan's mind raced through all the spells he could bring to bear against the creature. Unfortunately he drew a blank; his enchantments and illusions were all best used on humanoids, preferably in groups. He had one trump spell prepared: a rather nasty and powerful bit of life-draining necromancy, but that was really meant for a situation where his life was in danger. So instead of throwing useless magic at the wyvern Xan just gripped his sword and softly intoned a spell of protection, the air shimmering close to his head and robes in a brief, ghostly facsimile of a helmet and studded armor before winking out.

Xan the bladesinger. What a joke.

It seemed that the wyvern would overtake the fleeing man for sure, but Ajantis managed to rush forward at the last moment and place his shield between the hunter and the hunted. Curved talons and buffeting wings collided with the armored squire, a blur of flapping and scales that spun for a moment while the fleeing druid took advantage of his rescue and dove face-first onto the mossy ground.

Another violent twist and Ajantis was flung away from the creature, his sword flying from his hand as he clutched at his side and lost his footing. Xan didn't have time to see if the squire was badly wounded; the wyvern filled his view now, wings fully stretched and teeth and serpentine tongue bared with a hiss.

Kivan managed to get off a point-blank shot, the arrow sinking deep beneath the creature's wing just before it reached him and a great flap knocked him aside. At the same time Shar-Teel dove away, rolling on the ground and dodging as the wyvern swept by her. Then it was right in front of Xan, mouth spread wide.

This was it.

Perhaps his gloomy, bloody thoughts today had been a portent. Perhaps they had called Doom down upon him in the form of this beast. It did not matter now, he supposed. Xan felt eerily calm as he went through the motions of turning his body to the side, sword raised in the fencing stance the Greycloaks had drilled into him (as if you could fence with something like this!) and the beast's mouth screamed towards him, bristling with dagger-like teeth. Hopefully it would be quick.

The impact knocked Xan back a step, but though the creature bit down hard its teeth simply bounced off the invisible barrier that shimmered at his shoulder, and with a jolt its head snapped away. Still flying, the wyvern's momentum carried it along.

Time had seemed sluggish all along, but now it crawled to a standstill. Xan found himself standing beside the passing wyvern, still gripping his sword as its teeth and the horns tore past him. For just a fraction of a fraction of a heartbeat he had a clear view of the creature's neck, right beneath his outstretched sword, and all the world was still.

Everything was a blur of fury and motion too fast for the mind or eye to follow after that: the chop of Xan's moonblade, the spray of hot blood that instantly followed, and the lung-crushing impact of the wyvern's wing as it smacked into Xan's side, knocking his feet out from under him and sending him flying to the moss.

Breathless and gasping, Xan managed to push himself off the ground enough to watch as the wyvern skidded and rolled, filling the forest with a high, inhuman scream. There was blood everywhere: the creature's neck, its wings, nearby branches, and the forest floor. The moonblade must have cut deep and nicked something vital. Shuddering and snarling, the reptile righted itself, propped up on its claws.

A blur streaked by from the left, and before the wyvern could react Shar-Teel's longsword was hovering above the back of its head and slicing down. The blow nearly severed the beast's head from its neck, and it stopped moving shortly after that. "Ha!" the woman barked out, a delighted smile on her face as she looked over at Xan. "Just like the spider. I finished it off but you gave it the mortal blow first. Not bad, elf."

By now Xan was on his knees, still clutching his blood-drenched sword. Even if he hadn't been out of breath he wouldn't have known what to say. Shar-Teel offered him a hand, and after a time he took it, gasping as he was yanked to his feet. "I would have been happier if that thing had bitten your throat out and relieved me from the geas, of course," Shar-Teel explained in the same cheerful tone. "Still, nice swordwork." She clapped him on the arm for emphasis, before turning away.

The druid who had been fleeing before the wyvern was sitting up now, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Between gasps he muttered a "Thank you," in the group's general direction, but there didn't seem to be anything particularly grateful about his hard eyes or weathered face. His glare sharpened when he fixed on Shar-Teel, who was sauntering casually towards him.

"Funny that we keep meeting cowardly men fleeing for their lives," Shar-Teel said as she approached the newcomer. "Is that the only sort to be found in these woods?"

The man ignored the insult and yanked a smooth hickory club from his belt. A poor weapon to go up against Shar-Teel's steels, but Xan knew that the druid could probably put all sorts of nasty enchantments on the wood. "That armor," the druid growled at Shar-Teel. "Are you Black Talon?"

