Chapter 7: Tainted Heart and Tainted Dart
Once upon a time, the town of Tristram had stood tall and proud. It had been a landmark; a place of merriment, and of trade. It had been well protected—naught could penetrate its great stone walls. Once upon a time, Tristram had been pure.
Clearly, it was no longer the case.
The sorceress lay on her chest upon the cold, hard soil, her cheek pressed deep within the mud. Her orange-red hair, caked with blood and grime fell over her broken form in a mass of tangles—her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as though she were caught within a nightmare. From time to time, she would shiver; her body racked with moans and gurgles—an almost piteous thing.
They'd chained her to the ground—several lengths of rough-hewn silver loops were attached to shackles about both her slender wrists, her ankles—and her neck.
She could not move.
Consciousness did not grip her for longer than several short seconds at a time. The pain within her abdomen harbored upon the border of excruciating torment—it tore at her broken insides, awakening hoarse screams from the depths of her throat.
Death would have been kinder.
She was only faintly aware of the human presence above her; she'd heard whispers of his weak tones when they'd first brought her in. Several times, as she'd awakened to the sting of pain, she'd thought she could see him watching her from between the bars of his wooden prison—the trespassers of Tristram had suspended him within a wooden cage.
Surely, he was a mage of magnificent magic? The sorceress could not summon enough energy to remain conscious, nor was she in the right state of mind to contemplate such matters; it could only be surmissed, from whatever time she had before darkness claimed her, that the other prisoner held magic within his veins. She could feel the fading warmth of his aura.
As she could feel the fading warmth of her life-force.
Tristram was no more.
Within its once-glorious walls rested the remnants of the past—crumbled houses, crimson wildfires, ruined homes; and the bodies. The wide-eyed bodies lay strewn in several bloody heaps—men, women, and children, broken and burnt, the traces of their last screams etched over their dulled irises.
A faint wave of nausea washed over the druid as he sidestepped a bovine carcass—the sight was none too pleasant. The stench of blood, death, and evil hung thick in the humidity.
"Oh, dear Gods—"
Liene had entered the portal—she stood by the druid, her lissom frame stiff with shock. Her face had drained of all colour.
"Can you hear them?" The druid whispered; he could hear the vague screams of hellspawn ringing within the air.
The rogue nodded slightly—her grip of her bow tightened just a touch as she drew an arrow from her quiver. "Yes."
Saul narrowed his eyes, his brow creased in a contemplative frown. Somehow, it didn't seem wise to jump into the center square—surely, hellspawned-horrors of all sorts resided within the secure area?
"We have to be discreet." He muttered quietly. Liene nodded once, to show that she was listening.
"Clean out the edges of the town first—" Here, he paused—he could hear heavy footsteps. With a faint grimace, he drew Liene closer. "—stay behind me. Kill everything that attacks from far—then kill everything that uses magic. Do not approach them for close-quarter combat."
Liene eyed him cooly for a moment or two. He had hit a nerve. "I am quite able to fight on my own accord. I'm not a a sapling warrior two-steps far in training." She tossed her deep auburn hair over her shoulder.
"Quiet." He hissed, reaching out with an arm to keep her back. "Someone is coming."
She regarded him with a silent sort of chill, before consenting to step back.
They made their way silently along the edge of the town; him, before her, with his staff in one hand, and his dagger in the other. She moved along behind him, holding her bow at ready, jade-coloured eyes wary and vigilant.
"Be ready."
It happened in a rain of bone-shafted arrows; shrieks of nightmares pierced the air as the battle of Tristram began.
The first to fall were the skeletal archers—one by one, they crumbled onto the ground in heaps of shattered bones. The rogue was, indeed, deft and adept with the bow, and her aim, true. Her bronze-tipped arrows sped through the air, severing skeletal necks and limbs.
Saul wove through the host of demons, spinning his blade deftly about demon-necks as he summoned twister after twister. From time to time, he would whisper words in the ancient M'arroc tongue—calling upon the elements; and lo, bristles of flame would erupt from the ground, engulfing his enemies in shades of crimson and gold.
They fought their way through the edge of town—it was not long before the cerulean skinned carvers that made fort within Tristram; the demons, lay dead upon the ground in ravaged heaps.
And then he came.
The undead cadaver was, no doubt, wrought of the dark arts—he stood at six feet in height, large, bulky arms hanging from the sides of his broad, broad shoulders. Set over his heavily-muscled chest were pieces of bronzed platemail, held together with several layers of thick, oiled leather.
His eyes were hollowed out.
Saul gripped his staff firmly in his hands—he almost felt faint with weariness. And yet, the opponent that stood before him—albeit blind, would surely be one of great strength.
