46 – It All Comes Apart

Dark were the waters

Bright was the storm

Crazed were the sea-devils

Churning up from the foam

-Darbrukk Syndylver, Voyage of the Warmaiden

After marching down the stepladder that led to the lower deck well ahead of Xan and Garrick, Ashura turned the corner at the bottom and nearly slammed into a woman about a head taller than her, dressed in black leathers and sporting red skin and curled horns that looked much like a ram's. They instantly placed hands on the hilts of their swords, sizing each other up through narrow eyes.

After a moment the tiefling slid a finger's length of steel from her sheath and spoke. "We've been meeting such strange girls tonight. I wonder if-" A scream of rage and pain from down the hall cut her off, followed almost instantly by a different set of shouts and cries from the other direction.

Glancing over her shoulder, Ashura saw the curtains at the end of the hall burst open, a familiar figure in pink and another in black and purple rushing through and bolting up the stepladder. They were followed an instant later by a furious-looking man with a potbelly, dressed only in a thin robe that he was struggling to belt.

She turned back towards the tiefling in time to witness Coran leap and roll out of a nearby hatch, followed by a streak of crackling flame. The arcane fire scorched the nearby ceiling black, a few embers floating down to one of the swaying partition sheets and threatening to set it alight.

I suspect everything is about to go horribly, horribly wrong. As usual. Shame that Xan was usually right.

Before Ram-Horns could react, Ashura had drawn her lefthand sword from its sheath and slammed the pommel into the tiefling's jaw. Ram-Horns reeled back with a pained gasp and a hand to her mouth, but she managed to keep her feet and whip her sword free, quick and fierce.

The slash whistled over Ashura's head as she ducked, biting a massive chunk of wood out of a nearby partition wall. From her crouch Ashura lunged and stabbed, but the tiefling's gloved fingers locked around the blade and yanked with shocking strength. Agony shot through Ashura's left arm as it was nearly wrenched from its socket, and her sword flew from her fingers. The tiefling casually tossed the blade over her shoulder and grinned.

Another slash that turned into a feint, then Ram-Horns hefted her sword and chopped down just as swiftly, though Ashura managed to fully draw her righthand blade and catch the blow. More spikes of pain for her trouble, this time in her right arm, and she only managed to slow the blade, which struck one of her shoulder-plates with a sharp ding and left a dent.

Through the boards above her head Ashura heard and felt a massive thunderclap, but she had more pressing concerns down here.

The scent of charcoal and black lotus struck her face as Ram-Horns pressed closer, trying to grapple in the tight corridor, dagger-sharp teeth clicking together as she bit down and barely missed Ashura's face. Ashura stamped and kicked, then iron fingers were locking around her leg, just below her knee. The grip was like nothing human, digging in and threatening to break bone, and then everything was a blur as Ashura found herself flying through a set of curtains.

Her tailbone struck the cabin wall with a jolting crack, followed instantly by the back of her head, bright flashes filling her vision and the iron taste of blood welling up in her mouth. Then she hit the floor and slumped.

By the Hells this bitch was strong! It was like wrestling with an ogre. What I wouldn't give for a damn strength potion right now! Of course, there were other sorts of potions on her belt.

There were screams both nearby and beyond the cabin walls as Ashura forced herself to her feet, Ram-Horns shrugging her way through the curtains at the same time. A gleeful grin full of fangs split the tiefling's face, then she launched another wide slash. With a pained gasp, Ashura managed to catch the blow with her own blade and steer it away from her neck and over her head. The next blow would have overwhelmed her, parry or no, had she not slipped all the way to floor, rolling under the splinters the tiefling tore from the wall. Ashura kicked her way to her feet from there, her foot catching a nearby dresser and knocking it to the floor between her and her foe.

The next great slash of the tiefling's sword was slowed by the nearby partition wall, tearing through in a shower of chunks but sloppy enough for Ashura to lock her sword with her opponent's and shove the arm away. At the same time Ashura twisted and lunged low, stabbing through leather and muscle at the tiefling's side and sending her stumbling back.

Ram-Horns clutched at the wound and they both paused and watched each other for a breath, the fallen dresser between them as Ashura glared and the tiefling grinned like a maniac. On the bed at the corner of the room a man and woman cowered, the sheet held out in front of them like a shield and their backs pressed to the wall. Their terrified screams had not let up from the start of the fight, though it was hard to notice over the rush of Ashura's heartbeat in her ears.