Shar-Teel cocked her head. "What?" Looking down. "Oh." She gave her chest a tap and the scales clinked. "I took this armor off some dead Black Talon bitch, sure." She shrugged. "But I left the surcoat. I owe my allegiance to no one." Her lips twitched for a moment and she inclined her head slightly towards the three men. "Save this group," she amended, the words forced out. She spat on the ground immediately after.

"We seek the Black Talon mercenaries, in fact," Xan spoke up, eager to shift the conversation. "They are our foes, and we are searching for their base of operations in this forest."

The stranger nodded, still glaring. "Glad to hear. And just to say, I was not 'fleeing' the wyvern like a coward. Not exactly. Had hoped to lure the thing to my fellows across the river. Though I…might not have made it." He stood and walked towards Ajantis, who was still lying on his back, face twisted as he clutched at the wound on his side. His hands and bracers were covered in blood.

"Suppose I should be grateful," the druid continued, kneeling beside the fallen squire. "Especially to you, young man. Getting between the wyvern and me. Very brave." He reached out. "I can heal that wound, at least."

Ajantis weakly shook his head at the druid above him. His face was very red, almost the color of a beet, deep blue veins prominent. "Already closed the wound myself," Ajantis groaned. He was breathing hard, on the edge of hyperventilating. "But the…the poison…I think…"

"Ah." The stranger frowned. "Don't think I have the power to draw that out of you."

"What a dumb way to die," Shar-Teel said with a shake of her head. "Jumping in front of a wyvern's barb for some fool stranger."

Ignoring her, Xan pressed the newcomer. "You mentioned companions? On the other side of the river?"

"Aye. Was just going to suggest that." The man rubbed his hands together before placing them against Ajantis' side and murmuring a healing prayer in the same guttural language Xan had heard the shapeshifters use. "That's as stable as I can get him," the man said, standing up. "But my companions have stronger cures. I was planning on swimming across the river, kind of how I hoped to avoid becoming wyvern food. Your friend's in no condition to do that, so looks like we've got a longer trip ahead of us."

"But there is a bridge or a ford?" Xan asked.

"Aye. A good mile along the bank though, at least." The druid turned and started towards the sound of rushing water. "Come on." After a few steps the man turned and added: "I'm Laskal, by the way. And in case you haven't guessed I'm part of a circle of druids. True devotees of the Oakfather."

"I am Xanis…" He paused. "Xan." Best to give up on hoping humans could say his name without getting tongue-tied. Especially a furclad wildman from some cult of backwoods savages.

Kivan had Ajantis on his feet now. With an arm steadying the squire at the shoulder the ranger silently began to follow their new guide, Ajantis taking weak, unsteady steps beside him. After a few paces Shar-Teel groaned and stepped in on the other side, giving Ajantis a second steadying arm. Xan guessed that it was less an act of kindness and more because she found their pace frustratingly slow.

The river came into view, a good twenty paces wide and relatively slow and deep. They walked the high ground above the bank, their path clear besides a few low branches and brambles that they had to dodge.

"Where you hunting that wyvern?" Xan asked. It seemed a very undruid-like thing to do, but Laskal had said that he was trying to lure the creature.

Laskal grunted. "Could say that. Or you could say it was hunting me." A brief pause. "Perhaps you can help with the matter, if you are truly enemies of the Black Talon."

"And what do the Black Talons have to do with wyverns?" Xan asked suspiciously. The bloody world seemed full of people trying to trick or cajole you into doing their chores.

"Those that wear that armor," he inclined his head towards Shar-Teel, "came to this forest over a year ago. We tolerated them at first, but then they built a gaudy settlement in the heart of the wood and began to hunt the deer, wolves, even bears with reckless abandon. We tried to stop them and it escalated from there. And recently they struck upon a tactic that's an insult to nature itself!"

"And what is that?"

"Somehow the Black Talons have captured and trained a clutch of young wyverns to serve them. No doubt some sorcery. We have less power over wyverns than the more natural beasts of the forest, so they have been using the poor animals to attack us." Laskal shook his head distastefully. "I had hoped to lure that wyvern across the river and into our stone circle on the other side, where others of my order would use their combined power to free the creature's mind."

"Why not just kill the damn things?" Shar-Teel asked.

Laskal shrugged. "Likely it will come to that, but it would be a shame to wipe out the top predators of the forest. I won't presume that you would understand such things as the natural balance."

