Don't go to Sleep
by Iliana Maura
Chapter Fourteen : Ogglin
"Another one?"
"Yes, sir. It was in Braeryn. There was one casualty; the other soldier managed to escape."
Jarlaxle pulled of his wide-brimmed hat and ran a hand over his bald head, more than a little frustrated. He had hoped the precautions he had ordered would reduce the number of attacks on his soldiers, but it didn't seem to be working. In fact, the number seemed to have increased. It was as though Eliek knew of his every move.
The mercenary silently cursed himself. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner?
"Check for spies," he ordered Say'evett, who stood on the other side of his desk. "Especially the Veldrin turncoat; he might be a double agent. You know what to do if you find one."
Say'evett gave a short bow and turned to leave. When Ugrae-much more agreeable after his interrogation-had been ordered to spy of Veldrin, Bregan D'aerthe was not overly concerned that their spy might be unearthed, as Eliek simply killed any spies he found. On the other hand, a spy found in Bregan D'aerthe would be fed false information, laying a trail of confusion for their enemy.
Noticing something about the way the other drow moved, Jarlaxle brought him up short. "Say'evett," he called. "Are you well?"
Say'evett hesitated before turning around, and when he did, there were traces of a well-concealed fear on his face. "No," he said softly, fixing his gaze on the wall several inches above Jarlaxle's hat. "No, sir. I have orbb's elghinn."
The mercenary leader worked hard to keep his emotions off his face, though from the tightening of Say'evett's jaw, he saw he had not done a good enough job. The other drow didn't want pity, he knew.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" Jarlaxle inquired.
Fear flickered across his lieutenant's face; Jarlaxle did not even want to know what sort of stress he was under, that could cause the normally professional drow to reveal so much.
"If all of those ill rested, sir, there wouldn't be enough soldiers to perform the basic duties within the compound, let alone the special patrols." As Jarlaxle's expression began to darken, he quickly added, "Those who are very sick have taken to bedrest, and only those who are not ill at all are patrolling in the city."
"Yes," Jarlaxle said slowly, more to show he understood than in real response; he already knew those statistics, but having been reminded of them, he realized something should be done. A quarantine? The thought forced him to suppress a shudder. He had seen the drow dying of orbb's elghinn, writhing in pain and screaming when they were unable to hold the agony inside them anymore, and finally cast forcefully into death with a froth of blood on their lips. To confine all of the ill together, to force them to remain in the presence of those endless screams, all the while knowing that they, too, would soon reach that point of agony, when they no longer cared what sort of noises they made. . . .
No, not quarantine. But something had to be done to check the spread. "Make sure all those already infected wear sort of marker," he finally told Say'evett, "so that others know not to touch them."
"Yes, sir." Without any hesitation, clearly relieved to leave his leader's presence, Say'evett left Jarlaxle's office. When he was gone, Jarlaxle returned his hat to his bald head, but promptly took it off again.
"One week," he said aloud, calculating from Say'evett's condition how long he had left. "He has one week, and by Lloth, somehow I will find a cure before that week is gone."
The pain had gotten a little better as the day progressed, but Drizzt still couldn't move without all the muscles involved cramping. He tried to use his time to think through the mystery of where orbb's elghinn had come from.
According to Jarlaxle, an elf going by the name Arvylyn Quenvath had bought a hundred and one "diseased" gems from a wizard in Waterdeep, then taken them to Skullport and sold them to Medavin, making sure they would be shipped to Menzoberranzan. Then Arvylyn had gone east to Settlestone, claiming to be waiting for his cousin. Now he was dead.
Ivellios Amanodel had nearly died to warn Drizzt that a human was going to do this. That human seemed most likely to be Dorian Tavares, who had disappeared. But Ivellios was the one who infected Drizzt. Had he meant to? Was it an accident? Were he and Arvylyn working together? His head throbbed and he closed his eyes against the firelight.
Someone knocked at the door.
"Come in," Drizzt called weakly. Raising his voice caused the muscled in his abdomen to tighten painfully, and even his lips and tongue ached. He longed for relief from the pain.
Stumpet Rakingclaw poked her head into the room. "There's a man here," she informed the drow. "He's come t' see ye, but since ye're so ill I thought ye might not be wantin' t' see him-an' he's got a shifty look about him."
Drizzt thought for a moment. A man? Was this, then, Dorian Tavares? Was this the one who had created orbb's elghinn? Were they the same?
