The Black Canary: Diptych Two, Part II
Without Casavir, the halls of Sisserou's world fell into a lifeless stupor. Each stone of every corridor was no longer a vital fragment of the fabric that made up her home, but a lonely brick constructing the dank prison of her world. Neverwinter's dungeons brimmed with more life than her home did, and though Nasher had cleared her name of any wrongdoing, she would have happily remained locked away beneath Castle Never if it meant remedy to her solitude. Though she was free and relieved of any suspect in Rialnah's death, Sisserou remained a captive of the silence of her home, and the memories of Rodric's laughter echoing her home. Until Casavir sorted out the heir crisis in Neverwinter and saw to it that Nevalle hadn't surrendered his miserable existence to the underworld, Sisserou had only her magical tomes as company.
Rememorizing her incantations, blessedly, proved successful. Her exceptional progress reignited her zeal and quashed her despair. Knowledge was no cure to her pain as she effortlessly breezed through dusty spell books and proved her magical fluency. Knowledge was merely a distraction until she reached the final, most relevant and challenging volumes in her collection. Standing over the elaborately-bound, black-leather tome, Sisserou tenuously stroked the gilded pages as she flipped past the lengthy introduction and came upon the colorfully painted cover page. The inked image depicted a magician, encircled by rings of protective sigils, thrusting his illuminated staff into the torso of a fallen devil.
The witch closed the cover, laying a resolute hand over the book. Icarus once insisted that Sisserou learn to defend herself against devils and demons if she was to be safe amongst the black magic practiced by the Arcane Brotherhood, but she'd resisted. Sisserou was an earthly witch, concerning herself with humbler manipulation of the worldly, and harbored a healthy fear of the divine and the diabolical. Only after immense persuasion by Tyrran priests did Sisserou become a Chalice knight and combat demons, and even then, it was terror more than passion that drove her to slaughter the underworld's hellish hordes. She'd witnessed the supernatural rot the hearts of her brethren and tear her from her family. Sisserou had right to fear demons.
"And once more, I find history repeating itself," Sisserou muttered bitterly to her tome. Banished from Luskan, she retreated to the Tyrrans and became a warrior against evil. Now torn from her son, and in a lesser regard her husband, she retreated into her spell books, running like a frightened pup with its tail tucked back to her origins as a witch. It was a cruel destiny, indeed, that she reverted to the Black Canary when again her family was in peril due to otherworldly machinations.
"For the Canary has yet to fly in the light of Neverwinter's day." Sisserou huffed at her brother's words. He must have foreseen this, she thought. The witch reopened the spell book, tracing the image imprinted on the opening page tenderly. She turned to the first incantation, murmuring it under her breath and then reading the title of the spell aloud.
"Spell for the expulsion of spirits," she uttered, "How appropriate."
Raising her hands, she mimicked the tutorial in the spell book. Green light glowed weakly from her palms, and then flickered out. Sighing, she momentarily glanced at the image on the page of a witch with hands flaming white with purifying power. Her results were not nearly as impressive. Had Casavir been there, he would have joked at her failure and then studied the book himself, to offer her whatever advice he could from the spells he couldn't read inside the ancient tome. No, she didn't need his advice, she mused. She craved his encouragement. Closing the book and pushing it across the tabletop, Sisserou sauntered over to the window and peered out onto the darkening landscape, as the pinkish sunset began to warm the cool cobalt of the diurnal sky.
"Casavir," she whispered aloud, sighing, "I wish you were home."
-
The demon stalled. How could she possibly, and without tears, profess her impending death to him? How could she tell him, whenever he begged for her not to leave him, whenever he waited- wasted - over a decade of his life for her return?
