A/N: Just realized that the previous two chapters, as well as this one and the next actually cover one single day. Yup, a hard day, indeed. Concerning some Del's thoughts and reactions towards a certain ranger… we all remember she's a half-drow, right?;) She may not be aware of that (yet) and was certainly raised differently, but I'm a strong believer that ages-old genes don't give a damn.

P.S.: Since the FFnet gives no possibility to answer unregistered reviewers directly – hearty thanks to Vive here for her review. To answer a question – yeah, I'm going to follow at least the trial-part pretty tightly, since in my opinion it was the crucial point in the PC's character development. As for Del not being able to go on 'smiling and nodding' for ever… well, here you go:)

For those wonderful people who keep adding my crazy story to alert/favourite lists – while I'm glad of the fact itself, I certainly wouldn't mind a line or two in review on the subject of why you even bothered. Otherwise I'm feeling like I've been made out with while sleeping:)


XXIII: Critical Mass

All the talks gradually died away as they went deeper and deeper into Duskwood. Oppressing silence, so absolute that it seemed to be a sound itself, nearly corked up mouths, not allowing a single word to shatter its eerie dominion.

The trees, tall, dark-grey, towered around them in thick disorder that never assumed any path or road to even exist. Though the sun was high up in the sky, its light didn't make it under the unmoving branchy dome of tree crowns, where shade reigned, silvery, murky and dense. From time to time noises came from the depths of the forest, rustle of grass, gentle murmur of a distant brook – but all sounds were muted, nearly worn down, constrained, as if Duskwood tried to strangle the very air with its silence.

No one argued when Bishop took the lead. He paced ahead, almost melting in the semidarkness in his grayish-green cloak, his wolf trotting noiselessly by his side. Sometimes they both stopped, exchanged glances in wordless communication only for the two of them, and the animal evanesced somewhere aside, while the ranger went on further, until their paths crossed again. Bishop was long since carrying his bow at hand, with an arrow ready, and the others reached for their weapons as well. Probably every one of them heard stories about Duskwood and its inhabitants – not just wolves, bears and wild boars, but also the creatures lurking in the very heart of the forest smoky haze – werewolves, nymphs and other troubling beings.

Even Grobnar kept silent, but Adele saw admiration for the grim grandeur of the obscure forest sparkling in his eyes, admiration mute, unreserved, for which even he couldn't find suitable words.

Looking around and back, Adele realized why the rangers – and Bishop in particular – were drawn to the place. Duskwood was a pure challenge. With its every rise, every clearing, every misleading trail it dared mortal abilities, dared as much as the guileful Mere. The woman couldn't help but think that Daeghun would have also appreciated Duskwood.

Moreover, she was admiring it herself.

It was probably so easy to get lost in the wood, never to be found… especially if one didn't want to be found. Involuntarily, she mulled over that little phrase Bishop had dropped back in Neverwinter – about running away and hiding somewhere. Even though it was nothing more than another of his perpetual suggestive crap, the substance was still tempting. She didn't give it much thought, not until there were possibilities to solve the whole nonsense - but in Duskwood the option of simply disappearing seemed much more doable than anywhere else.

Still… stupid. Both Neverwinter and Luskan had skilled trackers that would find her without much effort and drag back to one of the cities. She didn't know the forest and its neighbourhoods enough for such escape to work.

Bishop does… - her inner voice dropped in helpfully.

Uh-huh, - she sniffed in her mind. – If only requiring help from Bishop didn't include Bishop. I'm pretty much at the limits of my patience for him already.

But even dismissing all thoughts about hitting the road, she still glided her gaze over the ground, automatically marking this or that indications of a possible path, spotting traces of someone's stay - in notches on the trees, thoroughly covered campsites, in the way moss was peeled from some trunks to get access to bark and tinder for a fire…

Maybe, Daeghun would have praised her. Maybe not.

She was content with inner satisfaction that she felt, seeing that Bishop sometimes followed exactly the path and way she would have chosen. Though her self-esteem was a bit bruised by the fact that he did it much quicker, easier, without second thoughts and doubts – still, Adele was a realist enough to understand that she was no match for an experienced hunter, especially on the terrain he was familiar with.

And yet I'm not completely a novice in the stuff, too… Would have liked to see him in the Mere, on my territory…

Sometimes she looked back at others, to make sure everyone was alright. Apart from Grobnar, the one to walk closest to her was Khelgar. The dwarf felt obviously uncomfortable, so, to embolden himself, he threw his axe from on hand to the other and back, muttering something into his beard. Neeshka followed at his heels, gazing around, and Adele noticed how tiefling's movements gained the same catlike grace that appeared when she was sneaking around to check for dangers or slipped unnoticed behind an enemy's back. Neeshka herself probably wasn't even aware of her own caution, but her steps gave it away, becoming soft and soundless, as well as her tail that moved from side to side in nervous jerks. Casavir looked composed and encouragingly calm – as always – though his palm was resting on the hilt of the sheathed sword, the other taking firm hold of the strap of his shield hanging on his back, and his blue eyes followed every tree and every shadow that streamed between them. Shandra was tense, at the same time trying to hide it – but Adele had already learnt to recognize the blonde woman's distinctly solemn expression as the most evident proof of her inner unrest. The farmer did her best to keep close to the centre of their company, sometimes quickening her pace or slowing it not to fall behind and stay alone. Elanee glided effortlessly at the side of the group, her eyes half-closed, her head tilted, as if she was listening to something. Maybe she was, indeed. Sand walked deep in thoughts, looking into space, his arms crossed, not paying any attention to what was around, only his inborn elven sensitivity keeping him from stumbling over the roots and branches that got in the way. Qara strode purposefully away from him, her head tossed up proudly, as usual, and glanced around with no less usual air of a queen making a round of her domains. But Adele didn't like her pallor, and the way the sorceress held her staff – not on her shoulder as her habit was, but using it as a walking stick, leaning against it slightly as she moved.

Adele slackened her own pace, shoving aside faint nagging twinge in the pit of her stomach, when her monthlies protested against breaking of the steady rhythm of steps, and came up to the girl, raising her brows: "You okay?"

"Of course," Qara answered, not looking at her.

"…Sure?"

"Yes. Yes, just…" she drew a deep breath and lifted her head defiantly, "Yeah, I'm great."

