"I'm…not sure whether to be i-impressed…or frightened," Shandra sighed as they crested the steep, rocky rise in the road, deep in the eastern foothills of the Crags, struggling against the bitter wind and the first few large, feathery flakes of real northern snowfall.
"I'd say we'd best be on our guard, lass," Khelgar offered as diplomatically as he could as he struggled up the steepest, iciest section of this poorly worn road, icicles forming in his beard.
"Agreed," Casavir nodded from where he stood close to a rocky outcropping, looking out over the unexpected valley below, his hammer a pale blue in the bright light, his heavy armour entirely obscured by multiple cloaks, "This does not appear to be the haven of an eccentric, humble wizard. It looks like a fortified castle."
"And a magically fortified one, at that," Sand added, reaching Khelgar's side and panting from the effort.
"The snow down there must be two feet deep, there's no way we'll get through that any time today," Qara complained at Isaviel's side.
The Moon Elf could not disagree with any of them, staring down at the neatly rectangular valley below. It looked more like an abandoned quarry, one filling steadily with pristine white snow. The mountains of the Crags rose up to form its far side, the foothills rising in evident progression to either end, jagged and partially forested. Every tree hung heavy and wilting with snow, just like the forest which they had trudged through to get to this point. Neverwinter Wood had seemed like a tropical jungle compared to this, thanks to the hot springs of the south western curve of the Crags. Here, in the north east, they were closer to Mirabar than they were to Luskan, and closer to the Lurkwood than they were to Neverwinter Wood. This felt like alien land, and Isaviel had never been so cold in her life.
Of course, the object of her friends' fascinations and fears lay across the valley, halfway down its length, an ugly, artless fortress in an undoubtedly artificially blasted alcove of ancient grey stone. It had been seemingly hewn into, and out of, the face of the dwarf mountain ahead – at these altitudes the mountain's height was deceptive; low clouds still brushed its summit. There were no ramparts or windows to be seen, but there was a path leading up to this sprawling construction, half-birthed out of stone, and Isaviel could see a set of huge doors at its front. Beside them stood a hulking statue - almost formless but vaguely humanoid; she found it a little unsettling even at this distance.
"Are you even sure this is Ammon Jerro's haven?" Qara groaned petulantly, and Sand stared at her in disbelief.
"How bad do you think my map-reading skills are, girl?" he demanded, gesturing with one gloved hand rather wildly, "The place is enormous!"
"Yeah, right, enormous enough to not even be on the map," Neeshka huffed from her place crouched on one of the rocks branching out from the cliff-face ahead, into which were hewn some terrifyingly steep stairs.
Bishop was just pulling himself back up these steps and paused at the next platform down from Neeshka's to peer up at the group, an arm thrown up to shield his eyes from the snow. A moment later he waved them down impatiently.
"It's a good job you didn't bring any horses with you, oh esteemed captain, or we'd be leaving them here to die cold deaths with the druid," he called.
"Well then it would have been more of a pity that we didn't bring Grobnar to keep her company," Neeshka suggested, grinning when the druid blushed and cringed, the Tiefling standing quickly and beginning to hop down the steps as though they were not thirty feet above the ground.
"Or maybe the Githzerai – if she was here they could bore each other to death before the cold got them," Qara added, sniggering.
"Well it's fortunate that I'm not staying up here," Elanee snapped, but that only made the sorcerer laugh more.
"Just ignore her, Elanee," Shandra sighed, patting the druid on the shoulder, but the younger woman sniffed angrily and pulled away, heading after Sand and Khelgar who had already begun to descend after the other two.
"Fine then," Shandra grumbled to herself, wiping the snow out of her eyes while Casavir passed her, gently touching her elbow, "Don't accept kindness," she paused when she reached Isaviel's side, taking one look at the Moon Elf's expression and nodding to herself, "I know, I'm just as surprised as you are that any relative of mine could built something like that. The lack of artistry clearly runs in the blood, but neither me nor my mother ever had a hope at making a basket, let alone building a fortress with our own magic."
"It seems we both have some questions about our ancestry," Isaviel smiled, hoisting her pack more securely onto her shoulders and pointing at the steps, "After you. Who knows, you might find some answers."
