75 – Vengeance
"Its people are oft forgetful, but the spirits of Rashemen are not." –Fydra Night-Tree
"You cannot hope to- Ahhhhhhhhh!" The raspy cry echoed off the pillars and the domed ceiling, half a scream and half a hiss. It was the boyish-looking bard who had delivered the final blow, lunging in close when Viconia pushed the shapeshifter towards him and running it through with his rapier. A kick dislodged the sword, and the thing deflated and flopped to the tiles like an airless bladder, its limbs wobbly as pudding.
"These things never run out of worthless threats," Edwin complained. "All while they drop like flies."
"Pests, yes," Viconia agreed. "Without their trickery."
A few minutes earlier, when a pair of 'monks' had approached the three of them and begged for their help, Edwin had hit upon a plan (brilliant in its simplicity) to determine if the strangers were doppelgangers. Tossing a minor fire cantrip at one of the monks had provoked both of them into shedding their human faces and attacking like animals, and shortly after that another disguised doppelganger had emerged from the darkness and reacted the exact same way to a tiny splash of acid.
It seemed an effective test so far, and if he ran out of cantrips the bard and drow supposedly had a few of their own. Of course if they ever actually encountered a real person down here Edwin supposed that he or she would get a little singed, but such was life.
"These remaining things are little more than pests," Edwin agreed. "Although the two elders are still out there somewhere, with their stolen magic."
Beside him the drow nodded and looked out into the darkness. They were standing in the center of a vault far greater than the other tombs they had explored, the ceiling arching a good twenty feet above their heads and supported by rows of fluted pillars, all above a floor of decorative tile. Edwin's conjured globe of light kept the space around them well-lit, though the far side and outer edges of the mausoleum fell off into darkness. They had stumbled into this place searching for their companions: the fools who had gone charging off while the three of them were still choking on noxious gases.
Suddenly Viconia stiffened, gripping her hammer tight. "Those things may have just added an enchanter to their repertoire," she hissed. "Be ready!"
There was something glowing faintly in the distance, but it took some time for the figure that the drow had spotted to step into the magelight: an elven man, dressed in richly purple robes. There was a longsword –blue steel wreathed in a dim light– hanging heavy in his hand, and a moonstone circlet rested on his brow beneath his long, chestnut hair.
"It is…reassuring to hear how much you worry for my safety, Viconia," the elf called as he approached.
"Our safety comes first," the priestess replied, turning a degree to give Edwin a significant look.
He nodded back at her, waited for the elf to draw a few paces nearer, then he stretched out an open palm. One sharp word from Edwin and a tiny flare appeared, and with a push he sent it flashing forward. The pinprick of fire raced over to the elf in less than a blink, then blue flames flared up from the moonblade and instantly overwhelmed it. There was an understated little puff and the cantrip just vanished.
Once that was done the blue fire faded back down to its usual, somber glow, and the elf just raised an eyebrow and continued to trudge forward. "You realize that the Seldarine would not allow an imposter to carry a sword like this, do you not?" he asked.
Edwin crossed his arms at his chest and straightened. "So you say. All I see is a test that proved inconclusive."
"Indeed," Viconia agreed. "I propose we kill him just to be completely safe." Beside her the bard's jaw fell open and he stared, aghast, but the drow was grinning at the approaching elf. In fact that grin seemed to expand a bit as Xan stepped into their midst. He seemed to expect no real hostility, and none was given as he turned and plopping down with a tired breath. He then shifted a bit, crossing his legs beneath him.
"Glad you made it," Garrick told the elf, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Last I saw you were…uh…being dragged off by ghouls." He made a pained face. "Did you fight them off or something?"
The elf stared down at the sword that now rested across his lap. "Apparently I did."
Edwin turned away from the little reunion and back to the darkened vault. "That's one," he stated, "but we are still short several people." The others were silent. "If no one has any better ideas I suppose I shall summon something to search for them."
The boyish little fellow laughed nervously. "You miss that big partner of yours, huh?"
Edwin stretched his fingers out, his back to the boy as he pondered what, specifically, to conjure. "Partner? What do you..? Oh. Bah!" He glared forward. "I had completely forgotten about him. I've more of an interest in retrieving that lovely, dark haired girl. (I am sure once she fully understands what I have to offer she will accept that job of bodyguard and bedwarmer. I just need to explain things clearly…)
Garrick pulled a face. "Bodyguard and what?"
Ignoring him, Edwin began his incantation.
Minutes later, at the red wizard's command, an air mephit glided out into the darkness. Its transparent wings did not beat, but rather stretched out in silence as it floated along, a wispy contrail billowing behind it in a facsimile of a tail.