Grimly, the druid took his stance—and then, without a second's hesitation, he charged.
The screams were swimming within the darkened catacombs of her mind; they taunted her, and haunted her—refusing to allow her sanctuary within the walls of obliviousness. Shrieks of pain—cries of torment echoed all about her, reminding her all too well of her own predicament.
Against her own will, Cordelia began to stir. Vestiges of reality began seeping into focus; she moaned softly. Her entire body ached—as if seven thousand poisoned blades had pierced her flesh. She scrabbled feebly at the dirt beneath her; in mere seconds, her fingernails were caked with soot and mud.
She almost cried out in pain as a body stumbled by—it had kicked her in the side of her head. Her temple throbbed heavily as she tasted blood in her mouth.
Or, more blood, as it were.
Her eyes began to mist even as the colours swirled all around her—crimson-oranges and amber. Despite the humidity—despite the numerous open-fires surrounding her, naught but chilly winds touched the sorceress's soul. She shivered—down to the very tips of her soot-stained fingers.
"Tia-aldyn Ciryx—"
The shrieks rang still within the air when a pair of hands—warm and gentle hands, with care and concern, cradled the sides of her head. For a moment or two, Cordelia held her breath; she could not quite understand the logic of this newcomer. Could it be that there was hope, after all?
Even as the warmth of the hands left the sides of her face, a pair of narrowed, jade-coloured eyes came into focus, causing the sorceress to inhale sharply in mingled shock and surprise.
Liene.
The sorceress shuddered slightly as the rogue lieutenant took a heavy axe to her shackles—the chains broke away from the ground with heavy clinks. She winced slightly as she was pulled swiftly to her feet; her vision was coming in and out of focus—the metal clasps hung, still, from around her neck, wrists, and ankles. They were extraordinarily heavy—and they weighed her down. And then, her staff was handed to her—which she gratefully held onto, for balance. The all-too-familiar ringing of metal against metal graced her ears—and she winced.
"Hurry, Tia-aldyn. We must leave this place at once—" The lieutenant began, her voice rigid with anxiety. She glanced about as she tugged a be-ribboned scroll from her belt-pouch. "—I will open a portal for you. You must go through it, and—"
"There is someone up there—" Cordelia whispered, her voice but a low breath. "—I think—"
"—Deckard Cain." Liene finished. "This is most fortunate. Tia-aldyn, open the gateway into our encampment. I must free him—" She passed the scroll to the sorceress, and drew her dagger. The cage would have to come down.
Cordelia winced slightly—her hands were shaking. And yet, the prospect of escape seemed tonic to her broken body; she heaved a determined sigh. Her fingers tore at the cobalt-and-gold seal of the scroll as her mouth whispered words of transportation, invoking the magic. The seal fell apart—and the crisp scroll fell to the ground. Blue fumes, the colours of the seal, rose from the scroll—it burst into flames.
The cobalt-tinged portal of darkest ebon emerged from the remains of the scroll even as the cage of Deckard Cain came crashing down onto the ground.
"Come, Tia-aldyn! Do not linger—"
Cordelia took several deep breaths. Her head was swimming—nausea and breathlessness, combined, caused quite the amount of bile in her throat. She was spent—she crumpled onto her knees as the lieutenant dragged the unconscious Cain through the portal.
Several long seconds passed in which the portal flickered lifelessly. The sorceress found herself gagging several times; then swallowed nervously. She wished Liene would have the common sense to return for her—she could not quite move her legs.
A great, rumbling roar brought her back to her morbid reality.
She turned—and the sound came to her throat in a series of frightened shrieks.
The beast towered over the numerous carvers surrounding it. Its razor-sharp claws matched its great, blood-stained fangs to the last jagged-edge. Dirt-caked, ivory fur ran along its head, face, arms, torso, and back, ending in a shaggy, voluminous tail of darker grey. It stood upon its oddly extended hind-legs.
Cordelia could only watched, entranced, as the beast clawed several demons in half with a mere swipe of its great paw. It frightened her—and yet, it seemed as if it meant her no harm. She could not understand it at all.
She did not have the strength to attempt understanding it.
The demons had fallen—they lay in bloody heaps upon the ground. From beneath the muzzle of the beast came a low, growling sound—and then, it turned towards the sorceress, and began to make towards her. Cordelia gasped—and made a feeble attempt at getting away, dragging her broken chains along the soil; but to no avail. Her limbs were simply too spent—her energy, completely exhausted.
The creature flicked its tail mildly—a gesture seemingly harmless. Its pointed ears twitched for a moment—and then it growled.
