John heard the echoing drip of water somewhere out in the absolute darkness that surrounded the faint glow of light the carvings on the troika. "Where the hell are we, Greg?" He asked as his friend swung expertly down off the top, using carvings as hand holds.
"Safe, other than that..." Greg looked around, "Stinan you said you knew this place or did you slip?"
The equine flipped his wings to fold against his back, "I am not so clumsy as that. I used this cave when I was negotiating with some local dragons to try to acquire their shape. Never made the shaping work but I'm sure I left of cache of supplies here."
John looked away from where he was unfastening the harness that had kept him in the sleigh on their wild ride. "Didn't we go through a Gate?" John had not had cause to go through one of the magical 'holes' that lead to other worlds, but that's the only thing he knew that could have transported them from London to where ever this cavern was.
"Allyrians do not need Gates, Dr. Watson." Lyra said, descending from the sled somewhat more decorously than Lestrade.
"Allyrians are the most versatile species in the known universe." Stinan chuckled.
"If you do say so yourself." Lestrade shot back at him. John was getting a better idea of Lestrade's friendship with the Allyrian all the time, trying to fit it in with the knowledge that he already had of the man. He had to conclude he had never really known the DI at all; but then again where had there really been room in his life to get close to anyone since the day Sherlock Holmes had deduced his entire life in a lab at Bart's.
"I do say so myself. Grab the harness if you please Greg." Stinan requested, nodding his head impatiently. John expected the silver haired man to start unfastening the harness, but he merely gripped the one strap above the wings. Then the Allyrian's form twisted in a way that made John's eyes ache for a moment and instead of the winged, horned equine there was a black coated wolf standing there. He looked around and from the eyes John knew that it was still Stinan. "We are the Swiss army knife of species; defense, stealth, or transportation, all in a day's work." The resonant voice was the same, and John couldn't help but grin at a character straight out of a fantasy novel referring to Swiss army knives.
"Stop showing off, you great prat! We need to get to work on reconstructing your defensive shields. Obviously someone thinks they can hold John as a hostage so we are going to need all the advantages we can get." Lestrade pulled the harness up and hung it on a peg at the front of the troika. It looked completely solid from the outside but John could clearly remember being able to see out from the inside. He supposed he'd have to get used to things like that in a universe that held even more magic than he had previously seen. Somehow he couldn't mind. He liked the feeling of security it gave him that people like Stinan and Lyra were taking care of Sherlock. Still he liked it less that this apparently was going to be something of a rest stop.
"We're going to be here for a while then?" He asked, making sure.
Lyra was fiddling with the radio assembly she had been carrying under her cloak. "Indeed, the negotiations were rather delicate and part of the agreement was that you and Mycroft Holmes were to arrive at the enclave where his brother is being treated at the same time."
"So the rumors of a truce?" Lestrade put in.
"Are quite true, which is why we will have to be very careful indeed. Right now almost anything could bring it down."
"Okay, you two, could you please stop the talking around me. If we *have* to kick our heels around before getting to Sherlock I'd really like one of you to slow down and tell me exactly why. Not to mention that although there are loads of John Watsons around; apparently I'm the one someone wants to capture! No matter what Sherlock has led you to believe, Greg, being kept in the dark *really* pisses me off!" John couldn't help himself, the adrenaline surge from the fight hadn't left his system, he punched the side of the sled in frustration.
"Easy John." Lestrade said, he exchanged glances with Lyra. Then he reached underneath the troika to bring out two wooden objects that folded out into benches. "I've had the leisure to study a lot of Quester history so if you sit with me I'll try to explain what I know while these two set up camp. Lyra then can fill in what current events I'm not up on."
John still felt like he wanted to punch something, maybe even Greg because he had kept these secrets so long, but he knew it wouldn't get him one step closer to Sherlock. So he breathed deeply through his nose, exhaled through his mouth and shook his hands out to get rid of the tension before he sat on the bench that faced his friend. "A historian?" He was able to comment calmly. "Not something I ever pictured you doing, Greg."
Lestrade shrugged expressively "I had time on my hands, at least before Himself breezed into my life, and I made time after. I figured if I couldn't be out there living like a Quester I might as well learn all there was about us."