It was a bulbous, grey-white creature, seemingly formed from puffy bits of cloud, and judging by its shape, voice, and a lack of certain appendages the mephit seemed to be female (though Edwin would always consider such a creature an 'it,' and regardless of its sex it was an irritating little thing. Its voice was a high whistle, and its first words upon being summoned had been: 'What's ta do, boss?') Thankfully Edwin had prepared a supplemental binding spell, which would allow him to control his servant directly without the need to converse with it. (Ah, the way these things always butchered language...)
With a little concentration Edwin's senses followed the mephit's, his perspective shifting and merging with the creature's. Now he saw what it saw (the gaps in the stonework were clear and sharp thanks to the creature's enhanced vision), heard what it heard (keenly too, thanks to the servant's sharply pointed ears), and felt the chill air of the mausoleum rush against his face as the mephit glided along. Already insubstantial, the mephit's form blurred further as it flew, becoming a puff of mist and shadow that would be difficult to spot. An excellent scout, all in all, which was the reason Edwin had summoned it in the first place.
Silent, and now well-camouflaged, the creature glided past side-rooms adjacent to the great vault, a glance proving that each was a dead end; nothing more than empty tombs. It was only when the creature reached the far side of the mausoleum and crossed into the maze of tunnels (the maze that Edwin and the rest had emerged from minutes ago) that its ears picked something up.
A muffled echo. Perhaps the sound of someone shouting? Edwin willed the mephit onward.
The confounding passages branched and branched, but thankfully the noises were constant and seemed to be growing in pitch. Edwin steered the mephit down a tunnel, guided by its prickled ears, and soon the creature was picking up speed. The sounds grew more distinct: mad shouting, ringing footsteps, and then came murmuring speech. Faster and faster, the support columns in the walls zipped by as the scout sped along, now turning down a curved passageway.
Some sort of crash sounded up ahead, along with a low, keening wail. Then came words. Edwin thought he recognized a few of them too. Draconic? He realized that he recognized the evocation just as his scout reached the archway and-
The mephit turned sharply, whipping around a corner and through the opening just in time to witness the blinding flash of the spell at close quarters, its nostrils suddenly full of ozone and its eardrums blasted by the thunderclap. Wobbling in the air, the scout drifted backwards and brushed against the edge of the door's stone frame, franticly blinking.
All that motion made it difficult for Edwin to take in the full scene, though he felt none of the creature's discomfort. His mind's eye could not be blinded by perceived flashes, and his eardrums were safe; an advantage of the spell. He could take everything in with dispassion, if the damned mephit would just hold still!
Dynaheir (the false Dynaheir) and the pale girl with the dark hair were mere paces apart, a jagged bolt of electricity starting to fade between the witch's (doppelganger's!) outstretched hand and the girl's chest. Ashura staggered back, and already a trail of smoke was rising from where the bolt had stabbed her. Electrical current seemed to slither and fork down along her shoulders and…
…go mostly through her cloak, which seemed to channel the arcs of sizzling blue-white and send them down to the floor, where sparks erupted around her feet. All the while the cloak gave off a faint golden glow. Then the lightning-blast had run its course and the girl lurched forward a step, her lead foot connecting with the floor. For a split-second it seemed she might collapse, but she steadied herself instead, wisps of smoke rising in places. Singed a bit, the girl kept her feet and a grip on her swords. And then she launched herself forward with an overhand swing. That seemed to catch 'Dynaheir' by surprise.
The false witch tried to leap and scurry backwards, a tricky maneuver in the heavy black robes she wore, and at the same time she raising her arms defensively. A flash of protective magic slowed the sword-blow, and one of the shapeshifter's arms blurred, extending into a sharpened blade of bone that caught Ashura's sword and parried.
(Oh how these creatures seemed to love that particular trick. Spells at a distance - weaponized hands at close quarters.)
That lightning-spell thrown by the false Dynaheir should have caused far more damage, Edwin figured. His best guess was that the girl's cloak carried some sort of strong protective enchantment. Hmm. He willed the mephit to shift a bit, trying to get a better look at the cloak. He supposed she had been wearing it a while, but he had not really noticed. Ah yes. It appeared to be unblemished fabric of fine quality, obviously empowered with-
The cloak fluttered as the girl showered the doppelganger with sword-blows, and for a moment the fabric straightened enough for Edwin to get a clear look at the symbol stitched across the back. A golden design, depicting a stylized skull surrounded by a ring of tears. And for the briefest flash that skull seemed to be giving him a knowing grin.
