Chapter Eight: Set the World Ablaze
A/N: So…this is where it starts getting serious. After the first bit, anyway. ;)
Has anyone else noticed how huge the cast has gotten?
And does anyone really read these things?
Riyaz was less than surprised to find that there were elves in the High Forest—that was practically what it was for. Still, they were supposed to be prisoners, and if there was one role Riyaz had never had any trouble playing, it was "helpless prisoner."
The wood elves had tried to take Riyaz's scythe from him, but it had vanished from the lead elf's hand as soon as it left the druid's grip. There had been quite a bit of muttering about that, but nothing could be done—the elves seemed to understand that they would never find the weapon without a wizard or sorcerer in their group. Riyaz merely shrugged in response to the later query about where Blade had disappeared to, even after the male with black hair broke one of his fingers.
He wasn't going to be the one to betray his best friend. And broken fingers were nothing compared to what he'd faced before. The elf didn't know who he was dealing with.
Oceanus had managed to fool them into thinking they'd managed to disarm him completely—after pulling seven daggers off him, it was a reasonable conclusion to make. Riyaz, however, knew that the other divine spellcaster carried twelve total, not counting whatever else he could find and strap to a belt. It always amazed Riyaz that Oceanus didn't clank when he walked.
As for Altaïr, they'd managed to strip him of his sword, dagger, and the knife belt (that didn't have any knives in it), but had probably forgotten something. Assassins, as far as Riyaz could remember, usually could kill almost as well with their bare hands, and Altaïr had the build for it. Riyaz had heard of dozens of elves, previously sure in their own strength, die once forced into extremely close range. He'd only seen a drow killed that way, after making the mistake of assuming that "weaponless" meant "helpless" while her opponent was a fighting monk.
The audibly broken spine ensured that no one in the area would make that mistake twice.
At a loss as to what else to do, the band of elves had simply decided to bind the lot of them and, as far as Riyaz could tell, hope for the best. They'd gagged Oceanus, though—apparently, the little priest was quite adept at cursing in their language, too.
From what he could understand from the elves' mindless chatter, they were supposed to be bringing the three of them (and Ash) to some kind of fey—given the environment, Riyaz guessed that the creature in question was either a dryad or a nymph.
Or possibly a pixie or sprite of some sort, but he doubted that even elves had much of a tolerance for the antics of such creatures.
Oceanus grumbled something furious—was he biting his gag? Riyaz was fairly sure the moss they'd used to shut him up was actually poisonous if swallowed, but it didn't seem like there was going to be any time to warn him.
The three of them were shoved into a clearing, though Oceanus fell on his face and Riyaz pointedly folded his legs under himself and sat down, rather than be forced to move any further. Altaïr stumbled a bit, and Riyaz thought he saw the start of a vicious kicking reflex that would have crippled the nearest elf and sickened the others, but the assassin managed to control himself. None of them were particularly interested in being shot full of holes.
The clearing itself was actually rather idyllic. There were full-grown, healthy old-growth trees around the edge of a clear pond. The entire area was sheltered by the ruins of an ancient, crumbling stone wall that had nonetheless done its duty. The very air seemed to hum with peace and magic, like many places in the elven heartlands.
Riyaz, who was getting a tension headache from all that senseless background buzzing, wondered if it would really be so much to ask that the elves tone down their magic use for five years or so. That kind of strain on a caster's sixth sense was dangerous.
Oceanus, more-or-less upright again despite still being tied up, gave him a sharp look. He was still chewing on the gag.
So, you can feel it, too? Riyaz thought.
Riyaz glanced around. The elves who had been prodding them along the forest path had backed away, and he could see them kneeling from the tree line. What were they doing, really? Elves didn't even bow to their own kings and queens if they could avoid it, so why…?
Riyaz looked back at the pond. The surface seemed to shift between placid and sparking in the sunlight, and twisting like milk in a cauldron. Riyaz blinked rapidly, making the image shift back and forth a dozen times over before breaking—illusions had never been effective against him for very long, and it seemed like this one was coming apart. It was all a matter of pulling at the threads and unraveling the lie…
…It would be just our luck. We managed to find the one place in the entire High Forest where the elves are being enchanted by a monster.
And, for a monster that had enthralled an entire scouting party's worth of elves, Riyaz found himself feeling rather underwhelmed. Ash seemed to growl in agreement.
