"I really don't trust you, you know."
"I am sorry to hear that, sir." Adele tilts her head, examining Enserric's blade; the new polish she was able to buy at the Lith My'athar marketplace is darker, stickier and far stinkier than she is used to, but it did its job. The bloodspots are gone, the danger or rust avoided; she can now concentrate on getting back to the city in one piece.
Preferably without the urge of throttling the flame-haired pain in the you-know-where she is stuck with.
"Is that because of what I am, or because what I am not?" At least, she has to concede, Enserric remains blessedly silent as she puts him back to the scabbard. He must be exhausted from their recent battles.
"What do you mean?"
Definitely, definitely part of my Penance of Duty, she thinks. But he fights like no one I've ever seen before; and Torm knows I've seen enough fighting already.
"It's really quite simple, General." She stares out at the water: Cavallas' boat is eerily silent, the boatman a barely visible silhouette at front, steering; Nathyrra a silent shadow by his side as she keeps watch. "As you are so fond of reminding me, I am a paladin of Torm, and viewed by The Seer and most of Eilistraee's followers in Lith My'athar as their Savior. I am a newcomer to Lith My'athar, a human surfacer, one who was never under your command. For you, I am, therefore, someone who swooped in uninvited, and who is threatening to take your place as the leader of those you fought so long to save." She takes a long breath. "I've heard stories told about you, yes," she continues calmly, allowing herself a wry smile. "Contrary to what you might believe, I do talk to people: and I have ears as well."
This was coming for a while now, she thinks, looking sideways to Valen, who stands stiffly, hands clasped behind his back. We might have been able to work together while he remained in the city and Nathyrra and Deekin accompanied me on that first mission. But a couple of days ago, as she was sitting in her room at thon the upper level of the temple where Nathyrra with her charming but deadly efficiency commandeered a largish room for her upon the day of her arrival("one for you, one for your…kobold, Adele—after all, you are the second most important person next to the Seer in our city now"), Valen walked in, barely pausing after knocking, like a red-headed storm cloud swathed in glittering green armor, and growled that he would be going with her.
"But sir…" she said, standing up awkwardly, since she held a rothe-parchment map of the river islands spread on her knees, "…with all due respect, isn't your time and expertise better suited to directing the defense efforts of the city? A small team infiltration mission, even with its possibility of alliance negotiations, surely can be left in the hands of such independent agents of The Seer as I?"
She thought she was completely reasonable: she worked with enough know-it-all officers and nobles in several courts of the North to know that as long as she provided enough reports during the pre-and post-action briefings, they pretty much left her to operate alone and whatever way she deemed it necessary. Her title essentially boiled down to: 'smites evil, will travel, works fast, has official blessing of large organization behind her'.
Well, it did not go down well this time.
She shifts uncomfortably, remembering the way the man looked her up and down, eyes almost seething with ice-blue fire.
"Is that so, Lady?" The way he stressed that word, Adele suspected he wanted to say something else.
She didn't move, just lifted her chin, returned his gaze and nodded, curtly: she stared down Lord Nasher himself once or twice back in the days, after all.
"Then let me tell you something." The outsider stepped closer, clearly attempting to intimidate her. "Your arrival here gave us a tactical advantage that I intend to utilize to its fullest potential. My mission is to protect the Seer and her people by any means necessary and to find the means of eliminating the threat the Valsharess represents. You," he lifted a long-fingered, gloved hand and pointed at Adele, "are an asset in our war. Halaster might be addled in the brain, but by placing his geas on a paladin to aid us, he gave us a weapon that might just turn the tide in our favor." His lips widened into a mirthless smile. "I'd not be worth my title if I wasn't taking advantage of it. That doesn't mean I am dazzled by your paladin charm and think you are our Savior; that doesn't mean I trust you; that doesn't mean I like you." His eyes narrowed. "After listening to your debrief on the avariel mission, I've decided that you and I together have a better chance to succeed at the island of the Maker. I am bringing Nathyrra to provide reconnaissance and spellcover. No other personnel are necessary, and we leave at four chimes tomorrow. Meet us at Cavallas' pier—minimal gear. Muzzle your sword and leave your mutant pet dragon at home."
After that, the mission went pretty well, considering. Adele calmed Deekin down ('mutant pet dragon? Goat-man is the one to talk!'), made sure he had enough parchment and ink to work on the next chapters of his new book, and showed up on time at the pier with no extra blankets but a spare sword and some more potions she found during a last-minute dash to the city wizard's cramped store (the odd hours kept in Lith My'athar took some getting used to). She followed Valen's orders all the way through with rigorous precision: they were good orders, sound and competent, considerate of mission objectives, team capabilities, even terrain and weapon types. The more she watched him, the more she was puzzled by the apparent dichotomy between his blood heritage and his behavior.
