The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn

by Lourdes23

Sometimes good men commit terrible wrongs. Sometimes even Heroes need to be saved. The question is will she let him save her, and the world, when he's the reason the Hero needs a savior of her own? The story of Ben Finn's return to Albion as told by Ben.

4. In Which the Circumstances Grow Perilous

The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn:

Chapter 4: In Which The Circumstances Grow Perilous

I am happy to announce that my second experience with Fast Travel was far less eventful than my first, and what – if any – contents still held by my stomach remained firmly in place.

What lay on the other side of our mystical odyssey, however, was something entirely less fortunate, for it was thereupon apparent that our streak of luck – which is to say the deficiency we had been afflicted with thus far – had followed us across the sea. For no sooner had our boots settled into the searing sands beyond Aurora's considerable gates then we were set upon by an assemblage of metal encased creatures the likes of which I'd not encountered since their master had sought to stamp out humanity.

"Blighters! How the bloody hell are they here?" My roar was nearly lost to the cacophony of Wren's immediate and exceedingly volatile reaction upon ascertaining the company in which we found ourselves keeping. Every inch of her form became utterly rigid as threads of blue fire laced over flesh and clothing in intricate patterns no tattooist had yet been able to match, and iridescent wings fanned out at her back whilst she unleashed a volley of Force Push, thrusting the shadow fiends away and borrowing us enough time to extract weapons from holsters and launch a counter attack of our own.

Appendages of spinning death drew near and, with my Swift Irregular planted against my shoulder, I tried desperately to recall the weak points in their armor first divulged to me in that fateful battle two years passed; my aim striking true in rapid succession until at last iron casing was sundered from the ghostly thing within. The one saving grace in fighting against these creatures was the burden their armor placed upon the inhabitants, and how it slowed their progress at least until they drew near enough to rotate their upper extremities, at which time outmaneuvering them became quite impossible. If we could keep them out of melee range we would stand an excellent chance of not being sliced to ribbons by those metal claws, yet therein lay the problem for we found ourselves cornered against the massive doors to Aurora with the odds laying in the creatures' favor at ten to one.

"They shouldn't be here," my Heroic companion announced with incredulity and the accompaniment of her firearm, "not so many – not in broad daylight. They shouldn't have the strength!" The echo of Chickenbane's report sounding somewhere behind me was directly superseded by a blossom of such heat it was clear Wren had her hands full; for even by a Hero's standards we were in dire straits. I could not remember having ever laid eyes on so many shadow spawned creatures in the same area since the invasion of Albion. Chickenbane was tossed to my feet with a curse and only an instant later the sound of swordplay replaced that of gunfire behind me. Turning to address the beasts approaching on our flank I felt a sudden grip of fear take hold of me when a brilliant crimson spatter stained my white sleeve, while I myself had taken no attack.

"Wren?"

"Just stay where you are!" The response I received was forceful and commanding – that of the woman who had previously waged war against the darkness and emerged victorious. "Cover my back – I've got yours!"

Had the implications of what this battle meant not hung in the air like a death knell I undoubtedly would have thrilled at the opportunity to fight alongside my Heroic companion once more, strained relationship or no; it was after all a boyhood fantasy come to life, to fight side by side with a true Hero. Yet the reappearance of these monstrosities and in such quantity as they were signified something far more ominous than a simple surge in the population of the local aggressive wildlife.

"This is just a bad dream," I murmured to myself wrenching my woefully empty rifle to one side so that I might fire off a round with Briar's Blaster, finding the pistol not quite up for the task of enacting a one-hit kill, though the shotgun spray Wren had enhanced it with made up for the lack of power by striking multiple targets simultaneously. Another three shots the creature to my immediate fore at last crumbled to nothing more than debris, though its brethren plodded on. "Just a bad bloody dream."