It was a hag. Or rather, she was a hag. Purple skin, stretched tight over her bones, was marked with heavy runic symbols that Riyaz had never learned to read. Her face was narrow and sharp, with a nose like a beak and a mouth full of yellowed, sharp teeth. The hag's hair was tangled and knotted tightly enough that the ornaments stayed in without help. Her hands and feet seemed almost too large for her, every digit ending in a claw.
Riyaz was fairly certain that he had coughed up scarier things while in dragon form. But while she certainly failed to intimidate him, he would have thought that someone would have said something by now. And besides that, what is a night hag doing in the High Forest to begin with?
And the elves were still bowing.
"You are as beautiful as ever, my lady." said the leader, in Elvish. He apparently hadn't taken into account that, as a matter of survival, most druids tended to speak it. Riyaz was no exception. "We have captured the intruders, as you asked. Please, render your judgment upon these defilers of your grove."
It still made no sense. The actual content of the speech was just the icing on the cake. What.
Oceanus and Altaïr were staring at the hag, surprised but not disgusted or showing any other emotion usually associated with seeing a hag for the first time. He glanced at the wood elves again. They weren't recoiling or attacking, either. So there was obviously an illusion at work, but Riyaz couldn't see it.
"What do you see, assassin?" Riyaz asked Altaïr, digging through long-ignored parts of his mind to find the right words in Calishite.
Altaïr gave him a sharp look, but he stopped himself from asking anything. "A woman…but she looks more like an elf than a human…"
Nymph. But nymphs have their own abilities. Most of them happen to include doing horrible things to trespassers. "Look again."
"I…" There was a pause. Then the assassin's expression changed to one of disgust and horror. "What kind of creature is that?"
He was about to explain the basics of hags to Altaïr, probably as quickly as possible, but she brought one hand down on the shore and made the earth quake under them both. Then she reached out and, before anyone could react, had grabbed Oceanus's ankle and pulled him underwater. Ash sprang to his feet and yowled in rage—as if by magic, the ropes binding his mouth began to rip and tear. He was probably going to end up in the water in short order.
Riyaz didn't bother looking at the elves, who had probably either fled or were otherwise being useless. Instead, while everyone was gaping, he started on his first trick.
Onetwothreefour—SPIKE! A series of stone spines exploded out of the ground all around them, and Riyaz brought his bound wrists down over the nearest one. The rope shredded. Nearby, the assassin's wrist blade finally popped free and sliced through his bonds, and Ash had turned on the elves with fangs bared.
Then, just as they were about to leap to Oceanus's rescue or possibly revenge, the pond started to bubble. Riyaz skidded to a stop from his half-charge and grabbed Altaïr's right wrist to keep him from getting any closer.
The water's surface exploded, launching the pond's entire population of water-going life into the air. A gout of steam made seeing anything utterly impossible, and he had to shield his eyes to make sure the water wasn't going to hurt him as well. Damn him, fighting like this… Riyaz heard the assassin sputter after being hit in the head by a falling frog, but that was soon forgotten when both the priest and the hag became visible through the steam.
The priest was standing, barely, absolutely drenched in filthy pond water. He was panting for breath and needed Riyaz's help to climb out of the dry lakebed, but he was alive enough to mutter oaths about late reinforcements and human-shaped monsters. The hag was not. It looked like she had died in agony, and the smell drifting around the clearing was too horrible to describe.
Altaïr stared. He'd probably never seen a boiled corpse before.
Riyaz had. Rather than focusing on that, he said to Oceanus, "How could you be so stupid as to use lightning underwater?"
Oceanus spat out little scraps of black—the scorched and dried remains of the moss he'd been gagged with—and, after wiping his mouth off on his sleeve, said flatly, "What did you want me to do, try using fire?" He shook himself, sending tiny drops of water flying everywhere. "I just casted the first spell that came to mind. Not like I had time for much more than that…"
Riyaz wondered what he was supposed to do. One of the others—most likely Keras or Tirana, actually— might have decked Oceanus for being cheeky at the exact wrong moment, but Riyaz was never sure how to go about it without offending someone. Being violent toward a friend was something he had never thought he would have to even think about unless teleportation was involved. "I suppose…"
"When this is over," Altaïr bit out, drawing both of the casters' attention toward him, "I expect an explanation, priest."