"Eh," Shar-Teel grunted noncommittally. "They're impressive creatures, certainly. That one nearly got rid of one of my biggest nuisances too." She flashed Xan a wicked, toothy smile. "I can see the use of an efficient predator."

The bridge was the crude but sturdy sort: a collection of logs connected lengthwise and laid upon large stone slabs above the flowing water. Its surface was wide and dry, and even with them all trudging across it didn't shake or shift beneath their feet. No wyverns swept down while they were out in the open either, though the companions kept wary eyes on the sky and treetops.

Reaching the opposite bank they veered south and followed the river once again. A long detour, all told, and Ajantis did not fare well for it. By the time the standing stones came into view he had lost consciousness and Kivan and Shar-Teel were both grunting hard as they tried to drag his armored bulk along, his boots furrowing the forest floor and then the packed dirt of the clearing. The druid's circle was an impressive sight: a towering obelisk of slightly rounded granite at the center of the clearing surrounded by a great ring of smaller stones that rested on slabs and stuck up like teeth.

Three strangers cautiously stepped out from behind the stones as they approached, two men gripping oak staves and a girl who fingered a club at her belt. Lashkal rushed ahead to greet them, pointing back at Ajantis. "This man was poisoned by a wyvern. Can one of you relieve him?"

The three definitely looked to be druids, all dressed a little differently but in a manner Xan considered savage. There wasn't a bit of stitched cloth between them, for instance; it was all fur and cured hide and patches of leather from various animals, decorated with strings of bone and a few crude gems that looked like they had simply been picked up off the ground and lightly polished.

Though she seemed to be the youngest of the group, the girl stepped forward with an outstretched hand and an air of command. Despite her youth her features were hard, emphasized by her long, angular face and what appeared to be a permanent scowl, her thick brown hair chopped short in the front to keep it out of her eyes. Her left eye was covered by a simple dark tattoo; a splotch with two curved dabs that ran down her cheekbone. "Set him down," the girl commanded softly, her voice surprisingly melodious. From her looks Xan had expected something more like Shar-Teel's snarls.

Kivan and Shar-Teel laid Ajantis down on a nearby slab and the young druid stepped in, taking a deep breath before laying a palm upon Ajantis' chest. She growled out a few words, if you could call them that, with a lot of rolling, guttural R's. Xan still was not certain if the druids used some sort of language to voice their prayers, or if they were simply imitating animals.

Either way it seemed to work. A faint green mist rose up above the druid's hands and Ajantis' chest, the cloud hanging a moment before dissipating. The clenched look left the young man's face, and he seemed to breathe easier. Opening her eyes, the druid and inclined her head and simply said: "He's cured."

"Thank you Faldorn," Laskal said. "I owed him much. He helped defend me from the Black Talon's pets." Looking over at Xan, he added: "So, do we part ways from here, or do we have a common cause?"

Xan pondered the three savage-looking humans for a moment. His mission drew him to the Black Talon settlement at the center of the forest, but he had to admit he had no idea what he'd actually do when they found it. Their little group was too small to take on the mercenary army. But perhaps if there were enough of these druids, and they wielded sufficient power, they could do more than simply locate the Cloakwood fort and scout it. Much remained to be seen, but suddenly Xan felt a bit less doomed than usual.

"Perhaps," he stated cautiously.

After a few days of walking around in the new body Ashura had gotten used to it, perhaps even comfortable, but then a new annoyance had cropped up. "Ugh," she grumbled, rubbing at her scratchy cheek, where an impressive amount of uneven stubble had collected over the past two days.

"Yeah," Garrick agreed as they walked along the forest path, the late afternoon light flittering through the leaves. "I thought about growing a beard once or twice but that phase where it's scraggly and itchy was just too much."

"A beard? On you? I can't imagine."

"I still think it might be a good idea. To look a little older and maybe get treated with more respect. Of course it wouldn't grow nearly as fast as yours. I only need to shave every three days or so. Are you part Rashemi or something?"

"No," Ashura growled, rubbing her cheek for the nine-hundredth time. "Maybe part of the curse is that it makes you extra manly."

Garrick opened his mouth, then thought better and shut it. They walked on in silence for a few moments before he spoke up again. "I could show you how to shave. Have a razor and soap and a hand-mirror in my pack."

"I already know how to shave," Ashura said, rolling her eyes.

Furrowing his brows, Garrick gave her a quizzical look. "Uh…"

Ashura shook her head. "Men!" She had to laugh, considering her rumbling voice. "I shave my legs, from time to time. In the bath. Don't need to do it often. Which is how I know I'm not part Rashemi."