She paced the halls of his home, cloaked in shadow and invisible to the servants populating the snaking corridors, brooding over the inevitable. The demon revised her speech in her mind repeatedly, until words in the Common tongue degenerated into the guttural growl of the Abyssal language, and until words could no longer represent thoughts. She chastised herself; she was an ambassador, a diplomat; words were to the demon as music was to a bard, the conduit of her work and the essential tool of her career. And yet words failed, where trembling lips and unstoppable tears prevailed. At last she surrendered, and before the sun sank beneath the horizon, she materialized at his door, swathed in black silk that left only her face and hands bare.
"You've been sorely missed," he murmured in greeting. Despite the miserable irony of his words, Axarthys was relieved to see him seated at the edge of the bed, his back arched as he leaned on his knees. She feebly wandered to his side, cringing as her joints rigidly imitated a human gait.
"A steady diet of healing potions and medicinal elixirs certainly restored you," she distantly replied. His smile was fragile.
"I'm feeling very well," he responded. Axarthys knelt down and gazed up into his eyes.
"That would be the narcotics working properly," she frowned.
"I never said I felt euphoric," he corrected. The demon cackled lightly, slithering into bed next to him. She stretched across the blankets and rested her head in his lap, nestling her cheek against his thigh. He petted her white hair, running his thumb down the length of her silk-clad neck as he warmly professed, "I'd wed you now if I were able."
"That's a reckless thing to say," she retorted, far fiercer than she intended to. Clearly hurt, Nevalle stopped stroking the demon's tresses and recoiled, replacing his hands on his knees. Axarthys winced, in realization of the austerity of her statement, and wove her arms gingerly around his neck. She apologized, "I speak hastily."
"There is something wrong, isn't there?" he frowned. The demon's stare was quizzical as the human turned away from her, his back hunched away from her as he broke from her embrace. Inching towards him, she leaned on his shoulder and placed her lips to his ear.
"Indeed, and I will break your heart with it," she admitted. He sneered, but beneath the scorn in his face there was suppressed sorrow palpable in his expression.
He replied, "You've already broken my heart, Axarthys. I spent ten years without you, and now I am no closer to assuring our future. The child we shared is gone. There is nothing that can compel you to remain with me. I doubt even contracting my soul to you will bring you any closer to me, to- to any conceivable future beyond the fleeting and volatile time we share."
Millennia of existence hardened her emotional core, and in recent years her time in the Hells had served only to strengthen her composure. She was too world-weary for tears, too hopeless and too exhausted to mourn what she would have to inform him of. The demon exasperatedly responded, "That is what I seek to explain, Nevalle, that I am prepared to free us both from the Abyss's clutches so that we can live together safely. I would easily remain at Swychcreste forever; it is Eden here, but whilst devils are at my back and my offspring are slaughtered, how, how can I live in that terror? There is no life lived in fear."
"Axarthys-"
"Nevalle, I must liberate your soul from my grasp. So long as you belong to me, Graz'zt will stalk us and Asmodeus will hunt us. I mourn the life we might have shared, because… the only way I may ever free you- Nevalle, is to- die."
"You can't!" He shouted, urgently grabbing her wrists to pin her to his lap, "I won't allow you to leave me, Axarthys, I refuse to let you from my keeping again, let alone permit you to die."
"I cannot live knowing I have taken your soul," she protested. Before he could scream at her in response, Axarthys arose from her lap, her eyes stained with a fresh outpouring of silent tears. She put a finger to his lips, cupping a hand around the back of his head as she said, "If I die in the mortal world, I can be reborn in the Abyss, and return to you-"
"When?!" he shrieked, "In another decade? In a century? When I am decaying in my grave? I want you now, Axarthys, now that I am immortal and can spend forever with you."
"You did not choose immortality," she corrected, "I demanded it of you."
"And had I the choice, my answer would have been no different!" He yelled, smothering her frozen lips with a kiss before she could contest his words. When he drew away from her, the tears streaming down her face were frustrated ones.
"Nevalle," she pleaded, "If I die, I can be free from this…endless cold."
The knight stared at her, and then loosed his grip on her. She sat up in front of him, the black silk of her dress collecting around his legs. He stroked the fluid fabric as he clenched his jaw, releasing a long breath.