Qara had been right – even with her fiery spells to aid them, it had taken an alarming length of time to reach the sheltered road leading up towards the building. It was already dark by that time, though it was not four hours after noon, and the bright moon was thwarted by scudding clouds. Elanee had taken on her owl form to combat all of these problems and perched on the lip of the huge alcove high above them, staring down with enormous reflective eyes as at last the group left the snows behind, panting and sweating from the effort.
Isaviel had the advantage on them all for this, for as an Elf she was naturally agile in the snow, to the point where it was rare that her feet ever broke its surface. Khelgar had suffered the most, and while the Moon Elf stalked ahead, he had to lean against a wall, the icicles all melted into his beard, gasping for breath. He had borne the brunt of the struggle, acting as a snowplough for Neeshka and Sand, while Casavir did the same for Shandra until the latter had complained and walked on for herself. Bishop had been happy to let the others do the work for him, his bow in his hand and his eyes always watchful. He clearly did not trust this place, and Isaviel could not blame him. No one built their haven in the shape of an ugly fortress unless they had something to hide, or someone to fight. And probably, Ammon Jerro had possessed both issues, from the extent of the building.
"I would approach with caution if I were you, my dear," Sand warned rather dryly, all but limping over to Isaviel's side, and gesturing towards the enormous humanoid statue by the door, "That may not resemble my feeble little clay golem much, but it is off a similar cast."
"Gods," Isaviel hissed, stilling immediately, staring at the towering guardian of jointed stone with a new understanding, "I should have realised. It's a golem? It's not armed…"
"Yes. And need a stone golem be armed, when it could crush you in an instant? Give it a wide berth when we approach. If it comes to a fight, the magic of Qara and I will be useless against it."
"Duly noted," Isaviel nodded formally as the others started to regroup around them, Elanee swooping down to the ground and returning to her fragile, many-cloaked form smoothly.
"So who's talking to the man on the door?" Bishop inquired sardonically, and Isaviel rolled her eyes.
"Evidently not you, Prince Charming," Isaviel shot back, looking immediately over at Shandra, "I do hope the stories you were told about giving a pint of fresh Jerro blood weren't true, but something tells me you're the only chance we've got of getting in there without a fight."
"A-alright," Shandra nodded, drawing herself up with a deep breath, glancing over anxiously towards the golem, "Let's do this before I lose my nerve."
Casavir sent her a calming smile as she and Isaviel moved ahead, the others following at a short distance. As the Moon Elf and the woman came closer to the looming gates, the golem moved, its great limbs screeching against their sockets at first, a sound which dimmed to a dull grinding as it lumbered in front of the doors. Once there, it stood its ground, arms hanging by its sides. Dwarfed in front of it stood a little pedestal – stopping at about ten strides from this appliance, Isaviel could see with a little dread that there was a hole at its centre. Blood, then.
"You come armed, though you do not come in threat," its voice took a moment to grow, deep and resonant, filling the whole cavernous alcove, the ground rumbling beneath their feet, "This haven is a refuge and my master will brook no interruption."
"But your master is long dead, golem," Isaviel responded automatically, raising her voice perhaps needlessly, "And you are right, we do not wish to fight. We do require passage inside, however."
"To enter, there must be sacrifice."
"Oh, gods," Shandra whispered, turning pale and looking towards Isaviel, gripping the Moon Elf's arm tightly.
"What sacrifice?" Isaviel asked steadily.
"A sacrifice of blood."
"Don't make me do this, please don't say I have to do this…" Shandra groaned, "I'm not giving away my life for…"
"How much blood? Any blood?"
"Only a drop is necessary, though it must be fresh, and a part of the life of Ammon Jerro."
"Oh," Shandra breathed a sigh of relief, letting go of Isaviel, "Well, if that's all it takes…then I suppose if this doesn't work, we can always try something else, and I'll still be ok, right?"
"Right," Isaviel smiled tightly.
"You do not need to do this if you do not wish to, Shandra," Casavir reminded gently, coming over to join them, but she shook her head, and Isaviel's heart warmed at the woman's willingness – and her inability for his gallantry to weaken that resolve.
"We've been travelling over a tenday for this. I'm not going to fail you all now just for a little blood. A pint maybe, but not this."
"Then we thank you, Shandra," the paladin told her firmly, with such stilted formality, and when she looked to him again her smile was sad.
"Casavir, when we get out of this, we've got to talk about some things," she told him, placing a hand against his arm and kissing his cheek lightly – to his credit, he caught her chin and kissed her lips with at least a hint of emotion, and she looked pleased when she stepped away from him.
