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Onward to the battle for Crossroad Keep! Warning for some strong violence...and maybe some shocks in store... :O
The air stank of death and the darkness. It clawed over her skin, brushing against her face and stirring the Demonic rage which slumbered within her blood. All was dark, unnaturally black, for she could not see through it even with her darkvision. Cold, hard ground pressed against her cheek, and with a groan Neeshka forced herself blindly up onto her knees, looking all about in the silent void, listening to the echo of her own nervous breaths. Fear crept over her in a wave which became a tide as her senses returned to her and she recalled where she must be, and that this was no nightmare. The paralysing dread which came to her at that realisation was worse than any awakening from a night terror.
Bishop's treachery ran deeper than she had ever feared. She could still remember the day Isaviel had met him, scrapping with Qara in The Sunken Flagon, how she had seen the calculating look in his eyes when he saved Isaviel in the alleyway afterwards. She had thought he was driven by simple lust, and that he would move on sooner than he had. Instead, he had lingered, sour and hard-hearted, and Isaviel had remained blind to the inevitability that he would turn against her. The Tiefling shuddered to think of what the ranger would do against the Moon Elf, and what orders he had been given. He had thrown Neeshka into this void without a second thought and thankfully she had no recollection of anything that had passed since then.
Something shifted behind her and Neeshka span around, hearing the creak of a door and the whisper of cloth brushing over the stone ground. The hum of low laughter assaulted her ears and a bright blue point of light winked into being, showing the one who approached her to be much further away than she expected. This place in which she had been left was no small cell, but a vast dark chamber with no opening for the sun or for a hint of warmth. Neeshka never thought she could miss the cold, snowy environs of ordered Crossroad Keep, but with the horror of this place and all it meant, watching the dark figure approaching her of the smooth grey stone, she found that she did.
"Wh-who are you? What do you want?" the Tiefling demanded at length, shivering so violently that it was a struggle to drag herself to her feet, her hands and feet numb.
"You thought we had taken all we wanted from you, did you? Your oath, your hope and your blood?" Garius's voice was full of disdain as he drew closer, his ghastly skeletal face backlit by that strange blue light and utterly unable to show any of the expression he might once have had. His feet made no sound upon the stone, and she wondered if he floated rather than walked…until she saw the vial in his hand and all her thoughts fled.
"Then what do you want?" her voice was shrill in her own ears as she took a step back, looking about herself in the darkness automatically before accepting that there was no way of knowing where to run.
"One more thing…and then all of eternity," the Reaver told her smugly.
The wizard tilted his head and reached out a hand, his palm out towards her when she stiffened and made to run, hearing the ominous ring to his words. Whatever that gesture meant, it sent a surge of magic throughout the air around her and held her fast. Neeshka's eyes were wide and panicked when they met Garius's. He just laughed at her and held her look a moment longer before crushing the vial of her blood between his withered hands, chanting as he did so until the liquid dripping macabrely from his fingers flared up with blue light and turned to dust before her eyes. When he looked back up at her, his blue gaze flared brighter momentarily and he pointed one stained finger towards her, gesturing and whispering to create the end of his incantation.
Once he had finished, the silence between them rang painfully in Neeshka's ears, even more powerfully than the pounding of her own heart. For half a moment she could almost believe that nothing had happened, until she dared to take a breath and try to step back again. Something twisted inside her, a force that pervaded her entire being, and felt a prickling and a burning sensation as if countless tiny hooks were embedding themselves within her flesh. She screamed and fell to her knees, clawing at herself, while Garius just laughed.
"The pain will pass," the Reaver told her callously, "The geas, however, will follow you to the end of your days. Let us learn how much you long to live out this war…for you will die by the force of this spell if you do not fulfil my wish that you kill Isaviel Farlong. You may also fall to the blades of your 'friends' for such a deed," he shrugged, sounding amused, "That is hardly my concern."
When Neeshka's horror and dread was overcome by her rage at such a revelation, Garius did not even deign to acknowledge the stream of insults she promptly began to spit his way. Instead, his gaze moved past her, to something above and beyond the spot upon which she stood. His stillness, and his complete lack of interest, gave Neeshka pause and she dared to turn her back to him, her fear temporarily replaced by her fierce rage. Such audacity fled as quickly and impotently as thin snowfall upon the warmed streets of Neverwinter, for she beheld a great alabaster throne upon a raised stone dais, surrounded by a small moat of shallow water within which danced awakening blue flames. Upon that mighty throne sat a man, tall and muscular…but his entire being was darkness, his eyes pits of black flame, his armour of glinting ebony mail. His face was formless in shadow, and upon his head sat a silver band with a central blue jewel.