Adele glanced at Tamin, who kept his warm spot under the sorceress' collar. The weasel didn't look great in the slightest, nudging his nose into his mistress' neck, as if sensing her discomfort. Taking that as a proof, Adele called quietly for Neeshka walking ahead and, as the tiefling looked back at her, nodded silently at the ranger. Getting the hint, the rogue grinned:

"Camp?"

Adele nodded again, but before the tiefling even managed to open her mouth to call for Bishop, she was surpassed by Grobnar:

"Camp, sir Bishop!"

His clear voice exploded in the forest silence with a glass-like peal, rooting the ranger to the spot. Turning slowly, he regarded the gnome with a scalding glare that would have turned anybody else to a pile of ash as good as one of Qara's spells. But Grobnar, being totally impervious to any kind of attitude, just grinned.

"I swear, I'll flay you for dinner, gnome," Bishop promised in hissing whisper.

Grobnar's grin faded, if only for a bit: "Oh? Really, I don't think I'll be of much use there. If to consider my weight and divide it between everyone present, it won't-"

"Shut up," the ranger glared at the rest, his mouth thinning in contempt. "What the Hells happened again? Someone wrenched a stump or what?"

"Camp," Adele repeated, calmly meeting his stare.

Bishop flourished her a mock bow: "Sure, please, camp, rest, sleep, breed, whatever."

"I think after several hours of walking we can allow a break."

"By all means, for all I care. It's not for me the gallows are begging for."

Deciding that was not worth an answer, Adele turned away from him and looked around for a place suitable for a camp.

"That's a nice spot," Khelgar jerked his head at a small clearing at the foot of the hill they were standing on.

Bishop bared his teeth in a grin: "Go ahead, and with a battle-cry, dwarf."

"Why not?" Khelgar scowled at him.

"There's a wolves' path to the watering place going through there," Adele was the first to answer and turned her head, staring point-blank at the ranger and arching her brow.

He measured her with a cold scoffing glance, then shrugged: "Fine, earned a point," he waved his hand up the hill. "That way."

"More climbing?" Neeshka sighed tiredly.

"It's leeward," Adele managed to say again, and Bishop gnashed his teeth, darting a glare at her.

She held his glare tranquilly, with silent challenge, and he shook his head.

"Don't provoke me, girl," he growled softly, silken threatening notes back in his voice.

"Or?"

He didn't answer at once, just staring at her – not looking, but staring, his narrowed eyes boring deeply into hers. She stood still, expecting that gaze to slide down, as it frequently did, slowly, evaluatingly, to try throwing her off-balance that way. But it didn't, firm, unfaltering, only skidding insensibly from side to side to take in both her eyes – and, as stupid as it was, Adele suddenly felt already familiar tight warmth coiling up inside of her, like her innards were nothing more than noodles being twined slowly on a hot fork, until were tied up in an achingly throbbing knot that threatened to burn its way out of the bottom of her abdomen.

Well, why not? He could smile without smiling, why not leer without leering?

Behave, Delly… - she soothed herself inwardly, suppressing an urge, a need to shift, to back off, away, anything… - Don't show… The only way to cope with him – is to be stronger than him…

Damn, a bit more – and I'll melt down into my boots.

Bishop finally blinked, breaking the binding, and Adele barely held herself from drawing a deep breath.

"Or you'll see," he said at last, turning away from her.

"Dying to," she murmured at his back.

The ranger stopped - of course he did – and she grinned as he glanced at her over his shoulder, a wry smirk quirking up his mouth: "You just don't know when to shut up, do you."

"Like I said," she shrugged innocently, "you know all my problems."

He turned away again, yet no sooner then his eyes at last did slip down her body, deliberately, raking her - but before she could get used to the feeling, he was already walking away, towards others settling on a pointed hilltop. Snorting quietly under her breath, she followed, coming up to Neeshka, who was waiting for her to catch up.

"And what in the Abyss are you doing, I wonder?" the tiefling crooned slyly.

Adele gave a subtle smile, looking into Bishop's back: "Leashing the dog."


…The camp-site appeared a good one indeed, the position on the hill providing comfortable observation of all the slopes - and enough trees to cover their presence at the same time. Adele wasn't sure the beasts of Duskwood wouldn't smell them in the air, but her concerns appeared to be in vain, as Bishop, moving a bit from the camp, took out a small vial out of his pack, glanced around and uncorked it, throwing away. Almost instantly the air was filled with faint, but positively repulsive aroma that made almost everyone cringe.

"Damn, Bishop," Shandra blinked several times, as if the stench was stinging her eyes. "We were actually going to eat."

"Yeah, and without it someone out there would have gladly eaten you," the ranger retorted, then smiled at her lewdly. "You want to add thrills to your dinner, farmgirl, I'm right here – no need for beasts' attack."

Shandra muttered something unintelligible, but clearly insulting, though chose not to raise her voice, dropping her pack towards a huge fallen tree, so thick that even lying at its side it still hid sitting figures out of sight. While others got themselves busy with sorting out their bags, looking for meal, Neeshka came up to the log, her tail whipping over it to brush off the leaves and dirt before her bottom landed on it gladly.

"Ooooh, good," the tiefling stretched and rubbed her thighs, tense and sore from the walking. "Whatever you say, I'm a totally city-girl."

"Have to agree," Sand grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Though, not with the 'girl' part."

Neeshka chortled: "That's nice to know."

Adele, paying little attention to them, got closer to Qara, who sat right on the ground, slumping her back against the log and looking into space, her fingers scratching Tamin's neck mechanically.

"You are not okay," Adele observed quietly.

Qara breathed out heavily and finally uttered grimly: "I'm sick."

"Then throw up and let's get moving," was Bishop's indifferent answer.

"It won't help, I'm afraid," Sand muttered. "It is caused by the area itself, the trees… Her senses might become slow, lethargic."

"Lethargic?" Qara chocked out an unbelieving snort. "This place is making my guts churn!"

"Probably because your energies as a sorcerer are raw. I only feel vaguely giddy."

"So I'm not the only one," Elanee sighed in tired relief. "Indeed, this place is… overpowering."

"It'll ebb away once we leave."

"Oi, ya frail weaklings," Khelgar frowned. "What's wrong with ya all?"

"The trees of Duskwood act as a damper on magical energies," Sand explained wearily.

"What?" Qara bristled. "Couldn't you say it before we dragged ourselves here?"

