63 – I Shall Follow Your Strength
"Love is a lie. Only hate endures." –holy creed of Shar
"Well, you've got your book now." Garrick's tone was cheery, despite the circumstances. "Sure showed us. But a deal's a deal right? So as soon as we're squared up we'll just uh...be leaving and..."
His optimism was met with a grim, forced laugh from the high priestess of Umberlee: a sharp little 'Heh!' that was followed by a deep intake of breath. The inhalation could be felt as much as heard, the air in the temple seeming to recede away from where Ashura and the others stood. The air rolled back; a gentle breeze that tickled their faces.
All at once Jalantha threw her arms back and a mighty bellow erupted from her throat, sharkskin cloak billowing before her as a wind rolled through the temple. It buffeted Ashura and her companions, blasting back hair and rustling cloaks, escalating from a gust to a gale within a heartbeat.
Wind punched Ashura's torso and her feet slipped out from under her. Suddenly she was flying, and suddenly she was very, very aware of her heavy chain armor and the deep, deep pool that awaited just beneath the walkway.
Luckily (relatively speaking) her ass hit solid stone instead of water once she had flown backwards a pace or two; a sharp jolt to the tailbone instead of a plunge into the black abyss. Sitting, Ashura managed to stabilize herself against the continuing gale and keep from falling all the way over, both sword-pommels scraping against the floor at her sides.
Maybe Lady Luck hadn't completely abandoned her. The others? Not so lucky. Over the roar of the wind splashes could be heard.
Twisting to plant a heel behind her (and ignoring the intense ache that motion caused) Ashura launched herself up and onto her feet as the wind receded, then instantly found herself bending and frantically ducking under the sweep of a quarterstaff. A priestess (the one who had twice squeezed them for bribes) stood right over her now, staff in hand and swinging again.
Ashura shifted and blocked, but just as oak met steel something streaked in and caught the priestess in the square in the chest, knocking her back a step. Arms flopping to her sides and the staff clattering to the floor, the priestess managed to reach up and grasp at the fletching of the crossbow bolt that was now imbedded in her chest. Then her legs went limp and she tumbled over the side. Good riddance.
Garrick was already attempting to reload his crossbow, standing with his back to the wall on a different walkway than the one he had been on a moment ago. Somehow he must have been blasted across without falling in. One of the priestesses rushed him from the right side, staff stabbing forward, and he was forced to abandon the bolt and snatch up his rapier instead. A desperate swing redirected the staff-blow, and Garrick danced aside at the same time, feet threading the ledge, poise and reflexes obviously enhanced by that agility spell that he favored.
There was no sign of Viconia or Lothander –likely they had been the source of the splashes– and the other cleric who had accompanied the high priestess held back on the far side of the temple, no weapon in hand and no sign of a spell on her lips. Jalantha (The bitch-queen herself) remained on the central walkway, one hand raised high and a vortex of something blue and wispy gathering on her palm.
Ashura drew in a quick breath, then with her head down and temples pounding away she charged across the bridge as fast as she could. That seemed to make Jalantha quicken her chant, sea-green mist flickering around the ball of pulsing blue that she was preparing to wield.
Well, they'd see who managed to strike first! Ashura's swords swiveled back for a stab.
Oh! Woops!
At the last instant she flung her arms out, a sword pointed to either side as she collided with the high priestess in a full-body tackle. Need her alive!
There was a pained (and satisfying) yelp when Jalantha struck the surface of the bridge, though she instantly pitched beneath Ashura and sent them both rolling. The priestess wriggled like an eel, screaming in Ashura's ear, and then her teeth started snapping.
The bites forced Ashura to turn her head away and desperately bend her neck, but with a little effort her wrists crossed against the small of the priestess' back, applying pressure with her sword pommels and turning an awkward hug into something more vice-like. From there she managed to reel back a bit, and then slam Jalantha bodily against the stone floor. That put a stop to the screaming and the biting, and Ashura's grip only tightened from there.
For all her bluster the high priestess wasn't all that strong.
"Stop…your…squirming!" Ashura snarled, shouldering the priestess against the floor once again. Jalantha let out an 'Oof!' and seemed to slacken, and Ashura took full advantage: yanking a hand out from under her opponent and punching as hard as she could with the hilt of her sword. "Now listen! We had a deal!"
Jalantha blinked, then all at once her eyes sharpened. "I…do not deal…" she growled through bleeding lips. "I comman-"
Her words were cut off by another vicious blow from Ashura's righthand pommel, smashing into Jalantha's nose and cracking the back of her head against the floor. "What was that?" Ashura demanded. Gods, all this just to get her to cast a spell.