Terror. Good idea. Focusing her glare and her mind's eye on her foe, Ashura called upon the power and fury within her, and an infernal heat bloomed from her chest and spread in waves through the room. She tried to bring it all to bear against the tiefling, but the couple's screams went up a pitch anyway.

When the waves of fear struck her, Ram-Horns threw her head back slightly and sniffed, and then her smile just curled back wider, showing gums along with fangs. "What's this?" she cackled. "You've the scent of Gehenna on you! How delightful!" Somewhere out in the hall there was a crackling noise.

Ashura couldn't help but grimace. Not the reaction she had hoped for.

Bleary, bloodshot eyes followed the girls as they pushed their way past the tavern tables, scurrying forward like they had a demon on their tails. A few of the more sober and wary patrons backed away. Good on them! Clear a path! Imoen wasn't entirely sure where they were going, but the upper deck seemed best. Better than being trapped in close quarters with a vengeful mage at least.

Of course she probably could have gotten up there already if she double-timed it with her magic boots, but to the Hells if she was leaving Skie behind. I already got us both into this mess by bopping her with this book.

The steps that led up to the gambling deck were all the way on the far side of the tavern floor, and furious chanting behind her gave Imoen the impression that they wouldn't be able to scramble up them in time. It was a chant that she recognized all too well, spoken long ago on the steps of the Friendly Arm Inn by Tarnesh, and more recently by the slaver lord Davaeorn.

"Lightning!" she shrieked, shoving Skie's shoulder and at the same time diving aside to roll between tables and tumbling stools. Crackling white filled the cabin and forced Imoen to squeeze her eyes shut, instantly feeling every hair raise on her body while an involuntary shiver ran through her. A deafening crack-BOOM registered in her ears an instant later, followed by a rumble-roar that just kept rolling and rolling even after the spots in her eyes had dissipated.

Imoen rolled up to her feet with a nose full of smoke and ozone, dagger in hand. Full panic had exploded through the room now as people shrieked and scurried for cover, tables overturned and glasses shattering. The lightning bolt had bitten a huge chunk out of the steps that led to the upper level and left them blackened and smoking. It had done even worse to the wall of the hold beyond, blasting a wide hole clear through. The lights of the city could be glimpsed through it, moving with the roll of the deck.

Skie popped up beside her, a short sword brandished and trembling in her hand. Through the strewn tables and bits of smoldering wood Yago was advancing, clad in his rumpled dressing-robe, his thinning black hair loose and clinging to his round, pudgy face. The air shimmered all around him with what Imoen guessed were hastily thrown-up protective spells, and he looked downright crazed.

"Hey, listen a moment!" Imoen started anyway. "Can't we work this out? We're just trying to…"

But the mage wasn't interested in any words besides the sort that called down fire and destruction, and Imoen's voice trailed off when she recognized the gestures he was starting to make. She backed up when he added a chant that was once again all too familiar. Long before the flickering glow appeared between Yago's fingers Imoen knew a fireball was coming, just like the ones Davaeorn had been so fond of throwing around. Lightning bolts and fireballs. Was there anything mages loved more?

Sheathing her useless dagger and gripping Skie's shoulder again, Imoen turned towards the open blast-hole two paces behind her. The choppy waves shimmered in the moonlight a good ten feet below, but she didn't see any other choice. "Skie!"

"What?"

"Jump!" And with that Imoen took her own advice and leapt out into the darkness.

With a sudden shift Ram-Horns slid into a crouch. Ashura saw the kick coming and reflex had her leaping as the dresser slid across the hardwood floor and struck the wall with a crunch that tore it apart. Her feet touched down on the shattered pieces of wood just in time for her to twist away from a stab of the tiefling's sword. Gleaming steel streaked right by her chest and sunk deep into the nearby wall.

The tiefling easily yanked her blade free of the wood, but she was open for just enough of a space for Ashura to give her a slash across the arm, at the same time jumping from the dresser and diving between the curtains. She managed to stumble and keep her feet when she landed in the hall.

Whirling immediately, Ashura pressed her back against the nearby wall, her free hand shooting to her belt. There were frightened shouts everywhere now, and streams of smoke raced along the ceiling and upper walls. Curtains nearby parted, and a man and woman spilled out, half-dressed, half-crawling and half-running for the stepladder. The man caught an elbow to the face as they both struggled to be first up and out.

Then the curtains across from Ashura flew open.

Instead of Ram-Horns, a man with a tangled mop of brown hair stumbled out and nearly landed on her sword, bare-chested and holding his breaches up with one hand. His eyes darted about, mindless with terror and apparently not sure which direction to run.