"Ready?" Isaviel asked, trying not to sound mocking and failing utterly.
"Ready," Shandra grinned, stepping forward up to the pedestal, uncontested by the golem, "In here, right?" she asked the construct awkwardly, extending a hand over the hole in the pedestal.
"That is the correct action," the golem agreed.
Shandra wasted no time, nicking her thumb with her dagger and letting a drop or two fall into the hole in the pedestal. Instantly the golem moved out of the way, and the gates began to shriek on their hinges, slowly beginning to rumble open, rather disappointingly revealing a much smaller door, the true entrance.
"Right, well…there," Shandra looked back at the others, "It's done – that was a lot easier than I'd expected, Isaviel…now what? I suppose we're just going in…"
She did not even get a chance to finish her sentence before a flash of magical energy engulfed her and she disappeared. Several of the others rushed forward, but there was nothing they could do – she had already gone.
"Great Tyr!" Casavir exclaimed, his hammer rather uselessly at the ready, "Shandra! Shandra!"
"I'm afraid she has been temporarily removed from our company," Sand noted, "Some…teleportation spell."
"All the more reason to hurry," Isaviel told them firmly, gesturing for the rest to follow, "Come on, let's go in and see what we can find. With any luck, she's just beyond that door."
But of course she was not. Instead, they entered a dark room, reminiscent of a wizard's study, with bookcases lining the bare stone walls and an elaborate mosaic on the floor, depicting an epic fight between the monstrous forms of devils and demons. There was a familiar winged figure standing across the room, his back to them as he continued to flick through the dog-eared pages of a small leather-bound notebook. Beside him, in a little bowl, lay a tiny silver shard, glinting in the feeble reddish candlelight.
"Ah, Wild One, you have returned to me," Mephasm sounded pleased, his deep voice echoing ominously in the room, turning his head only slightly to send Isaviel a knowing smirk – as the door behind her companions slammed shut…and sank away into the stone with a horrible shriek, "Greetings, my friend. I would say it is a surprise to see you, but alas the long ages in Baator have ensured that nothing surprises me anymore."
"Demon! Though you may trap us here with you, we will not listen to your schemes! Return Shandra to us, or pay the price!" Casavir fairly roared.
"I am aligned with the baatezu, not tanar'ri, paladin," Mephasm corrected, looking back at his book and laughing coldly, "You may call no devil 'demon' nor any demon 'devil'. It is law."
"Where is Shandra?" Isaviel asked, stalking closer, though Neeshka tried to claw her back, seeing that there was a door in the left wall, a little ajar.
"Who is this Shandra you care so greatly for? Do you mean the one who passed through here before you? She is far safer than you for now, Fair One, though it grieves me to tell you so. She was greatly afraid…and I wonder…how did you get into this place, when only one of Ammon Jerro's blood may enter that way?"
As she drew closer, Isaviel saw the runes carved into the ground in a large semi-circle across half of the room, evidently trapping the devil in place – the shard with him. He turned at last as she came closer, his impossibly beautiful face showing his amusement without shame, his snake-like eyes holding her gaze when he approached.
"She is his granddaughter," Isaviel told him warily, but he just smiled condescendingly when her hands rested on her dagger hilts.
"Then for once you know something that I did not. But, if what you say is true then she will soon be in great peril, with my fellow prisoners…"
"We are not liars, devil," Casavir snapped, hefting his hammer, and Sand sighed dramatically, approaching Isaviel.
Bishop was already by her side, and when she began to step forward, unable to look away from Mephasm's yellow eyes with their sharp red lashes, the ranger caught her wrist and pulled her to face him. Blinking up at him in confusion, Isaviel blushed, shaking her head to clear her thoughts and then looked back to Mephasm with a glare. He held up his hands in mock defence and smiled slowly, the black, red-fringed feathers of his wings ruffling a little as he shifted them.
"I freed you and yet here you are, trapped," the Moon Elf noted, "I think you have some explaining to do."
"You are correct," the devil acceded with a nod, "This is not the best of circumstances – you do indeed find me trapped once more against my will and this time my cage is larger and more secure," his red-tipped fangs showed when he smiled wolfishly, a wide smile that showed many perfect white teeth, and looked somehow…cruel and seductive at once.