"That's why you want this, isn't it? You truly don't want to free my soul." He inquired gently. She didn't respond, so he goaded, "Axarthys?"
"I will give anything to free you of your soullessness. But can I deny my own advantages in this? I cannot. Over a decade of persistent misery have I spent, unable to savor the heat of a fire or the warmth of the sun. So long as I am forced to live in misery, I cannot live at all. Fear? I've no energy to combat fear. No, it is misery that I seek to extinguish. I am selfish for wanting it, but I've ceased to care about morality, whenever my suffering is far much more pressing. This is my only option, because it is the only option available to both liberate you and me," She muttered. The knight savored a lengthy look at her shivering fragility, and the cyanotic hue of the flesh of a languishing hypothermic. He could not remember her tepid as she slept beside him. Pitying her, he collected her in his arms slowly, expending his strength to gather her in his grasp and bury his chin in her snowy locks.
"Is this the only option?" he softly asked. When he felt her nod beneath him, he then said, "Then you must swear me two oaths. First, you must reestablish your pact with me when you return. If it is my choice to trade my soul for immortality, then you cannot deprive me of it. Second, you must wait to… to die, until I've regained my strength enough to take your life myself."
She nodded more decidedly, and the knight lowered her into the covers where he laid down beside her. The demon curled into a fetal position at his chest, and continued to knot her body tightly together until her joints snapped and her fingers dislocated nervously. Winding her in the sheets, Nevalle breathed in the smoky scent of her skin, enjoying those dwindling moments with her, until he could see her again. He didn't know that Axarthys had no intention of returning to him.
-
It was at Darmon's insistence that Casavir scaled the tower into Nasher's chambers. Free of his armor, he ascended the steps easily to the crumpling noise of his pressed cotton tunic rustling against suede breeches. The pleasant crackle of torch fire casting light on his path cured the numb silence of the stone halls, and soothed the deadened anxiety reverberating in the paladin's heart. When he was called to Nasher's side, the issue was always drastic. Minor matters of the state were communicated by Darmon alone to the council of the Nine; never by Nasher. It meant that whatever was the matter, it was substantial.
Casavir entered his lord's chambers and bowed succinctly, smiling mutedly at Darmon. Nasher, withered and propped against at least three rolled coverlets and two large pillows, faintly nodded in acknowledgment of his knight's presence. He uttered feebly, "I do not have the energy to skirt the issue. I must be frank."
"My lord," Casavir urged, bowing his head reverently. He heard Nasher sigh audibly.
"I cannot rule from this bedchamber any longer. Neverwinter needs leadership, and to replace me," Nasher rasped, "I have chosen Sir Nevalle."
Casavir shook his head violently, "My lord, he has changed-"
"-But we cannot deny that he has served our city more than any of us has," Nasher protested weakly, coughing before he yielded, "He has been… wayward, I understand. However far he strays, however, he will not forego Neverwinter's safety to satisfy his own fleeting desires."
"You think he will change, then?" Casavir retorted, throwing his arms into the air, "I cannot believe this. You would place a man on the throne with no soul, with little morality, who has devoted himself to a demon?"
"That is why we've summoned you," Darmon quietly replied.
"Oh! Is that why, the demon? Do not ask me to hunt this monster down," Casavir demanded irately, "It is Nevalle's concern, not mine, or the state's. I will not involve myself or my wife in these schemes any longer. We have already lost our son because of them, and our Knight Captain perished on that creature's blade."
"Listen to me," Darmon firmly ordered, and Casavir's voice faded into silence. Darmon approached the paladin and clamped his hands on his shoulders, saying, "We had no intention to involve you. We need you to remain here in Neverwinter, should the city need you. It is your wife whose talents we require."
"We know it is no rumor that Sisserou is a witch," Nasher said. Casavir gnawed on his lip warily, glancing between his lord and his peer.
