Author's Note: Ah, battle scenes. You either love them or you hate them. I guess I wouldn't play games like NWN2 if I didn't have a certain love for a fight but if you don't feel the same, well…you might just want to wait for the next chapter! :)
Chapter 17…A Date with a Reaver
The shadows thickened and swirled, rising from the dead grass and shrubs. A deep voice muttered from the deepest shadows that clung to the partially collapsed timbers of the Lannon home and suddenly flames roared behind us. Fire elementals—big scary ones, that towered as tall as the trees. Great. Expecting to battle an army of zombies and other undead, I'd prepared fire damage spells and now I was caught flat-footed. I wondered if someone had counted on that or if I was simply inept.
The wet grass smoldered pungently. Heat and glaring light cast our own shadows before us to mingle with the unnatural shadows that approached. The elementals formed a rough semicircle at our rear, cutting off any retreat. Not that I was planning to go anywhere just yet. It looked like I had an assignation with the shadow reaver who strode toward me, a staff held negligently in one hand.
For a moment he stood before us in silence. His skull, wreathed in sickly flames that gave no heat, was incapable of much in the way of expressiveness but there was gloating contempt in his voice.
"How does it feel to be home, Jess Shard-Bearer?"
It gave me a chill to hear my name come so familiarly from his mouth. My own reaction angered me. He canted his head a bit to the side, looking me up and down, and that bit of calculated impertinence angered me too.
The thud of heavy footsteps sounded behind the reaver. He was joined by two blade golems. Like most golems, they were brainlessly relentless, possessing little in the way of tactics or guile—yet they walked with more speed than one would expect from a construct. Those long-dead Illefarn mages sure knew their craft. Each golem wielded its blade arm with something that approached grace and there was but a hint of jerkiness to show they had been constructed and not hatched out on some exotic insectoid plane.
I hadn't expected to run into golems here in the Mere. Surely this was the wrong terrain for them, yet here they were, and they didn't seem particularly discommoded by the softness of the ground. If I could lead them off into the swamp, I could mire them in the mud but the fire elementals behind me put a halt to that notion.
Hells, hells, hells.
"Did you enjoy the welcome my master prepared for you?" the reaver asked. Fear and anger had sharpened my senses. He had been one of the Arcane Brotherhood in life and a powerful practitioner of the Art, I judged, but now the wrongness flowed from him. Like master, like thrall. I could feel the strain in the Weave as he passed through it, his attachment to the Shadow Weave floating and flapping behind him like a corpse shroud worn as a cloak. I felt the power of the Blade of Gith throbbing through my hand. The sword was a-thirsting for a taste of him.
"Are you struck dumb, Jess Shard-Bearer? Perhaps you have words for your old friends?" And more shadows stepped forward, wearing familiar faces. Among them were Georg Redfell and a few of the men and women who had shared militia training with me. These were lies meant to distract, I firmly told myself. I kept my gaze on the reaver.
"Stall them if you can," Ammon said very quietly behind me. He had shrouded himself in darkness but I did not know if he could hide himself from the sight of the shadows. Stalling them so Ammon could read the reaver's True Name was a fine idea. Stalling them so I could come up with some kind of battle plan was good too but I felt totally hollowed out—bereft of words, bereft of thoughts. Slowly I raised my sword and took a step forward.
"Is that the famed blade?" the reaver asked. He gave it a long look and then…he chuckled. For some reason, I hadn't thought the undead had any sense of humor. "I am astonished, truly astonished." He laughed harder and then turned to Zhjaeve and gave her a shallow bow, stiff with mockery. "Is this pretty bit of filigree your doing, gith? And to think that Black Garius was so concerned about the shards and oh so concerned that you held some secret knowledge that could undo our plans. All that wasted time interrogating you, enjoyable as it was—it makes me laugh to think on it."
"I think you will find its edge more than a match for shadow and mere words," Zhjaeve said coldly. "Will you test it, thrall?"
In the random way that my mind worked, it suddenly occurred to me that to any githzerai (or githyanki, given their shared history) the word 'thrall' must be one of the lowest of epithets.
"I think this blade will be of little use without the Shard-Bearer to hold it together," the reaver said. "But by all means, let us test it."
Zhjaeve could handle the shadows. I had to protect Ammon while he worked his way through the list of names, found the proper one, and then read it out. That left Casavir for everything else—the golems, the elementals, and the reaver himself.
No, that wasn't going to work.
We were outnumbered but if the shadow reaver could call elementals, so could we. I had begged and pleaded for Sand to teach me how to summon them and he had refused, saying I had neither the discipline nor the skill to cast such advanced spells. Then I had begged and pleaded for a summoning scroll or two and again he had refused.
"Using a scroll is not like activating a wand, my dear girl," he had told me. "You should never cast from a scroll a spell you don't thoroughly understand. The slightest error in pronunciation or the smallest deviation in the positioning of your hands will be disastrous."
"More disastrous than getting myself killed in battle?" I had asked.
"Possibly," he had sniffed. And that was that.