Lumbering inhuman forms pressed doggedly towards us as gunfire and ringing steel filled our ears and metallic remnants of armor soon littered the sands. Yet it wasn't enough; we had been two against twenty and with no cover to shelter behind when our weapons ran empty. At last I was forced to halt my offensive in order to reload my weapons, knowing the folly of facing off with these creatures with a sword and a distinct lack of Heroic speed, and for the pause found that four of the share of minions I battled had drawn so close that I had no hope of being able to destroy them all before they overtook us.

Confident in my skills as I may have been, I also understood that I was mortal, and in no particular hurry to face my end at that moment."Uh, pal? A little help here!"

An explosion of heat erupted behind my back yet clearly came too late as Wren cried out in pain, her back colliding with mine as she staggered against me and cursed, driving the blade of her sword into the sands beside us. "Balls! Get down!"

Now allow me to confer to you that when the Hero Queen of Albion gives such a command in the midst of battle only an absolute bedlamite would be foolish enough to ignore her, imminent danger or no, and so it was that I was immediately face down in the sand at her feet while the air above my person transformed into a roiling carpet of flames, affirming that Wren had thrown caution to the wind and her craft at every damnable creature surrounding us. Suffocating heat radiated down towards me and I buried my face in the burning sands, throwing my arms over my head having found the alternative far more perilous. In moments the air above my prone form ceased to scorch my skin and all that I could hear was the wind.

Wren was upon me not a moment later, clouting my back and cursing to herself when at last the tang of burning fabric met my grit-clogged nasal passages. "Damn. Are you all right?" Forgoing the customary request for permission, she expeditiously began to prod at the singed fabric of my official vestments and the skin beneath, checking for injury that extended beyond that of my apparel and seemingly found none to be overly concerned about. "Sorry," she murmured abashedly while helping me to my knees. "I'll ask Jasper to patch that for you."

"All's well. Not to worry." I assured in the hope of setting her mind at ease, yet her brow furrowed even more deeply at my casual dismissal.

"I have to worry," she pressed. "It's so easy for me to hurt those I fight alongside. If I don't hold back it's possible I'd end up killing you by accident."

Her admission, while unnerving, was one I knew to be nothing short of the truth, having witnessed the Hero of Brightwall in combat situations where no ally had been within her striking range. If left to her own devises Wren could unleash such fearsome and indiscriminating attacks that would reduce everything around her to nothing more than ash or wreckage. It occurred to me then that had Theresa not expressly mentioned the importance of my presence Wren would have no doubt left me behind to face this threat alone as had habitually been the case.

Seeking out a distraction from thoughts that came uncomfortably close to recognizing myself more as a burden than an asset, my gaze lifted to our surroundings; the molten remnants of demonic armor which still smoldered, the blackened circle of sand that began three paces from where Wren had made her stand and carried outward for at least fifteen more, and most fixedly to the fantastic gates the sheltered the Auroran populous, now festooned with deep gouges created from metallic gauntlets proving that the fey things we had battled had been attempting to gain access to the city.

My own distress forgotten I routinely began an assessment of the situation, taking notice of the ragged slices to the arm my companion had acquired. Ignoring the consent Wren had previous dismissed in my respect, I reached into the pack at her hip, relieving the bundle of a small roll of bandages of which I wound around her arm in the crude battlefield dressing I myself had donned in my past. Without an irate word at having her belongings plundered or her person handled Wren waited patiently for me to conclude my efforts as she continued to survey what had only moments ago been a battlefield. Being a man of the military, it was not difficult for even one as strategically impaired as me to reach the logical associated conclusion. "The outpost must have fallen. There's no way they'd have let the demons get this far if it still stood."

"My thoughts exactly." Wren nodded. "Come on. We need to check on the city."

XXXX

It was with an immediate surge of relief that I noted Aurora's seemingly unblemished safety once Wren and I were permitted passage through the city's gates. Having expected to encounter a city in much the same state we had found it in over three years ago I had been trying without much achievement to prepare myself for the same dilapidated buildings and ghost-eyed citizens that had greeted me after washing ashore so long ago. Had it not been for the guards patrolling with weapons drawn and the hushed tones that had replaced boisterous hawker calls and jovial conversation, one could have almost thought the city completely unaware of what was transpiring beyond their gates.