Ash started growling again. Everyone turned to face the small band of elves, looking right down the shafts of several arrows. None of them appeared to be happy about the recent development—and, after looking around a little more, Riyaz could see why.
The entire clearing was a battleground—between the spell-damage from Oceanus's blast and the leftover residue from the hag's own magic, the pond and everything in a ten foot radius from it looked burned, blackened, and blasted. Huge chunks of the stone at the bottom had been blow or carved out and left massive craters in what was left. Dead and dying plants and animals were all around. On top of everything else, carved into the collapsed chunk of masonry, just above the scorch line of Oceanus's spell, was the symbol of Corellon Larethian, the elven high god.
As Riyaz resisted the urge to groan, Oceanus narrowed his eyes at the band of elves, who didn't yet seem to understand that they were utterly outclassed. "And as for them…"
Almost too fast to see, Oceanus and Riyaz both reached into their outer pockets. For safety's sake, adventuring mages needed to always be prepared for any eventuality. Both of them had fragments of turtle shells in their pockets; the sole component, besides knowledge, for casting a spell to deflect arrows. Two castings, one reappearing dire weasel, and one charging assassin later, the battle was on.
The first arrow bounced off of Ash's fur and was imbedded in a tree a moment later, just before all six hundred pounds of white canine landed on top of the party leader.
The second caught Blade in the shoulder, but the dire weasel was already so frenzied that all it did was slow him down. As the elf scrambled out of the way, Blade's vicious teeth caught the elf's bow hand. The hand and the bow didn't last long in jaws designed to tear apart cattle.
The third bounced off of empty air in front of Altaïr's nose, but the assassin reached his target with time to spare. A swift punch to the face cut short any attempts to nock another arrow, and, since he apparently wasn't quite sure if they were supposed to be killing the elves or not, Altaïr brought one heavy boot down on the elf's knee and heard a crunch. Then there was a lot of screaming.
Oceanus was a little more sadistic about it. All of the daggers the elves had taken off him, which the fifth elf was carrying, proceeded to explode out of packs and scabbards and sheathes like little silver comets. The priest held up his hands, which were glowing faintly blue, and the weapons spun around him in a circular orbit for a perhaps half a moment. Then, as Oceanus brought his hands down, the knives reversed direction in midair and then there was even more screaming.
Riyaz's scythe rematerialized in his hands. The familiar weight of the wooden weapon felt perfect in his hands, and a one-handed swing activated the polearm's magic. The scythe blade seemed to melt and reform from breath to breath, until it settled into the shape of a plain staff. Riyaz swung and cracked the nearest elf over the head.
The rest of the fight devolved into a melee.
Riyaz tapped into his druid powers, wild-shaping into a massive brown bear. He immediately threw himself at the nearest elf and smashed him into a tree with his huge paws. He wouldn't be getting up after that. One of the others tried to kill him the same way he would a normal bear—by shooting at his throat—and the arrow bounced away harmlessly. Druids were so in tune with their forms that they could cast powerful defensive spells even when in the form of an animal.
Oceanus actually jumped back to get out of the druid's way, hoping to stay out of melee range. The assassin was also forced to break off from his opponent when Riyaz barreled through and flattened him under a thousand pounds of angry bear. Ash and Blade protected the druid's flanks from any close-range fighters he couldn't deal with immediately.
"This is madness." Altaïr said as Riyaz batted an elf's head off. He almost winced.
Oceanus's voice was muffled—he was covering his mouth and looking ill. "That is a druid."
It all blended together in blood and screams.
When Riyaz finally returned to human form, all of the elves were either critically wounded or already dead, and Oceanus was healing Ash's foreleg. None of them said anything about the carnage.
They took off running.
So, a drow and a human walk into a bar.
It was like the beginning of a joke.
It wasn't.
"Hm…" said the drow. She wasn't tall, even for a member of her race, but she had a female's stocky build, jet-black skin, yellow eyes that glowed red, and white hair, which made it impossible to identify her as anything other than one of those vicious dark elves. "Which one of you used to be on Captain Zahara's crew?"
The crowd—which was composed of hardened Skullport criminals, pirates, brigands, and ruffians of all types—flinched at the sound of that name. One of the drunks at the front gave the drow female a silly smile. The drow smiled back, and the only way it might have been more terrifying was if it had been carved into her face.