John heard some rocks tumbling and saw the great black wolf that was Stinan uncover a cache over Lestrade's shoulder, "Can you get to the point instead of talking all the way around it. I was a soldier, I'm used to briefings."
Lestrade sighed, "All right, let's see." The silver haired man rubbed his chin and adjusted the grey cloak so that it was more off his shoulders. "It all begins and ends with the Spell of Balance. See, everything that is happening now is what that Spell was trying to prevent. It's the most complex piece of magic ever devised and it had to have living components to stay adjusted to the expanding universes and all the spaces in between."
"Spaces in between?"
"Yeah, that what all the world splinters are floating in now. It's an interdimensional space the Alfain call the Far Lands, although they are called 'Alflands' by some because the Alfain seemed to come from there half the time. Really, eons ago they fled a home world they have no record of to wander those Far Lands for a long time...long enough that there is evidence of them evolving to suit its peculiarities." Greg smiled at Lyra who was striking a spark into the small fire she had set up. "Or maybe they just spread that story to account for their stubborn natures."
"One has to be stubborn to enforce reality by willpower alone, a'Strade. Those that could survived in the Far Lands long enough to have children and hence we evolved." Her voice was still cool but John, his ear tuned to nuances by dealing with how Sherlock could be sometimes, could hear the amusement in her voice.
"Fucking strange to hear someone who looks like an elf talk about evolution." John smiled, relaxing as much as he could.
"Science and magic have never been as mutually exclusive as people of our world tend to think." Lestrade explained, "There are a lot of worlds out there where the potential for science or magic is roughly at the same level, although knowledge of one or the other has usually more developed. On some worlds the two are combined, on the Crown world of the Alfain for instance, magical components are used to fuel technology so as not to pollute the environment. They never quite forget what is to be without a solid world under their feet so they keep their adopted home world as pristine as possible."
"Okay fine. I get that. But this Spell of Balance I don't get. It has *living* components?"
"Anyone who wears the cloaks of the Questers or the marks of the Wayfinders is a part of the Spell." Lyra said as she added bigger pieces to the small flame she had kindled.
"Exactly. We are tiny pieces of the Spell so I'd say that parts of it are still limping along. Sorta like, "Lestrade rubbed his chin meditatively, "a computer that has a virus but isn't completely crashed yet. Spells of any sort need two things; an energy source and a matrix, a structured pattern of thought made into a form." Lestrade gestured to the intricate carvings that glowed softly from the troika, "like the knot work there that we are going to need to replace. They are the matrices of the shield spells that are incorporated into the sled itself. I helped Stinan design some of the carvings and the harness that allows him to transfer more than himself and a rider."
"You forget," Stinan said, padding over, "They only enhance my breedline's natural abilities. The a'Fellarell have always been able to transfer more than their riders."
"And the pride of an Allyrian is in their breedline." Lestrade laughed.
"Naturally." Stinan curled himself up at Greg's feet and John saw Lestrade scratch him behind the ears. It was an odd picture and he couldn't help grinning at it.
"So you are part of the matrix of this enormous spell." John checked.
"Tiny parts. The main parts of the spell are the two ladies and the two swords. Each embody one of the two opposing forces of the universes; the force of Change or Choice and the force of Order or Stasis. That why it's called the Spell of Balance and why the actions of Wayfinders and Questers are called the War of Balance." As the fire rose Lestrade made a scan of their surroundings. It really was a cavern, the stalagmites and stalactites reflecting various colors as the light of the fire hit them. It was rather surreal but strangely beautiful.
"Does it have to be a war?" John asked mournfully.
"War encompasses every emotion of sentient beings in peacetime and those only associated with battle. So yeah it has to be war. Anyway, those attracted to the Wayfinders don't like that they can't control the choices other people make and Questers love that people make choices. Instant conflict."
"Wanting to control people's choices sounds like Mycroft."
"Too right, that's why I wasn't surprised that we have to be so coordinated about all this. Mycroft is a textbook Wayfinder and Sherlock, with his way of shocking people out of complacency and generally messing about, is a Quester to his bones. That's why when you told me at first Mycroft had basically set Sherlock up with Moriarty I wasn't really surprised...I was more surprised that they hadn't tried to kill each other when they were kids."