"Don't listen to 'im, lass," Khelgar growled, mirroring Casavir's aggressive posture.
"Never did you speak more wisely, Khelgar," Sand agreed, reaching Isaviel's side and sharing a concerned expression with Bishop over the top of her head. Mephasm watched them with patient amusement.
"You come with more friends this time," the devil continued, "Fascinating, how you stand divided."
He gestured first at the groups which had formed at either side of the room; Isaviel, flanked by Sand and Bishop, and Casavir standing with Khelgar, Neeshka staring at the devil from behind them with glowing red eyes.
"…and outcast."
Then he indicated Qara and Elanee, keeping a fair distance between them, both staring at him with a mixture of awe and fear, though for rather different reasons. They kept themselves closest to the wall where the door had stood, and did not move.
"Answer my question," Isaviel demanded, and Mephasm's eyes flashed.
"Such determination," he mocked, folding his arms across his equally heavily muscled chest, a fact betrayed by his unashamedly thin black tunic, barely laced at all, "So I presume you are wondering why you found me first in the lair of the Githyanki and now again in this place. The dark warlock who summoned the Succubi you first saw attacking me has made this place his lair. From a laboratory at the centre he commands the energy which he siphons from the demons and devils held captive here."
"Who is this warlock? What is his name?" Sand asked shrewdly, but Mephasm ignored him.
"And, Fair One, if you are implying I have been less than honest with you, you are correct. The warlock is – and always has been – the master of both the wretch Qaggoth-Yeg and I, as well as the others here. It was him and not the Githyanki who summoned me to their lair, to block them off from him once and for all while he went about his business. But I had other ideas, and saw my way to escape from him when you arrived. Alas, he found me again in Nessus and this time has ensured that my bonds are far less easily breakable. Thanks to the magic of this place, only one of Ammon Jerro's blood can free me – it appears you have offered me my…salvation…again."
"Gods, Isaviel," Sand hissed, "What are you doing consulting with a fallen Deva who hails from Nessus?"
"You should know that your blood is more like mine than your pet wizard's, Beautiful One. I met your father once…many millennia ago. He smelled of death, and he broke his vows, but you…have potential."
While Sand gawped at him, and Isaviel's blood ran cold, the devil ran a hand pointedly over the book he had been reading.
"The book does not lie. I see him in you, and his curse. Should we ever meet after this day, I will tell you more, and the book will be yours," his words rang in her ears, though his mouth did not move, "I have told you all that I can of my master – I fear I may have said too much."
"But you will help me find Shandra? And get to that laboratory? I think I need to have a few words with your master," Isaviel added grimly, pulling her wrist free from Bishop's tightening grip, ignoring the distrustful mutterings of Elanee, and the indignant protestations of Casavir.
"Of course I will," Mephasm nodded, still with that horrid smile, "You will need to win the favour of two more of my fellow captives, though they may be somewhat less…amenable. You see, we are the key into and out of this place, but our master knows that the others are always warring amongst themselves, thus ensuring it is all but impossible for an intruder to get to his laboratory."
"What can you tell me of these others?"
"There is Blooden, the leader among the Succubi – she is as violent as she is seductive; be careful with her, especially with so many hot-blooded males around you," his eyes drifted tellingly from Bishop to Casavir and back again, "The other is Baalbisan, a Balor, so confident in his power, and he especially scorns the presence of females. I suspect you could teach him a lesson or two about that, Wild One."
Those words, spoken so suggestively, made Bishop growl in warning, but that only caused a derisive laugh to come from Isaviel, and the ranger looked momentarily like he might hit her. His other hand closed around the hilt of his sword, pulling it halfway from it scabbard, but Isaviel raised a doubtful eyebrow at him, resting her hand on his, and he took a step back. He was still raging, if silently, as harmless as he was ever going to be.
"I see that one learned quickly," Mephasm pointed out, rolling his eyes at Bishop's behaviour.
"Are there others?" Isaviel demanded of him, and he nodded amiably enough.
"There are several more, although I doubt all of them will wish to receive you. Two such are Qaggoth-Yeg, of Yogguul, and her son, Zaxis, a pair of Hezrou. Avoid them if you can – I am sure you have learned your lesson far quicker than she did."
"That was female?" Qara exclaimed, "Gods, and I thought Shandra was manly."