Skullport was, roughly speaking, the sort of place that even most creatures of the Underdark would rather not be found. Between the seven demiliches who ruled it as the floating skulls that gave the underground berth its name, the mind flayers, the drow, and the various other creatures of the dark, it was a singularly unpleasant place to be. The vast majority of the people were scoundrels, thieves, and murderers, or possibly slaves brought to auction off to whoever cared to keep them, but even they knew fear.
One of the reasons for their fear was smiling down—despite being shorter than everyone except for the kobold and goblin slaves—at them unpleasantly.
"I expect an answer, you know," the drow said, quite sweetly. The entire room cringed. "I come back into town after thirty years of good business and this is the thanks I get?"
"Well, I suppose even the scum of the Underdark have a limit when it comes to bloodshed," said her human companion, and all eyes finally focused on him. When a drow was in the building, particularly one with a reputation like hers, it wasn't safe to take one's eyes off it. But if a drow came into the building with a friend like him…
He was over a foot taller than she was, which was common for humans from the northlands. His eyes, though, were a brilliant crimson with cat-slit pupils. His hair was a dark red, almost auburn, and his skin was deeply bronzed. That wasn't what worried everyone, though. Their fear came from a long series of marks—jet-black stripes with green edges that glowed faintly even in such complete darkness—that ran from his left eye and down his neck before reappearing along his wrists.
Dragon-born symbols were common among some sects on the surface, but in the Underdark, they were few. Still, the more educated ones recognized it. Shadow dragon symbols were common enough, particularly during the short time that Shimmergloom had ruled Mithral Hall. Tarterian dragon ones were not.
And then there was the slight problem that, while his drow companion barely appeared in infravision, he blazed with heat.
"Dear Raaze, it seems our old friends have forgotten us!" said the drow, batting her eyes at him.
"How terrible, my sweet Rime." Raaze said, looking flippant but sounding annoyed. The denizens of the tavern tried to look inconspicuous, even the few drow patrons. "I wonder if we will need to fix that…"
"Well, I will ask one more time," said Rime in a terribly cheerful voice. "I know that one of you has worked for her before!"
Just then, someone stupid walked in. It probably wasn't a charitable thing to think of a half-demon, half-orc in a lousy mood, but there was nothing else they could think.
"Get out of the way already!" he snarled at the smaller pair of beings, who looked back at him curiously. "No one needs dumb bastards like you to block the damned doors!"
The pair exchanged looks.
"Did he really say that?" Rime asked, as though confused.
"Did he really call us that?" Raaze asked back, rather than answering.
"Move!" the half-demon finally shouted, having lost all patience. He went to shove the human, but was quite surprised to find that his huge, clawed hands had been replaced by bleeding stumps. The pain took a moment to register.
"Quite interesting." Raaze said, sheathing a sword no one had seen drawn in the first place. A moment later, the formerly confident thug was on the floor with his feet sailing through the air without him. "It seems that half-demons scream just as well as anyone. I propose further experimentation."
"Oh, what a wonderful idea!" Rime purred, "But we still need information, dear Raaze."
"What in the Nine Hells did you do to him?" said someone from inside the tavern.
"Him?" As one, the pair turned to regard the pair of scrags—sea-trolls—that had spoken with identical looks of innocent curiosity on their faces. Everyone in the tavern cringed.
"Oh, that was just fun." Rime said dismissively over the sound of the half-demon wailing in pain. "He should regrow his limbs eventually."
"Or is it trolls that regenerate?" Raaze remarked. "Should we test it?"
Rime's ever-present grin widened. "I do believe so! Maybe someone in here will tell us what they know if we use thumbscrews!"
One of the realities of the Underdark was this: once a murderer in Skullport had decided you were his next target, there was no convincing him or her otherwise. The only option was to fight back and hope you won. Raaze and Rime were both notorious in Skullport for one reason and one reason alone—their rampages. Anything could set either of them off, and if one was annoyed, the other usually followed suit.
And each of them was more dangerous than any band of drow or squad of duergar, and they both knew it.
It was Skullport. Everyone was a monster. None of them were redeemable. And yet, no one in the tavern had actually done anything to anger Raaze and Rime in particular, except maybe existing. They were just targets. And despite being evil in every sense of the word, not one of them wanted to end up as a little black mark at the center of the blasted craters the pair tended to leave behind.
Maybe the demiliches would punish the pair later for their acts today. But it wouldn't be fast enough.