"Okay, I think I'm starting to get some of this. Big spell, lots of universes, and I can definitely believe that there was something a little stronger than sibling rivalry between Sherlock and Mycroft. What you haven't been able to explain to me is how this almighty spell has been broken and why the hell would people want me as a hostage." John saw with satisfaction that Lyra had dug a kettle out of the seemingly inexhaustible cabinets in the troika, filled it from the tiny spring that was by the cache, and placed it on the fire. He could certainly use a cuppa right now.
"How the Spell got broken?" Lestrade looked down at Stinan, "I've only had rumors come through so far. Can you clear it up, Stin?"
"Yes," the wolf looked at John appraising him, "It might be well that you know. The Lady Arivinna's seclusion failed. The Wayfinders tricked a fian of Questers into hacking the shields protecting her."
"Oh Christ, " Lestrade said and covered his face.
"Yes a'Strade," Lyra said with vast understanding, "Findrel, the Lady of Order herself led the charge. It took them days to get through but by the time they did Arivinna was in the final stages of labor. I have heard the story from her lips personally, and it seems that in the panic and confusion she reached for her sword, the sword of Change, at the exact moment that her Second, Diarmait MacGregor, did. So he was able to grasp it as would not be possible ordinarily. But he could not channel the energy of it in battle with Findrel and the Sword of Order. The swords shattered and so did the Spell."
"The babies?" Lestrade asked in a horror that John himself could feel; although the resignation in his friend's voice disturbed him. Who the hell could attack a woman giving birth? He felt himself hardening to the Wayfinders already.
"Safely born." Stinan said, pressing against Lestrade's leg, "And the only thing that saved our Arivinna. We know Findrel fell into a coma with the fracturing of the Spell, but what mother can ignore the cries of her own newborn babes?"
"And that was 15 years ago for you?" Lestrade asked Lyra and Stinan, "I know times lines flow differently between world splinters."
"More like 20 actually. The twins look about the same as seven year old human children so I think that's closer to the correct timescale. Alfain mature at a third the rate of human children." Stinan thrust his nose under Lestrade's hand, "It's been a long, hard run without you, Greg."
"Right," John, said, "again I'm getting more information than I think I need." He turned to Lyra, "Why would anyone want to capture me? I'm a non-entity in all this."
"Not so. You are the companion of Sherlock Holmes, a Sherlock Holmes that must now learn magic, because he has been exposed to so much he must either learn it or be driven insane. The only way to start that process is to have the one person he trusts completely by his side as he does it." Lyra said, filling a teapot, "The negotiations went rather fast as soon as he was discovered where he was. The result was that the Wayfinders get access to Mycroft Holmes and the Questers, in the form of Stinan and myself, who were sent to find the John Watson that belonged with this Holmes. Meanwhile, a foremost authority on helping those whose sanity rests on a completely explainable universe will guide them both into accepting the particular logic of Magic. Magic does have its own laws like those of physics but they depend on a different kind of logic and knowledge base." Lyra sighed and started pouring out the tea. When she handed John his cup she looked deeply into his eyes, "A third front, one who would prefer the Shattering be the new status quo, could do worse than to capture you. You are a major playing piece in the tentative truce that has been managed between Quester and Wayfinder."
"In other words, John, we're in a fuck of a lot of trouble. The best we can do is to get you to where ever Sherlock is. Pretty sure they'll try to keep him unconscious, but they can only do that so long. "Lestrade said briskly but there was a sympathetic light in his eyes as he stood, "In the meantime what we can do is reweave the troika's reflective shield so we have a decent chance of getting there in one piece."
Stinan also lifted himself to his feet, "Lyra, fresh rations are through the back panel. See if you can cobble something together; we all need refueling after that run to the Tower."
John got up to help the Alfain woman as she opened another of the seemingly inexhaustible cabinets; this one at the tail end of the sled. "Why is it that as soon as you saw Lestrade you let him take over? You must be three times his age at least."
"a'Strade is Stinan's Partner, now that he is released from geas he stands as senior on any mission that Stinan a'Fellarell takes." A slight smile crossed the woman's otherwise solemn face. "I do not mind. I have not been accompanying Stinan long on his quests but long enough to know that he has missed his partner quite dearly."