It was to Aurora's good fortune that Kalin had never been known for her ignorance or lethargy, and was quick enough to not only greet us, but apprise us of the steps she had taken to safeguard her home until help could be summoned – to which she dejectedly admitted she had hoped we'd come to provide. Only the revelation of the nature of our visit drew her away from the appeals for aid she'd been ready to lay at our feet.

"For too long my people suffered at the whim of the darkness, never knowing if the coming night would be our last. And you now tell me that there are those who would wish for it to return, and would inflict this terror upon us yet again?"

"What do the lives of the innocent matter to those that would sell their own souls for power?" Wren had never been one for standing on formalities with any of our former acquaintances; not even Sabine, for all of the eccentric nonsensical airs the man put on; and therefore clearly felt no compulsion to soften the gravity of the situation.

With a resigned shake of her head Kalin let go of her incredulity and set herself to the task at hand. "Have you not been able to locate where these menaces have hidden themselves away?"

"We were hoping that you could tell us." I contributed, more than a little dejected to hear that our one hope for information had seemingly just turned into a dead end.

"My people have barely set foot outside of their homes in almost two weeks, let alone the city. We are taking no chances this time; during daylight hours we can hear the shadow minions moving about beyond the walls, and at night we hear the death cries of creatures and the clawing of the fiends at our gates. We do not even know how the soldiers at the outpost fare. A few days after the madness returned the two ships docked our port were sent away with news for you of our plight."

It was during Kalin's report that Albion's Hero Queen took up a dark scowl, seemingly more lost to her own thoughts than aware of our colleague's admission. "Shadelight has to be death to anyone who tries to enter it right now." She all but murmured to herself, lost as she was to the puzzle laid out before her. "And there are too many other ruins out there to choose from. Theresa said we would find our answer here, but I don't see how. The people of the city had a hard time simply surviving in recent years. I can't imagine there would be any information to uncover here."

The look Wren received in turn from the tribal woman was measured and respectful while letting it be known that the queen had presumed too much. "Although it is not known to outsiders, we are not without an academic heritage, Your Majesty. There was once a time when Aurora housed a vast reliquary of information. Such books and scrolls the likes of which have never been seen since."

This apparently was enough to pull Wren from her musings for silver eyes snapped up, attentive and fixed solely upon the Auroran. "That's all well and good, but you said when we had first met that the Crawler appeared five years prior. What good would an ancient library have done for such a new threat?"

"The Crawler appeared five years before our meeting, but it has always been a part of Auroran lore." Kalin's words no doubt came as a surprise to Wren, who had quite clearly spent so long assuming the threat to be a recent, unknown quantity. "Long ago my people battled it and learned enough of it to imprison the creature for centuries. What I remember of the stories state we could not locate the weapon in time to destroy, it, and instead had to settle on sealing it away."

At these words Wren's eyes alit with more than mere curiosity, and I found myself just as eager to grasp onto that thread of hope. "What happened to this library?"

"Centuries past Aurora was a place of great turmoil and unrest. To avoid the loss of such precious knowledge the entire collection was given over to the custody of the Heroes' Guild for safe keeping. Unfortunately the Guild fell before the pieces could be reclaimed."

If knowing of the lost library had brought Wren's curiosity to life, the mention of who had stewarded the trove last had set that curiosity ablaze. "Jasper! Does Mother's book mention where the old Heroes' Guild was?"

It was always disconcerting to watch these outwardly one-sided conversations between Wren and her butler; there were men locked within sanitariums for holding conversations identical in appearance. A short interval later a triumphant smile lit her face, and I became even more unsettled when I realized the old gypsy woman had been right: we'd discovered our answers in Aurora, or at the very least we'd established where our answers were cached.

"Brilliant! Ben, we're leaving for Millfields at once." Wren announced, and with that I was surprised, though marginally less, to find my hand caught up willingly by one bearing a gauntlet of Will, the owner of which was clearly intent on drawing me back into that strange realm through which she traveled. As though an afterthought, Wren hesitated and cast an anxious glance back towards our Auroran friend.