It took a moment of panting and blinking for the high priestess to compose herself enough to speak, and when she did her voice was lower, words more measured. "I said…said that…" And then there was a sudden upsurge in volume and something flashed in Jalantha's eyes, bright and blue. "Grant me the strength of the tides!"
The moment the prayer left the high priestess' lips Ashura hammered down with another blow, but this time the Jalantha's head just turned slightly, and a jolt of pain ran through Ashura's arm. It was like punching a stone wall.
Jalantha slithered and twisted, and the instant Ashura realized that a boot had been braced against her belly she found herself doubled over and flying back, flung off of her opponent, who now seemed to have the strength of an ogre. When her back struck the walkway one of Ashura's arms flopped through empty air, dangling over the edge, but she managed to twist away and scramble upright.
The high priestess had shot to her feet by then, the chain of her flail spinning and a faint blue glow hanging about her: some battle-spell that had boosted her strength and durability, it seemed. Branwen would have approved.
The other priestess still stood on one of the separate walkways, arms crossed at her chest and showing no sign of joining the fight. She seemed to be much younger than the rest: perhaps in her early teens. An acolyte then. Though it didn't seem like fear was holding her back. She actually looked a little amused.
Elsewhere, the scrape and clang of Garrick's rapier fending off the staff of the third priestess continued to echo.
Jalantha's flail was a whirling blur now, and she took a testing step forward, poised and surefooted despite the blows she had taken. As they faced off Ashura danced from foot to foot, trying to judge where the chain would come flashing in.
Some obvious feints, then the priestess finally flicked her wrist and Ashura slid aside and ducked. The backswing caught her though, sending a spike of pain through the back of her thigh as bits of chainmail tore away. A snarl and a retaliatory slash from Ashura answered the blow, but it rebounded off the steel bar of the flail.
The chain lashed in again, in a low arc, and Ashura twisted away. Her heels ended up at the edge of the bridge, and then she had to duck another swing as she shimmied along. A frantic moment was spent between the whistling flail and the black abyss at Ashura's back, then she hopped, pivoted, and made a desperate retreat, the high priestess lunging to follow.
A melodic, ululating cry sounded from their left, followed instantly by a blast of white-hot light. It struck Jalantha full in the side, crackling and mingling with her sea-blue aura, and then all erupted and fell away in a storm of colorful sparks. The burst seemed to send the priestess stumbling back a step, her arm lowering and faltering, her battle-grimace melting away and exhaustion taking its place.
Viconia had been the source of the dispelling blast, one hand still out and curled like a claw as she finished hauling herself up onto the walkway. Her hair was darkened and plastered to her face and neck, and her heavy, sopping cloak seemed to have bunched up and wound around one of her arms. With an indignant scowl she uncoiled the fabric and slammed it down onto the floor before her, rising full to her feet. It felt odd to see the drow no longer covered by her formless garment: willow-thin in the leather vest and cotton trousers that she wore beneath; as disheveled and furious as a cat that had just been dunked.
Without her battle-spell Jalantha faltered, but Ashura didn't, lunging in low while her left hand swung high. The blade caught and ensnared the flail-chain, and its twin stabbed in at the same time, puncturing layers of sharkskin and the stomach beneath.
The priestess doubled over; run through. At the same time Ashura's eyes widened, realization setting in. Shit!
With a backhanded yank Ashura easily plucked the flail from Jalantha's fingers, pulling back at the same time and slipping her other sword free in a spurt of blood. The high priestess fell back a step as well, swaying and clutching at her abdomen, a great red stain spreading across her grey armor.
Well, she's a cleric. She can heal herself.
Swaying –knees buckling and eyes unfocused.
Come on! Heal yourself!
Thankfully Jalantha managed to grit her teeth and stammer out a few words, blue-white light welling up where her hand pressed to her wound. As the high priestess' legs steadied Ashura tensed, getting ready to try yet another tackle. (Why, why, WHY can't things ever be simple?)
But Viconia was a step ahead. "Kneel!" The command echoed through the chamber in a tone that brooked no dissent, timed for the instant that the healing prayer was complete.
Jalantha dropped to her knees, and before she could recover from the divine compulsion Ashura surged forward and kicked the priestess in the side, hard as she could. As Jalantha toppled Ashura followed, planting a knee and abandoning a sword so that she could grip Jalantha's wrist and twist it behind the priestess' back. With her other hand Ashura pressed the point of her sword between her prisoner's shoulder blades.