"I am surprised you did, truth to tell." Valen says now, breath puffing out in a warm cloud in front of his face—it is chilly on the river. "Asking about me, I mean."
"We are working together." She shrugs. "I like to know the people I fight with." She hears his vambraces click together as he shifts. "May I ask a question, sir?"
"From me, Lady?" Is that mock surprise she hears in his voice? "Aren't you afraid I'd be lying anyway? Demonspawn, Abyss-born and all that?"
"The Seer trusts you with her life, and of all those with her." Adele shakes her head. No, this is not going to be simple. I wish my training would have prepared me for it.
For him, for that matter.
"You might not trust me, but you would give your life for them." She stops for a second. "For her. That much I know."
"M-hm. And your question, Lady?" Valen's voice is still gruff; Adele swallows and hopes the next few minutes will go well.
"You let me decide about the golems," she says, watching his profile in the low light. "About which ones we sided with, I mean." She remembers the clanging voice of Ferron, leader of the metal golems, the way his head tilted awkwardly to the side, as if he wasn't used to the motion. "We…we have discussed this and decided to make it our first act of decision born of freedom. We shall aid you against the darkness of She-Who-Enslaves."
"You've made the decisions with everything else, but when it came to whether we support one group of the other, you ceded the leadership to me."
"And?" asks Valen, voice deceptively mild and neutral.
"I was wondering, sir, if that was a test." Adele says equally blandly.
Valen snorts. For the first time since she met him, his shoulders lose some of their hunched tension as he returns her gaze frankly.
"I hoped you might figure it out," he says, the frost in his eyes thawing a little bit. A tiny, reluctant smile plays on his lips for a second, making him suddenly look younger. "Let's just say you proved you are not nearly as pigheaded as most paladins I've met."
"Most of them, sir?" Adele feels her eyebrows go up. "Just how many have you…" she pauses, considering for a second, '"…met?" She places the emphasis on that last word, throwing a glance at the large warflail resting by its master's leg, and is only a bit surprised to see a wide, almost feral grin flash through the outsider's features.
"I've killed none of your kind, if that's what you ask," he says, almost amiably. "Few of those with divine calling walk the Planes, and those who do, usually have better things to do than getting involved with half-breeds from Sigil."
Adele blanches a bit, despite all her efforts. That is not one, but two bits of crucial information she's just learned about the general of Lith My'athar.
And all I wanted is some peace and quiet and reasonably priced accommodations at a historical Waterdhavian inn… she thinks wrily. This is what you get if you are a Special Envoy Plenipotentiary and want to have a vacation.
"Um, that is… a reassuring thought, sir." She fumbles for a suitable answer while her mind is busy rearranging that information into a new pattern. "It probably means you will not bash my head in then, despite your intense dislike and distrust?"
Now there is definitely something amused in the outsider's eyes as he regards her.
"Only if you refrain from smiting me on account of my abyssal bloodline, Lady."
Adele feels her own lips twist into a reluctant smile, and lets out the breath she didn't even realize she was holding.
"It seems to me we're at an impasse, then, sir," she declares.
"That we are." Valen nods, still holding her gaze: Adele absently notes that he had a scattered flock of freckles across the bridge of his nose, which makes him look absurdly human despite the horn and tails. "So: truce, then?"
Adele's training threatens to take over. The blood of the Abyss and the Nine Hells is notoriously unreliable and almost always leading those sharing it to the darker side—thus declare all her teachers, all her books, all the tomes in the grand library of Torm's citadel in Tantras.
But she remembers that first touch of her divine senses when a tendril of her power touched the outsider's aura back in that side chamber of the temple…
…and where she expected the roiling cloud and flames of evil and wickedness, instead there was only ashes, rain and the memory of slowly throbbing and almost unbearably constant pain…
…something that was almost like…
"Truce," she hears herself say, her voice hoarse from memories she dearly wishes to forget.
…dead piled high on streets; empty-eyed survivors huddling in corners…
…the stench of burning corpses…
…the mad laughter of inhuman throats, green-scaled fingers pulsing with magic…
…desert wind howling through the ruins of an ancient city…
She bits down on the memories, hard, and hopes that none of that shows on her face.
"Truce, "she repeats, still feeling the ashes of all her victories on her tongue, and lifts a silent prayer to Torm that her dreams tonight be free of the nightmares of her past.