The kobold slave named Pataki, who had seen this pair once before and knew the danger signs better than anyone else in the building, scrambled over the nearest table and jumped out the window.
Rime threw herself at the pair of trolls in the back of the tavern with a shriek of glee.
Trolls usually died quickly or not at all—their regenerative abilities made them difficult or impossible to defeat except by those who were prepared to deal with their powers—but it seemed like Rime had foreseen that. She spat in the first one's face, and where her spittle struck him his flesh began to sizzle.
"Acid!" shrieked someone in the rear, and Raaze tossed a fireball in his direction.
Soon the entire tavern was engulfed in flame and fighting, as those inside fought desperately to escape.
Rime laughed.
As they made their way through the High Forest, eventually the trees began to clear out and the going became much easier. There were no more ancient oaks to grow roots over what might have been a road in another lifetime, so they had to take fewer detours. But as they walked, the Assassin began to notice that Oceanus and Riyaz and their respective animal companions were silent more often than not.
That…that wasn't how it was supposed to be. He'd never admit it aloud, but Altaïr had gotten used to the constant stream of chatter over the last week or two, and the idea of Oceanus, of all people, actually being quiet was a disturbing one.
Still, it didn't seem to be a problem that could be addressed easily. So he waited until night fell.
Rather than curling around them like a massive earthen wall, Riyaz remained in his human form, borrowed a bedroll from Oceanus, and immediately flopped over on the ground. Well, that certainly made sorting out who took which watch easier. Ash and Blade made a point to sleep on opposite sides of the fire Altaïr had started, each staring the other in the face.
Oceanus sat down against one of the few trees in the area, staring up at the stars. He didn't bother getting his second blanket out—apparently, the priest wanted the first watch. He and the Assassin sat in awkward silence for a while, neither willing to speak first and disturb the other.
Altaïr hated it.
So he heard himself say, "I never asked...how is it that you two know each other?"
Oceanus glanced over at him—as usual, Riyaz took point and Blade was the rear guard—and shrugged. "Took you long enough to ask."
And once again, he was being brushed off. This time, however, Altaïr knew what to expect. If Oceanus wasn't yelling, he hadn't hit a truly sore issue for the priest. Not yet.
"You were unconscious," was the Assassin's retort.
"So I was." Oceanus conceded. It struck the Assassin as strange that the priest was so calm when he was sure he could have string a lute with his own nerves. "What do you want to know?"
Altaïr went for the kill. "How did you and Riyaz meet?"
"He tried to kill me." The answer wasn't one he had expected. And yet Oceanus was so damnably calm… The priest shrugged again, as though attempted murder was an everyday occurrence.
Then again, it might have been. Altaïr was starting to realize just how little he knew about the world he was in.
"We were defending a noble. Back then, I was traveling with Keras and Alena, and we were young and stupid enough to think we could do anything. Bodyguard duty—we needed the money." Oceanus's expression was unreadable in the dark, but Altaïr could hear the snort of disdain from where he sat. "The first night there, everyone in the castle was slaughtered. We woke up to screaming, but we were too late to save anyone, even the servants. Some of them were younger than I was!"
Altaïr stayed silent.
"We ran into the noble's bedchambers just as the murderer was cutting his head off. I was slower—I got a look at his face under the hood." Oceanus shifted as though he was uncomfortable. "Of course we attacked—we were stupid and young and angry. He smashed Keras through the bed and the scythe nearly cut Alena in half. I was just thrown into the wall."
"Sounds unpleasant," the Assassin said mildly, but his mind was working quickly. Riyaz…he'd once had the power to slaughter an entire castle. He'd probably killed more than fifty people in one night. Without anyone noticing. No wonder he had said that he and Altaïr were similar…
"I broke three ribs." Oceanus said, his voice dull. "And when I looked up, he was standing over me."
Altaïr tried to remember a time—any time—where he had been completely at someone's mercy when he knew they meant to kill him. He couldn't.
"It might be easier to show you, actually…" Oceanus glanced at him. "Do you mind if I create an illusion for us? Ash can keep watch in our place."
"What will it make me see?" Altaïr asked. I need to remember to ask how he can use this sorcery at all…
"Just another time, another place." Altaïr did not like the smile Oceanus was giving him. It was utterly false. "It should only take a moment."