As Ashura tried to catch her breath and secure her captive a voice sounded from below, accompanied by thrashing in the water. "Help! Help!"
Lothander, it sounded like. Could he not swim? Did the pool have sharks? Of course there would be sharks…
Ashura let out a frustrated groan and stole a glance about the room. The priestess Garrick had been exchanging blows with lay sprawled out across one of the walkways now, two arrows protruding from her ribs, and nearby stood Coran, bow in hand.
Garrick was bent over and clutching his knees, his behind braced against a nearby wall and completely out of breath. Shar-Teel had stepped in beside the bard, weapons raised and eyes narrowed on the child-priestess who had still taken no action.
"I'll get him!" Coran volunteered immediately, dropping his bow and springing off the ledge without hesitation.
"Thanks," Ashura muttered, turning her attention back to her prisoner. Jalantha's head and shoulders dangled over the ledge, though Ashura dismissed the notion of threatening her with a dunk. This was a water-priestess after all; maybe she could even breathe the stuff.
"Now," Ashura snarled, "as I was saying: we just need you to remove the geas from the idiot that Coran's fishing out of the pool. Then we're leaving. You can even have your stupid fucking book!"
Viconia scoffed at that, and Ashura shot her a glare.
"I...I can't…" Jalantha managed to rasp out.
"You what?!"
"I can't…can't remove a greater geas. The power is beyond me." The faintest of smiles seemed to appear on the face of the child-priestess.
Nine bloody Hells! Haspur had been…wrong? This had all been a waste of time? A fool's quest? A wererabbit hunt?! A-
"A diviner informed us that you have the power to lift the fool's curse," Viconia stated evenly, hovering over them both.
"The power?" Jalantha seemed to ponder that word for a moment. "Yes. There…there is a scroll. I have a collection of powerful prayer-scrolls-"
"A secret collection!" The child-priestess shrieked, her voice high and nasal. "I knew it!"
"Yes," Jalantha admitted. "Scribed by Meshon herself, before that mob of fishermen killed her. I use the scrolls to…supplement my powers."
"You are a fraud!" the child-priestess accused. "Just like I thought. Your power and your faith never approached my mother's while she lived!"
"Go drown in sand, Tenya!" Jalantha spat, glaring across the chasm between them. "Could you do any better? Could you perform the rituals for Storm Call?"
"I know that you cannot."
"The Tome of Understanding would have changed that. It would have cemented my power-"
"You rely on artifice and trickery, where our goddess demands faith! You-"
"The stash of scrolls?" Ashura demanded, tone sharp enough to cut through the bickering. "Where is it?"
"Yes," Viconia hissed in agreement, raising a hand. A red spark formed on the tip of her index finger. "Tell us, 'high priestess.' Or I shall burn out a fraction of your life one agonizing piece at a time, until you comply. You know this spell, yes? Its capacity to damage whichever piece of you I choose, ever so slightly? No doubt you can guess how many times a drow priestess can inflict such a torment."
If Jalantha hadn't deflated completely before, then she certainly did now, and her words poured out swiftly. "You'll find it in my chambers, at the very back of the hall I came from. Beyond the altar room. The scrollcase is under some clothes in the dresser."
"Simply under your garments?" Viconia sounded skeptical. "There is no safe? No traps? No contact poison?"
"No."
Shaking her head, the drow began to stalk towards the far end of the temple. "You humans are so very simple."
By then Coran and Garrick had managed to fish the herbalist –coughing and soaked the skin– out of the pool, and it wasn't long before Viconia returned with a scrollcase slung over her shoulder and a parchment between her outstretched hands.
"That it?" Ashura asked.
Viconia nodded. "A powerful prayer, meant to remove all magical afflictions. It should easily break the geas."
"And you can channel it yourself?"
The drow stuck her nose up a bit and bristled, obviously offended. "Easily. (That you doubt me so, alur…)"
"Good." Quick as she could, Ashura brushed Jalantha's sharkskin hood aside, balled her fist in the priestess' hair, and violently yanked her head back. In nearly the same instant, as a yelp grew in Jalantha's throat, the edge of Ashura's righthand sword bit into the front of the priestess' neck and cut from ear to ear. The yelp became a sputtering choke, blood showering the pool below.
A stab through the back –just to make sure– and then Ashura launched to her feet and gathered her swords. "Now let's get out of here."