"Alice Reinhardt, the medium, came to us this afternoon with report that Axarthys sin Saintrowe plots to flee Neverwinter. She did not know what would come of this, but whatever the case, we cannot risk Axarthys escaping Neverwinter under such mysterious circumstances. Either she remains under the watchful eye of our city, or she must be eliminated. If it is true that Lady Dianarca is a witch- and I pray she is- then she and the medium will be able to find the location of these fiends and kill Axarthys, or offer her amnesty so long as she returns as a permanent prisoner of Neverwinter," Darmon explained. Casavir frowned, considering Darmon's offer.
"Perhaps you feel that embarking on such a task will put you and your wife at risk," Nasher murmured, "But let Sisserou make her own decision on the matter."
"Neverwinter cannot rely on another witch as much as it can on Sisserou. She is not volatile, not selfish. She has served our people loyally, and I have no doubt that in this task, she will continue to do so and either bring the demon back, or send the demon back to hell."
After a lengthy consideration, the paladin cautiously responded, "I shall ask her, but if she says no, then you must find someone else to accompany Alice."
He bowed and turned to leave, before Darmon's voice called him back.
"Sisserou's devotion to the Nine has been waning," Darmon noted, "But she needn't choose between her path as a mage and her loyalty to our order. Please let her know that her talent is forever welcomed by the Nine."
Casavir nodded, "She will be pleased to hear that."
-
Before dawn broke, Axarthys fled Swychcreste. She afforded Nevalle no goodbye. He would have foiled her departure.
Slithering into the green velvet of her warmest gown, Axarthys abandoned her black silk number at the foot of the bed, where the human would be sure to find it and be certain of her disappearance. Calculatedly facing towards the door, she exited without glancing back at the slumbering knight. If she paused, if she permitted her emotions foothold over her logic, she would never be able to end her misery or buy his freedom. Axarthys refused to struggle against the lasting memories of the past any longer. She deserved freedom from her anguish, and the knight- who she loved still- from sinking with her ship. Axarthys, though a demon, would not make him die alongside her. The Abyss had not influenced her selfishness to that degree.
After a lengthy sojourn into the tangled wood between Swychcreste and Neverwinter, Axarthys stopped. She seated herself on a fallen tree beside a babbling creek, flattening her gown over the coarse bark she perched on. Branches snapped as a man trod towards her through the forest, his leather armor crunching as he proceeded to take her arm in his. Absanoch, draped in a cloak trimmed with fox fur, acted as cold as usual. But there was a distinct glitter in his eye, beneath the burning ember of his orange eyes.
"I am pleased that we could reach an agreement," he announced emotionlessly, "Asmodeus will be glad to know that you've surrendered yourself without issue. To remove the last remaining agent of Graz'zt from Neverwinter is conducive to ending the demon lord's attempt to seizing the city. And to have you slain so far from Graz'zt's lingering eyes-"
"I am aware of the advantages my death will secure for your lord, thank you," Axarthys curtly responded, "After averting Graz'zt's attention to grappling for control of Neverwinter- which he cannot do without my aid- Asmodeus may now focus on the siege of Zelatar to win the Blood War for the devils, however vain these endeavors are. Spare me the explanation, Absanoch; you forget that I am the diplomat, and you the petty soldier."
The devil smugly grinned, changing the subject, "What did you tell the knight? You left him for a number of days to orchestrate your death with me."
"I said that I was in Waterdeep," she replied.
"We were," Absanoch flatly responded, "I thought you'd have a more creative excuse, diplomat. No matter. Waterdeep will be a distant thought whenever we've arrived in Icewind Dale."
"During times of war, Asmodeus is as cowardly as ever, appearing as far from Neverwinter as he feels secure. Pitiful," Axarthys scoffed as she and the devil began off through the wood, mounting two black horses tethered to a tree in the distance. The demon asked, "Has devil magic grown so weak that we must travel as mortals do?"