"Aurora is part of Albion, Kalin. I won't let it fall. You know that, don't you?"

"Your word has always carried tremendous weight here, Your Majesty. We will trust in you to put things right. Might I suggest however, stationing more soldiers within the walls, if only to put your people at ease and secure our walls from within?"

It was quite clear that Wren intended to maintain her promise of Aurora's protection indefinitely. "Jasper, send word to the castle. The Auroran outpost has probably fallen. I need a brigade dispatched to the city of Aurora as quickly as possible. You can use Pip as your messenger if you like."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." No matter how friendly the two were with one another, Kalin simply could not seem to abandon formalities completely, and bowed respectfully with her gratitude before turning to address me directly. "It is good to see you as well Ben; it has been far too long." The Auroran woman's eyes rose to Wren's upon speaking to me and in that glance I saw something that told me she expected to be admonished for the pleasantries, yet had spoken them regardless. It was clear that Kalin was aware of the queen's grievance with me, and I had no doubt she was privy to the circumstances of said objection as well. Yet for whatever reason my Auroran friend chose to vouch for me, and for that I found myself grateful; at last I had a true ally – one that walked on two legs and did not press their nose into intimate places by way of greeting.

I'd only enough time to murmur an acknowledgment in turn before Kalin dissolved in a flare of white light and noise, the Hero at my wrist dragging me through that unknown plane before settling us upon the road to Millfields; the home of Bower Lake. Though I knew Wren had it on good authority that this was the final resting place of the Guild of Heroes, I could see nothing to collaborate with her information.

"There're no ruins here, Wren, just a few broken pillars. Wouldn't the home of the old Heroes have been a bit… I don't know… grander?"

Wren seemed to have suspected my words, for she maintained a patience with me that I had not expected. "The guild isn't above ground; at least not anymore. The entrance is in the center of the lake."

With this my spirits dipped. "You mean the guild is underwater?" If such was the case it seemed highly unlikely we'd find anything left of merit. Thankfully Wren had a correction readily on-hand.

"Actually, it is under the lake – buried within underground caves. My mother was taken there by Theresa when she was young. It was where she learned she was a Hero."

I must admit, the thought of setting foot in such hallowed ground had infected me with Wren's enthusiasm. An entire guild of Heroes; not just one or even a handful, but enough to warrant an entire hall where they could congregate. It was the stuff of legends, and I was going to see what remained of it with my own eyes. Briefly I paused to wonder what might have come of that place had Wren allowed Reaver to pursue his intent of draining the lake and mining its bed before dismissing the consideration for more exciting notions.

After a short jog Wren lead us down to the gazebo which stood upon the small island in the center of the lake, gazing down at its stone flooring silently for the longest time. At long last she muttered a quiet "if you say so" – no doubt in response to an unheard commentary from Jasper – and, lifting a large rock from just beyond the railing, began pummeling the plinth in the center of the structure with jarring blows. Wishing to help I put my back into the task as well, relieved to see that at this hour of the evening no one was close enough to notice what exactly we were up to nor hear the commotion we were raising; not that I believed anyone would have dared to stop the Hero Queen of Albion. It took both of our efforts and a few insistent blasts of her Force Push spell to dislodge the cap of the great pedestal, leaving us both sweat stained and panting by the time we'd displaced it.

Within the hollow base a wooden plank was barely visible in the failing light from beneath layers of black dirt. Beside me Wren's breath drew up sharp, as no doubt mine did as well, and we worked in earnest now, knowing that we were no longer chasing after a dim hope. Together the Queen of Albion and Albion's Captain scraped soil aside with our boots and bare hands until at last a large circular hatch, black and green from being buried so many years, had been unearthed. Without pausing to consider the wisdom in opening such an ominous looking door, Wren stooped and tugged at the edges of the hatch with me only a moment behind. Soon enough the door flew open as well, revealing a great black hole beneath and flooding our senses with cold, stale air.