They had only taken a few steps, however, when Tenya's high voice called out. "Halt!" A sudden pressure in the air accompanied the command, and there was a sloshing sound from the pool below.
"You've already defiled these grounds with the blood of its tenants," the little girl's voice continued, cold and echoing off the greenstone and the churning waves. "And I did not lift a finger, because they were not worthy. But if you walk out from here with my mother's scrolls...the scrolls of the true high priestess…"
They had all turned towards the girl now. Her arms were outstretched, the light in the chamber seemed to have dimmed, and a gentle breeze rustled through her lanky blonde hair. It reminded Ashura of kelp waving in the currents, down in the tidal pools beneath the Candlekeep cliffs. And of the Sirine Queen.
"Well. I would not advise tempting the Bitch Queen's wrath further," Tenya concluded.
Looking over at Viconia, Ashura caught sight of a predictable scowl. They both shared a glare, and Ashura tilted her head towards the young priestess. A bit more glaring followed, and then with a low 'Hrah!' Viconia reluctantly tossed the scrollcase over to the child.
It was nice to feel the pressure in that damned waterlogged temple let up. Nicer still to step out of it entirely, leaving the mess and the dead behind. Under the grey sky and the afternoon light Viconia covered her face with her dripping cloak, wringing it a bit at the same time as she grumbled. "So many indignities you force me to suffer under your command…"
"Stow it," Ashura snapped from beside the drow, who gave a start when a heavy leather tome slapped against her chest. Turning her head to meet Viconia's eye, Ashura added: "You did good work. Here's your pay."
For once the dark elf priestess looked too shocked to make a complaint, her eyes wide as she held the Tome of Understanding up between her hands.
"Now let's…" Ashura continued, but she found herself turning her head and trying to clear her throat before she could finish. She attempted to cough, but it caught in her throat and pulled at her stomach. When a choked rasp finally came the force of it bent her over, knees hitting the unforgiving stone of the courtyard, followed by her hands. Then dry heaves wracking her body. Once they had run their course and she had blinked away some tears she found that Garrick and Coran were both hovering close.
Vision blurry, Ashura looked past them and over to Viconia. "Now would you hurry up and use the damn scroll? You can read the book on your own time."
Viconia had already stowed the tome away. "Of course, alur." She unfurled the prayer-scroll fully, and it only took a moment, there in the temple courtyard, for her to aim it at Lothander and intone the words, unleashing the powerful magic.
As the parchment flew away in a cloud of blue cinders Lothander took several long, labored breaths, clutching his chest. "Thank the gods!" he finally shouted. "You've no idea what a relief this…is…" When he looked up into the hard eyes of the three mercenary women who stood before him his words caught in his throat.
"Tell us everything," Ashura demanded.
Another deep breath, and then the full story came tumbling out, frantic and a bit out of order. The assassin's name was Marek, apparently notorious around the Waterdeep region (Shar-Teel confirmed this with a grunt. 'Yeah. The poisoner. I've heard of him.') He had come to the herbalist's shop several days before and demanded that Lothander brew poison for him, threatening his wife and son if he didn't agree. The deal, of course, had been sealed with a powerful geas that Marek had read from a scroll, worded in a manner that both forced Lothander to be the assassin's personal poison-maker and ensured his silence.
Most of this Ashura had more or less guessed, but with a little prodding the important details came out. Marek had insisted that Lothander brew as much black lotus extract as he could and continually deliver the stuff to him at the gambling hall of the Blushing Mermaid tavern.
Viconia chuckled. "Undone by his own greed. He should have slain you to cover his tracks." She turned north. "To this tavern then?"
"What about this nuisance?" Shar-Teel asked, stepping closer to Lothander and pointing with her dagger. "After all this bother, I say we leave him face down in that pool."
The herbalist paled. "No…please. I can start working on an antidote! At my shop. If you'll just…"
"Let him go," Ashura ordered, already setting off for the northern streets. She halted briefly to glance back over her shoulder and share a look with Shar-Teel. The older woman shrugged, putting her weapons away and falling in line.
"Thank you!" Lothander stammered as they left him behind. "Thank you so much! You can find me at my shop! I'll do what I can to brew something. I'll fix this!"
Ashura didn't look back. A cure would be nice, whichever way they could get it, but she wouldn't exactly blame the herbalist if he did the smart thing and got out of town instead, along with his wife and child. He just seemed to be a victim in all this, really. And what were they going to do next? Track down and murder the blacksmith who had fashioned the spike that had left a ragged cut across her leg?