"If we travel by magic, Graz'zt will know and track down our location," Absanoch replied, grinding his teeth as he spurred his horse and trotted with Axarthys in tow. Confident that the demon would not escape under his watch, the devil left the demon's horse untied from his saddle. Axarthys, riding nobly beside him, threw back her head so that her loose, sleek tresses fluttered in the breeze as the two emerged from the forest, galloping north towards Icewind Dale. Absanoch anticipated her to be hesitant, to be afraid, hunched over her saddle like a frightened child weeping all the way to Asmodeus.
But she was liberated, joyful; her head held high as she breathed in the cool air and embraced her fate. Absanoch would not enjoy killing a frightened victim, not in Axarthys. No, she would come out the powerful one in this, unbound from the politics that kept him hostage to Asmodeus. Absanoch would be the flame to engulf the phoenix, and he loathed it.
-
From her window, Sisserou saw Casavir and Alice trotting over the horizon. As perplexed as she was to be greeted with Alice's presence, her joy to see her husband compelled her so quickly down the stairs that she did not hesitate to presume why the medium would come. She stood outside the entry to her home and called warmly to the paladin. He greeted her only with a sad sigh.
"Nasher is in need of you," he announced.
"Axarthys has fled Swychcreste," Alice said, "And we need to hunt her down.
-
Sisserou, Alice and Casavir settled at a circle table in the center of the Swychcreste library. Surrounded by towering shelves stacked with beautifully bound and gilded volumes, the afternoon sun sparkled through the lofty windows of the room and casting a rich light through the dusty air where the old collection was housed. Casavir and Alice had disclosed the case at hand to Sisserou. Versed in enough magic to know the implications of the situation at hand, Sisserou accepted the task of hunting down the demon, and had begun to express her opinion when the door to the study creaked. The trio's deliberations ceased whenever Nevalle entered and sank into a chair across from them.
"Lady Davane informed me that you had news about Axarthys," he muttered acidly. Sisserou huffed.
"Unless you desire Alice and I to continue without your input, then we shall track down your demon and smite her ourselves," The witch scoffed, "Do not sound so irritated. Spare us a few moments of your time, knight, and we shall be gone from your estate."
"You already have the benefit of knowing Axarthys's fate," Casavir added gently. The knight crawled from his chair and paced around the circular table, brooding.
"I am aware of what will happen. Axarthys planned to kill herself and be reborn in the Abyss," he answered, "She was suffering her curse, and mine, too much to risk living in misery any longer. It isn't very difficult to comprehend. What I do not understand is how the three of you came across this information, why it concerns you, and why you must kill Axarthys yourselves."
"In a vision, I saw the demon flee Neverwinter on horseback with the devil-prisoner, Absanoch," Alice revealed. Nevalle's eyes narrowed, skeptical.
"You are a medium, not a psychic," he said.
She agreed, "I am, but as a medium, I detect the activity of spirits. My vision was merely my subconscious ability to sense spiritual movement overriding my conscious thought. Absanoch and Axarthys were traveling too far from Neverwinter for my comfort; they were bound to the snow-lands, Icewind Dale. I fear that Axarthys's death is more complicated than merely her desire to rid herself the mortal coil, if that is plausible for a demon; I dread that her death is a political one, and the devil makes to make her demise perfectly clear to someone."
"Absanoch is an agent of Asmodeus, is he not?" Sisserou asked. Alice paused to reconsider her vision, affirming Sisserou's question with a succinct nod of her head. The witch continued, "Why would a demon want to publicize its death to a devil, specifically Asmodeus? Demons care nothing for dignity, but no demon in its right mind would ever willing sacrifice itself to devils. The Blood War courses too deeply in their veins to allow that sort of shameful death at the hands of the enemy."