Sand merely looked at her: "My warning wouldn't have reduced the effect. Besides, this particular trait of the forest is known to any magician in the region," he moved his brow. "At least, to any magician that can read."

"…Ah!" she narrowed her lids. "That's why you hadn't told me? To bring me here, weaken and humiliate?"

"No, my dear, we came here because we had to. Everything else is merely a fortunate side-effect."

"Are you a complete idiot?" she wondered almost sincerely. "And if something happens? An attack? What the Hells am I supposed to do then? Get sick on them?"

"Take the opportunity to learn to rely on something else apart from your magic."

"…Oh screw you!" Qara bolted up to her feet, but swayed and nearly fell back to the ground.

"Easy there, you feel bad enough already," Adele handed her the flask. "Have some water."

"I don't want water," the sorceress hissed, waving her off without looking, her flaming eyes fixed on the wizard.

"Qara," he drawled. "Heed her advice and calm down, It will only make things worse."

"Yeah? Have you read it in a book too, you cheap fairground juggler?"

The elf's blue eyes grew glacial: "I suppose I could say something in return about an 'unequable snot' or a 'lame-brained hysteriac' – but, really, that wouldn't have been polite."

"I think that is quite enough," Casavir cut in gravely, shifting his eyes between the spellcasters, clearly expecting – and dreading – a real outburst. "For both of you."

"To Hells with you!" the girl spat, measuring the paladin with a scathing glare. "Like it's your guts turn inside out!"

"Qara," Sand's soft tone remained even, but there was also something in his voice, some metallic echo that allowed to guess the elf was close to rage. "There is nothing you can do about your state right now. So calm down. If anyone, you surely can use a bit of humbling."

"Oh can I?" she took a firm hold of her staff. "Go ahead, then, and prove it!"

"That'll do," Adele reached up from her squatting position and tried to catch the girl to make her sit back, but the sorceress broke free, jerking her chin up:

"He started it!"

"Of course I did," Sand chuckled coldly. "Everyone always does, don't they, Qara."

"Afraid, huh?" she sneered. "You know perfectly well that even here, even now I'll still turn you to cinders in seconds!"

"Oh sweet Mystra, girl, you are so not worth my time, that I won't even try."

"Ha! Then you are afraid! Just admit it, damn you!"

"Qara, I suggest you stop trying my patience before I accidentally fired a magic missile into your face."

Neeshka leaned towards Khelgar: "My coin's for Sand."

"Nah," the dwarf shook his head. "Lass can bash with her staff."

"…Can't even believe I've been shoved into this circus," Bishop grunted from his place near a tree aside, glaring at the magicians, at Qara in particular. "Shut the trap, tot. If someone runs towards your yells, I'll screw your head off myself."

"Then stop stirring her up, dammit," Adele snapped out.

"Really, cut it off already," Shandra echoed, looking in alarm at the sorceress, whose short red hair seemed to flutter without any wind, her face darkening with furious crimson blush, so intense that her pale eyes seemed to grow colourless in comparison.

"I think we should all calm down," Casavir placated. "We are not here to weaken ourselves with inner quarrels."

"Amen," Bishop proclaimed dryly, turning away and staring back at the forest.

"…For now we must bear the inconvenience to do what needs to be done," the paladin continued, ignoring the ranger. Measured calmness of his voice seemed to appease the tempers, if only for a bit. "Yes, hard and unpleasant, but transient."

Qara waved her hands: "Then let's do something! Anything!"

"We are," Sand rapped out.

"Yeah, look how busy you are!"

"Then go and burn something for the time, so we could all get a break from you!"

"Sand," Adele pleaded.

"What's the word-wide problem, anyway?" Bishop wondered, leaning against the tree with his back. "No one was so pissy yesterday."

"Yesterday the whole case seemed… simpler," Sand admitted, obviously relieved to be distracted from the sorceress and speak of business at hand. "For now we have a witness."

"So? A witness more, a witness less," the ranger said with an implying smirk.

Shandra's angry eyes snapped to him: "You better not mean it."

He barely spared her a glance, looking back at the wizard: "What, that Hells of a witness it is?"

"The last living resident of Ember, Alaine," Sand explained. "She claims to have seen our dear lady Farlong with her own eyes."

"…Alaine?" the ranger rolled the name over in his mouth thoughtfully, recollecting, then flinched in realization. "It's that whining wench, isn't it? The one we stumbled upon after the ambush. Hells, what's the big deal with her? You show her a knife, and she'll sing quite a different song."

"Take it back," Shandra snarled slowly, her face hardening into a fuming mask, earning her another fleeting dismissive glance from Bishop:

"Make me."

Adele dropped her face into her palms, fingertips rubbing forehead and temples with the strength that nearly excoriated her scull.

"Too much blood has been spilled already, Bishop," Casavir stated, his voice hardly any warmer than Shandra's. "Too much harm done. We would not bring it any further."

Bishop chuckled, rusty emotionless sound. "And who said it's for you to decide? Last time I checked it was the princess who was going to swing in gentle breeze in a noose."

"No one is going to swing anywhere."

"Yeah. Pray."

"ENOUGH!" the stressed syllable crashed out of Adele's mouth with force she hardly expected from herself – and hardly cared. "Enough for all of you, gods damn you!"

All eyes turned towards her, and she rose to her feet, her hands rolling into fists, every joint and every muscle quavering with rage.

"And so I therefore repeat," she uttered distinctly, "that for whatever happened, it was I who got accused of the deed. And just as Bishop didn't fail to remind – for which he deserves a separate bloody 'thanks' – it is I who will get into the noose. So if you all want to hate each other – fine, I never stopped you and never will 'cause I'm stupid enough to think you are grown up people free to have their own opinions and live with them. But don't any of you even dare to use me or what happens to me as an excuse for your fights! You have enough of your damned academic, racial, moral or whatever the fuck else differences you can never shove aside for a single bloody moment!" she swished in full lungs of air through her set jaws, its sour taste stinging her chest, enough for the ache in her ribs to echo weakly – and lowered her voice to a cold growl. "And I appreciate everyone of you being here – but if I get hanged just because you decided it would be great to gnaw each other at my expense, then I swear that during the trial I shall stand up and claim that you all have been there, in Ember, with me. How's that for unity?"

Silence was the only answer. Her gaze travelled over their faces, looks on them varying from surprise to guilt, her fists still clenched, short nails nearly breaking the skin of her palms.

