24 Kythorn
The path is clear before us. South-east to the Friendly Arm inn; east into the Cloakwood; along the map's trail until Sarevok's iron lair is visible.
We planned to use the inn to get the translated letters anonymously to Duke Eltan of the Flaming Fist. They would never believe us under our own names: too young, too disinherited, foreign, a drow, known by the sobriquet Man-Slayer. But, if our fight there attracts attention, if Eltan receives other evidence—then he may believe it.
I didn't think Shar-Teel could get any harder on me in practicing while the others rest, but she is. It feels as though she's after that part of me in the bandit camp, the part that killed everyone, beating me to summon it out again. It hurts so much. But I need it to kill Sarevok Anchev.
It feels strange not to have bathed, done my hair, cleaned my chipped nails. The worst of the blood came off when we forded a stream, and I discarded the stained clothes when we stopped for a brief rest. But we don't have the time; to break into a mine with a band this size seems all but impossible even if we surprise them. (May the wizards' protections against scrying hold.)
Garrick drank enough healing potions to walk again. I'm too secretive, about the healing and the red hands. I may have to make it obvious, if he needs it, but... Imoen looking at me like that is enough. This is the only way I can see how to fix it.
We walked past a small fishing village; a long way, but this time I didn't complain (much). Poor Garrick and Viconia.
"Some party going on." Shar-Teel jerked a thumb in the direction of a gathering of village labourers in the distance, all of them standing about a cleared patch of earth.
A giant green monolith rose out of the ground and spat out a fountain of acid.
"Hit the dirt!" Imoen pulled me down; the acid burned. Shar-Teel was quick to action. The creature was covered in thick green armour, a harsh, ugly shell; a squawking sound came from the clashing of mandibles bigger than my arms. Its gaping maw lashed toward her.
Shar-Teel's blade struck, glancing off the jointed carapace. I reached for Varscona, ducking out of the line of acid. Viconia's bullets, aimed for its vast, multifaceted eyes, had greater effect: the next stream of acid came at her. She fled behind a tree; I heard her chanting a healing spell.
Varscona, the cold sword. Not as weighty as Shar-Teel's strong weapon, but upon the edge of one of the monster's midsection-plates, it drew faint green blood. Then its hooked pincers hit pain.
Garrick, this battle, had chosen striking spells above songs. Pink energy almost grazed my cheek; I swear he sung a deeper casting than before, two missiles leaving black traces upon the shell. Fire from Imoen, glittering dust flung from Edwin; I could hardly see, and the creature seemed to disappear before our very eyes.
Edwin shrieked loudly and high. He came plummeting from the sky, flung away by the monster rising again from the earth; and landed on me in a flurry of caustic spell components.
Really, he could use more exercise.
"My spell disrupted! Does the humiliation never end?" I felt him roll away; he jerked his robes sharply away from their tangle around me. Someone else grabbed me.
"Maiden, do you require assistance?" A roughly dressed man, clinking as he walked, trying to help me up. I can't trust strangers. I pulled away, rising from the dirt. A bright light flashed, near where Shar-Teel fought: Imoen, probably.
The ground shook: I tumbled away from it, having enough warning this time. The stranger raised a battered, patternless shield instead of escaping, drawing a sword and moving cautiously down. The second creature erupted, larger than the first—and with clicking, sharper limbs.
"Edwin!" Needed his spells. "Er...back over here, you thing!" Toward the open ground about the village; then we could at least see the things coming. Shar-Teel—needed to kill the first one quickly. I flung a throwing knife to glance off the carapace. Its vast head turned to me rather than the stranger; I ran back. A stream of acid—I flung myself down, somersaulting away.
"Cry for your lives, they are over!" Edwin—too close to the monster, shouting out Imoen's fire spell, roasting it. I had to dive to him, try to get him out of the way; the stranger did not back down, careful and steadfast.
"Look—draw it back—" I begged the stranger. Varscona made a hit at last. I screamed; a pincer struck me.
"Stay beneath my shield, milady!" he gasped. Another of Edwin's spells launched, pale and cold light. I tried again to fight. I could see the man's strength, despite a sword in as ill condition as his armour. Streams of acid hissed, pouring down his shield. The black chasm between the monster's powerful jaws seemed to enlarge. The stranger wouldn't budge.
The sounds of Shar-Teel's steel grew closer. She, too, drove the creature she fought; ignoring the acid, protected by Tenhammer's armour, she forced it back and back. Imoen's missiles hit their spots.
Two monsters too near. The stranger finally allowed the creature some distance to the clearer ground; Imoen and Garrick emerged from the trees and made further castings. I lunged for a fleshy point between its shieldings—Varscona's cold sunk in. It maddened the creature only; but I heard Shar-Teel's monster fall like a giant oak, her sword in its head, spells upon its thick shell.
Imoen advanced, gleefully firing her bow. "Gotcha good." The monster we fought whirled; an arrow sprouted from its eye. The stranger blocked its flailing pincers, stabbed it; Varscona and Shar-Teel, the same. Violently green blood coated it, staining the white of its armoured underbelly. It screamed loudly.