"No, no, she would never throw her life away like that," Nevalle affirmed softly, leaning on a short shelf of books across from the table. He peered down at his feet, shaking his head, "Axarthys wouldn't-"
Interjecting himself, his head immediately lifted, and he regained his seat at the table. Freshly inspired, he replied, "Axarthys was recently an agent of Graz'zt, but she was dispossessed of her station. Perhaps… perhaps by allowing Asmodeus to oversee her death, she knew that the devils would use their supposed victory over Axarthys in order to tempt Graz'zt into combat with them."
Sisserou concluded, "Which either means that Axarthys wanted Graz'zt to pay for disowning her-"
"-Or she wanted Graz'zt to think she'd perished to permanently free herself from his ever-fickle interests," Casavir said, "Any demonic agent knows full well the wavering interests of their lords. It is likely that Axarthys feared falling back under Graz'zt's heel."
"In either case, the demon is playing this event to her every advantage," Alice ascertained.
"Then I don't see why it is necessary to 'hunt her down'," Nevalle shrugged, "I have enough experience to tell you fiends are volatile, but it seems that Asmodeus is predictable. There seems little for him to lose, or gain, for that matter, from changing Axarthys's fate."
"To permanently slay a demon so that it may be reborn, as Axarthys intends, means that the demon must perish in the Abyss itself," Sisserou said, smiling, "A fellow Chalice knight should know that."
"You were a –"
"Focus, my friends," Alice insisted, and the three companions turned to the medium. She folded her hands neatly atop the desk, saying, "Devils are much more calculating than we expect. Asmodeus remains many steps ahead of the demons, which is why- despite the lesser ratio of devils to demons- he is holding his own in the Blood War. Knowing this, we must proceed with caution. Asmodeus must open a portal to the Abyss somehow, a drastic move for any devil. Anything, and everything, could possibly happen."
"That is why Nasher needs Alice and I to go to Icewind Dale. If Axarthys lives, surely Asmodeus intended for her to, and that means a far wickeder plot could be under way. She must both follow through and die or she must live to become our prisoner." Sisserou said.
"You and Alice?" Nevalle asked, "What about Casavir?"
"I must remain here. I cannot involve myself in any more of this," he regretfully said.
"Then I shall accompany Alice and Sisserou," Nevalle decided.
"We'll be perfectly alright on our own, thank you," Alice flatly responded.
"Two defenseless women facing monstrous fiends?"
"Honestly, Nevalle, women have been warriors for centuries," Casavir said, "Misogyny lost its popularity eons ago. Accompany them if you must, but I fear you'll be the one rendered weak at the sight of Lady Saintrowe. Perhaps it is in your best interest to remain here as well."
"Chauvinist pig." Sisserou growled.
"I'm accompanying them," Nevalle grinded his teeth with frustrated finality, "If only to drive a sword through Absanoch's gut."
"Because he shared a dance with you lady a while back?" Sisserou taunted.
"Sisserou," Casavir shouted, pounding his hands on the table as he stood. The witch nimbly slid from her chair and planted a kiss on the paladin's cheek.
"Meet me outside to wish me well on my quest, love," she said, diverting the paladin's anger, "Alice and I will depart promptly. We shall see how quickly the knight can polish his shining armor and equip himself for combat."
As the two women left, Casavir uttered, "Forgive her jeers. Beneath her sarcasm, she is vulnerable."
"As Sisserou shields herself with cynicism, Axarthys does with etiquette and silk dresses," Nevalle uttered in response, "All women are vulnerable underneath."
The knight exited to the towers, leaving only Casavir in the library. From the window, he could see Sisserou and Alice leading their steeds across the lawn, and arming themselves with chain shirts stored in their saddle bags. The paladin smiled as his wife mounted her mare and cantered around the grass yard, her ebony hair shimmering in the sunlight. She was savoring her last minutes of bliss before the storm, smiling and laughing gloriously before she galloped off into the tundra of Icewind Dale, and saw to it that Axarthys- nay, that the devils- were no longer a threat to Neverwinter. Perhaps there was something vulnerable in Sisserou, some intangible sensitivity that was masked by her exterior strength and vitality. But Casavir was free to doubt, at least in his thoughts, that Axarthys lacked Sisserou's dynamic nature. Beneath the cold manners, the prim gowns and endless wealth, Axarthys sin Saintrowe was hardened and calculating. She loved Nevalle only because she'd spent so long around mortals that she emulated them. Her love was not real, founded in no inner tenderness masked with outer strength. It was what made her a monster.