"Do not speak of Shandra so rudely, Qara," Casavir commanded automatically.
"I never said it was an insult," the sorcerer shrugged.
"Koraboros, a one-time ally of mine…he is a Pit Fiend of the Hells, of Cania, and he may be able – and willing – to aid you. Hezebel, the leader of the Erinyes, also."
"And what do you gain from this?" Isaviel asked, narrowing her eyes doubtfully – if there was one thing that was common knowledge about both devils and demons, it was that pacts with them never came without a price.
"Wise, Wild One," Mephasm smiled, "But…suffice to say that it should not trouble you. We all want revenge for our captivity. You could offer that to us. I will perform my part of the bargain, and then you must go – and quickly. Be on your guard. Most here use their minions to fight for them, and provide their entertainment, though such activity is useless; they plot and scheme endlessly with each other, because there is nothing else to do."
He stepped back, raising his hands, already glowing with red light, and looked up at the ceiling, whispering an arcane phrase. Following his gaze, Isaviel saw a symbol on the fresco over their heads, simply of three crossed lines of runes. One flared red and continued to glow, humming softly, as the magic streamed from Mephasm's hands to touch it.
"It is done," the devil stated, gesturing towards the only door in the room, "Onwards you must go. Good luck. Seek me out. We have much to talk of, and I have a few things of yours," though the others could not hear his words, he nodded teasingly towards the shard and the dog-eared journal on his table, then turned away from them, dismissing the group entirely, opening another book.
Waving the others over to follow her, Isaviel pushed the door beside her slowly until it was fully open, and upon seeing only a short, dark corridor ahead, she stepped through. There were no traps, no signs on the walls, and only one closed door beyond, a persistent scraping coming from somewhere up ahead.
"He had a shard!" Neeshka squeaked once the others had joined the Moon Elf, shutting the door behind them.
"That one is a lying bastard," Bishop hissed, and Isaviel smirked at his tone, though her eyes were hard.
"Jealous?" she asked, letting Casavir pass to peer anxiously through the grating in the door ahead, "I doubt he's much more of a liar than you, Bishop. Oh…and another thing," she lowered her voice, glaring now, her tone ice cold, "If you ever threaten me like you did in there – ever again – you'll wake one morning choking on your own blood."
The ranger sneered half-heartedly, but there was a fierce look in his eyes apart from rage, and his look soon became a wicked grin…
"As much as the sexual tension is incredibly awkward for us all," Sand put in, "I think the paladin might be having a heart attack. There are a lot of Erinyes in the next room. None of them are armed, and some of them are naked. That tends to mean they are more dangerous, so stop mooning over each other and…"
"Shut up, wizard," Bishop sighed, and Isaviel was already moving up to the door, pushing at Casavir until his stepped out of the way, eyes like saucers.
Through the grating the scene was rather innocent at first. Sand had obviously only given the details which he had found most notable – and that reflected poorly on him – for there was a great deal more going on than his information had implied. This room was far larger than Mephasm's, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed, around the perimeter of which was drawn a similar semi-circular line of runes…a suspect place to keep a devil servant, if Isaviel ever saw one. Indeed there were a number of Erinyes around the room, female devils in the shape of tall, impossibly icy-skinned women, dressed in some rather revealing leather clothes of dubious origin. Some were more like scraps than items. They all sported large white feathered wings and though their faces were flawless and their bodies undoubtedly pleasing as well, their eyes were shining red, with barely any whites to be seen. Their hands ended in longer black talons, as did their bare feet. But for the moment, they were scattered about the room, apparently free to roam as they willed; some were seated on the deep red carpet, laughing in husky, seductive tones while they played a game of chess. Oddly, there was no board, and their pieces were shaped like body parts, not whole people. Others reclined at intervals about the room, talking quietly…their seats were rather telling of their true nature, as these were freshly killed demons, their blood turning the carpet black.
As Isaviel watched, a flash of white light sent the devils in the room scattering to its walls – and the Moon Elf's friends all clustered around her vantage point. Shandra appeared in the magic's wake, and though Isaviel called to her – as did Casavir – and tried to open the door, both actions failed to evoke a response. The young woman looked about herself with a mixture of confusion and horror, as well as embarrassment, until a languid female voice addressed her by name, affecting a sympathetic tone.