There was more going on in the broader chamber, and the mephit's eyes took it all in. The second imposter-mage –the spindly scholar– stood chanting in a far corner, and the other girl –the short one with the red hair– knelt in a spot some distance from her friend and the melee.
In front of a large pile of corpses.
"Come," Edwin ordered. "Quickly." He was already moving as those last images registered. With a shift of focus he could clearly see the tiled floor before him as he went, dodging past pillars that were illuminated by his own bobbing magelight. He took long strides, heedless of the echoes.
"They're in trouble?" the boyish fellow asked, racing to match the red wizard's pace.
"There is a battle, yes." It was possible for Edwin to watch the path before him and what was unfolding in the crypt all at once, shifting between his real vision and the mephit's as one might change focus between objects near and far. A lesser man would probably be overwhelmed by the sense of vertigo that caused (and granted, this was already starting to give him a bit of a headache.) But Edwin persevered.
Before him stood an archway that led to an open chamber and the maze of tunnels beyond. And Before the red-haired girl lay a pile of dead bodies. At first it had just seemed a part of the crypt to Edwin (dead bodies in a tomb: natural enough), but none of the corpses were particularly decomposed, they were stripped bare or dressed in smallclothes rather than burial shrouds, and they were piled haphazardly. Easy enough to guess what had happened here.
The incantation that the false scholar had been chanting came to an end, and now the stiff limbs of some of the dead began to twitch, though their eyes remained empty and their faces slack.
The redhaired girl had been shuddering and sobbing, but now her jaw fell wide, her head tilted back, and her muffled cries became a raw-throated scream. The closest corpse –that of a lad with dark, curly hair who looked about the girl's same age– began to prop itself up against the stonework with a quivering arm. One foot flopped against the floor, then the other, and then it was shimmying and shambling its way up to its feet.
She's hysterical. The undead will swarm her. Edwin made his mephit turn slightly and raise its arms. It could swoop in and at least knock some of the walking dead over, though once the scout was discovered-
But the girl had bolted up and onto her feet while Edwin was still pondering, and she acted faster than he would have guessed. Her fingers fanned out, her hands swung together so that the thumbs connected, and her scream –a wild mix of horror, sorrow, and rage– suddenly shifted from a single note to a series of distinct words. A blast of white-hot flame leapt from the redhead's outstretched fingers, roaring across the gap between her and the nearest corpse to light it on fire. Then she was screaming again. Roaring. She took a step towards the rising bodies, spraying flames at everything that moved.
Edwin's eyebrows rose a little Good. Good! Burn them all! With his corporeal vision he glanced around and found the proper side passage; the one his scout had taken moments earlier.
The shapeshifter that had impersonated Dynaheir had now thrown all pretense of humanity aside. It seemed to have grown (expanded, at least), thinning and stretching to tower over Ashura. Pallid, ropey limbs slithered far out from the sleeves and hemline of the thing's frayed black robe, the arms stretching out in opposite directions. Then they lashed in at their foe like sentient whipcords.
One of those tendrils buzzed past Ashura's helmet as she dodged aside, but it twisted around and formed a hook, intent on stabbing her from behind. She did not glance back, her eyes fixed on the faceless thing before her, but she danced and ducked out of the way when the hook whistled in, and then she swerved and turned to the side to avoid the other tendril. Advancing with a hop and a retaliatory, underhanded slash, she cut a swathe across the creature's torso, spraying the floor with ichor.
Edwin's eyes widened.
The sharpened mantis-limbs of the shapeshifter streaked in from the side and overhead at once, but the girl managed to duck backwards and slip to the side, slashing at one of the slender limbs as it passed. Then she straightened and pressed forward, forcing the amorphous thing to wriggle away from her blades.
Gods she's nimble.
By then the flames had died away from the redheaded girl's fingertips, yet there were quite a few corpses (some charred, others untouched) stirring before her. She hopped backwards several steps, screaming all the while. (Hard to hear above the rest of the chaos, but she seemed to be crying out the words 'Not you!' again and again.) At the same time the shapeshifter in the guise of the scholar took a step towards the girl and the flames, beginning some new incantation, and the zombies under its command lumbered forward as well.
They had only made it a step or so when the redhaired girl yanked something out from one of her pockets: a slender bottle of orange glass with a big cork stopper. Her thumb popped the cork out and she held the bottle high, black smoke hissing from its narrow lip.
"NOT YOU! NOT YOU!" Yes, those were definitely the words that she shouted when she hurled the fizzing bottle into the mass of moving corpses as hard as she could.
Smoke sputtered, glass shattered, and then the entire chamber was lit by an expanding fireball. The blast sent the girl stumbling back with her arm over her face, and on the other side of the pile it struck the shapeshifter and enveloped it fully, its flailing arms losing whatever spell it had been channeling as the creature's robes went up in flames.
