14.
City battles are ugly. Sieges have a way to either keep going and going for days, weeks even (Adele knows of one that went for five months, utterly exhausting both opponents), or they end fast—and when they do, it's sudden, bloody, sweaty, full of really bad smells, smoke, yelling and cursing. In other words, not pretty at all.
Like this one. Adele, leaning on Enserric in the inner courtyard of Lith My'athar's gates, understands much more Valen's description of drow warfare now. "It's like when two great shadows silently meet. A fleet of assassins and dark magic seeking the throat of the opponent", he said once.
Adele coughs, spits some grit and blood out of her mouth, heaves herself on her feet using Enserric, blessedly silent for now, as a crutch, and thinks that, yet again, that was one of the general's colossal understatements.
Her general's.
"He really should get a medal for that," she thinks in that bizarre frame of mind she gets into right before and after battle and coughs again. "Champion of Understatements. Maybe I can get one made in Waterdeep once this is all over?"
She really hopes he's all right. While she requested to be stationed here, where the danger of the enemy breaking through was the largest, she stood her ground and told Valen to go back to the Temple to guard The Seer and the waterfront, in case Cavallas' information proved correct and the movement along the river he's observed the previous days might have signaled that The Valsharess found a way to transport troops to attack them that way.
"You're not allowed to get hurt, Savior," he told her gruffly when he finally agreed to lead that bannerful of golems to personally guard The Seer and the two other Matron Mothers back at the Temple Square. There were hundreds of eyes on them, all around: firelight gleaming off helmets and spearheads, all in silent readiness. "And that's an order." He towered over her, every inch the consummate warrior in the verdant glory of his armor, his new cloak, with enchantments from The Seer and her priestesses woven into its embroidery whipping around him in the cold wind suddenly rising.
"Of course." She nodded, chin held high, armor polished to an eye-hurting shine, helmet's visor open to show only part of her face: silver-and-white answer to his green-and-gold. Her face remained expressionless; only Valen saw her wink. "We have plans, after all."
"Keep that in mind," he nodded back, mouth barely twitching, and lifted a hand to clasp hers in the gauntleted, entirely formal farewell of two warriors before battle. Adele suspected Deekin was making sketches for his book: it was certainly a moment worthy of a painting.
"I most certainly will keep you in mind, my General," she murmured just before they parted, and even through the rising cheers of those surrounding them she could hear his snort. She also felt a savage satisfaction, decidedly uncharitable but one fitting the occasion and resisted the urge to punch the air triumphantly: yes, yet again she made Lith My'athar's general blush.
I would really, really like to make that a habit that lasts for the rest of our lives, she thinks now, and grins, despite the fact that her silver armor is all covered in grime and soot now, the left pauldron lost, and the white cloak is barely more than a ragged piece of cloth hanging from her shoulder.
She's alive, mostly unharmed, and, as she lifts her head, can hear the trumpets from the battlements that signal that the enemy is retreating.
Summoning devils into the midst of us, that was fun. She spits again to clear her mouth. Given whom the Valsharess allied herself with, of course, it's an understandable tactic. Yet despite all preparations and even disseminating the information of the possibility of 'arcane summonings of unidentifiable, possibly infernal entities' during the battle, the frequency with which the enemy spellcasters performed the feats of conjuration was frightening both in its numbers and the ferocity of the creatures appearing. Adele is grateful that Lavoera was there; she held the very front against waves of the enemy and seeking out the wizards and clerics with impeccable aim of her own spells, while Adele herself threw all her abilities into holding the inner courtyard, with Deekin and Nathyrra by her side.
I sure hope they are fine, she thinks now, trying to circle the smoking corpse of a huge pit fiend: the stone itself melted where it fell, and there are little fires all around the courtyard from its last spell. Adele coughs again and tries to see through the haze of smoke, squinting to see more than indistinct shapes beyond five steps. The people she can see are too exhausted to even greet her properly: they just stand aside and let her pass. She peers at them intently, trying to see if any of them needs healing, or wears the white armband of the runners bearing possible news.
"Savior! Savior!" A young aide of Imloth Adele recognizes from the late night briefings materializes by her right just as she reaches the gates that lead to the city proper. "I found you, thank the goddess!"
"I am all right." Adele says curtly and looks him up and down for signs of bleeding before she continues. "Are you injured? Is anyone in need of healing? Do you have news?"