"Our armies assemble before the gates of Crossroad Keep even now, my lord," Garius informed from behind Neeshka, and the man upon the throne inclined his head, "They shall not long withstand us, though they believe their sunrise will save them. Our ally has informed me that their main defences have already been…compromised."
As the Tiefling watched, this man of shadows gripped the armrests of his throne with an angry strength and stood, taking a step down towards her, casting a dark cloak across the fires which had only just erupted around him. He gestured imperiously towards her and she whimpered in impotent fear, sliding one foot behind the other, wishing to run, but instead she felt her geas twist within her again, understanding his will…against her own. Thus it was that, instead of running, she knelt and stared up with hatred and fear into the eyes of her new lord.
Isaviel had never expected to feel grateful towards Akachi for bringing her soul the vigour to need so little sleep, yet she did – for when she had awoken after only an hour or two of rest, she had felt as awake as if she had slept for eight. Preferring not to wake Sand, seeing how comfortable and close he stayed to her in his oblivion, she had watched him a while before slipping from the bed. She forced her thoughts from their inevitable turn towards Bishop when she remembered the letter Aldanon had sent to her earlier in the day. Dressing in her faded leggings which she favoured for training and a fur-rimmed velvet tunic to protect against the cold, she wrapped herself in furs and her winter cloak and climbed the ladder to the roof.
Outside the cold wind was howling unexpectedly around the keep, sending her cloaks flapping wildly and her long plait of hair whipping around her shoulder. Shuddering, the Moon Elf looked up at the sky and saw that the previously unrelenting clouds had parted enough to reveal a few oases of sparkling stars. At least the snow had stopped, piled heavily over the crenulations around her, crunching satisfyingly beneath her boots. The whole keep was arrayed for her to see from this point.
To the north stood the uneven roofs of the southern wing of the main building and the training area behind her, with the high walls built along the edge of the stone ground which dropped steeply down, becoming the cliff which made the keep such a good defensive vantage point, curving around to the west as well. To the south the majority of the keep's architecture was visible, as well as the main bailey. Sand's house and the Temple of Lathander could be seen along with the smithy and the multiple barracks buildings, around which stood a number of hastily constructed shelters. The large number of soldiers which the castle was harbouring now meant that every room that could be was occupied.
Guards were moving over every part of the keep that could be manned as well and there were enough torches to light the night easily, had she been human and required such aid to see the dark world. As it was, Isaviel had no problem reading the letter Aldanon had given to her. He had detailed instructions for a hypothetical infiltration plan, explaining that he had uncovered the epicentre of the King of Shadows's power. He believed that this was where that ancient guardian of Illefarn himself resided, and that his lack of movement in the past would suggest that for some reason he preferred not to follow his army. Perhaps his three-decades-passed battle with Ammon Jerro had taught him that lesson. The rest of the plan was familiar – they had used this method before in their previous outing to the Mere, back when Shandra had been alive. Each of those who travelled through Aldanon's portal would be allocated a certain playing piece, for which he would keep a replica. Except that in this case, only the detection of the death of the King of Shadows would be his cue to recall them. Failure would mean almost certain death.
A last resort, Isaviel told herself, standing straight once more and crumpling the sheet of paper in her grasp. The others would not need to know it all. They must make their own choice, and she and Ammon Jerro would be going regardless. Their fates were bound to the King of Shadows, for they held the combined power to kill him, and there would be no others. Only Ammon Jerro had the Ritual of Purification and only Isaviel could wield the Sword of Gith. Without her, it would be just a pile of silver shards.
She was about to turn and go back to the warmth of her bedroom when she noticed something was wrong. She had just begun to wonder if Sand had noticed that she had left, but had paused to send one last look over the pristine snowy fields beyond the keep, hoping to find solace in the empty lands wherein one day she would expect to find only horror. Except that which she saw was anything but untouched snow. Instead, from the trees beyond there swarmed a mass of darkness, silent, full of ambling dead shapes and some other, stranger figures besides. They had come two days early, filling the white fields with inky blackness and beginning a steady advance, with no battle cries and no warning of any kind. They did not seem to have many long-ranged weapons or siege engines…but that only made them all the more unnerving.
"Sound the alarm!" Isaviel cried almost simultaneously with the distant shouts of those men standing watch at the front gate.