"Anyone else wants to say anything? Now's the fucking time."

Neeshka and Khelgar both stared warily at Qara, who obviously wanted to speak up, but swallowed the words with an expression of gulping down something sour, and sat back on the ground. Others exchanged surreptitious glances. Only Elanee, who kept silent all the time, had her eyes solely for Adele, her expression nearly painful – and Bishop, too, was staring at her, looking for all the world pleased. As Adele locked her gaze on him, his lips twitched in amusement.

"There you go, princess," he inferred in deathly silence. "You can when you want to, eh?"

She never said anything, not a single sound, when in one swift motion drew her rapier out of the scabbard and hurled it at him, knowing perfectly he would dodge – but at that moment almost wishing he wouldn't be able to. The ranger jerked aside, and the thin blade sank deep into the wood near his shoulder, wobbling with a faint metal hum.

"…Oh shit," Neeshka exhaled, quickly sliding away from Bishop, closer to Khelgar and Grobnar, the latter's eyes growing to the size of dinner-plates.

Casavir swiftly stepped forwards, positioning himself between Adele and Bishop, ready to stop anything that might happen – whether the woman's actions or the ranger's, was not known. Bishop himself didn't move, following the length of the blade with idle impassive gaze, too impassive as Adele would have noticed – if she gave a damn. But she didn't, closing her eyes and taking yet another deep breath.

"Now I'll leave," she said, feeling stares turning back to her. "For half an hour. Alone. And by the time I come back, I want everything to be alright. Is that clear?"

"…Sure!" Neeshka squeaked.

"Good."

The woman turned around and strode down the hill, only then opening her eyes…


In Your divine grace, my Lord, forgive me my selfish blindness.

He knew she was tired. He had seen her desperation, written plainly in every one of her smiles. From the moment he, together with Elanee and Grobnar, had come back to Haeromus' office and saw her slumped on the masonry, he knew she had been shaken to her core. No matter how she behaved after that, what she said or showed, he could tell that she wasn't calm – no, she had simply made herself calm. The difference he knew all too well.

She was a fighter. That, too, he had come to see, respect and admire. Her every trial she met with her blade raised in waggish salute to her enemies, no matter whom or what those were. Until now. For this time there was no enemy to be greeted, no malefactor within reach to defeat – only cobweb of a loathsome scheme woven around her, unseen and, therefore, unbeatable. He had been through the same. And much to his shame, he had fled. Chocked with the politics and plots, he had chosen the orcs. He had chosen an enemy that could be defeated with the power of weapon – an enemy that respected the power of weapon. It made everything simpler and clearer.

Until she came along, burst into his fight, making it her own, shattering the shield of simplicity and stillness he had around him. Her childishly venturous grin like an awakening slap to his face. And even now, as she stalked into the gloom of Duskwood after her condemnation, he couldn't – wasn't able to - blame her. No living being was made of iron, even less – she. And just because of that he couldn't blame the others, too. Her companions, so used to be handled with easiness that said – they were not led, but simply welcomed to come along. Her smile, her naturalness was addictive. Only a bit of time, and it was taken as granted. No, he didn't blame the rest of his new comrades for their lack of consideration for her. But he blamed himself for being lured away just as easily, dropping his guard and attention in favour of petty squabbles, leaving her alone with her unseen silent burden.

And as harsh as her words were, he found them fully deserved.

"Think we should bring her back?" Shandra asked in a troubled voice, the first to break the silence.

"I do not think we would be welcomed," Casavir answered, and the woman frowned up at him:

"That means she should wander off into this Hells of a forest alone?" she stood up straight. "If no one goes, then I will."

The paladin wanted to object, but Elanee surpassed him:

"No," the druid's voice held so much steel in it, that Casavir at first didn't even believe it was her voice. "She needs to be alone. Sometimes… she just does."

"But if you want to get smacked," Neeshka gave Shandra an overly sweet smile, so sweet that it lacked any friendliness whatsoever, "feel free to go and try to bring her back." To emphasize her words, the tiefling nodded at the rapier, still stuck out of the tree above Bishop's shoulder.

And that was fully deserved, too, - Casavir observed, coldly regarding the ranger.

He had to admit, for that second the blade was thrown, he got scared. Not for Bishop's life, but for hers. Even now, though she had left, and the ranger was still standing in his spot, the paladin couldn't completely rid himself of the worry. Bishop was clearly not the 'forgive-and-forget' type.

"Fine," Shandra reluctantly admitted her defeat and shook her head, squatting back to the ground to kindle the fire. "What do I know, really."

"I suppose we all did what we could for now," Elanee smiled, seeming almost mocking, but there was hurt behind her tone. Her care for Adele was always there, even if not exactly carried on the surface, and Casavir had come to trust her judgment concerning the other woman's feeling and behaviour. From wherever their quiet bond came, it was undeniable. "Let us just pretend that we all can get along and act civilized once she comes back."

"I can act civilized," Qara snapped, as the druidess' gaze fell upon her. The girl's physical illness so far served to fan the flames of her temper to a real pyre. She waved her hand sharply towards Sand. "He started it, anyway!"

"Then by the gods, Qara, be smarter than him and finish it," the elf muttered in a tired voice, casting a quick warning glance at the wizard to stop his possible remarks.

But Sand paid no attention to their exchange, looking deep into the woods where their leader disappeared. "Does this actually happen often?" he wondered. "Such outbursts?"

"…Aye, happens," Khelgar suddenly gave voice. The dwarf looked grim, his axe within reach. Casavir could tell that for the sturdy Ironfist the whole conundrum of Luskan and Ember was nearly as painful and crushing as for their leader. When Sand threw him a questioning look, Khelgar glanced at Neeshka by his side for some kind of silent agreement, then muttered: "Highcliff."

"Higcliff?" Sand repeated, awaiting for the explanation. Casavir could echo him. So far he had only heard of the lizardlings besieging the small town – a problem that had been solved.

Neeshka rolled her eyes, not in annoyance, but simply at the unpleasant memory. "The Elder there, Mayne, had some problem with lizards… or lizards had some problems with Highcliff, dunno. So we hop there, find them, talk them into peace, then hop back, and he doesn't actually like it. Doesn't trust them or something… to me, just scared. As if it could get any worse. I swear, Del stood there and looked like she's been spat on. And then… then she started hissing. Said that, surely, after all the trouble we would be glad to turn round, go back to lizards and simply slaughter them to the last egg, since it was so much more for the Elder's liking. Can even bring their severed heads so that he'd be able to stick them on pikes outside the town. Because, of course, it was much better than simply allowing lizards to have some part of the shore he never needed and wasn't even aware of until recently…" the tiefling stopped, staring quizzically at Shandra.