Yes. Altaïr had to stop at his own thought, trying to figure out why he'd agreed at all. He needed to find out, yes, but by giving his senses and mind over to someone else's control? It was a fool's venture. But it was also necessary. And there was only so long you could go on arguing with yourself, in any case. "Yes."
Oceanus snapped his fingers, and the world flew away.
It was dark. That was the first thing Altaïr realized. It was much darker than even being outside next to the sleeping Riyaz and Ash and it seemed that it was because at least, outdoors would have meant that the moon could have helped.
Then there was the smell of blood, the coppery scent hitting his noise like a sledgehammer. It set him on edge like nearly nothing else could, and lightning crashed nearby, setting the scene in harsh relief. Dead man—there, on what remained of an oaken Christian bed. Someone stirred in the rubble, groaning. Against the opposite wall—a little girl left completely limp, propped up only by a broken footstool. And there, cloak and hood thrown back, stood the one who had killed every breathing thing in the castle.
And in front of him, staring up in undisguised, raw terror, was a slightly younger version of Oceanus.
The little doppelganger coughed—his hand came away bloody. The murderer, moving slowly as though he was trapped in a similar dream, went to one knee in front of the boy. He put his hand—every finger dripping blood—on the younger boy's head.
And as the boy's hair ran red and he flinched back with nowhere to go, Altaïr saw the spark. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed, and the bolt flew in through the window and arced up the madman's arm.
Heat, light, blinding—!
But the Assassin could still see, still saw the tiny priest scream and throw his arms out wide. And the killer—Riyaz; there was no mistaking that face or those eyes—was blown off his feet and through a solid oak desk by the power of his own summoned energy.
Then there was movement—the little girl from before, radiating power like heat—rushing, weaving, thrashing—and the murderer who would be who Riyaz was now slammed into a stone wall. Then through it. The Assassin even saw each stone crumble.
There was still screaming. The storm went on.
"Altaïr, are you still with me?" Oceanus's voice was lower than the illusion-memory. The Assassin blinked rapidly to clear his vision, only to find himself looking up at the priest's concerned face. He sat up.
"That was possibly the worst experience of my life." Which was a lie—al Mualim's betrayal was entire orders of magnitude worse—but Oceanus didn't need to know that.
"It was just an illusion." Oceanus said dismissively. "You could probably manage to see through it if it had lasted any longer."
That monster! "I saw through the…woman's appearance before." Altaïr put in.
"Huh," said Oceanus. "Before or after Riyaz mentioned it?"
"After."
Oceanus nodded to himself. "Once you know there is an illusion, you can break it. Even people who choose swords over magic can do it."
There seemed to be a sort of implied insult there, but Altaïr ignored it. "How does magic work? Are there…branches? Styles? I need to understand if I will fight alongside you effectively."
That got a bit of a reaction from the priest—a momentary blank look. Then the priest launched into what Altaïr had always called "lecturing tone" behind his masters' backs.
Apparently, there were two basic branches of magic; arcane and divine. From there, it just got more complicated.
Arcane magic was divided into schools based upon the type of effects a given spell had. These ranged from evocation, which involved shooting fireballs from the caster's fingertips, to enchantment, which undermined a target's free will for one reason or another. The arcane magic was entirely centered the caster, though there were several different sources even with that qualifier—sorcerers got their power from their nonhuman blood (which was something Altaïr was sure was going to give him headaches for a week) and usually weren't as versatile as the second type. Wizards gained their power from study and rituals, and they usually had fewer spells but more variety.
Divine magic was easier to understand, since it was power granted by the gods. The only problem with that was the multiple ways to access it. Priests prayed directly to the gods and usually only used spells that the particular god's domain happened to allow. Druids prayed to nature gods specifically, and their power manifested as control over nature and shapeshifting powers. Because either could call on the gods for backup, Oceanus seemed to give the general impression that he thought of divine magic as stronger.
And then there was a brief mention of something called psionics and something else involving people called warlocks and demon-summoning, but by then Altaïr was too tired to care. Oceanus had possibly the worst teaching method he'd ever even heard of, short of shoving the newest apprentices off cliffs.
And they weren't saying anything more about that.
"Spirit Soaring…what is it like?" Altaïr asked after a while.
Oceanus shrugged. "I do not know. I have never been there, though I have heard the rumors. It used to be a library, I think."
"Why a library?" Altaïr asked.
"I have no idea. I suppose someone liked books." Oceanus said. He shifted uncomfortably.
They fell silent again.