As the warning alarms were rung, filling the entire castle complex with the tolling of bells, Isaviel watched the swell of magical fire among the ranks of the dark army, conjured by whatever twisted form of wizardry they had in their power. She saw the swirling globes of light soar up and over the walls, and cried out when it landed with a great burst of flame in the main bailey, momentarily illuminating the forms of several guards scrambling away over the suddenly bubbling snow.
The Moon Elf had seen enough, feeling increasingly vulnerable upon her high vantage point, and ran for the ladders back down into her room. It was time for battle.
Isaviel and her most trusted – or needed – companions gathered in the main hall of the keep. When she had rushed back into her bedroom, Sand had been gone, the covers of her bed neatly tucked in, with not a sign of his passing. It was almost as if he had expected to be needed elsewhere. So she had buckled on her two swords, with her shuriken and numerous daggers about her person for good measure, before joining the throng of rushing guards through the corridors of the keep.
The servants and anyone else whose expertise would be of no aid to battle had already undoubtedly been ushered to the cellar, from whence led a secret path out of the keep, down through the cliff and out into the woods beyond. Should it be needed, they would collapse it after themselves, but the Moon Elf could not imagine there would be much hope at such a stage of battle. The thought almost brought her up short as one of Akachi's memories flooded her consciousness, a flash of brilliant orange flame, a cacophony of screams as he and his vengeful generals stormed Myrkul's temple and threw the priests into the furnace wherein his wife had died.
Trumpets were still ringing in the bailey outside as Isaviel reached the main hall in time to see the rune-carved shutters being pulled down over the windows above the gates. Momentarily the bustling room was plunged into darkness, but one by one summoned lights filled its vast space. It was teeming with Many-Starred Cloaks and previously off-duty soldiers, forming up into groups to fulfil whatever defence duties were expected of them.
At the centre of the room stood Lord Nasher Alagondar, already arrayed in his impressive golden armour, its ridges inlaid at appropriate moments with dustings of precious gems to catch the light and presumably impress his army with a sense of power. By his side was Sir Nevalle, his hair uncharacteristically ruffled, still buckling on his armour, a stark contrast with Casavir who was just rushing into the main hall through the front gate, to the ominous rumble of exchanged spells. His hammer shone like a star in his hand and his cloak was torn and singed. It looked like he had been in the bailey when the first fireballs had struck. Khelgar was by his side, in a similar state, though his armour was light and his axe strapped to his back, the hum of psionic power visible around his fists. His expression was typically excitable, however, as he and Casavir drew up by Nevalle and Nasher just as Aldanon and Ammon Jerro arrived opposite them, both carrying thick, dog-eared tomes. Qara followed in their wake; atypically for such an hour she was still fully dressed in her deep green velvet dress, slashed with white silk. She looked the very picture of the beautiful, raging sorceresses of story and song, and it unnerved Isaviel. Fire and tiny lightnings were already crackling at her fingertips.
"Have the gates been barred? Are the Waterdeep and Longsaddle contingents deployed?" Nasher was demanding of Kana as she scurried to his side just as Isaviel joined their group, and the lieutenant nodded breathlessly.
"Aye, and me lads're up on the outer walls," Khelgar threw in, "They'll be rainin' burnin' oil down on them undead all night. Let's see how they come back from that!"
"We just need to make it to the dawn," Nasher agreed with a stiff nod. His manner towards the Dwarf was increasingly stilted, for he could never have expected Khelgar to rise to kingship so suddenly. Now the Lord of Neverwinter was expected to treat him as an equal, where once he had seen Khelgar as a dangerously headlong common soldier.
"That is a likely plan," Zhjaeve agreed softly, stepping up between Casavir and Khelgar, but when Isaviel glanced towards Ammon Jerro's glowering face, he caught her eye and there was no agreement there. Be ready that look said.
"Whatever happens, come the dawn we will reconvene here," Isaviel told them with a nod to Aldanon. For a moment clarity shone in his blue eyes, for only they and Ammon Jerro knew what would follow that meeting.
"That's if there's anything left, surely Captain?" Bishop's characteristic drawl sent a shock of something uncomfortably like guilt up Isaviel's spine.
The Moon Elf turned with a jump to regard him standing by her side, already dressed in his dark leathers and his travelling cloaks. His bow was on his back and he had twice as many arrows in his quiver as he normally did. There were daggers all over his body, and a shortsword on his belt as well as his longsword. When he caught her looking, he raised his eyebrows, and she wanted nothing more than to flinch away from those dark eyes which seemed to bore through her and into her true thoughts.
