Soooooo... it's been one and a half decades since I started writing this story. Then life kind of bulldozed over me and I just could not find the spark anymore. Then, two weeks ago, something wonderful happened: I got a massive wave of inspiration that had me writing for three days straight with nearly no food and very little sleep. The story itself (Downfall) does not really get any love except from me, but it simply was so wonderful to be writing again. I just had to use the leftover energy to finally, finally finish this story here.
Not sure if it will draw much of an audience, the fandom is really old by now, but I've always hated to leave things unfinished, so here we go.
This is the sequel to my story Memory Lane; so if you are interested in reading, and have not read Memory Lane first, things will not make a lot of sense to you...
Bishop sat in his chair, rocked back and resting against the wall behind him, as he let his gaze slowly drift across the meagre crowd assembled in the taproom of the Hart and Horn.
Whatever possessed him to come here? If ever there was a dead haunt, it was this miserable little inn in the middle of nowhere. But somehow, when his wanderings led him through the woods hereabouts, the thought of turning in here just for one night for a proper bath, a meal and a pint of beer or two seemed very appealing.
He could not help thinking that this was where the Captain had wanted to meet him, when she tried to lure him into her very obvious trap, some eight months ago. In fact, he'd been thinking of her a lot in this time, still trying to make sense of the very strange way she had acted.
He frowned, taking another sip of his beer.
Better than bull's piss. Barely.
Why had she wanted to meet him here, of all places? He wondered how she even knew about this excuse for an inn. Not the kind of place the high and mighty Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep would be thought to frequent.
Why had she wanted to meet him at all? Not that he was given to bouts of conscience, but admittedly she had very little reason to be fond of him. He'd defected to her enemy, betrayed her, sabotaged her gates so the enemy could invade her fortress, and if she managed to defeat them, that was certainly no thanks to him.
When they faced each other again, he was fully prepared to fight against her and her merry band, and would have done so, had Garius not been the supreme ass he was. He was dishing out orders worse than the Captain in all those months combined. Plus, now, facing that ragtag band he'd traveled with for so long, seeing them from the other side of the fence for once, suddenly he was not so sure anymore that Garius' was really the winning side. He had to admit, seeing them as foes for the first time, they looked somewhat impressive.
So he'd done the only thing that seemed promising to his prolonged survival at the time: He skedaddled, leaving Garius and his fat mouth to fight his own battles for once. Exiting the ruins, he heard the bastard gloat in his mind, turned back in panic, and then...
...then he was looking at Garius' corpse, his bloody scimitar in hand, just outside the walls of Crossroad Keep, in the company of the Captain, and half a year seemed to have passed him by.
And that bitch Jaluth had her claws in him again, and she was worse than Garius had been in his most twisted, wildest dreams. And the Captain had behaved very weird from that moment on.
If he had not known better, he'd have sworn there was concern on her face as she rushed up to him after the bitch from hell nearly crushed his heart in his chest. Worry. Nonsense, of course. She hated his guts as much as he hated hers. Well, she had every reason to.
But still, even after he knocked her lights out and forced her to come with him, she acted weird. Oh, she was her usual bitchy self, flapping that dirty mouth at him as always.
He grinned reluctantly. Gods, that woman could swear a blue streak. Had to respect that. A woman that foulmouthed was a rare find indeed. It was a miracle the paladin had not died of shock every time she started cussing.
But even though she bitched and cursed, there was something underneath he did not understand. Sadness. And she had cried. He'd never seen her cry. Mourning the tin can? But if what she had said was true, he'd been dead since the confrontation with Garius, so the pain should have dulled at least some.
No, it had to be something else.
Blasted woman had refused to tell him what had happened in those months he was missing in his memory. The solution had to be there, somewhere, in that time he could not remember.
How had he come to be there, back at the Keep, in her company? Would he ever know? It seemed like she had helped him to regain his memory, but why?
And she had come back for him, with the dwarf and the wizard, to free him from Jaluth and her cursed bindings. He knew next to nothing of magic, but he knew damn well how powerful Jaluth was, and that it had been a very dangerous endeavor to try and break her magic hold over him. If he knew that, the wizard must have been perfectly aware of the fact. After all, the little snivelly freak once had kissed up to the asses of those Hosttower bastards, as well. So he had to know Jaluth, and how dangerous she was.
What Bishop knew very well was how close to dying they all had come that day. It had been a close, a very close call. And the Captain and her pet mage had to have been perfectly aware of that risk.
So why take it? Why risk a painful death to get Bishop out of the clutches of the über-bitch? Him? The traitor, the turncoat? The enemy?
Clearly the mage had not been eager to do it. But she had insisted.
