Living in Bloodstone

SSt. 1067 , Wtdp. Fae. Contents: Blank. Status: Sold Buyer: Tarmas of West Harbour

There's a rushing in my ears. Like in a conch shell, they say you can hear the waves. I can hear the waves. They're in my head. I can hear pebbles rattling on a beach.

"Come on, lard-guts! Work with me here, we've gotta get you out." Neeshka? I open my eyes, and remember why I closed them. Coloured lights splinter through my retina. A rainbow that hates me. It's no good. I put my arm over my face to block the glare. My arm works, I realize. Good. That's something.

"Doing my best, fiendling. Where's the Captain?" Khelgar.

"Here," I try to shout. My voice is drowned by the crashing of boulders in the deep. Sand drifts over my face. Sand. What happened to Sand? To Casavir?

"She's here." Who's here? Zhjaeve? Elanee? Oh. He means me. I'm the casualty.

"Ammon?" Doesn't answer me. Fucking typical warlock. At least he's alive.

"Go. Take the dwarf. I'll get this one out if I can."

"But-"

"No arguments. Go!"

Somewhere not far away, I hear a keening. A sea gull.

"What – what's that?"

"Never mind.

I think I can here a word through the noise. Mother, it says. Mother. Please.

"Who's...?"

The same word again, howled. Mother. Mother. Then: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. And then only sobbing.

"Qara?"

"Yes. Don't look. She's done for."

I almost laugh. Don't look. Well, I can't look. "What's happening?"

"Everything is falling apart. Collapsing. We have to go. Can you move?" He doesn't wait for an answer, and pulls me up. Something's not right. Something's broken. Gods. Stop. The lights turn red, and flash, and then nothing.

When the light comes back on, I can see a little. I see a shadow standing at the far end of a long chamber. My feet are cold. There's an tight pressure round my stomach. I tilt my head to the side. It aches, but not that badly. I see Ammon – barely. He's holding me up by the belt. And the shadow far away is...

"...you've got a lot to look forward too, Jerro. No, no, don't try and cast anything. You know what I'm like with this bow. You don't need to hurry the end. You know it's coming, anyway." Bishop.

"Why didn't you leave when you had the chance, fool?"

"For what? To what?"

Ammon Jerro put in charge of enumerating the reasons for living. It's just too funny.

My feet aren't cold. They're wet. There's water flowing past them. I'm not imagining it. Drowning and crushing at the same time - that isn't fair. And the pain is getting worse too. I could almost hope for a swift end now. But it's still not fair. It's fucking annoying. And I don't want Ammon to die because he tried to save me. That would be even more fucking annoying.

"You don't know, do you? Guess I don't either." What he could do it to use me as a shield. Without him, I would die anyway, but with me to catch the arrows, at least he might escape. That's not a very comforting thought.

"You're still young. There are mercenary companies that would fight over you. There are lords in the Abyss who would give you whatever your heart desires in exchange for your particular range of talents."

Laughter. "But, you know, I think this is what I want. My heart's desire. To end, here. To end everything. And I didn't even have to sell my soul to get it. I'm not weak. This is my choice, here and now." I can feel myself slipping back into unconsciousness. I hope Ammon has a plan.

"Then do it," he snaps. Some plan. I rest my hand on his shoulder. Ready.

"I don't have to – but I -"

"Bishop..." A different voice. Quiet. So quiet as to be almost not there. "Bishop...look here..." And a sound like thunder rolling over the battlements of Crossroad Keep during the late summer's season of storms.

I'm forced backwards. First, I think I'm hit. Bishop actually loosed an arrow at me. My old mate, Bishop. Wasn't he still drinking at his table in The Sunken Flagon? So funny. Fucking hilarious. Then I realize it's Ammon, dragging me backwards as the thunder continues. I wish he would drag me a little less brusquely. As it recedes, growing weaker but never inaudible, he slows. Eventually, he stops. I can hear him breathing hard.

"So we're alive?" I manage to whisper.

"It seems so," he says. "For now."

"And we won then?"

"Yes," he says. He puts a hand on my shoulder. "We won. Are you ready?"