But the idea was still a good one and although I couldn't pull it off, Zhjaeve could. She knew more of the planes and their denizens than Sand and I put together.
"Call an air elemental!" I shouted to her and I pointed to the blazing elementals and then waved towards the river. Her eyes widened as she grasped my thought.
The fire elementals couldn't cross water and perhaps that was why the reaver had summoned them between us and the river. If we'd been closer, she could have called a water elemental—although with the river being tainted, I wasn't sure what would happen. Having our own elemental turn on us when we were already outnumbered—now that would be bad.
Zhjaeve began the spell. Now I had to keep the shadows off both her and Ammon and I wasn't at all sure how I was going to do so. I was not Qara, to fling fireballs at our own feet when I doubted they'd do much good and I was totally blank on what else to do. Golems are notoriously resistant to magic so targeting them directly didn't seem wise. I lunged toward the nearest shadow and though my sword passed right through it, it shrank away from me as if in pain. The other shadows hesitated to approach my shining blade.
There was a rending sound—a scream of wind that almost deafened me—my robe whipped about my knees—and an elemental tore its way from the Plane of Air. It was huge. I felt a brief pang of envy. Sand was really going to have to teach me this spell. The wind shrieked, drowning out everyone's voice but apparently it heard Zhjaeve's command, or perhaps it had enough sentience to come up with the same idea I had. The elemental roared towards the fire elementals, forming a massive whirlwind, and it swept them away towards the river.
But there was no time for congratulations (or to watch them drown) because the two golems converged on Casavir or rather, he ran in front of them as they came my way. He struck one a mighty blow on the knee that almost knocked it off its feet but the other one surged past him and lumbered towards Zhjaeve. Her attention was now on the shadows, which seemed to fear her despite the fact that she held no holy symbol. Presumably they could sense her power over their kind. At any rate, she seemed unaware of the danger she was in. I ran forward and intercepted the golem's blade.
It was fortunate that I held the sword in a two handed grip for the shock of the blow ran up my arms and rattled my teeth. Still, the blade held and I held and that was good. The golem's strength knocked me back a step and my foot sank into a wet hole. I didn't fall but I couldn't make a counterstroke. I tried to bind the blade so the githzerai could get out of the way. I wasn't good enough and she wasn't quick enough. The golem hit Zhjaeve in the head with its free fist and she fell with a moan.
Shadows moved silently towards me. They had dropped their false faces, the better to hide themselves, I suspected. I heard the shadow reaver shout but I didn't think it was a spell. More likely, it was directions to the golems, for when the golem disengaged from my blade it ignored Zhjaeve and swung at me. I extracted my foot from the hole in time to gracelessly tumble away—only to find myself surrounded by shadows.
Somewhere behind me I heard Ammon's voice, a steady strum of power. Presumably he had found the proper name and was calling upon it but by the gods, I wished he would read faster. There was no way I could hold back all these shadows and the golem too.
Or could I? Mystra's breath, I'd almost forgotten the Ritual powers! I croaked out the words that called the Cleansing Nova and fire flared in a golden circle around me. It seemed to have little effect on the golem (no surprise there) but the shadows jerked and writhed in the flames. And yet…the nova had damaged them but had not destroyed them. They moved in closer still and I could feel the temperature drop from the chill of their presence.
Perhaps I hadn't tried hard enough. I called out the words again, this time exerting my will consciously and…nothing happened. Nothing at all. I pushed back a whimper of despair—for truly I had thought the Cleansing Nova would be devastating. How many times had Zhjaeve stressed the importance of the Ritual of Purification? This was our mighty weapon against the King of Shadows! It was meant to be the salvation of us all. If the ritual didn't give me the strength to destroy even one of the shadow thralls, how could I be expected to face their master?
And if the ritual was so powerless, how was I supposed to believe that the sword would serve me any better?
Perhaps my thought was clear upon my face for the shadow reaver's laughter boomed out.
"A poorly forged blade and a poorly forged hero," he said. "We have little to fear from either, I see."
There was a loud crash and the golem facing me suddenly jerked and fell to one knee. Casavir had run up behind it and slammed the back of its leg with his hammer. The golem levered itself to its feet and its great torso twisted. Casavir blocked its blade with his shield. The other golem limped forward and Casavir was pinned between the two of them. He was panting for breath. Zhjaeve still hadn't moved but I thought I heard her voice, low and pained, but speaking with reassuring control.
The shadow reaver shouted again and the golems abandoned Casavir once more and turned to me. This wasn't totally bad because I took several quick steps away from Zhjaeve and away from Ammon and they followed me. I slashed out at the shadow that reached for me but there was nothing there. My eyes had been tricked by the natural shadow from a tree. Like a fool, I'd wasted a stroke for nothing.