They had not spoken since she so openly rebuffed him in Arvahn, and in truth she found that she could not blame him. She had spoken with the harshness of reality, of the duties which she so hated but which had been forced upon her. They meant life, and fleeing would only mean death for her and for many on the Sword Coast. And instead of his usual rage, the anger he had exuded had been a quiet, enduring veil over his person. There had been no opening for an apology, barely a half-smile shared between them. She had hidden the pain that gave her, and now as the guards formed up around their group and the others discussed final plans, waiting only on Grobnar and Sand for Isaviel to give her final orders, the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep found herself lost in Bishop's stare. There was no challenge, and no question, only a dark void of rage and passion, a simple force which had initially drawn her to him because it should have meant there would never be anything complicated between them. That plan had not worked for Isaviel, as she had come to realise some time before, though they had argued terribly so many times, and he had always been so distrustful and cruel and negative…
"Ah, so good of you to join us Sand," Nasher noted acidly, jolting Isaviel and Bishop from their trance. In truth only seconds had passed, but it might as well have been all night. Where moments before there had been a wall of denial across Isaviel's heart now there yawned a dark and empty chasm.
Sand and Grobnar finally stepped up to join the others, the golem looming impressively behind the nervous Gnome. Isaviel raised a questioning eyebrow the wizard's way, but his eyes moved to Bishop, and her heart dropped. There would be some difficult considerations to tackle if she lived to see the new day. For now, the night held war…and the dawn would bring either victory or doom.
"Good luck, Isaviel Farlong," Nasher put in gravely now, his gaze moving from the ranger to the Moon Elf to Sand and back to Isaviel rather too knowingly. A disheartening sadness showed in his expression along with his observation, but she set her expression and remained unmoved, "Try to keep your thoughts on winning this battle."
"It's not just you who might die tonight," she told him coldly, resting her hand pointedly on the hilt of the Sword of Gith, "I know how to win."
A vision flashed across her mind's eye; two great armies clashed on a grey plane, one an array of many races of creatures from across the Planescape, all full of rage and vengeance, the other formed up in strict squadrons of black-robed Seraphim, the Harbingers. She could recall the feel of the cold air through Akachi's feathers as he had soared above the Fugue Plane…and his horror when he had been cast down, broken, at the feet of his mighty God of Death.
She watched Lord Nasher's sneer at her words, and felt her rage swell. She heard Nevalle mutter something like 'rabid dogs only know how to die in the end' and her grip tightened on her swords. It was a stark reminder of the 'leash' Nasher had her on; by promise of blackmail he held her in his righteous power, and no doubt intended to thank her efforts with a prison sentence if she survived.
As another more distant explosion rocked the keep, fraying nerves just a little more with every cry for help they heard through the gates, Isaviel turned from the conveniently retreating forms of Nevalle and Nasher. No doubt their role would be up on the ramparts by her chambers, overseeing the battle…well out of range of real war.
"Knight-Captain, we are ready for your orders," Kana reminded expectantly, and Isaviel ground her teeth in loathing.
"Alright," the Moon Elf sighed, looking to each of her friends with as much decisiveness as she knew. The army proper was already under orders, but her friends were more flexible in her strategy, "Grobnar, have your golem in the main bailey. If anything does get through the gates, it should be in our front line. For yourself, stay with the reinforcement archers in here. We'll call you out if anyone breaks through, but for now your shortbow won't reach the targets."
"Right away, Lady Isaviel!" the Gnome cried, as quick as his word in turning to his duty, though there was a glimmer of disappointment in the bard's eyes. He was a handy shot with a bow, but the facts she had given him were true.
"Qara, the Many-Starred Cloaks won't be the same without you, and we need all the spellpower we have right now."
A wicked smile spread across the sorcerer's face and suddenly her hands were wreathed in flame.
"There won't be anything left for cold steel to cut by the time I'm done with them," she promised, and moved away.
"Kana and Casavir, join your squadrons. I'll see you at dawn," Isaviel easily dismissed the two dependable fighters along with Zhjaeve, then gestured to Ammon Jerro without glancing towards the warlock, "You're staying with me, Jerro."
"Of course," the man gritted out, "For many reasons, I know. Though I do not doubt there will be some vengeance to be had in the suffering your dull company will subject upon me."
"Too perceptive," she sneered back sarcastically, turning to Aldanon and only just succeeding in softening her demeanour for the more amenable man, "Aldanon, I will send for you when I need you," she ignored the stab of fear such a thought gave her, and looked away from the old man, ignoring his offers of good luck, turning to Khelgar and putting a hand on the Dwarf's shoulder, "I feel like I can't order you around," she admitted with a grin.