John gathered a stew pot while Lyra rummaged among what appeared to be some fresh beef, vegetables, even bread. "You always call him a'Strade."
"A mark of respect. Among my people Allyrians are admired, they are a truly remarkable species. If we greatly esteem someone we refer to them with an Allyrian version of their surname. His restraint and patience has earned him that respect with many Questers, we all tend towards impatience, so his ability to just wait until the right moment is something of a favorite story among us."
"So Lestrade becomes a'Strade, I see. " John followed her back to the fire with an armload of supplies. "I'm really trying to keep this together. After months of hearing and knowing nothing now it feels like my own personal world has been shattered now I need to learn all this information before I am allowed to see my friend."
"Truly John, if we could we would have you at his side even now." The Alfain bent over some vegetables, cutting them finely, " I saw him before we were sent" she said in a low voice, "He calls for you, he seems to think that he is drugged or has drugged himself, so he calls to you and begs your forgiveness. Sometimes it even seems as if you are speaking and he is answering you. Forgive me John Watson, but that is when I have seen his tears."
John drew in a ragged breath, "My forgiveness? And somewhere in his mind I'm what? Berating him?" The hurt deep within magnified at Lyra's hesitant nod. The Sherlock Holmes John knew had always been convinced he knew the best answer to everything. He'd never ask for forgiveness much less beg for it. "Ah yeah...what should I do with this stuff?" He said after clearing his throat roughly; deflecting from a subject he just couldn't handle right now.
"Separate some of the beef out for Stinan to eat in his present form. Protein contains more concentrated energy than grains so he'll be eating in wolf form. The rest...have you ever made a campfire meal?"
"No, we always had Compos in the field. I never had much of a chance to learn how to cook in the field much. But I can keep the kettle heated."
"That is well, hot water is always welcome. We don't have time for a stew but I can make an approximation of what you might call a stir fry. Stinan and I have been on the trail for quite a while now so I've become practiced at quick meals." The woman's eyes were sympathetic but John couldn't face it. Somewhere out there Sherlock was so broken, in such a delirium that he was begging John's forgiveness. Somehow the wail he woke up to that morning which seemed so long ago passed through his mind. He repressed a shudder. Occasionally he had wished that the massive intellect that was Sherlock Holmes would be taken down a peg by someone or something; but this was too much, much too much.
John wandered over to where Lestrade had set up with some half-finished carved boards and squatted down to watch as the DI widened some cuts and made new ones; all the time discussing with Stinan their effectiveness. He needed a distraction from the images that Lyra had awakened in his mind. "So this is a spell then?" He said as he handed a warm cup to Lestrade.
"The matrix at any rate John." Lestrade kept his eyes down on his carving but John could hear a slight shake in his voice. Greg must have heard what Lyra said of Sherlock and was almost as thrown by the imagery.
"Still don't quite understand how this matrix stuff works." John took a sip of his own tea, concentrating on what was at hand. It was all he could do.
"Symbolism, John," Stinan put in, regarding from various angles another carved piece that lay on the ground. "When I look at these symbols it reminds my subconscious of what I'm trying to make the spell do. So as I feed energy into it that 'teaches' the energy to take the shape I will it to. Also every time I look at them it teaches it a bit more. Plus I add in energy between missions." Stinan tilted his head a bit, " I think Lyra is right, Greg, if we repeat the pattern smaller but in multiples it will be less likely that one attack can take out the whole shield like it did."
"Live and learn, mate, must have been nice to travel with a shield specialist for a while." Lestrade whittled off one rounded piece of carving that reminded John of a St Brigid's cross that he had seen once. "Here," he said, trimming a last bit off, "use this to show John what we mean."
"It's not going to be like fireworks Greg."
"John's perceptive enough to see something happen under his nose." Lestrade grinned, if with still a bit of strain to it, "Anyway, you love to strut your stuff."
Stinan let out an explosive snort. "You are getting far more mileage out of that than I should allow you."
"It's been 10 years since I saw you, Partner, indulge me." Lestrade laughed and John couldn't begrudge his friends good cheer. It was rather obvious that the two were extremely good friends and theirs had been a long separation indeed. Longer if not as tragic as John's separation from Sherlock. He longed with sudden intensity to learn all the parts of Lestrade that had never been visible before the Fall. He realized that he had only ever seen half of the person that Lestrade was, almost a cardboard cutout, a long suffering side show to the main attraction that was Sherlock Holmes. But this man, calmly carving something that would become magic, while joking with a creature that was an equine, a wolf, and God knows what else was an entire person and utterly confident in what he knew.