She was not the only one to stare, though. Because, still sitting in front of the unlit fire, Shandra was laughing.

"Oh gods, I wish I could have seen his face," she shook her head. "Damned shilly-shally coward… Knew about the burnt farms, watched ships sinking every day and simply sighed in regret on how unfortunate and poor we all were, never moved a finger. Even had the spine to ask me why on Faerun I am not moving to Highcliff. Like he could protect me, right."

"…Yeah," Neeshka grinned at the farmer, and Casavir saw that this time her grin was several degrees warmer. "He told us that you were a stubborn fool to stay on your farm."

"Me? Stubborn fool?" Shandra snorted. "Well, compared to him, I guess, yeah, I am. And glad to be, by the way."

"…So, anyway," Neeshka tuned back to Sand, "I really thought Del was going to punch Mayne or something. Think she barely held herself from it, actually. Maybe he saved himself when finally gave permission for our ship to set sail."

Sand nodded, looking nowhere nearly amused, and rubbed his nose almost violently, tips of his fingers even trailing a slow arch over his brow. "That is a truly delightful thing to learn about a person whom you are supposed to defend on trial and bring face to face with Torio Claven."

"Hey now," Khelgar growled, glaring at the elf. "'Tis not like ar lassie is a blastglobe or somethin'. She keeps herself together, always, 'tis jest… jest like… eh…"

"Like a spring!" Grobnar exclaimed.

"…The one with water," Sand clarified, "or what comes after winter?" Indeed, with the little fellow it could be anything.

"No-no, the spiral one, mechanical," the gnome explained. "When, you know, you wind it too hard, and do it clumsily, it – bang! – jumps back and hits you in the eye. Usually in the right one, though I don't know why."

No one answered at once, thinking over his comparison, perhaps, trying to figure what was wrong with it. Though Casavir soon found it to be more than right.

"Ya know," the dwarf grunted, jerking his head at Grobnar, "I officially claim that he's sane."

The gnome blinked, then said slowly: "Why, yes, I am."

Casavir felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips and looked over the rest of his companions. The storm had passed, it seemed, and he glanced at the gloomy forest, into its shadowy depths, wishing – hoping - she would come back the very moment. But the barely visible path between the trees stayed empty, and the paladin suppressed a sigh, turning back to their camp. He wanted to go, to follow, to find, to reassure, comfort, anything – but words had never been his forte.

Please, my Lord, see her through it, may she overcome even her darkest hour… Let that darkest hour never even come - but if it does, grant us strength to be at her side. She deserves that…

and much more.

Voices of others flowed around him, though he no longer listened, relieved and content that the tension eased, that he no longer felt the jarring of it in the air, and Casavir stepped towards his pack and weapon – but the sight stopped him.

Bishop. He still leaned against the tree at the side of the camp, but Adele's blade was no longer bedded in the trunk – the ranger had pulled it out, twirling lazily in his hands, glimpses of dim daylight reflecting from its thin sharp edges, flowing into one mesmerizing dance. But Bishop didn't follow it. Somewhere during conversation that he took no part in his gaze got fixed on the others, piercing, intent, considering… Just a split of a second, and that gaze flashed to Casavir, meeting his eyes, whatever was in his stare already camouflaged with familiar taunt – but that split of a second was enough to disturb the paladin. He had promised Duncan he would watch the ranger – but with Bishop it was hard to watch and not be watched in return.

A moment of regarding, and Bishop averted his eyes, at the same time pushing himself off the tree, and headed away, the rapier clasped in his one hand. Casavir would have let him go to whatever place he wished, preferably far and deep away – if he hadn't guessed the direction the scoundrel was going. After all, he had been looking the same way just a few minutes before.

"Stand back, Bishop," he growled, and the ranger stopped, glancing at him with exaggerated wonder. "She is to be alone."

The ranger snorted: "Trust me, paladin, I have no wish to keep company with a pissed off bitch for long," he turned the rapier over in his palm, easily, playfully. "Or you want the girl to wander Duskwood not only alone, but weaponless too?" Casavir cursed himself for even opening his mouth, having more than enough time to learn that his every word would be twisted, soiled and distorted, but it was too late. Bishop clicked his tongue in mock reproof: "Sometimes I just don't follow your holy logic."

And with that he dove into the shadows clouded between the trees, unnoticed and silent, any trace of him gone before Casavir had a possibility to stop him. The paladin felt his hand clenching desperately into fist.

"He wouldn't harm her," suddenly came Elanee's quiet voice from the side. The elf was still sitting in the grass, her face just as weary, but her eyes no less keen than the ranger's. When Casavir turned to her, she rested the back of her head on the log, nodding. "He knows well enough he won't get away with it if he does."

"…It is not her physical well-being I am worried about," Casavir muttered. The druidess raised her brows a bit. "I don't want him to meet her in her weakest. Don't want him to set her anguish in the pillory, like he always does."

Elanee smiled, a strange retrospective smile. "He won't get away with that either. Not from her."


Tsk... Neat.

...

Talk about 'overdone'.

...

And where the Hells are you going?

ANYWHERE!

With a vehement curse Adele tore off her hat and gave a sharp shake to her hair, dodging between the trees, until she reached a tiny clearing covered with grayish moss. Throwing the damned hat on the ground, she came up to the nearest tree and planted her boot fiercely into a thick root sticking out of the ground. It gave away with a dry creak, force of the kick ricocheting through her leg and pelvis, until reached the spine.

It felt good.

So good, that she kicked the root again, and again, until her foot went numb, relishing the sensation of the wood yielding to her vigor. In her mind, it was no tree-root, no… it was Torio Claven's scull, or the soldier of Port Llast, or Elgun, Garius, or Nevalle or, bloody Hells, even Alaine, so quickly and blindly succumbing to Luskan magical trick that presumed her guilt without a single second thought, or now-dead Zeeaire and her followers, deciding to set an ambush in that accursed village of all places…

...I will see you in death, Kalach-Cha. I do not think I will have to wait long…

The image, so frighteningly clear, came to the woman's mind, the image of her neck snapping in the noose under the weight of her body – and the next instant falling straight into the embrace of the awaiting gith. Adele could almost hear her own voice saying 'Well, it certainly hadn't taken long, indeed.'