"Ha! Did ye think ye ever could, lass?"
"No. But it's official now. I'll see you at the dawn, Khelgar, and if we both see the day that follows I'll share a pint with you as well."
"That's all I'd ask of ye," the Dwarf guffawed, patting her arm before barrelling away, heading straight for the main bailey with Kana and Casavir, no doubt on his way to join his soldiers on the outer walls.
"Sand, I need you to come with me to the outer walls," she looked at him levelly when his eyebrows shot up doubtfully.
"Suicidal. Wonderful," he rolled his eyes.
"Your defensive spells will be needed there," she reminded him, not sure whether to laugh with him or grind her teeth in annoyance, "And as for you, Jerro, I expect you to know more about the undead than any of us. Don't deny you've spent time studying necromancy."
"Why would I deny that when it would only weaken our cause?" the warlock sneered, glancing pointedly at the gates, "We are wasting time."
"Then go, both of you. I have more yet to do."
Sand sent her a pained look at this, knowing what she really meant since only Bishop remained of their group. Ammon Jerro sent her a look of pure contempt but moved away, which forced Sand to follow.
"Your orders, noble Captain?" the ranger mocked by her side, and when she turned to look at him, hoping to affect some kind of stern certainty, she felt all her defence drain away yet again.
What was the point of trying to sort out the truth? Had honour ever really mattered to her? Instead, she pulled the ranger towards her, right there in the middle of the hall which was so full of her soldiers. Sand would be unhappy by such fickleness, and in truth it gave her no peace either, but she could feel time slipping past at the rate of her pounding heart.
"You know I hate giving orders to such mindless fools, and I won't give them to you either," she told him, looking up into his eyes as he stared down back at her so coldly, feeling that her words rang hollow somehow, "If this were a deployment of Thieves' Guild tactics it would be so much easier…and so much more fun. At least I'd expect to come out on top when all there'd be to stand in my way were the Neverwinter guards."
"Irony now, is it? With war at our gates?" the ranger's sudden smile, though bitter, shone like the sun in her eyes.
When she pulled him down to her, pressing her lips to his, he responded immediately, kissing her with such sudden, fierce passion that she sighed and let her lips part with his, leaning in to him and letting him lift her from the ground. Someone cheered among the guards around them – of course they looked like a simple couple parting to leave for battle! No one could have known that their passion was born of something more desperate, and held such fear of an unexpected nature.
"Isaviel," Bishop all but sighed when he set her on her feet, pressing one last lingering kiss to her lips and leaning down, his eyes level with hers as his gloved hand settled against her neck, immediately gripping too tightly. His eyes grew hard, and looking at him then Isaviel knew somehow that had been their last kiss, and he could have stabbed her through the heart with less cruelty. His voice was low and shaking when he continued, so quickly she knew he had not thought his wording through, "Love will never be enough for forgiveness now. You've sided with duty and your wizard one too many times."
He released her sharply, something akin to horror flashing across his face when he realised what he had admitted, and pushed his way swiftly through the throng of guards, who quickly dispersed when Isaviel's wrathful glance swept across their gawping faces. Swallowing the pain grinding in her chest, wishing it were Akachi's soul and not her own heart breaking, she gritted her teeth and strode for the front gates, to battle, with the Sword of Gith glittering in her grasp.
Outside the relative protection of the keep proper, the main bailey was blazing in flames. A fireball had landed on Neeshka's house before the protective spells had been prepared, and some of the guards were attempting to put it out form the raised path curving up to the main building, but to little avail. Isaviel watched a for a moment, a sudden wave of fear coming over her as she thought of her Tiefling friend – Neeshka had not been seen in the keep for some time. A quick enquiry with the guards who rushed out of the building, singed and sweating, ensured to her that Neeshka had not been present when the building was set ablaze. The Moon Elf could only hope her friend had found the sense to flee some time before and put some distance between herself and the looming army.
Many-Starred Cloaks were lined up along the outer walls, flanked by rows of archers and Khelgar's oil-barrel throwing Dwarves, exchanging blindingly bright spells with the enemy out of sight beyond. Some of the defenders had already fallen to the black, poisoned arrows of the army of shadows, or to the fire and spells. There were many more wounded, their shouts ringing through the bailey even over the fire raging all about.