Elsewhere in the crypt armor clanged and scraped against the floor: the sound of the other shapeshifter finally landing a blow on Ashura. It had slipped and slithered in close enough to hug her, catching the back of her armor with its amorphous hands while it took a stab to the belly, then shoving her flat against the floor. The creature immediately took full advantage and pressed, limbs that had been ropey suddenly bulging with added mass and force; trying to grind the girl against the flagstones.
It was hard to tell if the creature's ever-shifting claws (now more like paws) had pierced Ashura's chainmail, but it all looked painful regardless. Yet, despite all of the thing's effort and bulk, Ashura had managed to keep her swords in hand and press her fists against the floor. She strained and she rose, quivering and struggling against the weight on her back.
Edwin willed his mephit to swoop in and give one of the doppelganger's swollen arms a bite. Attack! At first the creature obeyed, floated forward a foot or so, but then some force seemed to strike it and its whole body started shaking and drifting backwards. Through their link Edwin felt panic.
Attack! he ordered again.
Can't – can't – can't boss! Demon! It's a demon! The mephit was a quivering mass now. Was it truly so cowed by-
With a snarl Ashura pushed up further and her eyes flashed open, a baleful light glowing there – pinpoints of yellow fire. The air all around her shivered, and an unsteady vibration ran through the arm of the shapeshifter as well. She was close to throwing it off.
A blur came streaking in and sank into the shapeshifter's elongated arm with a thunk and a bubbling splash. Tendrils of smoke began to rise almost instantly from the wound, where green fletching shivered and a wooden shaft bobbed.
The creature shuddered, and that was more than enough of an opening for Ashura to strain and and throw it fully off, howling with rage.
The redhead had shot the enchanted arrow, and now she was knocking a second. Behind her something grey and bare slithered in, vaguely defined limbs stretching; readying to envelope her.
The other shapeshifter. It had shed its burning robes, and now it was pushing to its feet, but as it did that Imoen switched to a one-handed hold, swirled some object around, and belted out a series of spell-words all at once. She flickered out of sight, the shapeshifter pounced upon nothing but empty air, and at the same time Ashura carved another great hunk of flesh and ichor out of her opponent, sending it tumbling back through the doorway.
All so fast. It was hard for even Edwin to follow.
Dynaheir's familiar voice rang out beyond the crypt, the air in the doorway shimmered, and then Ashura bounced back as she tried to pursue, repelled by a wall of force.
A bowstring thumped and the redhaired girl reappeared, a shadow backlit by flame a good distance from the remaining shapeshifter. Her arrow struck the creature in its trunk, along with a fizz and a splattering sound.
Smoke rising from its wound, the creature reeled back and then shrunk a bit, congealing into the form of the slender woman whose memories and spells it had stolen. Edwin guessed that it now saw those spells as its only hope.
Blocked by the barrier, Ashura had turned and now advanced on the wounded doppelganger, and as she did she passed close to the spot where the mephit hovered and cowered. Looming in Edwin's field of vision, the girl's head turned slightly, then her eyes widened, the pinpricks of fire there now flaring. She snarled and spun, and her longsword came slicing in.
Edwin's view of the crypt lurched and then simply went out, and he stopped abruptly in his tracks, clinching his eyes and scrunching up his face. It had not been painful, having the bond severed like that (and no doubt the mephit had been severed as well…) It was just a little jarring and disorienting.
"What's wrong?" the boyish bard whispered nearby. "Are they in trouble? Did something happen?"
Edwin shook his head, and then he looked around. The sudden change in perspective had made him lose his- ah! There it was! That was the fork that the mephit had taken, searching for the battle. And perhaps if they hurried they could finally catch the false Dynaheir. They were close now.
"Actually," Edwin said as he started forward again, "I believe they have things well in hand."
Clutching at its raw and open wounds, the Revealer of the Young stumbled blindly through tunnel after tunnel, fat drops of ichor leaving a trail behind. Some sort of explosion rumbled in the distance and echoed off the walls. It was an attack spell, thrown by its Eldest (in the guise of that 'Phlydia' thing.) The Revealer knew this instantly, thanks to their bond.
But the sound of its oldest child still fighting gave it little hope, for the Revealer could feel The Eldest's pain and frustration at the same time. It would not be long now. But the sacrifice would not be in vain. The brood had to continue –to propagate– and The Eldest had not yet grown to the point where it could shed pieces of itself that would adapt, mimic, and grow. the Revealer hobbled on.