"It's awfully dark…" My Heroic companion stretched her neck to peer over the hole, tossing a rock into the pit half-heartedly. A moment later a deep splash reverberated from the darkness testifying to the size of the cavern beyond the well's opening. How such a vast chasm could exist in the midst of one of the deepest lakes in Albion was a mystery to me, yet there was quite clearly air down there, however aged it may be. "It sounds deep enough…" Wren leaned further over the mouth of the well as though hoping her eyesight would be strong enough to penetrate the utter blackness within.

I could only surmise that her reluctance stemmed from the last time she had been trapped in a cave, listening to that dead voice hiss threats and to Walter scream in terror, and could hardly fault her hesitation; were I in her situation I doubt very strongly I would have fared so well. Yet if there was any place in Albion that had the answers we sought, it would be here, and as I had never heard those whispers or screams there were no dark memories to haunt me or hold me back.

"Well, you said your mother came here, right?"

With this I glanced up at Wren, noticing the apprehension in her eyes which did not disappear when she raised her gaze to me and held it. So, being the levelheaded person that I am, I did what any self respecting gentleman would do.

I pitched myself over the low wall surrounding the opening, ignoring the female shriek of alarm that sounded in response to my actions, and allowed the blackness to swallow me up first.

It's as I said before; I'm an idiot.

XXXX

Cold! Bleeding-hell-COLD!

I confess, I cannot say with confidence that these were the exact words which raced through my mind when at last my decent ended. Perhaps a few more vulgarities strewn into the lot, but overall the general idea remains the same.

After a fall that drove my insides up into my throat, the water which I plunged into was icier than anything I'd ever known – it astonished me how the pool had not frozen over as had the water in the Chillbreath Caverns, and when my head at last broke the surface I admit to having cried out my intense discomfort, and quite loudly at that; a lapse which resulted in a second panic-ridden cry from above followed by a certain Hero plummeting through the opening herself, her skin already alight with those strange markings that only appeared in battles or while experiencing extreme distress. This left me with no choice but to slosh quickly out of the way or else be pulverized by the falling person, which I did without hesitation, narrowly missing as her solid weight sliced through the water where I had just treaded.

Wren's glowing silhouette emerged from the depths of the frigid reservoir with far more tact than I, though none the quieter as she paused only long enough to draw breath before the shouting began anew.

"Ben? Ben! Where are you!" One hand lifted and a small fireball ignited upon her palm as she spun round to lay bright eyes upon me; her quick appraisal taking in our surroundings once she had confirmed I was in fact still breathing. "What is it? What happened?"

"Nothing. It was just…" I found it at that moment exceedingly difficult to put one coherent idea together for the purposes of speech, and it was not for the freezing waters that I struggled. The look in my companion's eyes held me in place, unable to move even my thoughts from her gaze. "The water was cold… I wasn't expecting… you were worried about me?" Indeed it seemed almost too much to hope for, yet I'd always had a penchant for impracticality and so held onto the small sliver of optimism that she might not completely detest me after all.

With her jaw clenched firmly I watched as her fingers rolled closed over the little ball of fire, dousing the light and obscuring her features in the dim glow that poured down from the opening above our heads. And just when I thought she'd no intentions of acknowledging my remark her voice cut through the soft swishing of our treading water. "Fool. I thought you'd been attacked by something." The small flame returned to fingers which streamed fresh rivulets of water and once again I had an uninhibited view of a pale face that fell only slightly short of impeccable control.

It would have customarily been in my nature to give such an admission some sort of witty yet sarcastic response boasting about my prowess in whatever situation I currently found myself; this no doubt a direct result of being unfamiliar to such spoken concerns. However in this instance logic reached out from that desolate corner within my mind where I had long since set it aside and I kept my tongue-in-cheek response to myself.

"I'm sorry I worried you," and there was no need to force sincerity into the apology, for I genuinely regretted putting any more dread into her than she had already suffered. "Thank you… for coming after me." And once again the flame spluttered out as Wren plunged her leather clad palm into the icy waters, leaving only the less than adequate light of the well above our heads as our sole source of illumination.