A flick of Ashura's thumb and the cork popped off the potion vial. In the same instant she lifted it to her lips, ignoring the sharp and unfamiliar spices as she gulped the liquid down.

Before the man could decide which way to run his eyes bugged out even wider and his head was flung back, the milky white of his chest erupting with black and red. Something slick and sharp burst from his solar plexus, not stopped or slowed by flesh and bone. On reflex Ashura flung her sword up and smacked the blade, pushing it away from her as she danced aside.

For a brief moment the tip of the blooded sword bit into the cabin wall where Ashura had been as she hopscotched backwards and Ram-Horns gripped the impaled man's shoulder. Then the tiefling twisted her body suddenly and the glistening blade was flying towards Ashura once again, along with black and red pieces of flesh and bone; an explosion of fury and force and gore that ripped the man's chest open from the inside and forced Ashura back down the hall.

It was easy to dodge at least. A slow and clumsy slash. Even the flying droplets of blood and pieces of the torn man seemed to hang in the air, fat and sluggish. Ashura's back foot slid a bit and then she came to a stop, heels leaving the floor as she leaned in, tense and ready for a lunge.

Beneath her feet she felt the deck pitch slightly. Time slowed further, and it was an eternity before the shower of blood and hunks of warm flesh and bone finally struck her; a wave seen far out at sea at last breaking upon the shore.

With a gore-smeared grin the tiefling slowly (oh so slowly,) turned, gleefully showing off the mangled body she had just opened with her sword in a raw display of strength. The last trembles ran through the poor man, his chest a ruin and his left arm hanging on by a sliver of flesh. "It all comes apart, doesn't it?" Ram-Horns asked in a low voice. "All flesh and all hope. Do you see?" It took her forever to ask her meaningless, maniac-questions, each word that clumsily fell from her lips low and drawn out. Too bloody slow. The whole world was too slow.

Ashura still wished she had a strength potion on her to fully match this devil's fury, but the vial she had just downed would have to do.

One lightning-quick intake of breath, then she flung the empty bottle forward and launched herself at the tiefling all in one motion. Ram-horns dodged the glass and raised her sword defensively, but Ashura was already weaving past the blade by then; already planning ten moves ahead from there.

Too slow. You're too bloody slow!

Passing her foe's guard, Ashura slammed an armored wrist against the edge of the tiefling's blade, pushing it aside enough to duck under and spring forward. The stab went deep, driven on by momentum to pierce armor and belly and then armor again on the other side.

As the blade went through, the tiefling reached down to snatch at Ashura with those iron fingers; to grip and crush and fling like she had before, but her hand just clawed at empty air. Ashura had already yanked her sword out with near the same speed as the stab had gone in, turning and slipping under hand and blade to pass the tiefling by.

Springing up, Ashura lashed out with her sword again; a wide cut, too shallow to sever anything vital but deep enough that her wrist was jarred a bit when she struck bone. Ram-Horns stumbled forward and Ashura spun on her heel for another pass.

The tiefling managed to turn as well, stubbornly keeping to her feet and pressing her spare hand to her stomach now as copious amounts of blood flowed between her fingers. Despite the empty white of her eyes, they managed to express both pain and defiance as she held up her sword with that terrible, inexhaustible strength. Through sharp, gritted teeth Ram-Horns managed to speak. "I welcome the void, and so should you. In the end-"

The air all around the tiefling shook with a massive vibration, accompanied by an ear-splitting BOOM that cut her words off and forced Ashura to turn her head and shield her face. Curtains fluttered and blew inward all around, and the cabin walls shook and rattled. The blast forced Ashura to stumble back and overwhelmed her ears, but Ram-Horns seemed to take the worst of it. With a clang that barely registered, the tiefling's sword fell to the deck, and both her hands pressed to her ears as she bent forward in agony.

Lunging with all the speed and strength she could summon, Ashura pushed through the rolling waves of noise, the edge of her blade slicing down between the tiefling's horns to cleave into bone and brain. When Ram-Horns finally slid down, face first to the deck, Garrick and Xan were standing a few paces behind her, both haggard and a little singed. Blood marred the blue glow of Xan's moonblade, and Ashura could still see and smell wisps of smoke rolling through the cabin.

Wonder if I'm eventually going to go deaf from Garrick always trying to save me with that damn spell. Need to get him another one of those paralyzing wands. "What took you so long?" Ashura asked as she caught her breath.

"There was another tiefling," Garrick pointed out as he leaned against a partition. "With a flaming wand and some nasty spells."