Speaking of which…
Ashura stopped, searching through her pack for a cloth, as much annoyed by the delay as the pain and blood loss. The sun was setting.
There it was at last, plastered to the side of a building across the street: a coy, dark haired woman with a fish's tail on a blue field. The sign of the Blushing Mermaid.
Ashura stopped to steady her wobbling knees and catch her breath before she crossed the cobblestone path. The sun had sunk well behind the walls now, and workers were out lighting the streetlamps. Nearly twenty-four hours since she had been poisoned, and half a day since Viconia had bolstered her with a restorative spell. A spell that was obviously wearing off.
"You look like shit," Shar-Teel muttered. "Hate to say it, but you're likely to just flop on the assassin's blade like a stuck fish when you bump into him."
She couldn't exactly disagree. Gritting her teeth, Ashura looked down and formed a fist, calling on the ghostfire. It flared to life, and with a will she opened her palm and pressed it to her chest, pinching her eyes shut and focusing on the venom. A shiver ran down her spine as the energy pulsed through her veins, icy and sharp, and when the light faded and the sensation fled she opened her eyes. There was no cloud of dissipating poison rising before her, like the previous times she had used the power, but at least her legs and stomach seemed steady.
"That appears to have slowed the course of the poison," Viconia observed. "For now. Useful, if fleeting. I desire to learn which goddess has granted you this power."
"Me too," Ashura growled. "If it kicks in again can you..?"
The drow shook her head. "Not until I rest. We all have our limits."
Shaking her head, Ashura started for the tavern once again. A dull orange glow issued from the windows, along with a murmur that sounded like singing. "Haven't reached mine yet."
"I shall follow your strength." Implicit in that statement was the fact that once Ashura's strength had fled the drow would have no compunction about leaving her in whatever ditch she fell into.
Ah well. What was there but strength, in a situation like this? You walk forward or you don't. You draw one more breath or you don't. And another and another.
With the same fury she had used on the apothecary's entrance that morning, Ashura shoved the tavern's door aside and stomped into the place. Smoke and laughter greeted her, along with a strong smell of piss and unwashed bodies. Lovely.
Besides the strong odor, the Mermaid was much like every other dingy tavern they had visited up and down the coast: all unpainted, unfinished wood, with ale flagons cluttering every horizontal surface. One oddity though: every piece of furniture seemed to be completely mismatched. There were stools with three, four, even five legs, chairs of wrought iron, wood, and even a few with rockers. Mixed in with the stools were some stuffed chairs that looked to have been pilfered from some noble's home, and every table was carved in a different style, often from different types of wood; from nicked but expensive-looking cherry all the way down to roughhewn pine.
Oh, and there was a giant sitting in the middle of the taproom. That was a little odd too.
He was as broad as most men are tall, cross-legged on the floor and dressed in mismatched leather and hide with some pieces of 'armor' latched on that looked to have been made from stovepipe, along with bracelets of woven grass that sported Shaaran patterns. His head was bald, skin mottled and yellow, ears small and sharp, and as he glanced over and then rose to his feet he looked to clear nine feet, at the last.
Yep. That's an ogre. Maybe he was the source of the overpowering smell.
Turning to face the newcomers, the ogre rested his weapon against a shoulder: a warmace that looked like it was meant to be a two-handed weapon, tiny and toy-like in the creature's hand. Then, with his free hand, he pointed.
"You! Ash-ra! Of Can-del Town!" He stumbled over each syllable. Likely Chondathan wasn't his first language.
"Uh…" was about all Ashura cold manage. The tavern's patrons had been giving the ogre a wide berth to begin with, but now they were scrambling back, many hugging the walls.
"See you on…on…" The ogre struggled for the words.
"No idea," Ashura replied, shrugging and starting to edge along the room, her swords now drawn.
"On wan-ted pay-per! Big gold! Mine!" And without further preamble the ogre launched himself forward and the mace came streaking down.
At least he had talked long enough for Ashura to draw her swords and prepare to swing. It was nice when the assassins did that.
Author's Note: For various reasons this story has been causing me a lot angst and frustration recently. On the other hand I estimate there's only about 15 chapters left before it wraps up (though that will probably grow as the chapters get fully written) so it would be kind of a shame to quit now.
So onward then! 90-100k more words? That's nothing! (And to think, originally my goal was to finish this fic within a year. That may be one of the sources of frustration. Come on story! Get out of my head and onto the page already.)
And thank you kaispan, for your advice when I was at my most hair-pullingest.