Though the gates had not shown any sign of being breached, nor even of being approached by the time Isaviel made ran to catch up with Sand and Ammon Jerro across the bailey, the ground was rumbling ominously. As she set foot upon the stairs up to the outer walls, just overtaking Sand, there was a cry from above, and the stone under her feet shook violently, throwing her against the railing. When she recovered her balance, her vision was filled by the blinding light of more hurled fireballs arcing over the walls, and it was only Sand's hastily raised spellshield which saved her from the flames which rained down upon them. There was no choice then but to run up the steps, in time to see dark forms flitting among the soldiers close to the gatehouse towers and the rungs of enormous wooden ladders crashing into the ramparts, allowing the monsters arrayed below to swarm over.
Isaviel found herself screaming orders to the soldiers of her keep, unsure from whose experience and memories she drew; her own or Akachi's. Either way, she was soon surrounded by the Neverwinter Greycloaks, with the archers behind her under orders to keep shooting whatever came over. Her soldiers were to clear the way for Khelgar and his Dwarves to use their greater strength to push down the ladders, with the aid of the Many-Starred Cloaks, with Qara's awesomely destructive spells pouring from their midst.
When the zombies came shambling up along with their shadowy masters, men dressed in robes of darkness with deathly pale skin tough as bark, Isaviel drew her blades. For a moment all darkness was banished from that stretch of the ramparts, and the Moon Elf stepped forward, away from her group and out of range of Sand's protective spells, whirling upon the first enemies she saw. Zombies and their masters alike fell to her swords, too busy fleeing the offending silver light to stop and defend themselves. For a moment the very air around her seemed to still, and when the Shades came to follow in the wake of those fearful creatures, she met their grasping hands with wild laughter and her spinning blades. Towards such incorporeal creatures she felt the soul of Akachi stir, and dared to allow her presence to creep a little closer, letting his monstrous powers devour the souls of those Shades and their kin which she felled. She was drunk on the power surging through her, and soon lost in the memories of a grandfather she could never have known.
"Isaviel! Isaviel! Great Mystra help us. Isaviel."
There was a great ringing in her ears and for a moment she did not know where she was, nor who she was. As the fog receded from her vision, her senses were immediately assaulted by the smell of burning, of smoke scratching at her throat, of the distant clash of steel and, closer at hand, the groans of the dying. Her head was pounding as she looked around, realising that she was still on her feet and somebody was holding her up with an arm around her waist. The air was too thick with smoke to see far, but it soon became clear that the battle had somehow moved elsewhere. Directly ahead there yawned a great gap in the ramparts where once there had been an enemy ladder. Upon the stone around her lay the bodies of countless foes, and beyond this sickening circle of influence there were those of her allies as well.
"We have to move," Sand said in her ear, shaking her insistently for good measure. When she turned to look at him, his responding stare was far from trusting, and his clothes, though singed in places, were aglow with some protective magics.
"Where are the others? What happened?"
Isaviel allowed the wizard to pull her with him, and heard for herself Khelgar's enthusiastic roar of battle. It did not take long to realise that her forces along the outer walls were in retreat, and the ground was shaking beneath her, serving only to maintain her lingering feeling of disorientation. She automatically brought her swords up in defence when a tall form materialised out of the fog, only to come up short with a gasp when she realised the one who stood before her was Ammon Jerro, awaiting them at the head of the stairs back to the bailey.
"The others were not so foolish as to lose themselves in battle," the warlock told with a snide tone of amusement, "You are lucky your wizard came back for you at all."
"How did I…but I don't remember…"
Sand's grip on her waist tightened momentarily before he pushed her gently towards the stairs. Fire burned ahead, and she saw that rows of debris had been gathered in rudimentary barricades, several squadrons of fighters and Many-Starred Cloaks arrayed behind them. These were her plans…for a much later stage in battle. How had she survived – on her feet no less – upon the compromised southern stretch of the outer ramparts? When she thought back, it seemed that only moments had passed since she had given in to the call of the Spirit-Eater, and everything she recalled between that past and her present was a half-memory of grey fog.
"You were not yourself," Sand told her diplomatically as they rushed down to the bailey ground, "The outer walls to the north, east and west still hold; Khelgar and his soldiers have barricaded them off from the compromised south with barrels of oil and some explosive substance for which Grobnar gave me the recipe."
"Our shadowy enemies have dug beneath the stone of the southern walls, causing large sections to collapse. It led to our retreat while you were lost to us in your…battle frenzy," Jerro sounded pointedly distasteful, and she could tell that from such open disgust that he knew her behaviour had not been her own.
