"Well, someone has to make the best of it," Nedelyne said as if to deny the distaste etched upon her features in the darkness of the damp tunnel as she brushed a speck of dirt off her slice of fruit. The faint and unmistakable sounds of a pair enjoying each other's company far too much for the current irritation shared by the three female drow left in the camp.
Sabal's amber eyes flashed in agreement from where she was lying by the magical fire Alystin had conjured up. This was their first excursion out into the wilds of the Underdark at the behest of their instructors, urged to track down and find a quarry released in the area. A pair of male fighters and a male sorcerer fleshed out their group. Unfortunately, with them had come another priestess novitiate in the form of one of House Baenre's errant daughters.
"If she wasn't so important, I would murder her and hide the body," Alystin muttered, her mood still black and surly. For the whole excursion she'd been at the mercy of the more powerful noble. "Goddess knows Matron Baenre could just make another one."
"Is somebody feeling vindictive?" Nede teased, her voice taking on almost childish harmonics. "Is the itty bitty Kenafin upset that she gets left out and can't get a male?"
"Vith dos! I have before and could again." Even when she was trying not to listen, Sabal could feel a slight waver of something just beneath the surface of that harsh rebuttal. All was not well.
The novice priestess grinned. "True. You're not like the ice queen here," she said, flicking a seed from the fruit she was eating at Sabal.
The amber eyes that had been drifting closed lazily flickered open. "I could. I do not wish to. The moment I find a partner interesting enough, I am certain you will endeavor to frighten them off," the wilder said in her dry way.
It was a game to the others, boasts of conquest and achievement. Sabal understood it: the domination of another so completely that they had given up almost everything. But being surrounded by those ruled by their hormones was almost enough to put her off the idea forever. The outside world didn't have the etiquette of Xullae, instead gleefully forcing every thought that passed through her peers' heads upon her. Sometimes the walls were exhausting.
At the very corner of her consciousness, she could still perceive Alystin's familiar mind. They were more often in each other's company than Nedelyne's with the training Sabal had been putting the mage through. Disquiet was easily felt, disruptions in the smooth surface of Aly's thought. A great deal was churning there.
"More for me, then," Nede said with a shrug. She paused for a long moment, then glared at them both. "Are you going to make me do all the talking? Goddess, you two are boring."
"Then go to sleep," Sabal said as she picked up her blade from where it was resting next to her bedroll. She was more comfortable than most of the others with having her weapon away from her, but even still she liked to know where it was out here. "Someone needs to watch the other approach. Aly?"
There was a brief flash of bright gratitude across the mage's mind, even though the only acknowledgment she gave was a reluctant nod.
Nedelyne sighed and rolled her eyes. "Wake me if a hook horror drags one of you off into the darkness. Preferably Sabal, since then we know it would die of indigestion alone."
Leaving the comfort of fire and bedrolls behind, Aly and Sabal shared a companionship of quiet. Once they were at the lookout point, a ledge of stone above the camp by twenty feet, the sounds of camp fell away. Sabal sat down on the stone with her legs crossed, back against the cavern wall. Her eyes roved through the shadows of stalactites dangling from the roof above, ghosting across the spaces between stony pillars and ridges in the cavern floor. The edges were difficult to see, stretching out into a vast open maze. No wonder, then, that this was where they had been sent after their mysterious quarry.
Alystin was less peaceful, her staff resting against her shoulder as she sat at the narrow point, her legs loosely hanging over the edge. She was always the one who ended up talking when Nedelyne was not around to fill the silence, or that's how it seemed.
For the first time in a long while, it was Sabal who made the first sound. She turned her head slightly to Alystin, the corners of her mouth twitching up for just a moment into a tiny smile to accompany one raised eyebrow. "Feeling boring yet?"
Relief washed through the mage that the conversation was behind them now. "I'm trying. It's harder than Nede thinks," Aly mused aloud. "I used to be very good at it, around Chardalyn."
"I don't think I've ever met her at the Fane. I spent a great deal of time there." Sabal's expression was as transparent as the granite behind them.