It happened in a flash of whirring silver—the serrated blade embedded itself within the shoulder of the beast; it growled, tearing the blade from its flesh. In one swift movement, it had whipped around, the blade of its attacker caught awkwardly between its claws.
Half a second later, the rogue carver—the last of the Tristram demons, fell—it was dead.
The beast released a low, pained whimper—and then collapsed heavily onto the sorceress.
Cordelia gasped—her pallid eyes widened with shock, fear, and pain as a fresh wave of nausea overcame her. And yet slowly, bit by bit, the beast began to change. The fur disappeared—and its tail shrank away into nothingness. Its claws—and its fangs diminished in size, and the grey-streaked ears melted away.
The portal to the Rogue's Encampment flickered—and then disappeared in a myriad of blue and black sparks.
The sorceress's breath came in short, ragged gasps—she thought she could recognise the weary, dark-grey eyes of the man atop her.
And then, the world turned black—and she knew no more.
The world spun in shades of browns and greens; the colours of nature. Golden sunlight streamed through the open flaps of the High Priestess's tent-quarters. It was a day of fine weather. And yet, the atmosphere within the encampment was naught short of thick—a still sort of silence had fallen upon the rogues.
She'd caught snippets of whispered conversations between the rogues on guard duties—that Master Saul had emerged, staggering, from the depths of a portal, bearing her limp body in his arms.
And that he'd collapsed mere seconds later.
The rogues—Kashya, in particular, had chosen to place all blame upon the the sorceress. Why could she not aid the druid in battle? Surely she was not that weak? And if, she were indeed, a weakling mage of vague talent—what was she doing within the encampment?
Liene alone of the fighter rogues had been pleasant—it was she who'd restored the sorceress to full health, spending hour upon hour drawing the fever from her blood. Charsi had become withdrawn, choosing to spend her days working feverishly at her forge—Cordelia found that she could not quite blame her. Saul was, after all, her cousin.
"Please wake up, Saul—" Cordelia whispered quietly. She sat at the edge of a faded futon of wine-coloured velvet within the High Priestess's tent—upon which the druid lay. He had yet to awaken. "Saul—" With tentative fingers, she reached out to stroke gently at his ashen cheek. "I need you to wake up."
"He won't awaken, Tia-aldyn Ciryx." Akara had entered her tent—she offered the tiniest of smiles towards the sorceress, and lowered herself gently onto a stool beside the futon. "I believe—" She paused; and the faintest hints of sadness touched her aged face. "—I believe that he has been poisoned."
Cordelia stiffened—she turned towards the High Priestess, frowning slightly. "Poisoned?" She whispered—somehow, it seemed rude to speak in louder tones. Saul deserved rest. "—is there an antidote for the poison in his system?"
The High Priestess sighed quietly—she took the sorceress's hand in her own, shaking her head just a touch. "I'm sorry, child. The poison was—" Here, she paused, as though thinking—then continued. "—a mixture of various kinds of poisons. It is going to take Gheed and myself quite some time to figure out—"
"Gheed—?"
Akara allowed the tiniest of smiles to grace her pallid lips. "Many do not know this, but Gheed is of a family of alchemists—his mother, Melechai Dai'mung, was an extremely gifted potion-maker."
Cordelia chewed heavily upon her lower lip; somehow, she found it rather difficult to swallow. Gheed seemed more crafty and sly, as opposed to intelligent and well-learnt. "How long will you need?" She lowered her gaze towards the druid once more, and then added in undertones—"How long does he have?"
"At the very least, two more days—and we will figure it out before then. Be patient, child."
They had sat in silence for several long minutes before the sorceress deigned to speak once more. She bowed her head slightly—a crimson flush had begun to rise at her neck.
"High Priestess Akara—" She began.
Akara merely nodded; she had begun to change the druid's bandages.
"—I'm sorry."
The High Priestess blinked mildly towards the sorceress, her fingers working deftly at the deep gash. For a moment or two, Cordelia watched her—a faint grimmace upon her face at the sight of tainted flesh. The area around the gash was black—decayed.
"It wasn't your fault, child. He—" She sighed, shifting her gaze towards the unconscious druid. "—Saul, he wouldn't have been able to rest until you were safe again. He couldn't abandon you."
The sorceress bit her lip. "He got hurt trying to rescue me."
"He got hurt wanting to protect you, child. He wanted it." Akara began. Then, reaching out—"Would you please hand me that bowl of paste? It is not the antidote, but it will slow the poison somewhat."
Cordelia obliged; the paste within smelt faintly of lemongrass, nettles, and chamomile—a bright chrome in colour.