"Shandra…and just when I was growing tired of the Jerro blood, a new bag of it appears before me. You are far lovelier than your grandfather…in a disappointing way," the voice added, as the speaker slid from the bed to stand directly before Shandra, the line of runes between them.
"This must be Hezebel, the leader of the Erinyes," Sand noted, and Isaviel nodded, calling to her friend again, trying the door again…nothing.
"I'd agree," Khelgar grunted in frustration, hopping once to try to see through the grating, "But I'm havin' a little trouble here."
Hezebel was a little taller, a little more beautiful and groomed than her servants, her wings broad and glossy, unblemished white. Her skin was as pale as death, her eyes like backlit rubies with long black lashes to match her lustrous dark ringlets, lips blood-red and full, curving readily into a worryingly beguiling smile to reveal perfect teeth. She wore a thin black shift, short but split to the hips at both sides anyway.
"How...how did I get here?" Shandra stammered, beginning to look around and then thinking better of it.
"Gods, if only we could get through this door," Casavir groaned, "The devil must have put some kind of silencing spell over us as well."
"One that means we can hear each other? Sophisticated…and impossible. Perhaps if we listen, rather than pondering the impossible, we might learn a thing or two to help us in actually re-joining Shandra," Sand suggested, and the group gained an uneasily silence – soon painfully aware that they had missed something important.
"I…I don't believe you," Shandra was saying, shaking her head, "And…so it's true? I can travel wherever I want in this haven – I could even get back with my friends?"
"In time," Hezebel nodded slyly, affecting a little pitying frown, pursing her lips, "Although it will take a little practice yet. You may find travel here…erratic. The place has many locks and seals, some of which not even you can breach without the proper knowledge. Their power is drawn from the demons and devils caged here, and thus you will be drawn to them as well."
"What about my friends?"
"They will have a…more difficult time of it. Their aim is a little different from your own – you who hold such love and loyalty within you. The hope, the innocence, the utter blissful ignorance…fascinatingly vacuous, truly," the devil smiled more broadly when Shandra just blinked at her in confusion, "I think they will soon envy the power you have…"
"That's not likely. I don't think Isaviel's got any reason to envy me," the woman did sound oddly grudging, and Isaviel was surprised by how much that bothered her.
"Ah, you fear her…and respect her," Hezebel tilted her head curiously, "An interesting combination…though it is not fear of the usual kind. You fear…she will take something from you…something you prize greatly…"
"No…I don't know what you're doing in my head, but…"
"Oh, I see your heart's greatest desires, and worst fears," Hezebel nodded smugly, "I need not voice them to know what they are. As for your ability within this place…to travel you need only think of a part of the haven where you wish to be, and you shall…"
The flash of magic came again, and Shandra had disappeared with a roar of sound even before Hezebel finished her sentence. Instead, the Erinyes waved her hand imperiously and the door in front of Isaviel and the others clicked, swinging open to allow them to stumble inside.
"By all the hells…" Khelgar breathed when at last he saw the scene; Neeshka elbowed him hard.
"You're a dwarf. You like women with beards and bigger muscles than Casavir, right? Right?" the Tiefling demanded, cringing when a pair of Erinyes came too close, giggling and pointing at her horns and tail but showing no signs of hostility, "And you really don't want to be swearing on the Hells. That won't do you any good here…I reckon she's come straight out of…"
"Phlegethos," Hezebel agreed coolly with the confidence of one who knows they will be listened to, "And you…I fail to understand what Mephasm sees in you," the Erinyes turned to Isaviel now, looking around at her handmaidens as she spoke and sharing a smile with a few, "I really do. You carry yourself as one who has been told her whole life that she is beautiful; as one who always got what they wanted as a child with just a pretty smile, though the thing curled around your soul is as ugly as the scars that mar your body," she smiled, her servants cackling at the petty insults.
"Can you get us into the laboratory? You did well enough at keeping us away from Shandra, but in helping us you will gain revenge against your master. If he does not surrender to us, he will die tonight," Isaviel responded, keeping her expression still and her thoughts hard.
"Poor gosling," Hezebel continued, clapping her hands twice – a signal for her servants to file out of one of the three doors in the room, "Whoever lied to you? You are such a homely creature…"
"Well now," Bishop interrupted unexpectedly, and the Erinyes smiled even wider when her eyes fell on him, looking him up and down unashamedly, "If there's anything I can't stand it's a demonic wench…"
"Devilish," Qara corrected curtly, but he ignored her.