But even without knowing her motivations, Alystin still felt comfortable talking. In her experience, Sabal hadn't stabbed anyone in the back. Just about everywhere else, yes, but not the back. Unless you're me and a dolt when you attack, the mage amended privately, remembering the last sharp crack that Sabal had given her between the shoulder blades after a less than graceful, but very angry, charge.
"Consider yourself fortunate," Aly said quietly. It wasn't hard to pull her sister's face into her mind with all the nightmares she still had at times. "Chardalyn is the eldest. She's more clever than Sinjss, more subtle. Taller and stronger than I am. But she has a temper and she'll vent it on anyone weak nearby. At the Academy she got a lot of praise for her talent and ambition. A double-edged sword. Someday she'll use it to kill the Matron. I think she hates the fact that Sinjss is really turning into the favorite these days."
Sabal rolled her shoulders in a small shrug. "Your Matron has poor taste."
The mage cocked her head slightly to one side, silently prompting an answer. Fortunately, Sabal's almost eerie perceptiveness hadn't vanished since the last time they spoke privately.
"I have seen you cast. Your spells are not flashy, but they are effective. Your healing is unsurpassed. Were I wounded gravely, I would rather have you weaving the spell than a cleric," the amber-eyed drowess said.
Alystin tried to hide the sudden warmth that conjured up in the center of her chest. Sabal's compliments were very rare, but never less than sincere. She tended to give them in the same matter-of-fact tone that she used for criticism, solely appraising and never seeking something in return. Besides, no one else paid any heed to those skills that she'd spent hours honing, sometimes even constructing her own spells to mend wounds without divine assistance better than priestesses could. Words of encouragement were rare at home and never directed to her. Even when the Matron was pleased, her words would come from someone else. "Tell my youngest daughter she has done well" or "Tell her I will need her again later" was all that she had heard, whether she was in the room or not.
Sometimes she wondered if the Matron even remembered her name.
"You're very quiet, qu'essan. Not troubled, I hope?" Sabal asked, breaking the silence. The term came to her easily from her time with Ryld. It also worked wonderfully to snap Alystin out of her thoughts and slap an expression of incredulity on her face.
"Do you call everyone that?"
"Just you," the wilder said, abruptly getting to her feet. "Do you see that?"
Alystin forced her eyes back to the darkness below, searching for a sign of anything. Then she saw it: a hint of movement, a taste of magic. "Well, saved us the trouble of looking," she muttered, getting up and grabbing her staff. She slammed one end against the ground, a pulse of magic rippling out to hit the sigils their companions carried and wake them up. The effect was almost immediate, but they were too busy returning to camp to notice.
"Down!" Sabal snapped, shoving the mage down barely in time to avoid a long, lethal shaft that hissed by, air rippling against the feather fletchings. Her blade was drawn now as the others scrambled up, silently cursing Ilivarra for not watching her own damn entrance. If she's not dead yet, she's going to be when I get through with her.
"Sabal, they're elves! Surface elves!" Nedelyne shouted from the middle of camp as they crossed through the wards Aly had set up.
The mage froze for a moment even as her companion continued forward. Elves? The harmless faeries who cavorted about on the surface and Chardalyn took such pleasure in murdering? They had the spine to attack a drow camp?
Sabal, however, was reading a very different story in their foes. These were elves armed and prepared, eyes gleaming in the darkness. The two warriors in the lead moved forward with hatred in their angular faces, alien pale skin looking even whiter compared to the shadows that surrounded them. But she could feel hesitation along with determination in their companions. Desperation.
Xullae's training immediately took hold. Press hard against them. Drive them back. Hit them everywhere. Make them fear. She knew her fellows would be going for the weakest links, so she was the first to meet the charging elves, steel clashing against theirs. It was not a pretty fight, Sabal's lips curling into a snarl as her blade bit into his and she shoved back.
