"You sleep lightly, Wild One. That is wise."
Harsh yellow eyes tore through the fog of her sleep.
Isaviel sat up with a start, kukris already in her hands. No tall figure loomed over her, though she had somehow expected it. How clear that voice had seemed, rumbling with a many-voiced echo! It had been just a dream, she told herself, but somehow it had felt like more than that. That voice, those eyes – they were not familiar, but they were important. It was not the first time she had dreamed of eyes like those and woken convinced that they were watching her – but never before had she heard the voice or been so convinced of a physical presence. Her skin crawling, she readied herself to stand though sleep had barely taken her.
There was something else which had her looking about herself anxiously, as well – a more immediate problem. She knew by now that she was being followed, though by whom she was not certain. Bladelings? Githyanki? Or something else? Either way, she did not wish to stand still and wait for them, and rather pulled on her pack which had been serving as a pillow, checking the shard was still there. Once this was affirmed she headed in the direction that Tarmas's map indicated, wondering why it was that she felt so certain of his information's veracity. But his words did prove true and soon she was walking down the narrow westerly path out of the Mere and well before midday she had reached the small inn named The Weeping Willow.
Sheep roamed the hill nearby, and several horses waited in rudimentary stables. She arrived in time to see a stocky, bearded Dwarf bursting out of the front door into the muddy yard, pursued by two men jeering at him and a third who remained silent but held a knife behind his back. Instantly it reminded her of the way the Mossfeld brothers had come at her and she sped up her pace, soon able to make out what they were saying.
"Give us your gold, Dwarf, and it might be that we let you go free," one of the men was warning as the Dwarf rounded on them, fists held up and ready for a fight.
"Ha! Might be that I rather beat ye into th' ground for lookin' at me funny, or it might just be that ye all need a nice good beatin' to remind ye to mind yer manners," the Dwarf scoffed, but his would-be robbers only laughed at him.
"In case you hadn't noticed, we have you outnumbered."
"Oh wait, that's true – maybe ye should call out some more friends and even the odds a little. Before me victory turns out too easy," the Dwarf suggested.
"I've had enough of this," the man holding the knife snarled, "I say we cut his throat and take the gold from his corpse."
It was at this point that Isaviel reached the open gate of the small yard, and the two so far unarmed men turned to look threateningly at her. The Dwarf did not seem to notice, eyeing up the other man – this was promising; he had evidently reached the same conclusion about the real threat among his tormentors as she had.
"You keep out of this, Elf. You keep on walking and we'll pretend this never happened."
"I'm sure you would," she smiled sweetly, still approaching unconcernedly, "But I'm afraid that I could not do the same. Such brutality and mindless theft! You should at least have the sense to rob a sleeping man. Or cut his throat when he looks away."
They just gawped at her in confusion, and she took the opportunity to draw a kukri and throw it with a quick snap of her wrist, where its two-sided blade buried deep in one man's throat. At the same time, the dagger-wielding third moved to attack the Dwarf, who caught his stabbing arm with lightning fast reflexes, twisting it until he shrieked, a bone snapped and the dagger fell with a splat into the mud. One more simple hit and he fell to the earth, never to rise again. The third man moved to run for the stables, presumably to steal a horse, but Isaviel was quicker and drove her second kukri through his back and into his heart. She caught a glimpse of a brand on his neck as he dropped to the earth; the sigil of Cyric.
"Me thanks, Elf," the Dwarf called.
She turned to see him holding out her kukri to her, already wiped clean of blood. She took it from him warily, taking in the sight of his dark eyes, which were overhung with bushy brown brows to match his untidy half un-plaited beard. His clothes were surprisingly clean but very simple – a white tunic with a red sash and brown linen trousers tucked into broad, cracked old travelling boots. For one who fought so well he wore no armour. She feared she knew what that meant.
"You need not thank me. I had no choice but to help – they would have slain me later, or tried to, if I had not turned on them then."
"That's true, lass, though I'd wish it weren't," the Dwarf nodded, automatically helping her drag the bodies out of the yard and into a nearby ditch, "Either way, I'm glad ye were passing through. Makes for more fun when there's someone to share the victory with."
"You are no stranger to conflict," Isaviel noted when they were done, staring down at the three bodies dispassionately, "You have done this before, as well."
"That's true, lass, though I'd not say I'm proud of it," he paused, turning to look over at her, "The name's Khelgar by the way, of the clan Ironfist. I'm pleased t' have crossed paths with ye."
"Isaviel Farlong…of the blood of Myth Drannor," she smirked, relieved when amusement showed in her acquaintance's eyes at her slight parody of his phrasing.
"Where're ye headed, Isaviel wishing-she-was-of Myth Drannor still?"
"To Highcliff docks, to seek passage," she told him at length, but he seemed to see through her feeble attempt to mislead him.
"That's one o' the ways to Neverwinter, though it's not the quickest," he noted, "Running from something are ye? Well, the High Road ain't much to me liking either, and I needs get meself to Neverwinter too, so if ye'd like the company…"
"You have shown yourself to be an admirable fighter," Isaviel conceded, suddenly feeling very weary, "I think I would feel better with you at my side, Khelgar of the Ironfist."