"Let him in," Drizzt said at last. Stumpet raised her bushy eyebrows but did not comment. Her head disappeared for a moment, and then was replaced by the form of a human.
He was tall and wide-shouldered, his body powerful. His hair, reaching to his shoulder, had slightly stringy look to it, as though it had not been washed in a while, and was dusky black, as was his neatly trimmed beard. His clothes were simple, and might once have been fine, but were now so travel-worn it was difficult to tell, though Drizzt thought they looked of elvish make. His skin was weathered and darkened by sun, with a number of lines around the eyes and mouth, even though he did not appear to be old. Dark, almost black eyes met Drizzt's.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly and settled himself in the chair beside Drizzt's bed. "My name's Dorian Tavares," he said. His voice, though hoarse, was clear and cultured, bearing signs of a good education. An old scar cut its way across his throat; the wound must have stolen his voice.
"I've heard that since you've forsaken your people's ways, you dislike speaking about your homeland," Tavares continued. "I hope that I do not bring up any painful memories, but I need some questions answered.
"About Menzoberranzan?" Drizzt asked, surprised. His suspicions about Tavares were immediately dispelled; this was not what a man who wanted his dead would ask. But why did he want to know about the Underdark?
Tavares gave a short nod.
"Why?" Drizzt pressed. "For what purpose would you use this information?"
"Revenge."
The single word, spoken bluntly, rocked Drizzt. But as he studied the man closer, his surprise slipped away. A look of anger and hate, heavily concealed, coated the man's face, and Drizzt realized it was aimed, indirectly, at him. The man had lost something to the drow, and looking at one, even one who had forsaken his people, produced negative emotions. As well, there was a look of burning fervor, and old hate about to be brought to a close.
Revenge, indeed.
"You would travel to the city of the drow?" Drizzt inquired. "You would kill yourself?"
Tavares' chin lifted in defiance and pride. "I would not be killed. I would do the killing."
"Don't be so sure," Drizzt shot back. "Have you ever seen drow? Have you seen them fight?" A sick, tired fear settled into his stomach; he did not want this man to throw his life away.
"I know my abilities," Tavares insisted.
"And I know theirs. You would never even reach Menzoberranzan; you would die in the passages of the Underdark before you even saw the city."
The human's jaw tightened. "You claim you have abandoned your people," he snarled, "but one would think you were protecting your kin."
"I am protecting you!" Drizzt snapped. "What would you accomplish? You might kill a handful of drow, but what would that do for you?"
The man's face was contorted in rage, but Drizzt did not let his speak. "Let me guess-your kin were killed by drow. And now-"
"Yes!" Tavares howled. "Yes, my kin!" He glared at Drizzt, apparently desperate to be understood. "I wasn't there-do you know what that means to me? I was not there to protect them, to fight with them, or to die beside them. All I saw was the aftermath."
His eyes were glazed and distance now. Feeling helpless, almost embarrassed at being shown this stranger's grief, Drizzt said nothing as the man continued.
"My brother-little Mikel. He was not even a year, and they did not spare him. I saw his face, and tried to find the rest of him, but gods help me, I couldn't find all of him." He stared at Drizzt with grief-stricken eyes, tears leaking into his beard. "The bastards sliced him into pieces, and I could not even find half of him!"
With this, he buried his head into his knees, struggling to control his sobs. Drizzt sat in silence, feeling sick and remembering his own raid, when he had saved an elven child. There had been no Drizzt Do'Urdan to save this man's brother from a grizzly death.
When the man's grief had somewhat subsided, Drizzt said softly, "I ask you not to do this. Were you to even reach Menzoberranzan, you would never find the ones who did the deed. You might be able to kill a handful of drow, but that would be nothing compared with the thousands left in the city. You would only throw your life away."
"What, then?" Tavares demanded, angry once more. "Do you expect me to live with my family's death unavenged?"
"They're not dead," was the ranger's quiet reply.
The man's rage faltered. "What?"
"They're not dead," Drizzt repeated. "As long as you remember them, they still live, are still alive, inside you. If you forget them, or die without reason, then they really will be gone."
For a long moment Tavares sat in stunned silence, staring at Drizzt. The drow said nothing, and only returned the man's gaze.
"Thank you," the man said finally, if a little stiffly, "for your wise words. I will think about this."
Before Drizzt could make a reply, and without saying anything more himself, Dorian Tavares left the room, shutting the door gently behind him.