Around them, chaos raged. She was barely able to keep track of the others, her mind roving and briefly touching upon each one. Nedelyne was wounded, but still holding her own and rallying their fighters. Without Ilivarra and the male mage they were at a serious disadvantage. Sabal herself didn't feel anything strongly enough to let loose psionically. There was a sickly crunching sound and a flood of wetness as her blade punched through armor and shattered ribs, thick black blood pouring over her hands. Even as it rushed out, she felt the mind of her opponent suddenly dull and then fade away, the razored black feelings of hatred gone as quickly as they had come.
When someone hit her back, she whirled and caught herself. "You alright?" Nedelyne panted, noting the blood even as she wove her next spell. "There are more of them than us."
"Fine," Sabal said, shaking the blood off her blade for a moment before she turned back.
"Where's Aly?"
A cold feeling hit Sabal in her chest. "I thought she was with you," the wilder hissed, searching the battlefield with her mind. Then she felt the familiar mind, still in tact but clouded with pain and fear.
Alystin was still no fighter, even with training. She had tried, but she began the fight separated from the others and was no match for the heavy blows of the male elf attacking her. Her staff shuddered in her hands and was nearly knocked from her grip, the syllables of spells barely coming to her fast enough. A well-placed strike from her foe's hilt slammed into her head and sent her sprawling, stars bursting behind her eyes. When she looked up and the focus came back to the world, it was to a blurry face contorted with hatred and a silvery sword plunging down towards her throat.
White hot fury boiled up from the pit of Sabal's stomach even as she ran, shooting through her veins like molten steel. The psionic force hit the male elf before her physical body could. Her thoughts were barely coherent, most of them working to rend him limb from limb. But beneath it was a wordless rage, a possession. Every moment of training focused now, the whole force of that power bearing down on something that had dared hurt something that was hers.
The screaming replaced every other noise as joints strained and then popped apart with that horrible sound that only gristle could make. With it went shreds of thought, of personality, of memory. Sabal was the eye of a maelstrom, her emotions almost out of control. Xullae had taught her what to do when this happened, but here in the rush of a battle, it was so hard.
Let no one see you like this, Xullae's phantom voice coached. Even allies might turn upon you if they fear for their own lives. Focus. Breathe. Return to your center.
Sabal sucked in a ragged breath, the sudden surge slowly being forced back down again. There was a keen sense of loss as the power ebbed away but also surging relief. If anyone had seen that, they had not realized what happened and would no doubt put it upon one of their mages.
"Have I ever mentioned what a lovely sight you are?" Alystin said weakly from the ground, her bruised temple throbbing. She was definitely injured elsewhere with the way her clothes clung to her with blood.
The wilder crouched down and turned Alystin's head with firm hands so she could examine the injury herself. The sound of the mage's breathing and the stubborn beat of living thoughts against the surface of Sabal's mind was more reassuring than anything in the world she'd ever heard before. Perhaps it was because she had so few people in her life that she could rely on that the urge to protect had come so strongly. Thankfully, there was just bruising to the head and nothing serious. The amber-eyed drowess relaxed ever so slightly.
"We're having a talk about you and armor later." Sabal hauled her mage up with that word of warning, going back to rejoin the others. She turned just in time to see another foe drawing his bowstring back and flinched. That sudden jerk gave Aly enough space to hurl a fireball at him, incinerating archer and bow alike.
"Now we're even."
The rest of the battle was brief, their foes feeling the brunt of Sabal's remaining foul temper. By the time they had won, everyone was sore and in a foul mood. Nedelyne most of all, perhaps, since she'd spent most of her time casting to reinforce the front-line fighters and had little chance to vent her own irritation on their opponents.
"Should have killed them all," Nedelyne muttered darkly, eyes focusing on their prisoner. She knew taking the elfling wearing that bloody moon symbol would win favor and probably a fair amount of coin, but she found it hard to disagree with Sabal's quiet opinion that it would be more trouble than it was worth.
"And not have a captive to bring back for the Spider Queen's altar? How inconsiderate of you," a honeyed voice said from behind them.
Nedelyne whirled around. "And where in the Demonweb were you and your pretty boy, Ilivarra? We almost lost our healer out there because you couldn't be bothered to watch the Goddess forsaken path," she growled.