She wasn't able to stop a breathless, nearly gasping chuckle that erupted from somewhere deep within her chest, worsening the ache there.

That's how people go insane… It all starts with cackling to themselves…

Alas, the thought was funny itself, and she snorted again, closing her eyes, placing both palms on the tree and leaning her forehead to it, hard enough to feel every crevice and jut of harsh bark cutting into her skin, hard enough to squeeze her anger back to whatever place it came from…

…The blade whined just by her ear, plunging deep into the tree, and even before Adele could recover from the start, the hateful voice from behind her drawled:

"That was rude back there, princess."

"I don't give a crap, ranger," she snarled, not turning to him.

"Something we have in common then, eh?"

"Get out of here."

"No way," he snickered.

"Get. The Hells. Out. I'm fed up with you till the end of my days."

"Oh, you can bear a bit more, I'm sure – considering that end is not far away by now."

Adele shut her eyes once more, stoically ignoring insuperable desire to wrench her weapon out of the tree, turn round and slash Bishop's throat open, since it was obviously the only sure method of silencing him. As always, she couldn't hear his footfalls, but some sixth sense screamed that he was coming closer.

"Why do you put up with those idiots?" he pondered aloud. "Guess I'll never know."

"To the Hells with your opinion. You can take it and shove. I don't need it. I don't need a blasted thing from you!"

"I know. That's probably why you get on my nerves a little less than your uncle."

"And to the Hells with my uncle, too!"

Another cold chuckle: "For once, wholeheartedly agree."

Her fingers curled into claws, nails raking the bark of the tree, but she held herself in place, steadying her voice before speaking again. "Please, Bishop. Not now. I meant it when I said I need to be alone."

"What's wrong, Your Highness? Does the ugly evil smuggler upset you that much?"

"He surely does," she hissed slowly.

"Don't worry, I won't take offence. I understand. Luskan, and the murders, and this forest, and everyone around are morons, and you have your periods…"

"…Wh…?" her eyes snapped opened, as she spun around on her heels, and nearly crashed into him standing right up against her. The ranger wasn't that much taller than her, but somehow managed to look down at the woman. Smirking. "…How…?"

"Please," he drawled condescendingly. "Don't think it isn't obvious in a wench."

"…You…" her eyes narrowed to slits, all the pent up fury bursting through the carefully constructed dam. "Don't know what kind of shithole you crawled out, you filthy son of bitch, but if you think you've found yourself an amusement…" she took a firm step on him, but he didn't move away, his smirk never leaving his face, only becoming more and more apparent with her every word, "…then you'd better reconsider, meddlesome swine, - or you'll soon have no face to look smug."

"Oh, come now," he murmured, "don't keep yourself back."

Her left hand swished through the air, aiming at his cheek, but he was able to intercept it, gripping her wrist. Adele let out a stifled snarl, but, not willing to give up, tried to backhand him with her right one. The ranger caught it, too, easily twisting both her arms around her, pressing them behind her back, so that she was crashed against his chest. Immediately, her foot lashed out, aiming at the weak spot right under his knee, but the moment her sole left the ground, Bishop's boot hooked her other leg, sweeping her off the ground, and with a furious hiss she collapsed into his embrace fully, nearly wrenching her shoulder-joints in his grasp. Keeping her hands clasped to the small of her back, Bishop lifted her into the air, depriving of any secure foothold and, therefore, of a possibility to draw her leg back enough for another kick. Gnashing her teeth, she strained at his grip, trying to wriggle herself free, but it was as useless as fighting clutches of steel vice. Snide smirk was still curving his lips, laughing sparks danced in his eyes, and, enraged by her own feebleness, Adele spat at him. Tried to spit, actually, for her mouth was too dry from anger and curses. Wincing a bit, but still smirking, the ranger gathered both of her wrists with one hand, while the other made its way to the back of her neck, fingers entangling into her hair, and he forced her head towards him, covering her lips with his.

It wasn't a kiss - just a way of keeping her mouth closed, and the woman, robbed of any means to harm him, was left with nothing else to do but to sink her teeth into his lower lip. Bishop uttered a short grunt of surprise and pain, but didn't loosen his grip, making it even tighter, strong enough that she nearly heard her bones grinding. She struggled again, the skin of her wrists burning in his hold, palms growing numb as his grasp seemed to stop the flow of blood in her veins. Already foreseeing her own defeat, she still tried to jerk at least her face away, but it only led to his fingers grabbing her hair more roughly, his mouth pressing harder on hers. Her head spun, mind reeled from rage mingling with helplessness, from the taste of his blood in her mouth, from the stung of his stubble on her skin, from the frustrating strength of his clutches, from the unfeasible want of hurting him, want of making him suffer, want of him destroyed, want of him

…And the next thing she knew she was kissing him, not capable to tell whether she was doing it by herself or in return, but kissing, simply unable not to. Some distant part of her brain registered that her feet were already on the ground, that his arms were no longer grabbing her, but holding, that her arms were wrapped around him, fingers grazing his shoulders, his neck, plunging into the leather of his armour, rough fabric of his cloak, his own flesh; her lips drawing his mercilessly, teeth grinding against teeth… It felt much better than kicking the meek tree, so much better, and she threw all her anger, her fear, everything that boiled inside of her into one single ravaging kiss, scourging the inside of his mouth with her tongue – and it was leaving, bleeding out of her, dissolving in the cool misty gloom of Duskwood…

Finally, Adele broke free, pushing the ranger away, gasping for air, and shrank back in advance, her body tense in anticipation of his possible move. But he didn't shift from the spot, so she relaxed, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth and spitting his blood to the ground. She didn't look at him, not sure if she could handle his gaze, but out of the corner of her eye saw him passing his fingers over his chin and staring at the red smears covering them. He flinched, his voice barely managing to pierce through the hammering of her pulse:

"Damn, that hurts."

The woman chuckled, echoes of rage still colouring her tone, her head light and disturbingly empty:

"Your fault. I said that no one is to follow me."

"I heard," he answered indifferently, picking a tiny vial of healing potion from his belt. After opening it, he pressed his thumb to its neck and dropped the vessel upside-down, allowing the liquid to wet his finger, then placed it to the bite. "But you surely needed to let some steam out."