"Ha! I'm glad for the sentiment lass. I wish the clan could feel the same. How about we take a drink of some o' the inn's finest to fortify that tired body o' yours for the journey ahead? It's a ways to Highcliff yet, and we wouldn't be there by sundown unless we had wings."
"Alright," Isaviel heard herself agree, to her own bewilderment, "If the inn will let us enter after what we did…"
"They'll be thankin' us for years to come. Those bastards had it coming, and everyone in that inn knows it and is glad we gave it to 'em."
It turned out Isaviel's fears about his attire were correct; Khelgar was an aspiring monk, having heard of their efficient and brutal battle skills. However, he did not seem to follow Tyr, the god of the Neverwinter order he sought to acquire training from, but rather Clangeddin and Moradin, the typical gods of his kin, the Dwarves. His reasons were less righteous or pious and more inexplicably brutal and bloodthirsty...yet for all that he seemed intent on the right thing, if not through justice, as the way he spoke of his attackers led Isaviel to surmise. Although this set her at ease regarding the fear of the Righteous Path she had been taught she should follow as a beginning monk, it was also disquieting for her. Back in Neverwinter she and Neeshka had cultivated a life of self-first tactics and crime for the fun of the risk and the challenge of success. Khelgar seemed ill-fitted for such. Yet she found herself warming to him, and realised such a fighter would be useful if she were to be attacked again by the Bladelings and the Giths. And such an attack seemed inevitable rather than hypothetical, a truth which would be proven to her sooner than she would have wished.
In spite of their afternoon beers, they were easily over half way to Highcliff by evening, with just the Mere forest to pass through before they were officially out of the Mere of Dead Men and back into the lands of the Sword Coast. Isaviel would have liked to press on through the night, but Khelgar was not used to such tireless travel and her own body was beginning to rebel. If she had dared to sleep properly she would have been dreaming of The Sunken Flagon, she knew.
Therefore they had stopped just inside a small forest and off the road, within a wide natural alcove with overhanging moss and down-jutting roots. They would inevitably be sharing their beds with falling spiders and the like, but no harm could come of that. Their fire was still smouldering, Khelgar snoring softly on the other side just out of sight through the thin, drifting smoke when Isaviel heard a branch crack above them. Her heart sank. Her pursuers had caught up with them. She had no time to rouse her friend before she saw six, maybe seven Bladelings creeping out of the woods towards them, with a few more audible above.
"Kalach-cha," a voice hissed, and that did wake Khelgar, who was on his feet with the same breath he had caught in his previous snoring, "I promised you that you would not escape."
Swallowing hard, Isaviel stood too and took up her kukris for what she fully expected to be her last time, watching the Githyanki mage from West Harbour materialising to stand and watch on a low rise by the great oak just ahead. Spitting and snarling, the Bladelings it held in thrall approached at an easy pace. Where could she go? She and Khelgar were trapped, and, quick as they were, seven Bladelings would certainly overcome them in time.
"I'm sorry I didn't warn you, Khelgar," she sighed, coming up to stand by the dwarf, "I had no idea…"
"Don't apologise lass. We've no intention of dying yet, have we? This pack o' fools have no idea what's hit it, is all," Khelgar grinned, diving into a swift duck with an exultant roar when the first Bladeling swung at him.
Isaviel had no more time to think on the matter, for she had to sidestep the blade of her nearest attacker as well. But it soon fell to her blades, pushed back into two of its fellows while she made short work of a second. But two more came on seemingly out of nowhere, and she saw a further five appearing from the shadows where she had not looked before. And the Gith was chanting by the oak, magical energy swelling in his hands. What could they do?
A great roar shook the area as an unexpected tangle of vines erupted around the feet of the newly approaching Bladeling reinforcements. As confused as Isaviel, they struggled against their lively bonds to no avail, eyes widening in horror as a vast bear came charging in at them and tore off the closest one's head.
Trying to keep her unexpected advantage, Isaviel drove her blade into the gut of her closest assailant, immediately afterwards rolling away from the stab of a second, freeing herself from the confines of the alcove in which she had set up camp. By now the bear had killed three more trapped Bladelings and to her left Khelgar was snapping the neck of the one she had just evaded.
As the magical vines summoned to hold the other Bladelings sank back into the earth the bear also seemed to dwindle, staggering briefly under the hits of magical missiles streaming from the Githyanki's hands. Lashing out with all her strength Isaviel managed to drive back yet another attacker, kicking out at the other and spinning around, almost cutting off an arm with her wicked blades before ending a life.
Khelgar finished off the last Bladeling, and when they turned to see the sorcerer again they saw a young woman in the place of the bear. Dressed in a long patched brown dress and with knotted hair held back with a braid of vines, Isaviel surmised from this and her earlier magical display that she must be a druid. And her protective energies were fast failing her against the Gith's onslaught. But the shadows in the area were dark with only the moon to cast light feebly through the trees. Isaviel closed her eyes and felt them call to her. Accepting gladly, she felt her body become light and heard Khelgar's gasp as she became one with the darkness, a hazy dark form in an only marginally darker world.