"Oh." Garrick looked embarrassed. Of course over the past few days that had been his default look. "Yeah. Of course-"

Ashura cut him off. "Maybe the neck and face is a little trickier though. Could you show me?"

"Yeah." Garrick smiled. "Next time we find a stream?"

"Sure."

Again silence fell on them for a while, and once again Garrick broke it. "You know…uh…and I hope you won't smack me for saying this…"

Ashura laughed. "I won't."

"It's just funny that you've been complaining so much about the curse. Since, and please don't take this the wrong way, since you've always been so gruff and…uh…"

"Unladylike?" Ashura did smack him. Very gently on the shoulder.

"Uh. Yeah."

Ashura shrugged her broad new shoulders. "Was pretty comfortable being an unladylike girl, I guess. Then again if I had gotten turned into a dragon I'd probably be just as annoyed with the new body. It sounds nice to be a big, powerful monster, but then you're always bumping your head on things and misjudging your steps and have no idea what to do with the wings. And I can see the advantage of being a dragon. Have yet to see the advantage of being a man."

After a little silence she amended that. "Well, there is one thing. Peeing is really quick and simple now."

Garrick let out an embarrassed laugh and looked away. "Ya…yeah. Guess that is an advantage."

"Seriously. You don't know how good you have it. The damn thing gets in the way the rest of the time though."

Laughing harder, Garrick seemed to give up on being embarrassed. "Tell me about it," he commiserated. "Every. Single. Morning…"

"Ugh. I know!"

Later that afternoon they did find a stream, and through more awkward laughter and a little blood Garrick helped Ashura shave the stubble away. It was good to have a smooth face again. Another day's travel or so and the rest of her…problem would hopefully be gone as well.

Once he had shrugged off his scale hauberk, Ajantis winced and pressed his hand to his side. Any stretching seemed to tear at his freshly healed wound and send stabbing pains through his abdomen. There was no avoiding it though: very slowly and carefully he bent and wriggled his way out of his shirt, trying not to pull at the injury as he continued to undress and lay his gear and clothing out upon the mossy riverbank.

When Faldorn had suggested that the group bathe before meeting with the archdruid, Xan and Ajantis had both perked up. Washing away the dried spider ichor, blood, sweat and filth that had gathered after many days of travel certainly sounded like a good idea. It had been foolish to hope that there were some sort of baths or even a spring though. Of course the druids bathed in the river, and expected their guests to do the same without complaint. Still, the spot that Faldorn had led them to seemed pleasant enough, and she had insisted that they were safe here, before she and Shar-Teel had left the men and walked further along the bank and out of sight.

Here the river branched off into a wide, clear channel that looked to be about waist-deep. Thick green moss covered the banks all around the lightly flowing pool, a soft bed to lay out weapons and armor, and shaggy willow leaves kept the spot shaded from the late afternoon sun.

Testing with his toes, Ajantis found the water to be pleasantly cool. He stepped forward, standing waist-deep in the pool and examining the round, upraised gouge in his side that the wyvern's barb had left. Healing magic had been applied quickly, but it would probably leave a scar. He half-hoped it would in fact. An interesting story to tell one day; how he had wrestled with a (baby) wyvern.

Sinking until he was submerged up to his chin, Ajantis let out a happy sigh. Light splashing close by drew his attention, and he turned to see Xan taking uncertain steps into the water, his arms outstretched to balance himself as his toes sank into the mud. Ajantis' eyes widened in surprise at the sight. Without his thick robes the elf's body was about what you would expect: thin and hairless, ghostly pale, with spindly, delicate limbs. The scars were another matter though; lines and lines of upraised tissue lighter than Xan's skin that ran across his chest, his legs, hips, back, buttocks…nearly everywhere. They were light and faint, and would have been hard to notice if not for their sheer number.

Cringing, Ajantis turned away, not wanting to stare. On the other side Kivan had just stepped into the water, and when his eyes fell upon the other elf Ajantis couldn't help but gasp. In many ways the bodies of the two were a study in contrasts. Where Xan was alabaster-pale, Kivan's skin was a deep bronze. Where Xan was willowy-thin and light looking, Kivan seemed thick and solid, without a fiber to it that didn't appear to be muscle. He was taller and broader than Xan as well, and while Xan's face was smooth and almost feminine, Kivan's looked tired and weathered and worn beneath the hood he always wore.

