Chapter 7 – Locked Doors
A/N – Must we have another one of these blasted … things? - sigh - But of course. : ) What's a chap-by-chap fic without a good ole a/n? Even if they have absolutely nothing to say, that is… Okay, I shall cease my rambling and get on with the story. Don't stone me please.
Tazieyn knelt by the various scattered bodyparts of what had to be the biggest mythril golem she had ever seen in her life. Deekin had run off in ecstasy when she had told him it was okay to explore the upper level by himself, and Bellamina, who cursed his stupidity, had run off after him, leaving her in the hallway with only Valen and no one else. For some reason, she didn't really think Bellamina was ready to hear that she, apparently having received the aasimar's label of "good, noble, and righteous," followed a drow elf goddess, no matter how good the deity was. She couldn't help but grin as another thought struck her suddenly – perhaps it would be nice to have a true precious few minutes of silence, absent for once from Deekins constant singing.
Clasping the holy symbol of Eilistraee with both hands, she whispered her usual, heartfelt – if not laden with the usual eloquencies of the drow, it was sincere – prayer of thanks. "Lu' nin Usstan belbau g'rftte whol ussta abbanen, d'anthe Eilistraee," she whispered fervently. And now I give thanks for my allies, dear Eilistraee.
"Belbau uns'aa khalith, ussta Olath Wenress. S'slig'ne ussta abbanen dal jivviim, lu' ori'gato uns'aa plynn l' retlah crup whol udossta duandan." Give me courage, my Dark Maiden. Protect my allies from harm, and let me take the full blame for our mistakes.
"Lu' phor jal, d'anthe Quar'valsharess, xxizz..." here she took a glance at Valen, suddenly self-conscious of her words. "…xxizz nindol nesst vel'uss zah'haren ji dal ukt vlos. Ka dos shlu'ta'naut duul'sso ukta, t'yin belbau uns'aa l' orn ulu xun ji."
And above all, dear Goddess, help this man who suffers so from his blood. If you cannot free him, then give me the will to do so.
Suddenly, she was thankful also for the tiefling's limited proficiency of the Drow language, and hoped dearly that he hadn't heard her request. But upon looking at him, he only seemed interested in picking bits of sheared metal from the spikes on his flail. Truly, she could not tell if he had understood her or not.
oOo
"Kobold, what makes you so different?"
Deekin half-climbed out of the wardrobe he had been rummaging in and looked up to the confused face of their new companion. "Deekin not knows what you mean." He shrugged with his tiny shoulders and fished out his new treasure, an ancient looking book with the handwritten label Lab Notes of the Maker. Plopping down cross-legged on the floor, he immediately immersed himself in his find.
"You...there is something about you that is different from the creatures I have read about in my studies. The creatures in my schoolbooks...they were weak and untrustworthy creatures, willing to backstab each other in an instant for something as small as personal safety."
Cocking his head to one side like an inquisitive child, the kobold blinked. "But...personal safety be good thing though, right? Boss always says if you can't fight, run to fight next time. Deekin not writes big epic if he be layings dead in a corner with Boss and the others too. Boss always says if little Deekin outnumbered and Boss dies, run and not come back without magic stick that raises people."
"But that is my point," persisted Bellamina. "Though I have never seen one in person before you, the kobolds I have read about would have fled and never returned. Have the authors been deceived into false perceptions about your kind? Or are you somehow...different?"
"Deekin not thinks he be so different as other kobolds. Deekin thinks maybe... Deekin just gots good Boss. Good Boss not something other kobolds have, maybe." He shrugged. "Maybe if all kobolds have good Boss, they all be different and we be more of the same, Deekin thinks."
He eyed Bellamina with a glint in his eye. "Maybe goat man be more like Deekin. Different, because he gots good Boss." With that said, he turned back to his book and continued his furtive perusing, leaving Bellamina to think on what he had just said.
Sighing heavily, Bellamina turned to leave the ornately decorated room, her eyes lingering over a magnificent bedspread draped by a moth-eaten curtain. The entire place had a...quaint sort of beauty, she decided. A beauty that came at the price of imminent danger. Was the whole of Aber-Toril like this? Did everything worth seeing – and having, for that matter – come at such a steep price?
Her mind still wandering, she took one step into the hall and tripped over a loose tile, falling flat on her face in the process. And as if to add to her humiliation, Deekin picked that particular moment to stick his scaly head outside the room and pipe up, "Deekin also wonders if lady with pretty gold eyes wears wig?"
Choking and spluttering, Bellamina finally gasped out, "What?"
"You say you be half angel, right? Deekin reads book on angels once. Big, tall ones with green skin and no hair. You don't got green skin, so maybe..." He shrugged again and plodded back to where Tazieyn was waiting, leaving Bellamina on the floor looking rather flustered.