"It calls—" the stranger said. Imoen shouted another spell, missiles aimed at that screaming mouth. She cried out.
A third creature rising. Imoen down, her head hitting a rock. The stranger and I rushed to it:
"Harl'il'cik!" Viconia's power overcoming it. A moment long enough for us to start to kill it. Shar-Teel came, having killed the other—two down. It raised itself, flailing with pincers at twice the speed as before; acid burned my cheek. I saw the stranger's shield protecting us. He distracted it; Shar-Teel leaped to its neck, balanced herself, and neatly plunged her sword into what passed for its brain. We watched for another earthquake, but this time the ground moved no more.
"Uurgh." Imoen raised her head, patting at a small cut on her forehead. "'S hard to dodge in these stupid robes. Nice one, Vic."
"Bloody ankhegs." Shar-Teel was quick to wipe the acid from her blade, plucking leaves from a tree.
Ankhegs. The farmer's underground friend. I'd imagined them to be...smaller. The three monsters lay still.
I looked at our interloper, noting the detail of his appearance for the first time: as shabby as he had seemed at first glance, a round-cheeked and blond young man with the remnants of pimples on his face. His armour was so badly corroded and damaged that it barely deserved the name, his shield likewise battered and partly melted. He stared at us in return; I remembered that Shar-Teel had replaced several bandit scalps to hang from her belt. Then he saluted.
"Halt! Be you friend or foe!"
"I think we count as 'friend', circumstances and all, and you might've noticed we're kind of already halted." Imoen sat up slowly, passing her arm across her forehead and leaving streaks of blood behind on her robe's sleeves. I thought of healing her, as soon as we had a chance. I rubbed at the acid upon me, allowing a little effort to have the pain and scarring begin to fade.
"(Pardon me? We have just made strategic use of your pathetic unsolicited assistance in our battle. Is this simian fool, madman, or both for the grand prize of my ever-unravelling sanity among these chimps?)"
"Allow me to aid you, maid—" He held out a hand for Imoen, but she stood herself.
"No problem. Who are you?"
He saluted again. "I am Ajantis! Squire-paladin of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, servant to Helm, crusader against bandits, son of the noble family of do you travel with a drow?" he gasped; Viconia had emerged from the cover of the trees, her hood blown back by the wind.
He was a paladin: a good and noble divine knight. Viconia is also good at her occupation.
"How strange, I don't believe I've heard of that family." Edwin inspected his nails with an expression of deep ennui. "Let me guess, you tatterdemalion tin-can. Shall we move straight toward demonstrating magic's supremacy over your pitiful efforts to punish us for harbouring the epitome of all delightful (and depraved, I'm sure very depraved) evil?"
I entered the conversation quickly. "She abandoned her evil underworld ways and fled to the world above to do good deeds and write pseudo-philosophical journal entries. Haven't you heard of Drizzt Do'Urden?"
"Rivvil, I will whip you bloody." Viconia directed a malevolently red glare at me.
Ajantis stared dubiously at her. "Are you claiming she is Drizzt under the influence of one of those girdles of gender transformation? I don't see any scim—"
"Not really. Just trust us," I said. Viconia hissed, tossing her pale hair. "We've been—crusading—after bandits too. Wrecked their eastern camp and found there's a hive of them in a secret iron mine in the Cloakwood prepared to conclude their plans for an illicit iron monopoly in the Sword Coast."
"It sounds a noble though an unlikely quest." Ajantis looked contemplative. "The people of this village also suffer. The only son of Farmer Brun was today buried." He made a sweeping gesture to the area of cleared earth the villagers had gathered around. "His body was found in the depths of the ankheg lair. Such is the explanation for my disgraceful appearance: the creatures' potent acid.
"The impoverished fishermen have also brought a tale to me of an evil witch visiting persecutions upon them. I seek fellow adventurers with whom to vanquish her and restore prosp..."
We don't have time.
"Ending a mine's bigger than a few fishers," I said. "Your witch will keep. Do you want to come with us?"
He frowned as though in deep thought. "I do not intend to doubt your word, lady, but I would like to know what proofs you..."
"We've their letters. We'll buy you new armour when we drop them with a messenger at the Inn—can we afford that, Shar-Teel?"
She scowled. "Yes." One more warrior; stronger than me. I did not wish, though, to meet his pale eyes.
"I am willing, then," Ajantis said.
Garrick strummed an elaborate chord. "We are surely at the beginning of an epic tale, sir knight! Lead on."
"I may take your head someday, male. Keep up if you can."
Shar-Teel set a punishing pace; a band of hobgoblins, interrupting us. Together—I stood in the back with my bow—we beat them.
I am better than I used to be. It's easier to aim to kill. It had better be enough to kill Anchev.
There is a paradox in the name of hobgoblins: Hearth, Hob, Goblin of the House, Hob Goblin. Yet nothing further from friendly housekeeping could be imagined. A shining red-gold ring rests in Imoen's hands.
We're tired, but we'll make the Friendly Arm. Easily.