"All right, I'll make it visible for the inestimable Dr. Watson." Stinan let out something that was halfway between a bark and a laugh. Then taking the piece of carving from Lestrade's hands, held it carefully in his jaws.
He moved slowly away from where Greg started to refine another carving and lay the Brigid's cross upon a convenient flat topped rock. "There," he said, as he observed the saliva covered surface of the carving, "the convenience of this form is that by placing it I give the carving some of my substance merely by carrying it. That sets a resonance up between us and makes it easier to channel the energy into it."
"The...drool?" John asked incredulously.
"Indeed," Stinan sent him an amused look, "easier than to blood it, although I may do that to some of the other carvings. Still without an energy source this would remain but a fairly attractive bit of carving. There are three kinds of energy sources I could draw on to make it more; Planetary, Celestial, or Dimensional. When we have leisure I will probably be able to explain the differences but suffice it to say for many reasons it is wisest to use dimensional energy. I will attempt to make the 'draw' visible to you."
"All right." John couldn't say much more than that. He tried to put into his tone that he was grateful to the Allyrian for explaining things in technical terms. It made him more relaxed with the very idea of magic. He watched as the wolf lay down and put his nose to the carving with a huffed out breath. Then from the thin air there appeared what looked to be little drifts of mist. Slowly they coalesced into a steady stream that centered itself on Stinan, the colorless vapor masking his form a bit as it grew heavier. Just when John thought he was about to lose sight of the Allyrian completely it sank into a violet glowing ball on the tip of Stinan's nose. He huffed again. The ball became a beam that slowly sank into the carving until it glowed like metal heated in a fire. Brighter and brighter it grew until John was surprised by the thump of the shapechangers tail; once, twice, a third time and all the energy sank right into the wood to be absorbed.
"Hmm," John cleared his throat, trying to get his scrambled thoughts together. "I...well I assume that was what was supposed to happen."
Stinan chuckled roughly, a bit hoarse, "Very much so. But I think I'll need a bite and a drink before I attempt much more. This is the most important piece anyway. All else will be more reinforcement and back up than anything else. Carry it to the fire, please, John. I'd like Lyra to check my work."
"Yeah, all right." John gingerly picked up the carving. It wasn't wet with wolf drool anymore, but he could feel it vibrating slightly in his hand, much like a small electric motor would. It made his fingers tingle but he was able to carry it easily enough to where Lyra was dishing out food from a wok shaped pan onto three plates. In another area at the fire was a pile of fresh shredded meat and what looked to be like a bowl of milky tea. John blinked at that; it was hard to imagine a wolf drinking tea, but then it couldn't be stranger than anything else that had happened today.
"My thanks Lyra, when you have a moment will you check the central control matrix? I think it will allow us to shield from more energies at once." Stinan gulped up the meat just as a hungry canine would, downing it in a minute or two. And began lapping at the bowl of tea.
"Dinner first, Stinan, your Partner and his friend have been through much today. Let us not forget sacred hospitality." Lyra said calmly, setting out bottles of what looked like soy sauce and other condiments.
"Ah yes, even in the middle of a disaster we must not forget the civilities." Stinan drawled.
"You have perhaps spent far too much time among humans." John was stung for a moment until he saw the curl of a smile on the Alfain's face and realized they were trying to diffuse John and Greg's tension with humor.
"Humans know enough about hospitality to always have something to drink in the house." Lestrade approached the fire, a weary grin on his face.
"Barely sufficient, a'Strade." Lyra sniffed in mock derision as she handed a full plate to John. It looked a lot like what he was used to as stir-fry, but instead of rice there was a couple of slices of some kind of bread on the side. He bit into it to find it was rich with grains, nuts, and a slight tang like some sourdough bread he had had once on leave.
"I dunno, it usually works with us." Lestrade sat and accept a plate of his own from the woman. "Sometimes the best hospitality is liquid." He said as he chewed.