"…trying to crawl out of her gutter by throwing slime on someone else," he paused, glancing around at the room, then shrugged, and his tone became angrily mocking, "Don't get me wrong, I've known my fair share of banshees, but at least they weren't stupid enough to get caught in a summoning circle like you."
"Trapped…in circles…such curious words," Hezebel raised an eyebrow, and now it was her turn to be mocking, pouting as she reclined back against the foot of her bed rather revealingly, "Are they taken from a memory, ranger? A memory that carries a scent of blood with it?"
Bishop flinched openly at her words, but his face only portrayed greater anger. Isaviel did not know whether to trust his defence of her, and watched the altercation warily. Casavir and Khelgar were keeping their distance rather pointedly, and Neeshka was evidently struggling against her demonic blood, her eyes glowing red still, her hands twitching closer and closer to her knives. Sand and Qara were both beginning to look around the room, pondering the summoning circle surrounding the bed, and the runes on the door through which the other Erinyes had left. Elanee was already standing by the far door, looking pale and scared. It was from beyond that portal that the scraping they had heard earlier was coming.
"If you're going to go all cryptic on us, maybe we should just put you in a tomb right now," Bishop suggesting through gritted teeth, and Hezebel laughed patronisingly.
"There is nothing cryptic in what I say, and you know that well – I do not speak of what is hidden, but rather what is written on your features and in your mind," the Erinyes denied, her expression softening as though greatly moved, putting a hand of over her heart and pouting a little, "How long has it been since you defended a woman as you just did? Shown a kindness? Or has life been servitude, always trapped within one circle after another, ever narrowing?"
Isaviel's heart gave a jolt, though her hands closed around the hilts of her daggers more surely than Neeshka's could. Looking up at Bishop, she saw his face was set as still as hers, but his arms were flexing just a little, muscles in his jaw clenched.
"You want to play guessing games? Then guess what I'm going to do to you next," he growled, not moving at all when Isaviel put a hand on his arm, stepping forward and shaking her head, her patience growing thin.
"If you want to attack someone, attack me," the Moon Elf told Hezebel now, "I've important business to attend to, and you've not answered my question."
"Look, as much as I appreciate it, I can handle her," Bishop snarled, just to make sure that Isaviel knew he did not 'appreciate it' at all, "Don't protect me. You're just playing her game by trying to be a hero."
"Ah…heroes," Hezebel smiled, "There is such disdain in your voice, pretty lost boy. For every hero, ranger, a thousand fall. For every one born in West Harbour, there are a thousand weaker, driven from their homes in shame," her red eyes beheld him steadily, victoriously, and Isaviel felt his arm tense even harder under her hand.
"Little witch," Bishop growled, but Hezebel continued unbothered.
"But what makes my life so sweet, my existence so sweet, if those that backstab when such things wound them, and for whom kindness shown to them lashes like a slaver's whip. Tell your… 'lovely' friend what it means for you to defend her, to journey with her, and what it really meant when this… "Duncan" saved you."
"You keep talking, really keep going," Bishop told her furiously, his voice so low, shaking with rage, "And not even that summoning circle will save you."
"Deal with me, or no one at all," Isaviel broke in now, reaching the edge of the summoning circle, and Hezebel reclined onto her side to see her better, "If you break the seal to the laboratory I will kill your master, and release you from his servitude."
"She can't stop tormenting," Bishop spat, "Her words are all she's got, and they're empty, like she is."
"Oh, I am done talking," Hezebel was pleased to disagree, "I have planted a seed that will grow in time, and that is enough."
"Will you help us open the seal?" Isaviel demanded, and the Erinyes nodded after a moment, her eyes lingering on each of the Moon Elf's companions.
"I will…though it will come at a slight price. A far easier bargain than many of my comrades in servitude might offer you, as well."
"Very well, then name your price," Isaviel agreed, somehow sensing that it would be far less agreeable than Hezebel's words implied.
"Good," the devil smiled, rolling on to her stomach on the bed, her chin resting on her palm, and pointing lazily with her free hand towards Casavir, "I would very much it like it if you would…kiss that one. He holds you in far more esteem than you realise, and I would love so very much to see you break his rigid reserve. Don't stint. A peck on the cheek, a brush of the lips…it won't count. At all. I'll only make the bargain harder."