It would escape this place. It would find safety in the deepest shadows of the dwarven clanhold, where the other mothers and broods hid, and it would birth a new generation. One that might even seek revenge, someday.
'Bhaalspawn.'
The Revealer chided itself, as it would a youngling. It had used that word to taunt the human; even researched the term as it followed through on the witch's memories and the mission that the human Sarevok had laid out for it. Yet it had never truly grasped the implications of hunting prey that was divine.
Divine did not necessarily mean that the prey was strong (though that demon-female had proven its strength…) but that it was a dangerous thing to even approach. Dangerous because the prey was fated to bring death wherever it went, for its friends and its foes alike. And how do you fight fate?
A difficult thing to kill, that demon-female, but if the Revealer could find a way it would. Some day. Kill the demon-female, and the cowardly elf, and that slippery other-female with the bow, who together had uncovered the brood in its hiding places among the humans and slain so many. The next generation would be taught to hate those three. And they would hunt. Once the Revealer escaped this place.
Suddenly The Revealer stiffened, realizing that a mind approached it from behind. Closing now. It should have sensed the other's thoughts earlier, but they were muddy and churning. Was it one of the four that had come through seeking the battle? But they were ahead! Evaded!
No. This was a different mind.
Ah! The empty-mind! The traveling companion and bodyguard of the witch; the one that had been easily tricked that night in the human settlement. Perhaps he could be of use once again: function as a bodyguard and an escort out of this tomb. As Minsc neared the Revealer his thoughts (not thoughts really…just a low hum of emotion) did not seem hostile.
It's back turned to the approaching primate, the Revealer shifted its face and form to match that of the witch, slowing its pace and waiting. A moment later Minsc came trudging around the bend in the tunnel, a torch in hand, its flickering light leading the way. Shadows danced across the big primate's broad and bruised face, one side caked thick with dried blood. He was obviously quite wounded: his gait hobbled, his armor torn open in many places, his greatsword dragged across the flagstones behind him.
"Minsc!" the Revealer called as it (now she) turned to face him, her voice weak and her Rashemi accent thick. "Thank the Three! I only just escaped from the clutches of those…those…" She shuddered.
The great berserker paused, his face unusually hard-set. Then he softened slightly, giving her a wistful smile, and he began to lumber forward once again.
As Minsc drew closer The Revealer could hear frantic squeaks and chitters coming from somewhere on the human's body. The big primate turned his head slightly as he walked, looking to one of his shoulder-plates, and with each step the squeaks grew more insistent. That rodent. Its tiny mind seemed to be whirring away. Impossible to read of course. In a way intelligent things often made for easier prey.
"Dynaheir," Minsc muttered as he approached, his tone unreadable. The chirps at his shoulder continued, growing in frequency and increasing in pitch.
Focusing, the Revealer of the Young attempted to probe the human's mind, confused by the blank look upon his face. What is it thinking? But inside that mind all the Revealer found were churning clouds. Grey, they seemed. Listless and…somber? Yet there were still no thoughts to read. Of course that was not unusual. The big bodyguard had always been mostly blank. The empty-mind. It was just that there had always been a jovial tinge to him. Of course, after all these battles…
"Minsc…" the Revealer attempted to probe with words. "We need quit this place. And swiftly. There are still many shapeshifters about."
"I know," Minsc stated solemnly.
"Minsc?"
"Dynaheir…no…" He shook his head. Another step forward, and another. Tensing, the Revealer took a step backwards. "No…" the large human repeated, his tone now bitter.
The Revealer stretched its fingers out. The primate was acting erratic. It would-
But then all of a sudden the human reared back and the wind from its rising greatsword struck the Revealer in the face. Minsc held the sword aloft, arms stretched and the end of the blade scratching the ceiling, showering his bald pate with dust and tiny stones. His eyes were wide now –maddeningly wide– and his teeth were clenched and bared.
In that split-second, as the Revealer of the Young tried to raise its bleeding arms defensively and block, it realized three things. First: that this primate –this wild, unthinking man– had come up from behind. Second: that Dynaheir's memories often referred to Minsc as a skilled tracker. And third: that the Revealer had been leaving a trail of gooey, black, inhuman blood behind it.
But in that same split-second Minsc shouted at the top of his lungs and the greatsword swooped down with blinding speed, its edge striking right between the doppelganger broodmother's eyes as the berserker bellowed: "YOU WILL BE AVENGED!"
Author's Note: Edwin's habit of referring to people as 'the [noun]' rather than by their actual name was definitely inspired by kaispan's wonderful fanfic Truth or Tale. There are a few other upcoming things in this fic that were also inspired by Truth or Tale, and I'll try to mention them when they come up.