Lyra's voice took on a slightly scolding tone, "Meat and bread, salt and drink, welcomes friends to hearth and home. Gregory Lestrade Quester of the Fianna of Marathon."
"Cheers Lyra, I thank you for your welcome to the hearth." Both grinned at each other and John couldn't help a snort of amusement. He knew they weren't really taking this seriously but he felt they were trying to distract him and he appreciated it.
They all fell to eating and John was surprised at how good the food was. He hadn't ever associated being in the field with a feast but what he was eating was better than you could get in most restaurants even before the Shattering. Lyra noticed his appreciation and smiled; it made him feel more comfortable with her. Good food seemed to still be a common unifying factor in the cosmos, just by eating at this fire he felt closer to two people who were of a kind he once would have thought only existed in the pages of a book.
Lestrade finished his meal quicker than John and with Stinan went to rummage around in the troika. John snorted in surprise when the cop managed to bring a set of boiled leather armor out of what looked like a tiny cubby hole, "You're going to tell me that the cabinets are bigger on the inside?" He asked, amusement filling him for a moment.
Lestrade snorted, "Too right, when Stinan and I designed this thing we wanted to assume we would have to live out of it if necessary." Greg grunted as he reached to fasten a shoulder buckle, "What do you know, it still fits." He said, shrugging his shoulders, apparently to settle it. By then John was hardly surprised when he buckled a long sword over it. "Stin, do you have anything for John? I don't like the idea of him being unarmed."
Stinan had somehow scrambled up onto a ledge that could pass as a driver's bench and looked to be nosing around into the interior. "What blade does he use?" He asked absently.
"John, you've training with a knife?" Lestrade asked.
"Yeah...yeah, some in basic. I'm better with a gun though."
"Know that." Lestrade grinned at him as for a moment they both shared the memory of when John had first joined Sherlock on a case. "Still, gunpowder doesn't work everywhere and in the wide universe Questers tend to prefer blades. It's easier to know exactly who is on the end of your blade but," Lestrade looked over to the Allyrian, "Stinan, you haven't been able to work a bit more on those prototypes have you?"
"What's this a'Strade?" Lyra asked from the fire.
"Something you aren't supposed to know about Lyra. Sometimes in my world a gun, even if it looks a bit strange, is easier to explain than pulling a bloody long sword out of my pocket. Stinan and I were about to test some prototypes when we lost contact." He turned to the Alfain, "Don't frown, wouldn't you rather John Watson had a weapon he was more familiar with?"
"Yeah...okay, I am totally not getting why this is an argument." John said. "And for the record I would like something I know how to use better than a knife."
"Sorry John, cultural bias, Alfain consider a gun to be for the lazy." He faced Lyra again, "Even Questers. But if you don't mind I'd like a better chance of getting us all to the enclave intact. Stinan, what have you got?" The cop who looked closer to someone trying to costume himself as a roman centurion , leaped up beside Stinan.
"My apologies, Doctor, " Lyra was actually blushing, "it was not my intent to give offence."
"Actually, Lyra I didn't even realize you were insulting me so it's fine. Still I am much better with a gun than I am with a knife, and I do feel a little exposed without a weapon I understand."
"Of course." Still Lyra looked slightly scandalized.
Greg pulled out two wrapped objects and brought them back to where John was sitting by the fire. They turned out to be a pistol that looked like it was carved from some reddish brown stone and a rifle that was made of sapphire.
"How are these supposed to be useful, Greg?" John asked, not really all that surprised anymore.
"They use a magic burst as a propellant." Lestrade explained, handing the pistol and its accompanying magazine to John. They fitted together in a way that John was familiar with and he was able to load and arm it without thinking.
"And the crystalline structure of the carborundum family allows to contain and direct the magic better than any metal." Stinan added, padding over to join them, "I haven't had any success in making them variable between projectile and pure energy bursts but these should be adequate for now."
John inspected the pistol thoroughly and the rifle, "As long as they work like they look it shouldn't be a problem."
"Good enough for now." Lestrade concluded, "No place here to make any targeting shots without risking a ricochet; so why don't you take a watch while the rest of us get the set shields into some kind of order. Then after some rest we can try to find the coordinates for where we are supposed to go."