As if she were a ship pulled by a strong wind she felt herself rush in the direction of the deepest shadows: the area behind the Gith, offset by the bright lights of his magics. He could not have known, and she understood enough about magic to know that he had recklessly used up too much energy to maintain a shield of his own. Twisting herself as fast as she could, Isaviel span around, gathering momentum, and severed the Gith's head. Immediately even greater darkness fell, and silence rang out but for the wind through the trees.
"What in all the Hells just happened?" Khelgar cried, approaching with obvious caution when Isaviel fully materialised again in the rays of the pallid moon, but she was hardly listening, for her eyes were fixed upon the bruised druidess before her.
"And who, pray tell, are you?" the Moon Elf demanded of the taller, more wiry woman – a human dressed in the attire of the 'Wild' Elves, "I am grateful for your timely aid, but I am not so grateful that you have been following me since I left West Harbour."
"You are most welcome, Isaviel…and I am sorry as well," the woman responded in a quiet, gentle voice, emanating a calmness that only served to put the Moon Elf on edge, "But I had to follow you. For I require your help as much as I would wish to aid you in your quest to uncover the truth of the shard you carry. I feel that it is linked with the animals' deaths in the Mere and the failure of the crops, to the thick, unnatural shadows and the plague carried in the water."
"You even know my name? How is this?"
"We of the Circle of the Mere have been watching West Harbour for some time. Daeghun is an old friend of our leader's, as well, and has told us some of his plans. We do what we must for the good of our lands...or at least we used to. Until the Circle was…lost…"
"I care nothing for your lands. And I do not trust one who will not give me her name," Isaviel hissed, stalking back to her bedroll and beginning to try to light the fire again while Khelgar dragged away the fallen Bladelings one at a time. She jumped when a burst of fire outdid her attempts with flint, and turned to see the druidess smiling down benevolently.
"My name is Elanee, and I am a druidess currently living in this forest. I travelled ahead of you – knowing the area as I do, I feared this would happen."
For a few moments more Isaviel watched her carefully – the way she smiled at her as if thoroughly understanding her distrust, the power she clearly possessed just in that one bout of flame. To command the elements as she had, and to shift into a bear…
"I would rather walk with you than shadow you – I think that we can be of some significant help to one another, and I would rather know Daeghun's ward is safe," Elanee was telling her, crouching down beside her and fishing through her pack as Khelgar re-joined them.
"What's this?" he asked, wrinkling his nose as she offered up a few small pearl-like berries to him.
"Mereberries," Elanee told him calmly, although Isaviel thought she saw a glint of frustration come into her eyes at the pair's evident on-going mistrust.
"She's not lying, Khelgar," Isaviel admitted, risking accepting hers and chewing on them thoughtfully, "My…foster-father Daeghun picks these in the winter when game is scarce and there aren't so many furs to sell." When no ill effects ensued and she felt their soothing effects helping heal her bruises and cuts, she continued, turning to Elanee and trying to look more kindly than she felt, "And I agree – if you do indeed speak truly, and so far I believe that you do, then I think we could be of help to each other…"
"What? Have you gone mad?" Khelgar choked, opting to sit on his bedroll across the fire even so.
"If she intended being a threat to us, Elanee has shown that she already possesses power enough to do that without deception," Isaviel pointed out to him.
Their new acquaintance nodded her head in gratitude, her thin, pointed features suddenly looking so very young with that brilliant smile and those freckled cheeks. If she were truly a druid of the Circle of the Mere as she had claimed, she must have been some sort of understudy to the elders, Isaviel surmised. Daeghun had told her a little of his dealings with them, and always he described them with great respect, reverence almost, of how they tended to the balance in the Mere, of how his hunting was carefully managed around their information. They were ancient forces of nature, chosen of Chauntea and Sylvanus, sometimes one or two of Eilistraee to even the balance. Spirit shamans, shapeshifters. Elanee was none of those things, not openly at least. The powers she had displayed were more rudimentary, and she was clearly very young – and human as well, in an area where West Harbour was the only human settlement in miles. Though Elves aged more slowly than humans, Isaviel had some experience on the topic, naturally, and could recognise Elanee's youth in her looks, and in her quick and emotive mannerisms.
"I am glad for your words, Isaviel," Elanee told her softly, her pale brown eyes glinting a little in the new flames, drawing her legs up against her chest and wrapping her thin arms about them, "If the path and stars read true, you are headed for Neverwinter. I know a quicker way through these woods. It is off the road but it will be one that the Githyanki cannot take nor track."
"We had intended to go to Highcliff to seek passage by ship, but…" Isaviel nodded in agreement, "The Gith knew we were here but they were clumsy in the forest, and their pursuit must mean that they know the path I was supposed to take," she took a breath and prepared to lie through her teeth, forcing a smile as she did so and watching Elanee's look brighten even more, "As one associated with the Circle, I will put my trust in you to guide us true."