"The next time you come up with an idea, do us both a favor and replace your idea with common sense. All right?" She was trying valiantly to force irritation into her voice, yet there was a quaver present that perhaps I would not have picked up if I could have seen her face clearly. No doubt Wren had on one of her 'Hero Masks'; expressions she wore that could normally distract even the most stout-hearted man from anything but her annoyance – an effect which was currently lost on me in the murky, dim light and of which I was exceedingly grateful.

"Just trying to help." The response was almost reflexive and undoubtedly the wrong one, so I quickly decided to change the subject before she could begin berating me in earnest. "Would you mind bringing up the light again? We should probably try to find a way out of this ice bath."

When at last we could view our surroundings once more we were able to locate a small bank where an offshoot cavern lead into further darkness that, with the exception of the narrow opening we had just plummeted through, seemed to be the only way out of this particular cavern. Wren's light burned brighter as we approached the opening, and I did my best to pretend I had not noticed her apprehension as we entered. After some scavenging we managed to come up with enough tinder to form a proper torch, and Wren transferred her flame to the dusty receptacle, inspecting the gauntlet and blowing small puffs of air onto her hand as though to sooth away a burn. It had not occurred to me that holding a flame might cause her discomfort, though I'd witnessed her perform that act while waiting for a foe to come into range various times in the past.

Our subterranean journey was far less impressive than what had been anticipated, as what must have been hours of traversing through corridors no more notable than any other cavern, uncovered nothing more hostile than the sparks of our torch, and met with man-made articles no more awe inspiring than a few crumbling bookshelves and newer makeshift shaft supports. Growing more dejected with every corner we rounded we pressed on, at last passing through an entryway no different than anything we'd encountered thus far and found that in crossing that threshold we'd stepped through the portal between fantasy and fact.

Above us the now smoothly polished carved ceiling curved upwards to heights that should not conceivably be able to exist beneath Millfields; its grandiose scale lending to the impression that either we'd fallen further than I had first thought or perhaps we now stood beneath one of the nearby mountains rather than the outskirts of the town. Murals larger than the house I had grown up in decorated the walls of this domed chamber, and while many were damaged beyond recognition, from the few I could still clearly see they appeared to depict the life of a seemingly significant man who had grown to be a Hero as well as king.

In the center of the hall, upon a round platform that could also hold a small house, were dozens of shelves arranged around the edges of the raised floor, dusty but plainly newer than the furnishings we had passed. Equally modern tables, chairs, lamps, a basket much like the one Pip slept in, and various other furnishings told us that this place had been used mere decades ago, yet these things were not what captivated our attention so completely.

What drew our attention were the shelves, for upon them stood row upon row of ancient books, neatly arranged and in some cases clearly restored with great care. Hundreds of ancient volumes, all pulled from those dilapidated shelves we had passed on our way to this place.

The remains of the lost Heroes' Guild library. What were the odds that any of these books were the ones we needed?

Beside me Wren's whisper broke the silence at last. "Jasper, I'll need you to come down here."

XXXX

Upon a quick yet daunting estimate of the number of tomes from Jasper it was decided that we three were quite clearly in over our heads and therefore, while Jasper and I began the arduous review of each and every book within the fresco dome, Wren took it upon herself to go in search of 'reinforcements' as she had put it; returning with the Brightwall Librarian, Samuel, and an odd little man also from Brightwall called Saul, who all but began salivating upon laying eyes on the trove. Although I knew Samuel well, my confidence that these two additions would be sufficient to our needs was sorely lacking, only to be bolstered when the two scholarly men began instructing us on the quickest way to search out specific information from such a vast source of material. Cataloguing, they called it; a term of which I only dimly recalled from my days spent under Samuel's eager yet ultimately forgettable tutelage.

I will not bore you with the details of the days we spent in that dome, and even more to the point I will not bore myself attempting to relive it for you. As I stated previously, I was never one to be considered scholarly, and the days spent in the ancient dome gave me a renewed and unappreciated understanding of tedium. It appeared that whatever patience I had harbored for such mundane work ended with the onset of manhood and my discovered affinity for all things associated with risk.