"That is your bargain?" Isaviel exclaimed, feeling like her jaw had just dropped to the floor in shock. It seemed so…harmless, and yet so very…distasteful.
"I will not agree to your schemes, devil," Casavir was quick to deny, flushing deep red.
"There must be another way. There are others in this place who could help us…Mephasm said…" Elanee started to wail, but Hezebel interrupted.
"Put aside your feeble hopes, druid. You ought to love another, more suited to your…gentle heart. That one might be a noble paladin, but his soul craves another type of woman entirely," the Erinyes smirked, quirking an eyebrow when Elanee blanched.
"Mephasm said that the devils here are two in number beyond himself – they are far easier to bargain with, so I have heard," Sand put in quickly when the devil turned to him, "The demons are three: Zaxis and Qaggoth-Yeg would never help us, Isaviel – he explained as much. And I can hear them just beyond that door. Have a look through the grating – they don't look pleased. The Succubus will be no better than Hezebel here, I assure you."
"Your wizard is a clever one…Isaviel, though he gives me your name to play with. Your mother…from Evereska. Esmerelle, the one whose screams still echo. Fascinating…you do not know what it is you will suffer. Betrayal, pain, death, loss…The Lamentations of the Dead."
"Silence," Isaviel snarled.
Her skin was crawling now, not daring to ponder those words at that time, and the more she thought on what she had to do, the less she wanted to do it. Elanee was staring at her with eyes like saucers, Shandra would be furious if she ever found out – and Casavir would certainly tell her. She would lose two companions' allegiances in a heartbeat. Bishop's hand was shaking as it closed around his sword hilt and he was glaring at her; he understood her choice, so she reached up and kissed first his left cheek, then his right, holding his face in her hands though he tried to recoil, until his ranging eyes were caught by hers. She thought no words, and certainly spoke none, stepping away from him. He did not move to follow her steps with his gaze, though Casavir backed up against the wall as she approached him, as fearful and impotent as she had ever seen him, ironically.
"Oh, gods, just get it over with," Qara sighed, looking at her nails in boredom, "It's not like anyone in this room thinks it might mean anything."
"I think you've entirely been outdone by the subtleties of life, dear," Sand groaned, looking away through the grating of the door leading to Zaxis and Qaggoth-Yeg.
Khelgar was looking down at the floor, shuffling his feet uncomfortably, Bishop was watching Hezebel intently rather than turn around, and Sand was still staring out of the door. But Elanee was watching in horror, and the Erinyes was clapping her hands in glee as Isaviel put a hand on the paladin's shoulder, staring hard into his fearful blue eyes.
"I command you, as your captain, and – I hope – as someone you trust at least a little, to do this. Tell Shandra…I'll tell her. It doesn't matter. If she's got any sense, she'll know we did it to save her. She knows it's her you love," Isaviel told him calmly, but his expression did not change – nor did he move away.
"I do trust you," he admitted unhappily, "I trust you to do what is right for this war, and what is right for yourself. But for me…I understand. I am but a soldier in this war. I will not stop you, my lady, though it might be for the best to do so."
"Ah, he chooses his words so carefully," Hezebel cackled, "For he does not love her, though you might think he does. Both your hearts will break soon enough I think. Now, let me see what I have asked for. And I will play my part without any other demands…as promised."
Isaviel had never felt the need to apologise to a man before kissing him before, and she refrained then on matters of principle, though she dearly wanted to. Casavir looked so unwilling, pulling back even further against the wall as she stood on her tiptoes, until the back of his head collided with the stone. The rebound rather unceremoniously brought their lips together, to the surprise of both, and the Moon Elf had not expected it to make her feel as it did. She had grown used to his paladinic aura, what little of it she could detect; it was a constant brightness, an unsettling warmth in the heart. Kissing him, it was something else. She wondered why Shandra had been so unhappy with her lot, although the thought was but a brief one. She had never expected righteousness to taste so good. She was a little startled when he did not pull away, her own hands gripping his shoulders tightly as his hands settled on her sides. His breath was shuddering, though his body no longer shook.
Hezebel's clapping broke the spell, and Isaviel pulled away first, stumbling from the paladin and looking away from him sharply. That had been a far greater mistake than she had expected. Her heart was pounding and her legs were weak. And Bishop was watching the paladin over her head, his eyes promising to spill blood.