"I am fine, ma'am." The young drow (Calimar, Adele remembers his name now), shakes his head. "Casualties are directed to the areas we've set up previously for medical assistance, and we have clerics in sufficient numbers to treat the wounded until further…" He wobbles on his feet a bit, and Adele's arm shoots out to lend him aid.
"You're not fine, Calimar," she says firmly, noticing the singed wound of a luckily misguided fire spell on his back now that he's leaning on her. "Don't lie to the paladin."
"Sorry, ma'am," the drow mumbles as Adele carefully lowers him to the ground and places her hand on his head. "Just wanted to let you know first…"
"Hush now." Adele closes her eyes, refusing to contemplate what that might mean. He's fine. I know he's fine. He better be fine, otherwise I'll punch him in the face myself. "I need to see to your wound." She takes a deep breath and calls up the words invoking her divine powers in the service of Torm to heal. The force of it, even after these many years, still shakes her, but she grits her teeth and channels the energies up and through her palm, into the wounded man in front of her. She can feel through her fingertips the relief flooding his entire being as the healing takes hold, and as she opens her eyes, she sees him smiling at her wanly.
"Thank you, Savior. I am honored." Calimar climbs to his feet, still gingerly, but using his back more fully and Adele knows that he'll be fine. "You saw to my needs before I could tell you my news," he says next, quietly, and she feels something cold and dreadful squeezing her stomach. "Why?"
"My needs come after those whom I protect." The words come to her lips before she can even think. "Duty first, Calimar. Always."
"He said you'd say that." The drow grins and Adele suddenly feels dizzy. She's reasonably sure it's from the powers spent in the healing, but she still puts a hand out and grabs the cold steel of the gate and hopes that the vast relief she feels doesn't show on her face.
He's fine. He's alive. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
"General Shadowbreath's compliments, ma'am, and he bids you to come to the Temple as soon as you secured the area here. He told me to tell you there was some 'not quite unexpected armed activity', but nothing to worry about."
"I don't worry." Adele mutters as she looks around, notices Lavoera's golden wings shine through the haze and starts towards her, almost, but not quite running. "I merely take all eventualities into account during planning." She takes a deep breath and calls towards the deva, who is currently busy dispatching a weakly struggling wounded erinyes: Calimar winces as Lavoera's mace crushes the fallen angel's skull.
"Oh, Adele, hello!" Lavoera waves a gauntleted hand casually, shaking hair and skull bits and blood off her weapon. "Glad to see you are well. I am just making sure the last bits are… cleaned."
"And I am relieved to see you well, too." Adele bows from the waist: the courtesy is ingrained, and practiced for so long, she probably would be able to perform the salute even half-dead. And a deva on the battlefield is best be treated very, very nicely. "If you feel you have this area well in hand, I shall depart towards the Temple to see if everything is order over there. There are news of an attack from the riverside."
"They got through, the evil scum!" Lavoera's fist clenches by her side. "I knew it wouldn't be just a simple frontal attack! Do you need me there?"
There was nothing simple about this attack, Adele thinks, knowing that her entire body will probably be one huge bruise after that last encounter with the pit fiend, but wisely refrains from voicing that thought.
"I believe everything is well in hand, but the General wishes to see me." Lavoera nods, with a slight frown: she is still unable to come to terms with the fact that a tiefling outsider can serve the Light, albeit she was noticeably less hostile with Valen during these last days. "If you could find Nathyrra and Deekin and let them know…"
"Of course." The deva nods, tilting her head to the side for a second, listening. "You go; I think I hear another devil whimpering over there, curse their dark hides!" Lavoera jumps into the air, great wings opening with tremendous force to carry her to another corner of the courtyard. "I promise all will be well here!" she yells back, then another crunching sound, and she yells again. "Take that, Hellspawn!"
Adele tries to wipe at her face, but her helmet's in the way. She fumbles at the buckles, and finds that her hands are shaking too much to undo even one.
Battle fatigue, just in time. Come on, Adele, you've done this before. Deep breaths and count: one, two…
"Let me help, ma'am," Calimar says and steps closer. "I squired for Commander Imloth long enough…"
"Thank you." Adele nods gratefully: it feels unbearably good to have the great helm off her head. "Speaking about our good commander: how is he? Do we know?"