Casavir decided not to inform Nevalle of his inheritance of the throne until after Axarthys's fate was decided. If Axarthys wanted to die, she would, and Casavir was certain that the demon would never submit to being a prisoner of the state all over again. He respected her burning will to escape her cyclical relationship with Neverwinter. Knowing that Axarthys would die at any cost, he knew Nevalle would seek solace somewhere after her passing. Even if she was reborn, it could take weeks, months, years- perhaps decades, even centuries. Until she returned, if she ever did, Nevalle needed something to motivate him. And commanding the city-state from the throne of Neverwinter seemed a fairly substantial goal to live for.
Outside, Nevalle traversed the lawn clad in a silvery suit of armor atop a spotless palomino stallion. Alice, climbing into her saddle, waited alongside Sisserou as the knight approached and joined their number. Even in the magnificent daylight, Nevalle's armor only managed to shine half as much as Sisserou's scaly chainmail, her white, telltale, confident smile, and the polished black of her wavy tresses. She was divine, angelic, and Casavir could do nothing else but dash to her side and wish her well on her quest.
He feared nothing. He knew that he would see her again.
-
"Finally, Alice, you are aiding me in what I sought you out for initially," Sisserou cried out over the thunder of hoof beats as they rode, "You're seeing to the death of the demon Axarthys sin Saintrowe!"
"How absolutely delighted I am to fulfill my purpose," Alice dryly replied, brow quizzically raised, a glimmer of humor on her rosy lips. Her typically orderly, cropped blonde locks waved furiously in the breeze. She was awash with passionate purpose, liberated from the cool composure of her usual self. Perhaps it was the thrill of the hunt or the thought of the capture that motivated her. Sisserou had never seen the medium in finer form than when she was galloping horseback across the landscape, chasing the demon down and ensuring the future safety of the people of Neverwinter. Sisserou chastised herself for the selfishness of it, but she knew that if the demon accepted imprisonment over death, the witch would not grant her it. While Nasher was interested only in the safety of Neverwinter, and was unsure of the effects that Axarthys's rendezvous with death would have, Sisserou was certain that the demon was better off dead regardless. Offering amnesty to the fiend would only initiate the abusive relationship Neverwinter had with Axarthys sin Saintrowe all over again.
Nevalle's sturdy palomino had difficultly retaining pace with the palfreys ridden by Alice and Sisserou, but the witch was thankful for the distance. It meant that if she and Alice reached the site of Axarthys's meeting with Absanoch first, than they would be able to react quicker against Axarthys than Nevalle would be able to rescue her.
I was right. Chauvinist pig, Sisserou bitterly thought, He thinks that even demon women languish for him to bravely rescue them from danger.
Alice knowingly glance at her. She eased her steed into a canter, and gazed down at the earth before returning her eyes to Sisserou. The medium reported, "There are hoof prints here. We cannot linger far from them. Perhaps it is best that we rest for the night."
Sisserou tugged on her reins and permitted her mare to walk. She affirmed the medium's suggestion, agreeing, "Even if the fiends can travel all night, their horses clearly cannot. I doubt, for subtlety's sake, that they ride any nightmarish or otherworldly steed having boundless stamina."
"Can you be certain this is the case?" Alice asked. Sisserou shrugged.
"I can venture an educated guess. Supernatural animals do not usually leave hoof prints, and I doubt many people would be wandering into Icewind Dale this time of year, especially from this specific direction." Sisserou concluded. Alice smiled.