"…?" she did look at him this time, incredulously, unwilling to believe what she had presumed. "You mean you came to… calm me down?"

Bishop shrugged, slipped the potion back into his belt-pouch and put his thumb away from his lower lip, briefly examining drops of blood on it. The tiny gash had sealed, leaving a faint scar-like mark, which he obviously wasn't concerned to heal further. "Someone had to. Thought about kicking out the druidess, but she would've started appeasing you, stroking your hair, maybe picked you some flowers… when all you really needed was a good-old yell."

"So you…?" Adele waved her hand, not really sure what exactly she wanted to say with the gesture.

He rolled his eyes: "I've had enough of the redhead bitch already, princess. And the last thing I want in Duskwood is another hysteric wench, that'll blow up on her way from suppressed aggression."

She wanted to answer, at least something, but couldn't come up with any suitable words, any adequate phrase to voice her gratitude – not to mention that she wasn't even positive she was grateful at all – so she simply threw her hands in the air: "Why…? Just… why…?"

"Because I don't want to end up dead over your bunch."

"That's not what I meant! Why are you always doing even the right things in such a manner, that I want to strangle you, tear you apart and… I don't know… devour you!"

Bishop snorted: "You can try. Just keep in mind that I once met a she-bear with exactly the same intentions. I killed her," he let his gaze travel down the length of her body, familiar ribald look entering his eyes. "But if you insist…"

"Oh, go to Hells," she turned away, only now feeling how weak her legs had become, and came up to the tree, pulling her rapier out of the trunk.

He chuckled behind her back: "It breaks my heart to hear something like that from a woman who nearly sucked my stomach out through my throat a minute before."

She closed her eyes: "I was angry."

The ranger didn't respond, and Adele, still not facing him, sheathed her weapon, slowly, so that the blade didn't slip in her trembling hands.

"So you are saying," his whisper suddenly came right into her ear, and her knees nearly gave away under her, "that you only do it when you are angry, hmm? It's worth knowing."

Adele licked her lips, still pricking from the previous escapade, and stared straight ahead, into the tree, feeling his breath swamping her skin with heat. It was pointless arguing with him, anyway. Any confrontation only led him to applying more pressure. In physical sense as well as in mental, so she discovered. No, this needed a different approach…

Sweeping all her strength and willpower into one fist, she tuned abruptly towards him, grabbing the upper buckle on the front of his leathers, jerking him towards her, and captured his lips with her own again. His mouth stayed shut tightly against the kiss – not like she cared - and Adele idly trailed her tongue over the bite, licking away the leftovers of his blood, before pulled away slowly, daring him to say or do something. He didn't, not willing to fall for the bait, but not backing off from it either. Narrowed amber eyes followed her every move, every change in her face, cold, calculating, and she smiled, tracing the edge of his buckle with her fingers.

"I do it when I want to," she purred softly. "Only when I want to. So… even though you are as charming as a man can be, nothing will happen unless I suddenly decide so. After all," she stroke the clasp that held his cloak, then the fabric itself, smoothing the creases, and lifted her eyes to his, arching her brow, "…two can play the game, huh?"

"…You do understand you are asking for troubles?" he murmured at last.

"You do understand you'll get them back?" she returned in the same tone.

Crooked smirk snaked back to his lips, as amusement won the battle against irritation. Or seemingly so. "Never said I didn't like my share of troubles."

She allowed herself an indulgent mother-like smile: "That's a good boy."

His smirk hardened, its cutting edge appearing almost severely sharp, the scales once again wavering towards annoyance. "Careful, princess. You are pretty – but not that pretty."

"Lucky me, then," she grinned, patting his chest lightly, and stepped back, suddenly all too aware of how her body loathed to distance itself from the ranger.

Stay put, you stupid meat, - she ordered mentally.

Ignoring her hormones whimpering in protest, she passed Bishop by, leaving him standing on the clearing, and strode away without another word – but allowed herself a small mute jeer, giving her hips a showy mocking sway on the first step. Quiet rustle of a chuckle from behind her back was a confirmation that it didn't go unnoticed.

Right, laugh while you can, you dirty damned bastard, - she thought with some kind of grim satisfaction. – You'll be scrabbling on all four before you even notice. Since you want to be a scum, I'll deal with you like one. And no offence later.

But even with those conclusions, she couldn't resist the temptation and sucked in her swollen lower lip, biting it lightly to savour the tingle still lingering on it. And much to her surprise realized that during her whole clash with the ranger not a shade of thoughts of Luskan or the trial entered her mind…

…Coming up to the camp still veiled in the shroud of smell that drove away the animals, she tarried, running her hand over her hair to sleek it – and screwed her eyes tight in unspoken curse when she didn't find the hat on her head. Why would she, since it had been left lying on the ground.

Oh, good, Delly. For a circumspect schemer you surely have sieve of a memory.

Hells with it. I never liked it anyway.

The fire was already lit, Shandra fussing around it, somehow managing to stew strips of dried meat into something juicy and terrifically smelling. Khelgar and Neeshka, sitting close to each other, both met Adele with identical jokingly hurt and guilty looks of two children smacked by their mother. Elanee, curled near the tree, gave her an inquiring gaze, but seeing that the woman had already calmed was probably enough for her, without any words. Sand chose to submerge back into his records, which earned him rare disdainful glances of Qara – but the girl herself had obviously settled down, and Duskwood was spared from the fate of being burnt down. Grobnar climbed on the huge log, fidgeting in his place, and dangled his legs, but somehow nervously. Casavir took place beside him, but, as Adele went up to them, rose to his feet, his face collected.

"I think I shall speak on behalf of us all when I say we are sorry for…" he didn't finish, seeing a grin breaking on Adele's lips, and frowned slightly.

"Casavir," she chuckled, "you actually realize you are apologizing to a girl who had thrown a toddler's tantrum and run off to kick a tree? Come on, drop it."

The paladin cleared his throat. "I see," he muttered, then inclined his head, giving her the faintest of smiles. "Very well then, I apologize for apologizing."

"I accept," she nodded with the same court-like air, but another grin ruined it. "But for all of you to know - I'm not taking a word back," she looked at Shandra, who froze in the middle of handing the woman a plate. Smiling at her, Adele took her helping of meat and sat between Sand and feet of Grobnar, which weren't touching the ground. "So, whose grand idea it was to send Bishop after me?"