"Captain!" Kana greeted once Isaviel reached the ground, swiftly approaching the soldiers gathered in the bailey, "The Waterdhavian and Triboar contingents have engaged with the southern and eastern flanks of the enemy on the field of battle, and we await your command."
Casavir stood by Kana's side; both soldiers were covered in mud, gore and soot, breathing hard from the exertion of battle. Grobnar lingered just behind the paladin, his shortbow in his hands. It occurred to the Moon Elf that he had not followed her command to him…but it hardly mattered. She would have done the same in his position. By the Many-Starred Cloaks Qara blazed with manic fury, her hair blowing in the waves of her power, her eyes fixed ahead, waiting for their enemy to swarm over the walls or send more magical missiles down upon them. Among the archers arrayed on the motte behind them Isaviel spotted Daeghun's frowning face. When he caught her eye, he sent her a stern nod but she looked away, her stomach twisting angrily. He had shown no interest in her endeavours, and his feigned support so late would not change her heart towards him. The Moon Elf realised her hands were shaking and sheathed her blades for the time being, turning back to her lieutenant.
"How long to the dawn?" Isaviel demanded of Kana, though Jerro's laugh behind her was bitter – did they really expect such tenuous foes to be susceptible to sunlight, even in undeath?
"Less than an hour, Captain."
"Have Zhjaeve and the priests of Lathander join us. We will need them."
The grinding of steel and reinforced wood against stone brought everyone in the southern section of the castle complex to a halt. Isaviel caught Sand's shocked gaze before turning to see for herself, but she feared she had already realised what it was that caused his horror. The sound alone, of the mighty gates of Crossroad Keep being slowly but steadily forced open, should not have occurred. The crash of a battering ram against the steel-and-oak portal perhaps, along with the crackling of flame dying against the warded surface…but not the gates just opening to the whims of their foe.
"We have been betrayed," Sand mumbled, "The gates are breached."
"The priests! We must have the priests of Lathander!" Kana was calling, and soon the cry was ringing all around the bailey, bringing hundreds more soldiers running to the summons; "The gates are breached!"
A prickling chill spread over Isaviel's skin as her eyes fell upon the dark figure stepping out among bodies of fallen Greycloaks, picking his way through with little effort to respect the dead. As the gates behind him groaned slowly open, revealing the stomach-churning ranks of undead gathered beyond, Bishop turned casually to meet Isaviel's glare. His eyes flickered with reflected flames, deep brown turned to red in the light. Blood was spattered over his armour, dripping from his fingertips to stain the snow settling thinly upon the dead.
"You lying bastard!" Isaviel yelled, and before the others could stop her she had launched herself through the barricades which separated her from the ranger, unsheathing her blades with a mighty ringing, and a burst of light.
"And what kind of a fool does that make you for ever trusting me, Captain?" Bishop snarled, his grin far from amused as he unsheathed a glittering dagger in his right hand to join the sword in his left. Neeshka's enchanted dagger.
"What have you done to her?" the Moon Elf hissed as they began to circle one another, a pair of angry wolves trapped within civilisation.
"And if I've killed her you'll…kill me?" the ranger's laughter was far too heartfelt, something horribly flirtatious in his manner as he stepped dangerously close, dipping his head as he lowered his voice to growl, "I thought you already meant to, Isaviel."
"I'll make you suffer even longer," she corrected him viciously, shoving him back and daring to reverse Never's sword, bringing its jewel pommel to bear against Bishop's jaw and watching in satisfaction as he reeled back. Perhaps he really had not expected her to draw first blood.
"Lay a hand on her and you will die where you stand, betrayer!" Casavir cried, brandishing his hammer as he and Grobnar, along with Kana, came rushing to join her. Fools, Isaviel thought as the gates were forced open to their widest point and their foes poured in, you have fallen to his trap.
"I can fight my own battles, Casavir!" Isaviel snarled, "Get back behind the barricades!"
Her pause was a moment too long. When she whipped her gaze back to Bishop, he was already moving, throwing her hard against the wooden barriers behind her, ducking past Casavir's wrathful swing…and catching Grobnar around the throat.
"Sir Bishop!" the Gnome squeaked as the ranger dragged him from his feet. When the golem, now engaging with the enemy right by the gate tower, turned to aid its master, the ranger snarled a simple arcane phrase, and the construct froze, the light leaving its visor. How could he have known that?
"Look! Dawn is here! Our foes will soon be defenceless against the sun's rays!" Kana's hopeful cry drew all eyes to golden rays pouring through the open gate, still low on the horizon.