John nodded slightly and turned resolutely away from the fire to maximize his night vision. Everything in him wanted to run in whatever direction would bring him to Sherlock's sick bed. He simply didn't have a direction or anyway to really run on his own. So he subdued his panicky impatience and set himself to guard those who could get him where his heart had run on ahead.
After a few hours Lestrade relieved John from his guard post and insisted that he settle inside the troika. John noticed had now been fitted out with wheels to act more like a carriage. John didn't put up much of a fight since he knew that he was the least knowledgeable and the most vulnerable of them. He merely asked for and got a maintenance kit for the pistol and rifle. Then settling inside the carriage, that he finally noticed was quite comfortably upholstered, he disassembled the two weapons and began cleaning them. They really were much like he was used to carrying in the field, although he didn't look too closely at the magazines. The knowledge that they were prototypes made him a bit nervous, but he felt a bit better with them on hand rather than just relying on the hunting knife Lestrade had furnished him.
He stretched on the bench that converted into a bed and tried to make some sense out of all that had happened in the past day, thinking it might help him get some rest. However, as soon as he tried to settle his mind, all he could think of was what Lyra had told him of Sherlock. He could almost see the man in his mind's eye, fevered, confused, and muttering in broken phrases; some of them deductions but some of them a plaintive cry for John to be there, to forgive for... something. Again he felt the wail that had awakened him that morning in 221B ring through his mind, and he groaned quietly. At the time he had rejected the idea of Sherlock crying out to him in panicked despair but now he felt that it might have been closer to the truth than he had guessed.
His thoughts went back to the night in a Dartmoor inn when Sherlock had trembled and lashed out in what he now realized was a full blown panic attack. The detective had doubted his senses then for one night and it had been the worse part of the drug for Sherlock. Now, with the universe containing so much more than a scientifically trained mind could comprehend all John could contemplate was exactly how long it had been since Sherlock had been able to trust the senses that he had honed to such a fine degree. He clenched his jaw to hold in the pain he felt and the fear that his friend might even now be on the edge of madness. Could he save Sherlock as they seemed to think? He desperately hoped so. So often he had been able to settle Sherlock when that great mind had been obviously trying to tear itself to pieces. 'But you aren't going to be able to do anything for him if you are dead on your feet. Get some sleep Watson.' He sternly thought and willed himself into the kind of light doze that had often been his habit while in Afghanistan.
Fortunately, his caution had been unnecessary and he woke to Lestrade handing him a cup of strong coffee. They had a hasty breakfast and then John and Lestrade kept an eye out as the others meticulously cleaned up the fire and replaced supplies in the cache. "They are very careful about cleaning up, aren't they?" John said to his friend.
"Bit of cultural training and a part of what they are. What I'll be probably be now that I have the chance." Lestrade was wiping oil from the long sword blade he had been sharpening. "It's the job of couriers to get people to the places that they are needed quick while leaving as little trace as possible."
"Hmmm, is that why the a...Fianna of Marathon thing." John asked sipping from the last mug of coffee that he'd managed to grab before the cooking area was broken down.
"Yes," Lestrade grinned, "A group of Questers who commonly work together is called a fian, a group of fians that take similar missions is a Fianna. The Fianna of Marathon tend to be made of those who like courier jobs. I've been an auxiliary because I was waiting for Sherlock and you, And Stinan and I might change jobs now but..." Lestrade might have continued to explain, but John was distracted by a soft, skittering type of sound that came from behind the carriage. For a second he thought it was just him but then he saw Stinan's nose come up and the canine shaped Allyrian started to sniff the still air of the cavern.
John grabbed Lestrade and backed them both into the side of the carriage, getting his rifle into position. "Can you hear it?" He asked Greg.
"Didn't hear a thing." Lestrade immediately looked towards his Partner whose hackles had risen. "What the hell?"
John heard the skittering get closer to the other side of the carriage so he slid around the front of vehicle and spied an enormous spider. It was huge, the top of its carapace well above John's head. Fortunately his combat training snapped into place and he immediately took aim and fired, hitting the head and dropping it instantly. From behind him he heard a bolt or small arrow clatter into the protected side of the carriage, but he was suddenly far more concerned with the arrow that had come from somewhere behind the spider he'd just shot. It lodged deep into the meat of his shoulder, right next to where a bullet had taken him so long ago in Afghanistan. "Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth.