"Very good. We rest, then," the medium finished, swinging her leg out of the saddle and settling onto the soggy grass beneath her. Sisserou joined Alice, keeping hold of her horse's reins. She drove her short sword into the earth and twisted it into the dirt, tethering both steeds to it so they could graze. Nevalle, panting and leading his palomino towards them, furrowed his brow in irritation.
"We are not about to gain any ground on them by resting here idly," he announced.
"No, but if our horses collapse from exhaustion, we won't be getting anywhere far, anytime soon," Sisserou rationalized, digging into a saddle bag to procure a metal pan and a burlap satchel. Twirling her fingers over the pan, water bubbled up from the base. The knight and the medium exchanged curious glances, and then crept closer. Tearing open the top of the satchel, the witch shook out the contents of the bag, releasing a copious amount of uncooked rice into the water. Lifting the pan to eye level, Sisserou closely scrutinized the unprepared food, and then narrowed her eyes at her enraptured audience. The fingers of her opposite hand ignited with flames, and she began to heat the pan. The water boiled feverishly.
"Let me guess," the knight pondered, "That would be for the poor horses."
"Your portion will be if you continue moaning," Sisserou warned, and the knight pursed his lips distastefully. When the rice grains bloated with water and became an ivory white, Sisserou pressed the burlap against the front of the pan and drained the hot water into the grass, procuring forks from her sack. Extending the utensils to the knight and medium, and keeping one for herself, she hungrily feasted away.
"We should consider setting up camp," Alice suggested between bites, pointing to the sky with her fork, "We are no longer in Neverwinter's hospitable climate."
"Excellent idea," Sisserou said, ordering, "Nevalle, you go cut fire wood."
To her surprise, the knight didn't protest her suggestion. Instead, he relinquished his fork and immediately set off for the forest across the glen, sword in tow. Alice frowned, "We should have offered to accompany him."
"I have a feeling," Sisserou replied, "That he wouldn't be able to stomach that food after observing the demon's demise."
The medium sighed disappointedly, and the witch amended, "Alice, he should never have offered to come. It is his fault that the demon has plagued Neverwinter for as long as she has; he loves her, he draws her back to haunt us."
"There are individuals who are more susceptible to demonic attack by their very nature," Alice said, "Nevalle is one of those people."
"Because he is weak?"
Alice supposed, "No, not necessarily, but the stronger a susceptible individual is, the more likely they are to repudiate attacks made upon them. And make no mistake, this is an attack. No matter how benevolent Axarthys may perceive it, her interest in Nevalle is no different than the fascination another demon bears its victim. That is the tragedy in this, that Nevalle cannot distinguish love from what is effectively a haunting."
"Then we are obligated to promise Axarthys's death." Sisserou assumed.
"I cannot say so, no. The ridding as well as the contact of spirits is a matter of free will by the effected party. Does the inhabitant of a haunted home desire to rid itself of spirits? Does the widow of a man want to contact her deceased husband? Likewise, does Nevalle want his demon to die? Of course not," Alice quietly explained, facing the witch. Her eyes were somber and calm in their grey. She said, "I did not travel with you on this quest because I wish to defend the safety of one specific individual, but because this particular spirit is a threat to a community that is unable to make a unified decision on this spirit's fate, especially under its fracturing leadership."
Nevalle, with a load of branches crammed under one arm, trod through the wet grass towards them. Alice peered at him, then back at Sisserou.
"Another day?" Sisserou asked.
Alice grinned warmly, "Yes, certainly. I look forward to explaining the workings of the supernatural world with you."
Sisserou recalled her magical tome, with its images of witches defeating the forces of the netherworld, their staffs raised victoriously over the fallen fiends. Perhaps Alice's work- her –work- was no different than that of a paladin's after all. The witch smiled.
"We shall have to do that sometime," she concurred.
-
Author's Note: Another chapter down, one more to go. Soliloquy will be the next and final chapter. Keep your eyes peeled for the next installment, and love always- Valah