Several glances moved around, just now becoming aware that the ranger wasn't even there. Only Casavir, his stare growing grim, and both elves didn't move.

"Uh… Bishop's?" Neeshka finally offered, then smiled broadly in feigned sadistic glee. "You killed him?"

"No," Adele smirked, switching to her food. "Don't want to get out of this wood on my own."

Hooking a piece of tough meat, she made a path with it in the gravy. Silence was again reigned over the camp, but without lifting her head Adele could feel her companions looking at each other while passing around their own plates, mutely arguing about who was to strike up a conversation. Grobnar began dangling his legs even more fervently. Most likely, any silence oppressed him in itself.

"Have you noticed that the air here actually shimmers?" he launched out at last, making others stare at him, and answered with a wide smile. "No, really! If you take time to look intently into one spot, tiny white spangles appear in your eyes! Fascinating, isn't it? And if you cast your eyes to the side quickly enough, those spangles begin to spin. I've done it many times already, you should try."

"What for? To fall off the log like you did?" Qara snorted.

"Well, no, falling off wasn't my initial goal, but every experience is still an experience!"

"…Actually, you're right, there are spangles," Neeshka observed, looking into space.

"I'm right? Again?" Grobnar grinned. "My, what a successful day for me. I was worried it is one of those times I'm talking rubbish again."

"The gnome's talking rubbish again?" Bishop spoke up, stepping out of shadows, on his way dropping the all too familiar hat on Adele's knees. The woman cringed at the mere sight of it, wondering if that reaction was the main reason for Bishop to bring it.

"Why, no, sir Bishop. I appeared to be right this time. Even sort of… refreshing, really. And striking, too! If this is not a proof enough for the Wendersnaven's existence, then I don't have an idea what is."

"…Indeed," Sand muttered, glancing up at him shortly from his journal.

"I don't even know what this Wender-thing is," Adele sighed.

"It's Wendersnaven, miss Adele," the gnome corrected her genially. "And don't feel bad about not knowing. It is impossible to actually know the Wendersnaven – since by their nature they are unknowable!"

By then even Shandra tore her attention off the pot on the fire, looking at Grobnar in utter confusion, and Grobnar regarded all of them in turn, clearly surprised that they didn't get his meaning.

"Well…" he climbed on the log fully, even jumped a bit, trying to find suitable words. "You see, they… they see everything, know everything and exist everywhere and nowhere at once! It's truly quite amazing, isn't it?"

"And as fascinating as a rotten log," Bishop added, settling himself at the edge of the camp, where Adele didn't see him. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

Grobnar blinked: "I… I can't really tell whether this simile is appropriate. In what way exactly does a rotten log fascinate you, sir Bishop? To some extend I have to admit that, yes, rotten logs can be fascinating, but…"

"By all the gods," Sand drawled quietly, his eyes glued to the expatiating gnome. "This is the most striking example of an infested and at the same time rarefied mind I have come across."

Adele shrugged, "But he's always ready to break an awkward pause."

"…True," the elf smiled. "Quite a cognitive journey it turns out to be. At this rate I might soon want to thank Nevalle for it."

"—and the size of the Wendersnaven is also a great source of speculation," Grobnar went on, for unfathomable reason picking out Shandra as his main audience. The blonde woman looked back at him, seeming uncertain if she should smile or run for her life. "Whether they are mighty invisible giants several hundred Khelgars high-"

The dwarf bended forward in his seat threateningly: "What did I tell ya 'bout usin' me as a unit of measurement?"

Grobnar gave a confused choke: "…several hundred Neeshkas high, stretching up to the clouds…"

The tiefling grinned, tilting her head: "Hey, that's actually kind of a nice image. Thanks, Grobnar."

The gnome broke into a grin himself: "Oh, my pleasure, miss Neeshka!" he stared back at Shandra. "So, several hundred Neeshkas, tail to tail, stretch to the clouds and… uhm… what are they doing it for? What was I about? …Ah, yes, the Wendersnaven! There is also another opinion, that they are so small they cannot be even seen with a naked eye. In any case it is impossible to spot them! Do you understand?"

"…Is he adressing me?" Shandra asked Qara in a whisper.

The sorceress shook her head: "Gods know," she raised her voice. "What you've said is total nonsense!"

"No, it's amazing!" Grobnar waved his hands. "Amazing! It's very easy to get nonsense and amazing confused, I found, but this is precisely the case of amazing. Isn't it? Really, isn't it?"

"I'll toss him in a well," Bishop promised.

"…And the meat got burnt," Shandra pointed, stirring the stew.

Adele grinned.


He watched her.

From his vantage point he could see her perfectly. Watched how she smiled, snickered, even laughed at the runt's ravings. Watched how easily she slipped back into her place among her gang – almost as easily as he did. Just dropping a couple of half-thought comments to make them mark that their damned ranger was there – and lose interest in him. So effortlessly handled fools.

But up to this moment he didn't realize she was doing the same. A joke, a smirk, a nod – and she fell behind, her sharp tongue sheathed, her words reduced to a remark here and there, mostly allowing them to speak, shout, discuss and rub shoulders with each other. Her pale face was calm and placid again. Almost as if it was some other woman that snarled, clawed and struggled in his arms less than an hour ago, held like a snake that would bite the moment you let go of her throat…

Bishop ran his tongue over the inner side of his lip, finding a faint mark from her teeth there, and smirked. The idiot gnome was wrong. She was no spring, hitting back when forced to. She struck first. So soft and gentle when everything went her way – and nothing but freezing flogging rage when she felt she was loosing it. Not a spring, no.

A whip.

A whip that felt hellishly good when lashing into him, her scrawny frame fitting so flawlessly into his grasp, her angry kiss as devastating as her fury… and just as burning.

Well now, Duncan, who could have thought your precious niece to be such a treat?

And so he watched, to some degree even enjoying the little play of the two-faced bitch. Watched as she listened to the gnome, watched as she bent her head slightly towards the wizard, commenting something – and leaving the elf smiling. She had always done that. Lowering her voice when talking to somebody, insensibly nudging them away one by one, appeasing and conversing each one individually, separately… Like a chameleon she blended with her surroundings, mirrored the one she wanted to hook, taking up needed face, picking up needed words…

So understanding, so attentive, so considerate…

Divide and conquer.

In his mind, Bishop sneered.

Oh, he could play that game alright…