But both of their bodies were covered with scars.

Though, as Ajantis gaped and stared a heartbeat longer he realized that those were a study in contrast as well. The marks across Xan's skin were all small, well-healed lines. Kivan's flesh was downright mangled in places, with great swathes of once-bronze skin that had obviously been torn away and grown gnarled as it healed over. One of his nipples was completely missing, along with a chunk of his chest, and the other was bisected by a long scar. There were obvious signs that many ribs and the bones of one arm had been broken and poorly set, and no part of his anatomy had been spared from the riot of gouges and pits and raised marks, even his…

Ajantis looked away, eyes straight forward. There was more soft splashing, and then an uncomfortable silence fell over them, the lazy trickling of the channel and the deeper rushing of the river the only sound for a long time. Eventually Ajantis couldn't stand the silence, and found himself blurting out a question that could have been for either of the elves: "Where you in lots of battles?"

In the baths at the Radiant Heart Ajantis had seen plenty of scars, often worn by men who were happy to tell the tale of which battle they had earned them in. Master Keldorn had more than anyone else, though he disliked all the bragging. 'Just reminders of old mistakes,' was about all the old knight would say about the lines on his own weathered body.

"No," Kivan simply stated. "Torture." There was more splashing from him now as he scrubbed himself, ignoring Ajantis' discomfort.

"Same here," Xan said. "Though, seeing you my friend," he told Kivan, "I think I may have gotten off easy."

Kivan grunted. "There's no 'easy.'"

"Quite true." To Ajantis he said: "I'm sorry. I suppose the scars can be a bit shocking."

Ajantis looked up and met Xan's gaze. "It's fine. It was just a surprise. Those look like old scars?"

Xan shook his head. "Alas. That's the worst of it. It was quite recently, about a month back, that I was being held by a servant of the same enemies we chase today. He was a priest of Cyric, and he healed my wounds each time he was done having his fun with me, so that he could begin again the next day."

"Gods! That's horrible."

Xan simply nodded and his sad eyes returned to the surface of the water. Well that explains why he's so morose. Ajantis found himself wondering if the Greycloak had been a completely different sort of person before his imprisonment. "I'm so sorry," was all he could manage to say.

"He's dead now." Xan shrugged. "A small comfort, but that's that. And the wounds are well healed at least."

"Mine came from bullwhips," Kivan spoke up. "If you wish to know."

Ajantis turned to him and waited. His code said much about the importance of helping people, and perhaps just listening was the proper thing to do here, though he wished he had not gasped.

"It seemed to be Tazok's favorite form of torture," Kivan continued.

"Lashes, yes," Xan said with a nod. "Simple and unimaginative, but very painful."

Kivan nodded as well. "I'll spare you the details on how they gave me each scar, but this one has a story." He held out his hands, palms forward. One was uninjured and smooth, but the other hand had a round, ugly indentation in the center, surrounded by raised tissue. "The ogre ordered that I be nailed up between two logs and left hanging as an example. You may have seen bodies displayed like that at his camp. Deheriana had already faded by then, she could not endure what they did to her, but they nailed her body up just the same and I was to be placed beside her.

"I thought all my strength was gone, but after the man drove the first nail into my hand Shevarash gave me the strength to fight back, and I managed to snatch the hammer from the man and kill him with it. It was night and no one saw. I pried the nail out and escaped." With that he grew silent, peering down at his palm.

"Shevarash?" Ajantis asked cautiously.

"The god of vengeance," Xan stated.

"He answered my prayer that night," Kivan said, "and when I slay Tazok, the Black Archer shall have his due."

It was the largest number of words Ajantis had ever heard Kivan put together, by far. Now he wished the wild elf had remained silent. Still, Ajantis found himself responding. "I hope we find Tazok, and make him pay." He cringed a bit as the words left his mouth. Revenge was not the way of the Radiant Heart. His tutors had been very clear about that, endlessly drilling the difference between vengeance and justice into him.

Still, looking at Kivan and all that raw, upraised flesh, along with the faraway look in his eyes as he peered down at his own hand, Ajantis couldn't help but mean it. In that moment he truly hoped that they would find Tazok, and he was ready to make the ogre pay.

Author's Note: If you're wondering why Ashura keeps being referred to as 'she' in the scene in this chapter, my thinking was that it's from Ashura's perspective, and she just totally refuses to think of herself as 'he' despite this annoying, momentary curse thing. Pronouns can be so tricky sometimes.