"Coran had made her quite upset," Xan added, "just before we bumped into her."

"Where's Coran then?" Ashura asked.

"Foolishly chasing after a jilted husband, it seems," Xan observed, looking past her to the stepladder and the deck above.

Mounting the flight of steps and dashing onto the ruined tavern-deck, Coran arrived just in time to witness Imoen and Skie jump through a smoldering hole in the far wall, followed immediately by a roiling bolt of fire. The fireball disappeared out into the night, and then less than a heartbeat later there was a roar and flash though the gap, an incendiary explosion somewhere out on the river.

The mage who had flung the spell (Yago! He was sure of it,) whirled around and howled in frustration, his loose bed robe threatening to fly open. Two men had been creeping up behind him, short swords drawn and pointing forward. When Yago's unfocused gaze wavered over them they both stopped, glancing at each other warily.

"Halt!" one of the guards barked with as much authority as he could muster.

With a twist of his wrist and a few snarled-out words Yago unleashed a wave of undulating blackness. Where it touched the men the darkness seemed to come to life, bending into tendrils that clung to their chests. Both guards arched their backs involuntarily, heads thrown back as their skin grew sallow and their cheeks sunk in, then as one they slumped and tumbled backwards, arms lifelessly flopping and bodies deflated inside their oversized leathers. Yago seemed to stand up taller and straighter as he drew the tendril of darkness back to his fingers.

Coran didn't slow down, dodging past fallen chairs and tables as he neared where the men had died.

Yago had just turned towards him with unseeing, bloodshot eyes and raised a menacing hand when the elf flicked his wrist and sent one of his daggers flying, and there was a flash as the enchanted blade bit through some sort of barrier, followed by a pained shout.

The mage reeled back, sluggishly looking up at the blade through his palm. Then his eyes finally focused. "You," he snarled through clenched teeth, glaring directly at Coran. "Those tattoos!" He launched into yet another spell. "Mythok ret- Awwwl!"

Coran had vaulted over a table and cleared the distance between them by then, snatching Yago's other wrist and driving his second dagger through the back of the mage's hand and into a nearby tabletop beneath. "No more flinging spells," the elf growled. "At babies, or anyone else."

After a few deep, gulping breathes Yago managed to compose himself and glare once again at Coran through glassy eyes. The edge of his lip curled up in a sneer. "Here to…here to steal the last pieces of my life, are you?" he slurred. "Wasn't enough to take Brielbara? To plant a halfbreed bastard in her belly for all to…to see."

Coran looked at the panting, disheveled man for a long moment. "I may be a thief," he admitted, "but I didn't steal a damn thing from you. You destroyed your own damn life. And…and…" There was something foggy to his vision now, his voice choking a little. "Who would put a withering curse on a baby? How could you?! A baby! A mewling little thing guilty of nothing but being born into this world! Forced to suffer slowly…and die!"

Breathing hard, Yago just glared up, his head rocking from side to side.

"Was it all for your damn vanity?" Coran went on. "Because you sure don't look any prettier for it! You should have come after me! You shouldn't…you didn't have too…" He fumbled for words, struggling against the tears. "Just tell me why!" he finally managed to demand.

Nostrils flared and pain twisted the human's face, but there seemed to be something beneath. The fury had seeped out of him now, and in those red-rimmed eyes all Coran could see now was despair. Yago's lips quivered as he breathed in deeply. "I…I…" he began.

There was a blur in the corner of Coran's vision and something flashed between him and the man he had pinned before him; black hair and steel. All that came out of Yago's mouth was a "Hrk!" as his eyes bulged, then shifted down to the sword that had buried itself in his chest.

Ashura kicked the mage in the gut and sent him sliding off her blade and to the floor, the table his hand was pinned to tipping over and clattering down on top of him. She glanced at Coran. "You were going to let a hostile mage speak?" She shook her head and walked by, flicking her arm to throw some of the blood off her sword. "Fucking dumbass," she grumbled.

Coran stared down at the quivering body, blood pooling and life fading fast. He supposed this was vengeance. He supposed he should hate the dying man. The fat, despairing, petty little man.

Instead he just sighed.

All told, things didn't go as badly as they could have. The fire on the pleasure ship could have spread and sunk the whole thing to the bottom of the bay. More people could have died beyond Desreta's victim, the two guards, two people who had drowned in the rush to flee the ship, and Yago and the tieflings themselves. The furious owner of the Lantern and the rest of his guards could have not been persuaded that all the destruction had been completely Yago's fault (thankfully Xan and Garrick were very persuasive.) Perhaps worst of all, as Imoen briefly feared when she climbed out of the bay after a frantic swim, the curses detailed in Yago's spellbook could have been smeared away by river water and lost forever, dooming Namara and rendering the whole misadventure pointless.