Riyaz yawned and rolled over. Oceanus glanced at him until he finally sat up, blinking at them both somewhat irritably.
"You two are too loud." Riyaz informed them.
"Really," said Oceanus.
"Yes."
"Then what do you have to contribute?" Oceanus asked, changing the subject entirely.
Riyaz sighed. "You do realize that I will need to return to Yttress eventually, right?"
Oceanus paused. "Well, yes, but—"
"And she will be very, very angry once she realizes that I disobeyed her orders." Riyaz continued quietly, as though Oceanus hadn't said anything.
"…oh."
Altaïr said nothing. He was the only one among them who hadn't met the strange woman, but it didn't take any experience to know that Riyaz was afraid of her. And if not her, then the things she could do to him. It amounted to the same thing most of the time, but the Assassin got the impression that Yttress's threat came mostly from the creatures she was willing to use against anyone who irritated her.
"It was going to happen regardless of if you were there or not." Riyaz said, but he failed to be reassuring. His voice was too flat and tired. "I would rather not dwell on it."
How was it that every attempt any of them made to bring up a conversation tonight fell completely flat?
Altaïr gave it up as a bad job all around and decided that the two glowering animals—Ash and Blade, who still hadn't ended their staring contest—could take over the night's watch for him. He settled down to sleep.
"…and that's why we aren't allowed within a hundred miles of Neverwinter." Keras concluded cheerfully. "To this day, Oceanus insists it wasn't his fault, but everyone else knows better."
"How did you start a fight with the ranger, again?" Danica asked, having been somewhat sidetracked by the thief's rapid account of two days spent in one city. The idea that so much trouble could be caused by five people was…well, awe-inspiring was the wrong word, but it was certainly impressive.
"Well, see, he started trying to charm Tirana, but then we started noticing this one other woman getting testy. And then there was the whole bit where everyone swears I was blind drunk the whole time and I've always been a fairly strange one as drunks go…" Keras grinned. "Somehow, I ended up breaking his nose! Everyone said it was for the best, though—if I hadn't, Alena would have done something and then maybe the tavern would have caught fire. As it was, someone got thrown out a window even if we can't remember who or what for."
"But what does that have to do with being banned from an entire city?" Cadderly wondered.
"I have no idea!" Keras said brightly. "But after we were all thrown out, someone got it into their head to start a fight with the Neverwinter Academy and all the little mini-wizards tried to get in our way. It was probably Oceanus's fault—he never liked mages much and I'm pretty sure Alena was the designated sober one that night." He shrugged. "And then there was the bit with the sorceress who tried throwing fireballs at Alena and Oceanus…wow, was that ever a bad idea. We almost didn't manage to pry Alena off her in time."
"I would have to wonder exactly how much ale one would have to drink before getting that drunk." Danica observed dryly. She sighed. "Really, do you even have discipline?"
"Not at all." Keras replied, balancing a knife on the edge of his finger. He was still smiling. "I'm a thief and a bruiser, remember? I'll leave the whole discipline things to monks like you. You seem to know what to do with it."
Danica groaned. "You really are incorrigible."
Cadderly patted her shoulder sympathetically.
Strangely enough, the odd young man was one of their longest boarders. Where Drizzt and his friends had only stopped by once, in order to get that mess of a prophecy sorted out, and the dwarf pair lived in the temple like nearly everyone else, Keras was a mystery.
He hadn't stolen a single trinket from the temple, for all his declarations of being a rogue and a scoundrel with enough greed for two people. He generally looked after the place almost as well as they did, and mentioned his old friends and adversaries easily. He knew strange beings who claimed power beyond that of ordinary mortals.
And, for some reason, he worked for the Golden Lady.
No one knew all that much about the strange figure in the north. It was known that her name was Lumina, for all that helped, and that she had been a silent power along the Spine of the World for over two hundred years. No one even knew what race she belonged to.
"After a while, Lord Nasher finally said if the all of us were going to cause that much trouble we might as well do it where it could do some good. And so, we got thrown out into the wilds to fight orcs for a while. He issued a formal decree later." Keras explained. He chuckled. "The weird part is that only two of us were all that drunk to begin with. The girls and Riyaz were almost entirely sober that night."
"I hate to cut story time short," Cadderly said after a moment or two, "but the children need their sleep." He cracked his back. "In fact, so do I."