"Wounded on the leg, cursing up a blue streak at the healer who said it might have to be taken off, then wanting to come back here and finish all the devils off to teach the Valsharess a lesson." Calimar's smile betrays deep fondness towards the volatile-tempered commander of the City. "They managed to give him a Sleep potion after a while, I think."
"Excellent." Adele yanks the helmet liner off herself, and, with the helmet itself under her arm, starts to walk towards the city core. "I would hate not to hear him berating the troops from half a mile away any more, you know?"
"Indeed, Savior." Calimar follows at her heel, just like he's done it with Imloth since Adele first saw him. "If you don't mind my asking…" the young drow hesitates, "do you think we won? That it's really over?"
"We need to assess the situation back at the Temple, Calimar," Adele says as gently as possible, "but the Valsharess' troops were rooted today from our gates without them getting anywhere further than the outer courtyards. I would think that this day was won—but we need to see what their next move will be before we decide."
"The General said you probably would want to send out sorties to assess their movements while we regroup in here." Calimar nods, thoughtful. "The troops think that… and pardon me for being forward, but…"
"That is perfectly all right." Adele slows down, remembering that Calimar's wound must still be tender. "What do the troops say?"
"They are…they are just kind of surprised at and impressed by how well you and him work together." The drow frowns. "We would have thought that your kind and his…"
"And before I met Nathyrra, I thought all drow are fonts of evil and must be killed on sight." Adele sighs. "There are no easy answers, Calimar: but I've traveled enough in the service of Torm to realize that things are a little bit more complicated than what some of my more zealous comrades-in-arms imagine them to be. There is such a thing as Good and Evil, yes, we've seen that today quite plainly, I think: but you can't tell the color of a man's soul just by looking at them. " She smiles, thinking back at how confused she was when first time she used her Sight at Valen and saw something completely different than what she expected. "The 'smite-first-ask-questions-later' school of thought amongst paladins, of course might disagree with me," she adds as she remembers some stories she's heard about the deeds of certain members of Torm's clergy during the Time of Troubles. "Nevertheless, that's one of the more important things I've really learned here in the Underdark."
Apart from just how well a certain tiefling can kiss, the battle-fatigued part of her mind supplies, and Adele bites her lip.
"I understand." Calimar looks a little less formal now although still thoughtful. "You're very wise for your years, Savior."
"For my…" Adele stops, then sighs. "Fine; how old are you?"
"Practically a child, ma'am." Calimar's smile is bashful. "Barely a hundred; I merely passed my initiation into the warrior ranks before we fled our city to here. My father…" He swallows. "The drow normally do not talk about these things, Savior, but Eilistraee's service changed many things in me, and…well. Commander Imloth is my father."
"I…see." Adele says, and indeed, now a couple of things make a little bit more sense. "I appreciate you telling me, Calimar." She looks up and her heart suddenly is in her throat: they are nearing the temple square and there's smoke and the smell of blood in the air here as well.
"Excuse me," she says distractedly, and starts to walk faster, even faster…then she breaks into a run, amongst ruined buildings, scattered weapons and the occasional body until she is stopped by two sentries seemingly appearing out of the thin air next to a pile of rubble and some carts and barrels thrown together in a hasty barricade. They are armed to the teeth and look exhausted but all the more dangerous because of that.
"Savior," the taller of them, a wide-shouldered human gladiator, nods grimly. Argosus, former slave leader of the Zorvak'Mur rebellion. "Will the gates hold?"
"Argosus," Adele greets him, clasping his offered arm hard. "I am glad to see you. Yes, the gates will hold. By Torm's grace and Eilistraee's, the enemy is retreating." She looks around, eyebrows raised at the scene that looks nothing like she's expected. "How do we fare here? I was told there was some enemy activity from the riverside, but this looks a bit…more involved than that."
"Bloody illithid came right through the second wave." Argosus winces, glancing over his shoulder. "First some of those drow swordmasters, quite a lot of them, just coming up from the river, quiet-like as the fog rolled in. About what we feared. Cavallas had time to sneak away and warn some of the sentries… just in time too. Good thing we prepared for something like that. "His grin is sudden and fierce. "General swore like I haven't heard anyone before, though. Man fights like a demon, too, not only cusses. Anyway, we got those cut down…The Seer came out and she and her priestesses started to patch our wounded up and there was the runner from the gates saying something about the battle going well there." He scratches the back of his neck under his lopsided helmet. "Now that's when the ground started to rumble and the umberhulks poured out."