"He'll be just fine." The High Priestess smiled ever so slightly—she began to dab the paste about the darkened edges of the gash. "Don't worry."
She'd been watching Akara in silence for several long minutes, when heavy footsteps in the clearing outside alerted her of a new arrival. Then, a raging tempest broke into the tent—in the form of the Captain of the rogues.
"What are you doing in here?" She snarled, as she entered.
Akara did not straighten—did not turn to meet her sister's gaze. "Kashya." Her voice was quiet, though stern.
The Captain narrowed her eyes towards the sorceress—who returned the stony glare in kind. "Gheed wishes to speak to you. I think he's found the poisons."
Cordelia could not quite contain the gasp that came to her throat—it mattered not that Kashya had thrown a look of deepest disdain towards her once more. She stood, and threw her hair over her shoulder.
"Come, child." Akara, too, had gotten to her feet. "Kashya."
They crossed the encampment in but a few easy strides, causing several resting rogues to jump in surprise—the High Priestess rarely left her clearing.
Gheed was by no means a tall man—he stood at a height of about five-and-a-half feet. The High Priestess and the Captain both towered over him—and Cordelia was just about his height. He looked up as they came towards him—and smiled a very sly smile.
"You have identified the poisons?" Akara spoke first.
The man interlaced his fingers—he nodded once. "Aye, that I have. His symptoms are the chills, skin decay, a fever, incessant bleeds—" He paused, wrinkling his nose to show disgust. "The chills and the fever can be attributed to a mixture of blowfish-and-river toad poison. And the skin decay—that's traces of daffle-flower; a beauty to behold, poisonous to the very touch."
"And the incessant bleeds?" Cordelia began, through gritted teeth. She had never liked Gheed much.
"A result of nightrose-thorns." He said. "A mixture of all these poisons are far deadlier than they would be, by themselves."
Akara exhaled—she seemed relieved. "Then we must begin with the antidote—Gheed, do you know which ingredients we shall require?"
For a moment or two, Cordelia thought she'd imagined the smirk that crept slowly up the merchant's face. It was not before Kashya snarled—and leapt towards him, that she'd known; her imagination had not lied.
"I have the antidote." Gheed said—rather calmly. Apparently, he had become accustomed to Kashya standing over him with hate in her eyes.
Akara was not daunted. "Give it to me, Gheed." Her words were tight—sterner than usual. "Now."
The merchant shrugged once. "For a price, I will."
"You—" Kashya had reached the very limits of her patience—with a low growl, she grabbed Gheed by the front of his shirt, and pressed him against the side of his caravan. "—how dare you ask for compensation, when you remain here in our protection for naught!"
"Kashya." Akara began, cooly. "Let him go."
Gheed brushed mildly at the front of his tunic as Kashya snarled, and pushed him away with rather a rough hand. With a faint smirk, he reached into his sleeve—and withdrew a tiny vial of colourless antidote. "Five thousand gold pieces."
"Why don't we just throw you out into the wilderness?" Cordelia narrowed her eyes slightly.
The merchant laughed, and patted his giant belly. "You wouldn't. By the way you've been looking at your hero—" He cleared his throat, taking a seat upon the stool by his caravan. "—you wouldn't leave him to die. Not after he risked his life for you." Here, he paused, and smirked. "—Besides, if you throw me out, you'll lose the antidote. Forever."
At this precise moment, as Kashya made an angry sound from the depths of her throat, it became clear to Cordelia—dislike was far too mild a word to describe her feelings towards the merchant.
Hate was a much better choice.
Author's Note: Chapter seven for you guys! And yes, I am aware that Gheed is a terrible scumbag. Never liked him much—and never liked Deckard Cain either. He's not mentioned much here. Haha!
My thanks go out to:
Ophelion: Thanks for that heart-felt review! It made me giggle, because you seemed so happy about that last chapter I put out. Heh, and I'm sorry about the bird-chatter mix up. I'd italic-ed it in my word document, but it showed up un-italic-ed (I don't think this is a word..) in the web browser. Also, thanks for your wonderful comments on my made-up-language! My pride and joy! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Vain-Kn1ght: Welcome to my throng of reviewers! I'm glad you're thinking its going to be good in the end. I actually have the entire story all planned out. I hope you'll stick around, and keep reading and reviewing! Oh, and the spelling errors might be a result of the American/British spelling difference? I might have made some spelling errors here and there too, but I spell the Brit way. .
Also, I wrote the part for Saul and Cordy's first kiss. It's so far away—not even in this act, but I had fun writing it because it was so—wow. I enjoyed writing it. Hee!
Thanks again for the reads and reviews—gimme more! I love hearing from my readers!
Signing out for now!