Isaviel's relief was momentarily boundless when she realised that the lieutenant's estimate had been wrong and they would have no wait for the sunlight…until she noticed that those rays did nothing to slow the shambling zombies and the shades pouring forth. Bishop's bitter laugh only punctuated her horror, as again she commanded Casavir and Kana back through the barricades and the ranger shook the defenceless Gnome dangling wide-eyed in his grasp.
Her friends retreated just in time as the enemy army came crashing down upon the barricades, parting around Bishop and Isaviel as if they knew somehow that they could not stand against the Sword of Gith but that the ranger might have a chance. If nothing else, she felt he might as well have already ripped her heart from her chest.
"Bishop, let him go," Isaviel warned, noting the thin stream of blood still trickling from the corner of the ranger's mouth, inflicted by the pommel of her sword, "What good will running to the undead do you? Surrender now and…" she paused, seeing his eyes darken with rage. Grobnar gave a gasp as Bishop's grip tightened, constricting the Gnome's breath, the magical knife biting into his skin with little pressure.
"And give myself over to the snivelling cowards I've watched you bow down to all this time?" Bishop scoffed, spitting blood at her feet, "Hardly. I think you'll see the wisdom of this in time. If you live long enough."
He held her gaze as he drew the dagger across Grobnar's throat, dropping the Gnome with a careless shrug. The diminutive bard fell at once to his knees, blinking up at Isaviel with those wide, trusting eyes. It was as if he did not even have to forgive her for her failing because he had never blamed her. Something about that innocence, of his blindness to her faults, filled her with bitter rage towards the ranger who stood over the Gnome, not even bothering to watch as Grobnar slumped to the bloodied snow.
With only the glow of the Sword of Gith to protect her, Isaviel knew she had to retreat, forced to lash out with her other blade repeatedly to keep the clawing hands of zombies at bay. Bishop was just watching her with a sneer, his glance following the trail of tears she did not even know she had shed. The cries of battle rang out once more, but amidst them she heard the horrified shouts of her friends. How could one who had fought with Grobnar as an ally, seen his innocence and kindness…how could the ranger simply kill him like that, with no hesitation? Why had she loved him?
"Run," Isaviel snarled now, her voice low and shaking, whirling upon the ranger with a strike he barely parried, pouring all of her hatred into her glare and her strikes, hardly seeing his face through her tears, "Run like the coward you are. Would that you had gods to pray to when I come for your life."
For just a moment the ranger's expression cleared, and then he laughed in her face, pushing her back as he had before and viciously backhanding her across the face, sending her to her knees. She heard Sand cry out her name, and wondered why it was that her foes did not descend upon her. Instead, they gave her time to stand, reeling away from the sphere of light which the Sword of Gith permeated. She took one last look back, but saw only the shapes of darkness and death reforming in Bishop's fleeing wake, pouring over the fallen form of Grobnar.
After that her movements came on instinct. She cut a wrathful swathe through her foes, running for the higher ground with all the strength she had left and eventually reaching Kana's side along with the few squadrons not yet caught up in battle.
Sand and Zhjaeve stood nearby, too stunned to speak, with Jerro glaring impatiently by their side. Casavir had been forced to hold back Khelgar when the Dwarf joined them in time to see Grobnar's fall, but by this time even the Dwarvish king could see that there was no use in showing his rage. Tears fell unchecked into his beard. He met Isaviel's eyes sadly, and silent understanding passed between them. We are all who are left.
Waves of sickness battled against her upright posture, her ribs ached where Bishop had slammed her against the barricades, and she could feel her cheek swelling where he had hit her. Turning to look down from the motte, upon the fighting throngs of Greycloaks and undead, and then beyond to the tides of darkness swelling through the gates, unaffected by the dawn, she understood. There was only one course left.
"Summon Aldanon to the main hall," she told Sand, but he turned to her instead, pulling her towards him, tipping his forehead to hers and meeting her grief-stricken gaze with his own steady one.
"Do not blame yourself," he begged softly, pressing a kiss to her undamaged cheek.
"Do not forgive me," she told him in a whisper, "I should have listened to you." A smile flickered across his face and he shook his head imperceptibly, then moved to act upon her command.
When she turned to Kana, seeing the fearful looks upon the faces of the soldiers waiting their turn to face battle she felt only rage. Gesturing behind her, she could think only of Bishop's betrayal.
"You have seen a coward betray us," she called to them, "Make sure you do not follow him," she turned to face Kana's unsettled gaze, "The next man who runs…send an arrow through his back."