Why?
Because she had promised Karnwyr?
Bishop snorted. She would hardly have felt bound to a promise made to a wolf. Even if she had been a paragon of knightly virtue, which she never had been. One of her rare, likable traits.
Though she could bellow commands like one of those stuck-up knights if need be. One of her less likable traits.
Since the day they had parted, her last words had played out in his brain, over and over again, as he tried to make sense of them.
I did not do it for you. I did it for a friend I lost.
It just made no sense.
Which friend? Which friend of hers would give a toss what becomes of me? And then a friend she'd lost? The paladin? He would have popped a bottle of champagne on my grave, had Jaluth killed me...
He could not make head or tails of it.
And that drove him mad. He hated unsolved riddles.
But he sincerely doubted he'd ever solve that one. Because he did not intend to meet any person involved ever again. Not the Captain, not the wizard, not the dwarf, and certainly not that Hosttower bitch.
Just leave it be. You're alive, and you're free. Free of both bitches. Be glad, and give it a rest.
He sighed and realized there was something else he would have to give a rest. Putting down his mug on the table, he got up, taking his backpack and weapons with him.
He'd not leave them here for every Tom, Dick and Harry to make off with them while he was taking a piss. Plus, he still had a lot of enemies around, and regardless of the location he was heading for, he would not be caught weaponless, with his pants down, figuratively speaking.
It was dark outside by now, and he made his way around the building to the outhouse in the comparably bright light of the near-full moon. He blinked when a dark figure stepped out of the shadows behind the inn and into his way.
Smallish, slight figure, tangled red locks haphazardly collected into a braid, slanted green eyes like a cat's, and prominent cheekbones in a triangular face. Pretty, but far from being a beauty. Chain shirt, great sword strapped over her back, smile around her lips.
Oh, bloody hells!
"Bishop", she said, the smile still on her face. There seemed something wrong with that smile. It had an unsettling trace of... triumph? "Long time no see."
His eyes narrowed with distrust, and out of reflex, his hands touched the hilt of his weapons.
"Really", she said, her eyes dropping to his hands. "Is that necessary? I thought you might be happy to see me. I helped you out, after all."
"What do you want?", he asked curtly. He could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. "Throw more cryptic remarks at me before you go your merry way?"
"So hostile", she murmured as she stepped even closer and reached out to touch his face. Involuntarily, his fingers clenched around his scimitars.
She noticed his tensing, and laughed softly. "What, afraid of me? What do you think I'll do? Pull your hair?"
Bishop forced himself to relax somewhat. Why was he so edgy anyway? Admittedly, they had never been friends, but their last parting had been a peaceful one, for once. Not that he'd wanted to meet her again, ever, but there was no need to get that antsy.
Was there?
"Can't hurt to play it safe", he said. "I know what you can do, after all."
"Do you now?", she said, still smiling. Gods, but that smile was unsettling.
Maybe because I've only ever seen her with a scowl on her face...
"Stop messing around. What do you want?", he asked, harshly.
"My, my. No time for socializing, have you? What a shame. I wanted to see you, of course. I knew you would come here sooner or later." She stepped even closer, nearly touching him now, and threw him an upward glance through her lashes. "I missed you."
"That's quite close enough", he said sharply, feeling his skin crawl at her proximity. He took a step back, even though he knew it would put him in the defense. But he just had to increase the distance between them.
What... what is that feeling of... threat...?
"Why should I come here, of all places?"
"Because of our... history here, of course", she answered, a glint in her eye when she saw him retreat.
Damn. He felt like he'd given her the upper hand somehow.
And why does this feel like a duel, not like meeting an acquaintance, however unwelcome...?
"What on Faerun are you talking about?", he asked irritably.
She followed the step he'd taken backwards, reached up, and her hand smoothed softly over the stubble on his cheek.
"Back off!", he snapped, feeling his skin crawl for real at her touch. "We don't have any history together. And no need to get all touchy-feely!"
Her smile widened. "No history? Now, that is a cruel thing to say. Seems like I have to remind you, after all."
And with one swift motion, she closed the remaining distance, her hand slid to his neck, stroking his hair, while her body pressed into his. She went on her toes, and kissed him on the mouth, her lips moist and open, the tip of her tongue seeking entrance.
Bishop's stomach coiled with revulsion, and he felt goose bumps breaking out all over his body, his hair standing on end.
No!
Violently, he shoved her back, making her stumble a few steps before she caught herself.
"Who are you?", he hissed. "You are not the Captain!"
The glittering, malicious smile on her face was eerily familiar. Bishop suddenly felt sick.