I had assumed Zhjaeve was healing herself but suddenly light flared and the shadows froze—and then they were simply gone. She'd destroyed them. But I had no moment to breathe in relief for the golems were pressing me hard. Suddenly Casavir muscled his way in front of me. I wasn't sure how he had moved so quickly but there he was, trying to protect me with his body. He took a punch that had been aimed at me. The blow landed on his pauldron with appalling force. His hammer flew out of his hand but it was held by the strap around his wrist, so he wasn't completely disarmed. He staggered backward, stepped on my foot, and we both went down. He was on top and his weight almost knocked the breath out of me. His back plate dug painfully into my chest and gut.
His shield came up almost immediately and the golem's blade smashed against it. Then Casavir was on his feet, hammer back in his hand, acting as if he had not been hurt—which I knew was very unlikely. His armor was good but not that good. I rose to my knees, gasping, and as soon as I had breath I started to cast.
There was one spell I knew quite well now. In fact Sand had warned me that I loved it to the point of abuse. He claimed that he regretted teaching it to me and told me he was tempted to slap me with a feeble-mind spell so I wouldn't cast it morning, midday and night. (This was an exaggeration and I was pretty sure he'd been jesting.) At any rate, I had little fear I would flub either the words or the motions. Pulling so much power out of the Weave in its tattered state was difficult and left me feeling weak and sick—or perhaps it was simply the King of Shadow's curse upon this place that drained me. I heard the ringing of a blade against armor—Casavir had been hit hard—but I kept my focus.
The weakness passed as fresh strength and power slammed into me with the finesse of a charging bull. All the fatigue from strained muscles and exertion was washed away. It was if I'd just awoken from a totally refreshing night's sleep. No, it was more like I'd discovered I was really Khelgar's long lost sister and had just donned the Ironfist gear in all its glory. I felt fearsome. I lost all feel for the Weave and all of my ability to cast spells but I didn't care. This was Tenser's Transformation and it was surely sweeter than any potion I'd ever tasted or any drug I'd ever heard described. The spell made me neither invulnerable nor invincible but it made me feel like I was. That was probably a mixed blessing, but I didn't care about that either. I lunged towards the nearest golem. Casavir had been concentrating on their knees and if he was convinced that was their weak spot, well, that was good enough for me.
I hacked away with all the ferocity of a piss-drunk orc interrupted on his way to a looting party. Sparks flew from my blade as I hit hard and then danced away from the golem's long vicious strokes. I kept hitting. One of its swings nicked my side and ripped a gash along my hip but I barely felt it. The transformation had made my skin tougher than the sole of a Harborman's boot. I was pretty mad about the damage to my new robe though and I attacked with fresh fury.
Gith's blade had just about chewed through the golem's knee joint when the meaning of the shadow reaver's shouting penetrated my brain. I didn't even have time to curse as I attempted to scramble backward. Then his spell hit me. The strength drained from my legs with shocking speed and my arms burned like fire. That damned bit of undead Luskan offal had dispelled my transformation.
And then his double-damned golem threw itself on top of me.
I was crushed. I was pinned. And I was mad as fire. I fought to crawl out from under the golem but it was too heavy. It had fallen almost sideways across me and I couldn't move my left arm at all; in fact it felt like the golem's weight had driven my shoulder into the soft wet ground. Its bladeless hand lay across my sword arm so that I could move no more than my wrist and fingers. I couldn't reach a potion and I had no breath for a spell.
The golem hadn't landed on my head so at least I could see a little. I got a good view of Casavir's distressed glance and saw how that moment of inattention cost him. His golem could barely stand but it could still swing its blade. Casavir took the hit on his shield but he wasn't ready for it. The shield broke and so, at a guess, did his arm.
I fought even harder to squirm my way out from under the golem. My field of view gave me no sight of Zhjaeve and it worried me greatly that I did not hear her voice. But I did hear a most welcome sound: Ammon must have finished reading the True Name. His power blasted into Casavir's golem, drenching it with acid that ate through its already weakened armor with uncanny speed. The construct's knees gave out first and it fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
I didn't have time to get excited because suddenly the shadow reaver loomed over me. Did he know he was now vulnerable? Not that I was exactly in a strong position to do anything about it. He planted the end of his staff into the hollow of my throat and pushed down hard enough to make me choke. There is something particularly unpleasant about getting hit in the throat.
"Hold or I'll kill her now," he said. Presumably the others stopped as commanded. I didn't know why because surely he was going to kill me anyway. He bent down to look into my face.
"Let's end this farce," he said. "Give me the sword." I tightened my grip on it.
"Get this grubby chunk of junk off me and I will," I said. I'd happily give it to him point first. He just shook his head a little and turned so he could stamp on my wrist. At least he was wearing shoes (rather fancy ones, I noticed) and not heavy boots. I guess I should have been grateful for that. I yelped when he ground his muddy heel into my wrist and I felt my grip start to loosen.
By all the gods, after everything we had suffered to forge this blade, I was not going to lose it now. Not to this thrice-cursed shadow reaver. Not to the King of Shadows. Not to anyone.
Rage burst through me like molten steel. I thought my heart would rip itself from my chest and then…and then…the Blade of Gith blew apart. It exploded into dozens of shining sharp pieces which launched themselves straight at the shadow reaver. They glittered like broken glass and they cut him to shreds.