It's fairly common for mages to enchant their spellbooks against the damp and other conditions that can ruin paper, and thankfully Yago had done just that. So in the end they managed to deliver the book to a very grateful mother at the Splurging Sturgeon Inn.

Hours later, in the grey light of a rainy autumn morning, Brielbara sat beneath a leaden window and rocked a frail little bundle in her arms. Once again the baby was sleeping, though the quaking and the unnatural pallor was gone now. A healing song from Garrick had sped Namara's recover some, and the infant had found the strength to stir awake and feed a bit from her mother's breast before slipping back into a restful sleep.

Brielbara looked beyond exhausted, perhaps too drained to even sleep. From a nearby chair Coran silently watched her cradle their child. He was the only one of the party left now; the others having returned to the Elfsong or gone off to the not-so-secret thieves' house.

Eventually, Coran took a breath and broke the silence. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I remember…all those things I said back then." A mocking imitation of himself: "'What a pathetic little fool Yago must me, to neglect your beauty. If you were mine I would never leave your side. I would live only for the next golden smile, and the next and the next.' The empty, silly words of an empty, silly man." He chuckled. "But I never thought any harm would come of it. Certainly never meant…"

Brielbara sighed. "Yago was a pathetic little man, in the end. He proved it. And…I never believed a word of yours. Surely you realize that. I was just lonely. Yago and I had been fighting a lot." She shook her head. "And I'm sorry that I called you a coward. I was the one who told you to run." She looked up into his eyes. "Mr. 'I'll never leave your side.'"

"You realize I would have-"

"Of course I realize." She was grinning

"But none of this would have ever happened if…"

A tired snicker. "You hardly sound like the Coran I knew. Are you truly one to lament the past?"

A wan smile. "I never would have thought so, but apparently I am." He reached into his padded overshirt and withdrew a tightly bound pouch. When he dropped it to the tabletop in front of them there was a clink. "There's gold and platinum there," Coran said absently. "Part of a reward from the mayor of Beregost for the heads of two wyverns, along with coins taken from a pirate hoard. There's also a ruby and a black opal from the Black Talon Fortress in the Cloakwood. And pearls taken from a deadly clan of sirines. Quite a story there."

"Trying to buy a clean conscience?" Brielbara asked with a weary look at the bag between them. Coran pressed his lips together at that, but she quickly added: "I'll admit, I'm not too proud to take it. We don't have much left, after what Yago did." Turning, she made an attempt at a smile. "So, thank you."

Silence fell upon them again and the pouch sat there on the table. Eventually Coran stood, leaning forward to offer both his hands. "You look like you haven't slept in days," he pointed out. "Here. Let me rock her for a little while."

Brielbara gave him an uncertain look, then with a slight shrug she carefully lifted the swaddled child, guiding her towards Coran's arms. "Careful please. She's not-"

"It's okay," he said with a reassuring smile. His hands were quick but gentle, cradling his daughter and settling her against his chest without the slightest stir. "Not the first time I've held an infant. Would you believe I was actually the eldest of four children, before the wanderlust struck me? Rather a large family for or-tel-quessir. And, of course, the constant demands of a large clan may have contributed to my desire to get away and see the wider world."

Nodding absently, Brielbara stood and walked over to the bed, just slipping off her shoes before she slid down to the sheets and curled up. The bag of coins and gems remained untouched on the tabletop, and Coran gave it a brief glance before his eyes returned to the frail little bundle nestled in his arms.

There'd be time to figure out what to do with the pouch later.

Author's Note: One possible answer to Ravel's riddle is 'Fatherhood.' It's far from guaranteed, but you do sometimes hear guys say that after realizing that they have to look out for the welfare of this other, tiny, frail person their outlook on life changed drastically.

I like to hope that I laid the groundwork properly for Coran's sudden burst of cannon-game-defying character-development, what with the caravan story and how he reacted when he thought that his friends had died. 'Maybe life isn't just adventure or nothing after all.'

And thanks once again for all the wonderful reviews, as well as the faves and follows. When I started this story I was thinking 'Well, it'll be a low-pressure way to practice writing and write what I please.' But getting feedback and reactions from an audience sure is wonderful, and has also taught me a lot. Thanks so much!