"Very good, my little one", she purred. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually. To be honest, you took a bit longer than I thought."
"You!", he growled, the sick feeling intensifying until he thought he might vomit. "How did you find me?"
"As I said, I knew you'd come here eventually", she said smugly. "Since I could not find you by magical means anymore – no doubt they gave you some bauble or other to protect you – I had this place watched. Well, and here you are."
"We'll see if that's something to make you happy", he hissed, ripped his weapons out of their sheaths and thrust them forward with a swift, fluid motion, aiming for her heart.
He saw her eyes widen, and she managed to jump aside just enough so that his scimitar did not pierce her chest, but left a deep, bleeding slash over her ribcage instead.
Immediately, she pointed her finger at him and uttered a single, harsh sounding word. Bishop felt his limbs freeze in position and cursed inwardly, but was not able to make a single sound.
"Now, that was rude", she gasped, holding her hand to the slash in her side, which was slowly closing. "And it hurt." She smiled and stepped up to him. "But don't worry, not as much as some of the things I'll do to you, little one. I admit I'm a bit... cross with you. You gave me a lot of trouble." She shook her head. "But I better hurry – the spell won't hold you for long."
Her fingers touched his chest, she murmured a couple of words, and Bishop felt his spine tingling as his vision blurred. When it cleared again, they stood in a room, looking much like a mixture of laboratory and torture room, with a large four-poster bed in a niche, tables with various instruments of steel and glass, lots of bookcases, and a couple of rings let into one wall.
There also was sort of a cage at the back wall. Which was where Bishop stood now, while Jaluth retreated and closed the door. Immediately, a faint hum filled the air, and the bars started to glow faintly.
"In case you wonder, my little one, I had that damaged bar replaced since you and the kitten visited last, so don't get your hopes up", she smiled.
What...?
He felt the life returning to his body, and snarled, while dread made his skin break out in cold sweat.
No, please... not again... not at her mercy again...
"Bitch", he hissed, determined not to let her see his despair. "At least stop hiding behind someone else's face! I swear, this time I'll make you regret messing with me! I'm not a scared boy anymore!"
She let the illusion go and stood in front of the cage, shimmering black hair built into a loose knot on top of her head, a black satin robe clinging to her body, revealing more than it hid, an amused smile on her red lips, and her black eyes sparkling maliciously. So beautiful. So wicked. So lethal.
"Boy?", she said mockingly. "No, not anymore. But scared? Oh yes, you are. I can smell your fear, little one. It smells delicious. And what's more, I can also smell your rage again." Her smile turned rapt while she sniffed the air. "Oh yes, there it is – rage, fury, hate, all boiling inside you. It smells like lightning." She laughed happily. "I'm so glad you're really back. You were no fun last time. But this time, I'll enjoy playing with you immensely, I can tell already."
Bishop felt so sick, he had to fight the bile in his throat down. He knew all too well what kind of games she liked to play. But even while he was battling the nausea, a voice kept whispering in his mind that something was off, that she was not making any sense.
"Last time...?", he said, slowly. "Kitten? What are you talking about? And why the disguise?"
"For fun, of course", she grinned. "Though I thought you'd be a bit more happy to see her. Maybe even kiss her hello. But you seemed not happy at all. What happened, little one? Lover's quarrel? Did you turn on her again? Did you break her heart? I warned her you would, but would she listen?" Jaluth laughed again, eyeing him with glee.
"What ever are you talking about?", he growled, his anger stronger than his fear for the moment. "This is gibberish!"
Her eyes widened, and her grin got broader. "I'm talking about you and the kitten, of course. Well, you called her Lana, I guess. Or Captain. Your last visit was a bit cut short when I let you escape, but she did not like me touching you at all. Possessive wench, but then young love is always strong. All that hugging and kissing between you two, it would have been enough to touch my heart, if I had one." She giggled.
Bishop stared at her, dumbfounded.
All the... what?
She noticed his stare, and her eyes narrowed. Her gaze held his for a second, and then she broke out in delighted, malicious laughter.
"You do not remember, do you? When the Geas was lifted, you forgot what happened in between! Oh, but this is priceless! I can nearly forgive Garius for this! I will have even more fun than I expected, I can see." She gave another peal of laughter and turned away.
"I think I'll leave you to contemplate this a bit, little one. Have fun thinking of the might-have-beens while I'm gone. And when I come back, it will be time to... play."
She smiled over her shoulder at him, while he stood, rooted to the spot, much too flabbergasted to feel any fear at her words.
The door closed with a soft click behind Jaluth, and Bishop sank to the floor of the cage, his brain in overdrive while he desperately tried to make sense of her words.