Dreams of men in sheer drapes flittered through Zevran's mind even as rocks bit into his hip and his thigh grew numb from his weight pressing down on it. Sometimes he opened his eyes and caught one of his captors peering down at him and sometimes he would open them and behold a cock being thrust in his face. He didn't mind the cock though he preferred the circumstances of the thrusting be under more welcome circumstances. As it was, he found it quite grotesque.
Dyllard's voice was heard at one point ordering the Dwarf, Skorn, to stand at his post and not fall asleep, as was the dwarf's habit. Already, he was drunk and reaching for more of his potent brew. How he managed to stay on his feet at all baffled the elf to no end. It must have been a Dwarf thing, Zevran decided with a shrug as he shifted his weight once again.
Skorn, he knew, was always first due to his penchant for falling asleep at his post. Since most things happened later, Dyllard placed the dwarf's watch first. However, this night things would change. This night, the bad things would happen early because sometimes, enemies are smart and observant and they know just when to strike…
The former assassin heard a grunt in the direction of the watch-post and looked up, his golden-brown eyes wide at the four black-garbed bodies that descended upon the small camp. He didn't need to see the Dwarf's slumped over form to know he would not be able to sound an alarm. Skorn was dead and now they were approaching the two tents that contained the remaining sleeping men.
Zevran screamed out a warning.
Dyllard stepped outside his tent, shaking his fist at the elf but when he realized they were being ambushed, he balled that fist and slugged it into the nearest face it came into contact with. One of the black-clothed assassins reemerged from the tent holding the lovers was covered in blood, her task complete. She spotted her companion lying on the ground with a severe facial injury and lunged at Dyllard, her dripping dagger positioned for a stab to his gut. He deftly avoided her attack and slammed his arm against her throat.
"Dyllard! Now might be a moment where you ignore my status as your prisoner and fetch me my daggers, no?" Zevran said as someone started using a lock-pick on this chain.
Dyllard grunted as he avoided the woman's blade again. "You'll run or kill me…" the man growled, his body slamming to the ground and rolling before the elf to avoid his attacker. The woman was becoming sloppy in her attacks as she grew more angry.
"I vow as your prisoner that I will only kill these idiots!" Zevran snapped.
Dyllard turned for a moment before dodging the dagger and pulled up Zevran's hands as the chain was released. The dagger sliced right through, severing the ropes and freeing the elf's hands. He leapt to his feet and rushed her with his head to her chest before knocking the blade from her hand. He dove for it, took the hilt and threw it with enough force that it buried itself deep into the socket of the woman's eye. She howled in pain and the knowledge that there was poison on the dagger's keen point, something Zevran did not doubt.
Dyllard tossed Zevran's knives at him and slammed another man against the tree with his shoulder. So far, the big human seemed content to use only his hands as weapons and so far, he'd been very successful with each strike, punch and lunge. Zevran knew, however, that the man was wounded and one of those wounds was a poisoned slice across his arm caused by the woman. It was only a matter of time but soon, Dyllard would no longer be able to fight.
The elf killed the third assassin and found himself facing the last one standing, which was temporary to Zevran's perspective as Dyllard trapped him and the elf buried his dagger deep into the assassin's chest. There was one left, the man Dyllard punched at the start of the fight and he had regained consciousness. He was crawling across the ground, his hand reaching for a blade, his misshapen face smeared and oozing with blood.
Zevran's foot trapped the dagger and Dyllard, his ability to stand faltering, gripped the man by the back of his shirt and with the other hand, he ripped off the human's mask. "Who are you and how did you get here? Who sent you?" the big man demanded.
Zevran picked up the dagger and leveled it near his face. He had a tiny vial in his fingers, which he turned slightly on its side and dripped a precious drop of a purple liquid on the edge. He then tilted the dagger this way and that to allow the fluid to run along the keen edge and coat it. The blade was then placed against the silent captive's throat while Dyllard held him.
"This is Elixir of Withering. You know what this does, yes? Very painful, very long death. You will go mad and starve before it actually kills you, you see. You answer the question faithfully and I will give you a swift, painless strike to the heart but if you do not, I will slice you in a place not fatal and we will watch as you lose your mind… and control of your bowels. The choice is yours," purred the elf with a sly smile.
The man struggled against Dyllard who, poisoned by the same stuff, was faltering but remained strong. "Fine! Yes, I will answer! The man who hired us is the same man who hire the mercenary, Alsund Mistere. He wants Arainai alive but he has no intention of paying anyone, especially you. We come at a discounted rate due to the Crow's obsession with having Zevran back to stand for his crimes."
Looking up at Dyllard, Zevran sneered, "Standing for one's crimes in Antiva means standing while arrows are shot into you at close range or a poisoned dagger is slid in between your ribs. You do have the pleasure of learning why you are being killed, of course, whether or not you are actually guilty." He looked back down at the captive assassin and raised an eyebrow. "This is your first year as a crow, yes?" At the man's hesitant nod, Zevran shrugged. "It is now your last as well." He drove the dagger under the sternum at an upward angle. It pierced the heart, killing the man swiftly and with only mild pain.
Once the man was dead, Dyllard dropped to one knee and moaned, his head in his hand. "What's wrong with me, elf? My head is… It's spinning! Everything is spinning!"
Zevran reached for him and touched his brow lightly. "Elixir of Withering… The cure is elusive but the poison can be waited out if you remain sane and do not do anything stupid. In low dosages, the elixir is a hallucinogenic pleasure drug. Higher dosages will make you forget to eat, drown yourself, throw yourself over cliffs… You will die, of course, if it is not treated."
"Then I am dead…" Dyllard muttered from his palm.
Zevran shook his head, a grin on his handsome face. "Oh no, my friend. This Alsund needs to die and I need your help to kill him since as long as he lives I won't get a moment's rest. Famed assassin or no, having someone to watch your back… or plow it… is valuable. Now, while you can walk, my friend, we need to get you on your horse and to a nice inn before more assassins arrive to finish what these ones started, yes?"
Dyllard could not believe what he was hearing but soon, as darkness claimed him, what Zevran said no longer meant anything to him. It was only when the visions began that Dyllard came to understand the gravity of his situation and how important Zevran would become to him.
TBC…