Lestrade moved closer to him, using a round shield to cover John's back. A murmuring that had been just below hearing level rose around them to a strident conclusion and the DI started swearing sulferously. "Stinan, this safe refuge of yours has got a Drider problem!" He called to his Partner.
"Don't you mean spider?" John gasped as Lestrade unceremoniously ripped the arrow out of his shoulder, it was bleeding but not bad, they could tend it later.
"Spiders don't shoot crossbow bolts, but driders that are half spider, half dark elf do." Lestrade looked all around, keeping his shield up. "We need to get rid of them or get out of here fast and this place isn't big enough for Stinan to get air room."
Just as Lestrade said that, Stinan ran towards them flat out. He leaped high taking the winged unicorn shape as he landed on the carriage top. He reared up on his hind legs, his wings and front hooves raking the air as he trumpeted a Stallion's challenge to the darkness and the enemies it contained. It didn't seem to make a difference, but it allowed Lyra time to run between two other spiders and slam into the back of the carriage they were all grouped around.
"Dammit, Greg, don't we have any flares or something. I need light to shoot!" John tried to penetrate the darkness as he heard Stinan grunt and squeal from invisible blows.
John got some sense of where one of the driders was and tried to shoot, only to have the rifle jam. "Shit!" He said, blessing his foresight at examining his weapons, he'd be able to clear it in a moment. He heard a thud and noticed that Lyra had done something that threw the spider pursuing her ten feet back. Another was cautiously approaching him and Lestrade, but John trusted his friend enough to guard his back. After all, he was carrying a shield that covered him from shoulder to knee.
Above them John heard Stinan's voice ring out in another strident call. Suddenly the whole cavern was alight, not strong enough to blind him, strong enough to see the things Greg had called driders. From the waist down they looked like versions of the spiders that were closing on them, but above they were misshapen versions of elflike creatures with skins of ebony and slicked back white hair. John thought he saw the gleam of fangs as well. The one he face fitted another bolt into its crossbow. "Holy buggering fuck." He said, his voice choked.
"John, just eliminate them fast and the spiders will leave us alone." Lestrade's voice was more stressed than could be accounted for by combat. Then he called up to the Allyrian, "Goddam it, Stinan, just hit the fuckers!" There was fear in the Lestrade's voice.
The spider behind them closed with Lestrade but couldn't get a bite over his shield. He stayed determinedly at John's back. A moment later, Stinan squealed and jumped down, just barely hitting the spider who staggered. Stinan must have shaped again. The ebony wings on his shoulders were gone but his hooves and horn glowed electric blue. Lestrade, taking advantage of the spider's distraction took its head off with one swipe of his blade.
John turned his attention to the drider that was dodging behind a curtain of webbing. The whole cavern was now strewn with webs, even in places that had looked clear in the fire last night. Whatever these things were they must have been planning this attack half the night. John growled under his breath and squeezed out two shots, grinning in grim satisfaction when he saw that the second shot took the thing down. At the same time the light went out and another of the driders appeared close enough to John to hit him with a slime covered blade. John instinctively blocked with the rifle. It backed away from Lestrade's fierce follow up attack. John staggered back as the arm below the bolt wound went numb. He realized why Lestrade had ripped the arrow out so suddenly; it was poisoned!
Stinan charged the drider, missing narrowly. Then turning to batter it with his hooves. Lestrade closed in a perfectly coordinated maneuver and managed to get in a solid hit. John tried to reach for his shoulder but the numbness had started to race through his veins. He could barely feel his arm. His legs suddenly collapsed underneath him. His breath started to labor as he fumbled the pistol into his hand. Taking a desperate chance fired over Lestrade's head and straight into the fanged face that leered over his friends.
He barely felt Lestrade pick him up and bodily shove him into the carriage. The words he was shouting at Stinan and Lyra becoming a meaningless roar as John struggled to make his lungs take in air. 'A paralytic' he realized, his thoughts going fuzzy with oxygen deprivation.
"Lyra, send the Pythia code and tell them we are coming in whether they like it or not!" Lestrade yelled. In his mind's eye John saw Sherlock beckoning to him but as much as he reached, a black tar wrapped itself around John's chest and he ceased to fight, falling into its clinging embrace.