Ilivarra was the picture of what a young noble drowess should look like in her robes, elegant and immaculately groomed even here in the wilderness. Nothing about her spoke of hardship. She was accustomed to luxury as one of House Baenre's daughters and the sort of detached egocentric manner that annoyed Nede to no end. Her perfect face wrinkled slightly in disgust as she regarded the elf. "I was observing. Had you truly needed the help, I would have aided you. And your Kenafin girl is alive, not that it'd be any great loss."
Biting her tongue was insanely difficult for the talkative Nedelyne, but somehow she did it. As much as she resented every aspect of Ilivarra and her attendance, saying so was probably not wise. Even if Sabal did have her back. Probably. The cleric in training glanced over her shoulder to where the amber-eyed drowess was grudgingly allowing Alystin to heal her wounds.
"Well, I don't want to be holding that thing's bloody leash," she said after a pause. The gleam in the eyes of their male warriors made her skin crawl slightly. Nedelyne looked at their captive, the priestess who had been supporting their foes. She did not want to be in that faerie's shoes.
"We will," Trelgath said with a wolfish smile. He was Ilivarra's favorite toy thanks to his muscular build, so Goddess knew he had plenty to vent on some unwilling female. This was the sorcerer's opportunity to have the upper hand.
Even if Ilivarra was fine with it, however, Nedelyne had her limits of what she was going to put up with. She was cleric accustomed to violence, particularly focused against helpless captives...but this turned her stomach. Unfortunately, she would be hard pressed to find a justification that didn't sound weak to the others. "I want to sleep tonight. We're already going to have to be moving. I don't want you causing a racket," she said with a harsh clip to her words.
"And if I promise to be quiet?"
Nedelyne turned back to where her companions were. "Sabal, will you handle this? I have a headache. It's like this little bug is in my ear, buzzing incessantly. I told it to go away, but it just won't stop."
The amber-eyed drowess rose with a coldness in her features, bearing down upon Trelgath before he could squirm out of the way to Ilivarra. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his robes and hauled him up onto the tips of his toes, silent threat in every grim line of her face. "What do we do when a priestess gives an order?" she said harshly.
"Get your hands off of me, you—"
Sabal slammed him into the nearest stone pillar hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "Wrong answer. I am not a patient person, Trelgath. Try again. But only once."
He looked past her shoulder helplessly towards the smirking Ilivarra, then over at Nedelyne. "Fine, I will leave her alone."
This earned him another painful slam against the pillar and a growl from the amber-eyed girl holding him. "I will leave her alone, Revered Nedelyne," she hissed, a slow burn of anger starting in the center of her chest.
The sorcerer must have sensed he was up against something he didn't want to tangle with, because immediately he acquiesced. "I will leave her alone, Revered Nedelyne," he repeated desperately. "May I go now?"
Sabal dropped him, then turned to their captive. For a creature who had fought so well, there was much fear in the elf's face and mind. And little hope. She had heard of the drow and dreaded their futures. To die a prisoner, broken and worse in a world so far away from the light of their sun.
The pale features were so much like a drow's that it unsettled her, impossibly bright eyes almost pleading in their gaze up at her. Sabal could feel the silent supplication from their helpless prisoner. Please, let it be quick. Let it be painless. If anything in you lives, have mercy. Even at the same time, she sensed Ilivarra's exultation in the future suffering of another.
Xullae's voice whispered in the depths of her mind, I know what it is to be a prisoner...
Sabal's blade moved with soundless precision, biting through the column of an ivory throat, drenching the strange robes in dark blood. The tip pressed vertebrae apart, stopping only when it met stone. When this mind faded away, it was with easy peace, unclouded by suffering. "There," she said, her own voice sounding oddly flat to her ears as she watched the body fall back limply, sliding off her blade. Something so fragile did not belong in the Underdark.
"What kind of drow are you?" Ilivarra demanded, equal parts infuriated and incredulous.
Sabal wiped her blade clean with a square of soft cloth, watching the blood soak into the white material. Her answer came without even a glance in the Baenre noble's direction. "Whatever kind you are not."