"Gods." Adele looks around: Argosus led her straight through the hastily erected barricade, leaving his companion behind. Calimar follows, looking around wild-eyed: the city core obviously has fared badly. "Is the Seer all right?" She hesitates. "Is the General?"'
Lord, if this all was just a setup for a horrible joke played on me in the last minute, I'll have you know that I am officially tired of the ups and downs of this past week.
"Bah, nothing can kill that man, you should really know by now." Argosus waves a huge hand. "Tore two mindflayers' heads right off when they got too close to the Seer. Tore them off, then bludgeoned a third one to death with them: it was right messy, and The Seer got a bit green around the edges when the General was done, but they are both fine." The former gladiator's face grows grim. "Many others aren't, though: you know just how nastily the illithid fight."
"That I do." Adele's voice is cracking: her throat is parched like after a full day's march in the Anauroch desert, and she'd give half an arm for some water right now. "Do you have something to drink, Argosus?" she finally decides to ask, because well, you never know.
"I reckon you might need something after defending those gates, huh?" The man looks her over, and his eyes narrow. "And you say you're not wounded? Ye gods, woman, there's not a spot on you that is not filthy. Was that bad, huh?" He unclasps a flask from his belt and hands it over.
"Paladins." He chuffs, with something like admiration in his voice as he watches Adele grab the flask as if her life depends on it. "Never thought I'd see one in my life and look, here I am, talking with one who drinks from my own flask. It's just water,though," he adds, almost apologetically.
"It's the nectar of the gods right now, Argosus." Adele is breathless when she hands the flask back, but she feels much better. Some of the water trickled down her chin and neck, and she wipes at it impatiently. "And thank you. Yes, it was bad there."
"Figured, when we saw the fires." Argosus nods. "Valsharess' wizards gave you hard time?"
"Summoned devils." Adele says succinctly and Argosus whistles loud and long, before he reaches out an arm and points.
"Look, there they are." Adele whips her head around, and sees the color of clear moonlight and verdant fields right next to each other.
"I get back to my post if you don't mind: have some cleanup work to do…" the former gladiator says, but Adele hardly hears him. Her feet are moving again, towards the steps of the half-ruined temple ('really good aim on some spellcaster's part', it runs through her head vaguely), where silver and flame-framed head bends together in quick discussion and fragments of sentences waft towards her like the remnants of the fog from the river.
"…told you to remain in the temple, Mother Seer, this is well in-hand and…"
"…know that, Valen, but your wounded certainly need healing. You…"
''…fine myself. Have we heard about the gates since…?"
"Be calm, dear one. Adele knows how to…"
"I know that!" That last one was more a snarl than speech. "But if she was hurt, I…" Adele sees The Seer placing a hand on Valen's arm (and gods, his armor is just as dented and soiled as hers, even more if possible, crimson blood clinging to its intricate etching) but he turns away with one angry swoosh of his tail…
…straight towards her.
"You got red on you, sir." Adele can't believe she just said that and yet, it's the first thing that comes out of her mouth. "All over." She feels like she could just go and punch out three more pit fiends, bare-handed, though, because he's here, and he's well, and…
"Happens in battle." His voice is strained and hoarse, the flecks of red in his eyes are rapidly swallowed by the depths of blue as he looks her up and down, but he does not move. "How fares the day, Savior?"
"The day…" Adele swallows, staring at him through the smoke as she straightens and finds the strength to make sure her voice carries loud and clear across the temple square. "The enemy army is retreating from the city gates in defeat. The day is ours."
"Good." Valen nods, and his eyes narrow. "Then we have time for this."
Before Adele could react, he crosses the distance between them on those long legs of his, crushes her against his chest so hard their armor creaks as his tail whips around her waist, tight as a coiled rope, and Adele has no time to say anything because his hot mouth descends on hers as inevitably as daylight follows night.
"You're alive," he whispers against the corner of her mouth and kisses her again, and again, long and hard. "You're alive," he mutters in wonder, hands framing her face. "You're alive," he moans as she throws her arms around his neck, rises on her toes and kisses him back with the frenzy of all her pent-up worry, tongue curling against his.
The next few minutes are rather hazy: it's all him, his scent filling her nostrils, strong fingers in her hair, body pressed against hers; all entwined, they sway as one to keep their balance and Adele hears him growl in frustration at the layers and layers of steel, chainmail, leather and cloth that separate their bodies despite the closeness.