"I guess you're still not used to the whole being young again thing, huh?" Keras said sympathetically. "Speaking of, I never asked you how you could do that." Keras tilted his head to the side, as though thinking about it.
"It was an honor to serve Deneir." Cadderly said, smiling serenely. "Though it was also very generous of our lord to grant me my youth again, in small steps."
Keras looked like he was going to say something regarding how the priest had managed to sire twins during any point of said advanced aging process, but decided against it. He had very expressive stares. "I'll take your word on that…"
Elsewhere still, someone landed on their head. After a dazed moment or two, the armored knight sat up with a pounding headache. The knight proceeded to smash directly into someone else, who fell back with a tiny wail of pain. As it was, the headache suddenly became a mutual experience.
A voice above him said something in a harsh, grating language that reminded the soldier of Arabic in all of its worst moments.
"What?" demanded the soldier, glaring upward.
Standing over the knight was a woman with long blonde hair and an expression like a particularly irked hawk. Next to her was a small child, with his or her body carefully swathed in several lengths of cloth so that none of his features were visible other than his eyes. The woman folded her arms under her chest and nudged armored ribs with her boot. It was an unspoken command to get up.
"You heathen!" the soldier snapped, and the woman paused. The soldier abruptly realized that the woman stood more than eight inches taller than any woman in the Holy Land. And she didn't seem even slightly intimidated by armor and weapons. In fact, she was looking steadily more irritated as time passed.
The woman said something that the knight couldn't even begin to understand. While it was true that all ranked Crusaders had at least marginal training in Arabic, if only to make their demands clear to the people of Jerusalem, who usually didn't speak English or French like properly educated citizens. Whatever the strange woman was saying, it sounded like nothing the knight had ever heard before.
"Out of the way," the soldier snapped, trying to push past the disapproving glare, only to be stopped when the woman moved to the side, apparently of her own accord.
That was when the soldier finally had a chance to look down the hill. And up the other hill. And down toward the river, and toward the forest and the waterfall, and at that point it was extremely clear that wherever this place was, Jerusalem was probably not within three days' travel. It looked like a valley that had never even heard of deserts, and all of the mountains in the distance were capped with blindingly white snow.
The knight stared. This had to be a dream!
"I will not ask again," said the woman, and the soldier spun around in surprise. She was glaring. "How did you enter Gabilan?"
"Gabilan?" the soldier repeated, dumbfounded. There was no trace of an accent—she was speaking perfect English even though the knight was sure she was no Crusader. She didn't dress like one of the farmers who had been dragged along by the Pope's edict, either, and in any case they would never have told a woman to take up arms against the Muslims.
The woman's frown deepened. "The shields should have obliterated an outsider like you long before you arrived."
"I do not even know what you are talking about!" the soldier countered. "I do not know what Gabilan is, other than possibly I city I have never been to. The last thing I remember is entering my sleeping quarters for the night."
"Is that so?" the woman said doubtfully.
"I am a soldier of God," the knight said. "I will not lie."
"Which god?" said the child, still rubbing his head.
This was definitely not the holy land.
The woman gave the knight a completely neutral look. "It would probably be best to continue this in a more reasonable setting. Come along, soldier of the gods. Unless you would have me call you by another name?"
The knight paused, seeing a man in white running up the hill to meet them. He was not heavily armed, but the woman's obvious dismissal of the sword seemed to speak of…alternate means of dealing with enemies. She could not be hiding a weapon in that dress, and her child was vulnerable. But she was so at ease that any experienced soldier would be on guard. No one was that calm in the face of cold steel.
Finally, the knight gave in and the helmet came off.
"What is your answer, lady knight?" the strange woman repeated.
"I am Maria Thorpe, steward to the master of the Knights Templar. Please take me to your leader, so we may discuss terms I may have violated," the knight said carefully.
"Well met, Maria Thorpe. I am the ruler of Gabilan." At Maria's look of disbelief, the woman's smile widened slightly. "I am Lady Lumina Shininglance, retired paladin and current high priestess of Bahamut. We will speak indoors."
A/N: I hope this partially makes up for the wait.
So...A poll in the reviews now.
Who should Altair meet up with first?
1. Maria.
2. Malik.
3. Random Assassin.
4. Random Templar.
5. Artemis Entreri.
6. Drizzt Do'Urden.
I'll be compiling results every time a new chapter is posted, so vote for your favorite!