"Planetar!" she hissed in vain as she pulled herself up. "I'm half deva, not planetar!"
oOo
The sole remaining tower of House Maeviir was, to put it quite plainly, as silent as death that day. The usual wards were in place at the doors, the guards patrolled every hall and tiny room with their regular vigilance, and yet...something was amiss. Matron Myrune paced the tower's sanctum restlessly with the prickling feeling that somewhere, something was terribly wrong. She glanced momentarily at the current male she had taken as her sire, her loyal and most trusted Captain Tebimar Maeviir. But the drow never truly trusted one another, and for a split second she could have sworn she had spotted his eyes darting toward the door in anxiety.
The waver in his steadfast guard would normally have not drawn her attention, but for some reason, on this day...
"Tebimar, you damnable traitor!" she shouted suddenly in ferocious anger as she pulled a handful of daggers from a belt pouch and hurled them at the charismatic drow captain. His eyes widened in surprise as two knives buried themselves to the hilt in his chest, another one skimming his shoulder and leaving a bloody scratch.
"Matron..." he groaned in agony as he slumped limply to the floor while the guards at the door watched the scene in shock and fear.
"Who else dares to follow this traitorous fool in his actions?" Myrune raged, a dangerous looking staff suddenly appearing in her hands as she glared at her would-be protectors. No one even so much as twitched at her threatening movements. Tebimar lay on the floor at his post, groaning in pain and wavering in and out of consciousness as the door opened once again and in glided Zesyyr Maeviir, only surviving daughter of House Maeviir.
"I see you welcome me into your home, mother," she spat as she pulled out a poison-tipped dagger and thrusted forward into the Matron's exposed stomach in one quick, fluid motion. A second dagger soon followed, finding its way across her exposed throat, spilling her blood in a gurgling spray that coated her attacker and several of the guards before her. "I thank you sincerely for assaulting my most loyal and devoted father."
"Such a loving family," Durshan muttered under his breath as he slid a knife between the ribs of the last guard loyal to Matron Myrune, which had been trying futilely to choke him with a short length of chain.
"And you would think we would have had enough of this bloodshed by now," Kalith'sa snorted as she impaled Durshan's attacker with her katana after the human shoved the limp body away from him with a look of disdain on his face.
"Kieransalee be praised," Shisilli intoned in her unique, little-girl voice as the last guard finally fell to the ground after what had seemed like an unintentional, macabre game of toss with his body. "We have triumphed." With that, she knelt by the unconscious Tebimar and unceremoniously yanked the daggers from his body, ignoring his slight groans of protest as she tossed them aside and began lacing his still form with healing magic.
Durshan ignored her and glanced back at Kalith'sa, reacting to what he saw by snatching a knife from his belt and hurling it at her. The rogue drow's horrified glance melted to one of gratitude as another guard's body slumped to the floor next to her, still warm hands clutching a dagger dripping with venom. "I do believe you owe me your life," he murmured, catching her eye and hand with his own. Kalith'sa caught his implication immediately and backed away.
"A debt I will pay once the chance shows itself," she assured him, her tone suddenly icy as she sheathed her katana after wiping it down swiftly with a grimy rag. Flecks of blood flew around her as she tossed the rag on the ground and left the room.
"Watch how you speak around her," Shisilli warned, her voice still unbelievably youthful but her tone grave. "Kieransalee has shown me some of her past. She may accept your teasing now, but one day you may waken to find a dagger buried in your ribs."
"And you aid me why?" he countered. The drow were treacherous enough that he often questioned any help beyond what was required of his duties as a hired mercenary. In answer from the necromancer priestess, he only received a sly grin.
Immensely confused by the flighty elves, Durshan grimly stood his ground and hoped this latest foray provided him with enough money to take an extended vacation, far away from this vast and sinister underground place. By that time, he was certain he would have more than earned his break.
oOo
Tazieyn muttered vile curses in Drow as she fumbled with the lock on the stone door that supposedly led down to the second level of the golem hall. Another set of picks had snapped in the intricate lock, an action that had repeatedly left her short-tempered and lacking on patience. This hall was wearing on her nerves...the Hall of the Maker, she had come to find it was called. Whoever this Maker was, he would receive a tongue lashing if she ever laid hands on him.
Behind her, Valen hummed an unfamiliar tune as Deekin jumped up and down beside him, begging the tiefling to teach him the melody. Something, apparently, had mollified Bellamina into holding her tongue, she noticed, for the aasimar paladin was unusually silent at the moment. Curiosity tugged vaguely at the corners of her mind as she dug through her pockets for a new set of lockpicks. Hm...that pocket was empty. Useful knowledge, to be sure, she thought absently.
What she felt in her hip pocket briefly made her blood run cold. No...it couldn't be...could it? Pulling it out, she turned the small artifact over in her hands. Deceptively delicate-looking golden strands of metal surrounded a dark red core that pulsed with what seemed to be a life of its own. Tazieyn pursed her lips thoughtfully. So the artifact could withstand much more than she gave it credit for.
"The last time I saw you was when I dropped you into an active volcano on the Chult peninsula," she murmured to the object. "Since you seem to love me so much, I might as well get some use from you. Appreciate the devotion really." She pocketed the device with a satisfied grin and sighed heavily as she turned back toward the door. Sometimes, she wondered if picking locks was worth the silent entry it allowed. Maybe the next locked door she came upon, she could bash down with something big and heavy.