"Needs to take this… somewhere else," she mumbles raggedly into his neck and he laughs, shakily but with happiness unheard before and kisses her again, nodding his agreement while doing so, one hand sliding down to her hips.
"And fast," he says hoarsely, and scoops her up in his arms as easily as if she was wearing silks and not full armor, never stopping kissing her. "There's a crowd here," he adds, slightly biting down on her lower lip, and Adele at that moment would agree to just about anything.
Through that thick, red-tinged haze of want she hears calls and scattered applause rise from the soldiers around them, hears The Seer's amused chuckle nearby and buries her face against Valen's chest… and then, suddenly, searing pain cuts through everything, her entire body feels like it is about to burst into flame, as the world spins and swirls, falls into tiny sparks that ignite and consume her from within.
Valen's warmth disappears, along with his arms and fingers and the roar that burst forth from his lips as she's scooped up by a wave of magic unheard-of before, away from him, away from the temple square, of Lith My'athar and its victorious crowd…
…to tumble her on her knees, coughing and heaving into a cold black slab of marble, in a circle of torches, twisted statues and figures clad all in red.
"Excellent," she hears the rich and purring tones of a female voice she knows well from her dreams. "Right on time, too."
Adele feels something snap inside her. She springs up, eyes still dazzled, snarling and launching forward, drawing her sword in one motion and striking out towards where she thinks her kidnapper is; she feels a scream of wrath and rage well up in her chest and burst forward from her lips…
"There's that fury I've heard so much about." It's the Valsharess, indeed, in the flesh this time: she wears even less clothing and more intricate paint and metal twisted about her body than she did in her nightmare. She stands in front of her, legs slightly apart, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side, every inch of her oozing arrogance and malice.
Adele feels like she just had been hit between the eyes again: where Enserric stroke the air, the sword stopped as if it hit an invisible barrier and sprung back, yanking her arm painfully to the side, the jolt traveling all the way up to her shoulder. She falls on her knees again and screams in frustration, while the air in the tall chamber is filled with the amused laughter of the drow woman who somehow managed to yank her out of Lith My'athar, from Valen's arms, from their…
Adele screams again, and pounds the marble with her fist.
"Really, dear, you should stop that," the Valsharess says. "Like I said, I am now acquainted with your fury well enough… no wonder you managed to get along so well with the drow in Lith My'athar, despite your…theological and ideological differences. Angry little bastards, every single one of them, wanting things they could never get. Like children, really. Is that all you are?"
"Like hells." Adele pants, and sweeps her hair out of her face. She glares at the woman, feeling her lips peel back from her teeth: her god's fury is filling her now, coursing in her veins like golden fire, and her body coils under her like a lioness ready to pounce. "What do you want?"
"Oh, lovely!" The Valsharess' laughter reverberates from the vaulted ceiling of her chamber as she throws her head back in amusement. "You really are quite entertaining in your earnestness, you know?" She turns to the side and spreads an arm, gracefully, pointing towards the end of the chamber. "To utterly crush, humiliate and kill you in the most painful way possible, of course. But first, I wanted you to meet the person whose magic brought you here, darling."
The scent of brimstone, hidden fires and something cloyingly sweet hits Adele like a sledgehammer. She recoils, but cannot take her eyes off the form, huge, monstrous and dark-red, that slowly straightens its enormous shoulders and takes shape at the edge of a large fire-pit, bound and chained by steel and slowly undulating strands of magic symbols swirling in the air.
Wings the size of ship-sails and the color of midnight sky open; two topaz-yellow eyes full of malignant intelligence shine at her from under heavy brows. Cloven hooves, taloned hands, two horns that curl up and then forward like a bull's and a tail that swings sinuously back and forward…
"Adele Welters." The voice is deep like the deepest pits of Hell this figure sprang from, edged with sickening sweetness and an accent that, surreally, reminds Adele of some of the highest noble houses of the North. "We meet at last. Allow me to introduce myself as my mistress haven't done so herself."
He bows, thick lips curling into a smile and Adele stands helplessly, staring up into those topaz-colored eyes like a mouse in front of a cobra of the great Anauroch.
"I am Mephistopheles, Duke of the Eighth Hell of Baator, and I am most pleased to meet you."