Thus it was that after days of strained eyes, paper cuts and more dusty sneezing fits than I can recall, that I turned a page of a particular tome I had been reviewing and nearly tossed the book from me with a start.

It was doubtless that I had cried out in alarm, because immediately Wren dropped her own study material to draw up beside me, for I was too engrossed in what had been painstakingly drawn onto the pages with charcoal sticks to release the book to her. It was a face, but that was all I could be certain of, for although it had two eyes above a single mouth of sorts there was nothing human in its qualities, nor in the miniature version that seemed to have attached itself to the first. Littering the background of the portrait were dozens of dark silhouettes, each defined as a sentient being only by the blank points in the parchment meant to represent eyes. Wren's breath shuddered in my ear.

"The Crawler," her whisper was faint yet had clearly been unmistakable from the way the others crowded in to peer over my shoulders as well.

I cringed. Wren's newfound apprehension of dark places seemed to hold a validity I could not deny her, having only caught the briefest of glances of the thing before it disappeared down Walter's gullet during our last battle.

"That is what you defeated two years ago, Your Majesty?" Samuel's voice quavered fearfully from behind Jasper. "Good heavens, I-"

"Samuel, I need you to read this book now. Please." Wren took the book from my numb fingers carefully and passed it back to the librarian who was undeniably the swiftest reader of those in attendance, all the while holding the page open to that terrifying picture. "Look for any mention of the weapon needed to destroy it."

"A weapon? I don't understand, that seems hardly necessary when it's already-"

With far more patience than I'd thought she'd be capable of now that the information was so close at hand, Wren pushed the book towards him once again. "Please Samuel." With a nearly spasmodic nod in which the old librarian at last understood the nature of his monarch's request, Samuel turned to the first page, carefully reading through the text while we remaining researches returned to the task of marking pages in the other books, in case the one Samuel studied did not have what we needed.

It was a short time later as utter and complete silence reigned within our makeshift study hall that a brilliant flash of non-light illuminated the chamber and sent Saul skittering under the nearby table like a frightened dog; and when the glare subsided I wasn't at all surprised to find the blind gypsy standing before us. I was however disturbed to note that not only was Wren now standing rather than kneeling upon the stone floor, she had somehow moved to the other side of the platform. Distantly I recalled Wren mentioning that it was not uncommon for Theresa to appear before the Hero Queen, and often times when that occurred time ceased to move. This was one aspect of the Heroes I had never expected, nor could I bring myself to appreciate. I felt my skin crawl at the idea that there were those capable of rendering me immobile and unable to act in my own defense while they themselves retained full awareness and ability to act both around me and upon me, if they so decided.

A quick glance over her shoulder towards the lot of us and Wren nodded to herself as though satisfied with some unspoken result. "Good. Now," she sighed in a manner that was almost weary and returned her attention to her former mentor, "just tell us what you know. Playing detective to find information you already have will just waste more time."

If the change in Wren's demeanor did anything to soften or harden the blind woman's heart I for one could not tell, for she seemed as perpetually devoid of emotion as the stone statues standing within the castle gardens.

"Very well." Theresa complied without rancor or hesitation. "You should know that the Crawler cannot survive in the daylight without a host form to inhabit, even with its ability to block out the sun for a time."

"How is that true?" Wren folded her arms thoughtfully beneath her breast as she pondered the implications. "It took the creature a full year to reach Albion's shores."

"It took the Darkness a full year to reach Albion," Theresa corrected without emotion. "The Crawler had been within our borders the entire time, hidden within the body of Sir Walter Beck. What you saw entering Walter was the Darkness the creature had called to it. Once within a host, the Crawler is nearly impossible to extract. The Aurorans were no more capable to removing the Crawler from your friend than they were of removing it from their lands. Within a host body, the creature not only gains the advantage of being able to move about in the daylight, but is also limited by the strengths and capabilities of its host."

"Meaning the thing can't do much more damage than Walter could have alive?" While it appeared as though this should have been a boon to our cause, Wren's dark expression did not ease, and neither did the stress I could feel within my limbs.

"In part, yes." The far-seer continued. "You have already witnessed the extent of its abilities while it resides in Walter. Beyond a few additional abilities it was able to utilize, Walter's limitations became those of the Crawler. Using any more power than the host was capable of in life would destroy the vessel."

The unpleasant tingle flared up along my spine once more; the sensation leaving me on edge and wishing there was something nearby to shoot if only to release the pressure of this unknown danger. "Why do I get the feeling the other shoe is about to drop?"

"The cult is also aware of these limitations," the gypsy went on in a implacably cool manner which gave me ample cause to wonder how concerned she truly was with the peril we seemed to face, "and they have devised a way to greatly strengthen the Crawler once they revive it. They will transfer the creature to a new host; one whose power in life far exceeded that of anyone else."

"One whose power in life?" Samuel, never one to sit idly by while there was a mystery to be puzzled out, at last gave up his self-preserving silence in favor of taking part in solving the unknown. "The new host is dead?"

It was as Wren's audible gasp filled the chamber that the thought struck me, and I found myself on my feet; the warning tingle immediately flared out to my legs, my hands, and leaving me with the intense desire to move, to fight, to do anything but stand here and talk. My fingers closed around the grip of my pistol so tightly the flow of blood to them was all but cut off, save for my carefully perched trigger finger, though I am certain I do not recall ever drawing the weapon.

"Wren's mother." I recall having heard the answer announced flatly into the air and realizing with some distant surprise that it had been my voice. "They're going to put the thing into the Old Hero Queen." Somewhere off to one side I have the faintest memory of the sound of a shattering teacup and what could have been a prayer though none among us were devout followers of the Light; the religion having fallen out of popularity in recent decades.

"And if that happens," Theresa made no argument to the contrary as I had furtively hoped she might, "it will gain the strengths and skills of the old Hero, as well as the ability to use its more powerful maneuvers it had been unable to utilize while residing within Walter."

"She…" Wren appeared to be lost to shock, her unnaturally pale complexion draining to something that seemed practically lifeless, "she was so powerful. Even now I remember…"

"If you are of the mindset that you could not defeat one as powerful as your mother, you are correct. It is no secret that with every generation that passes the new Heroes are dwindling in number and power. Your mother was able to utilize magic without the need of a gauntlet, and her ability to strengthen her physical power and speed surpassed yours. And where her generation had four known Heroes, at present there is only you left to defend Albion."

"So you're telling us that unless we can keep those bastards from putting the Crawler into Wren's mother, we're as good as dead." It seemed a fairly simple situation, and yet I was familiar enough with the workings of this strange old woman to know that nothing about her was ever simple. "What's the catch?"

"The catch, Captain Finn," in every memory I possessed of the woman, not once did I recall her every having addressed me directly, and when those pearly white eyes turned upon me I couldn't help but believe she could see me with a deeper clarity than eyes alone would be capable of, "is that half of your battle is already lost."

Beside me Wren startled visibly, as I have no doubt I did as well. "What?"

In this Theresa at last seemed to understand that her words were about to shatter what little confidence we had left, for her voice softened to something that could have almost been considered sympathetic. "In their efforts to safeguard Walter's tomb and obey your direct orders, your royal guards could spare no additional men to protect your mother when they were suddenly attacked just before dawn this morning. The Old Hero Queen's body now lies in the hands of the Crawler's worshipers."

Standing beside Wren, witnessing the emotions that crossed her features in reaction to the old gypsy's words, I actually found myself feeling some measure of pity for the poor blighters.

Wren would see them suffer before she allowed them the mercy of death – of this I had no doubt.

XXXX

Arg! Forever to write this one! But it's longer… and I rewrote some portions because Ben's written dialogue wasn't flowing right. Seven thousand words needs a bit more proofing than three thousand. ;o) Anyway, I promised some action and here we go. Hope it works well – I've never written action scenes in so formal a context before. New things are fun – and challenging!