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A Wee Warning for Possible Triggers and Discomfort:
There is a scene where a character aggressively violates another's boundaries in order to make serious threats, but nothing outright intimate and the actions don't go further than restraining with the hand and bodyweight.
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Dearest Readers, may the light at the end of the tunnel be… a surprise party waiting for you. ;P
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﴾ THE HIDDEN SWORD ﴿
Book Three: Meeting of Fires | Chapter 65: Fire at the End of the Tunnel (Part One)
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"Cyric's Curses! We're out of Iron Plague Potion," Mulahey screamed as he tramped into the laboratory. With a roar, he lunged down and swiped at the equipment as he was wont to do. Except this time, he touched naught but air. Surprised, the half-orc stared dumbfounded at the near empty table before him.
Xan held up a finger then pointed to the implements and tools neatly arranged and assembled in small wicker baskets at the farthest side of the counter. And elegantly labeled according to function.
"I've taken care to organize everything, if doing so might expedite our tasks."
For with their experiments already doomed to fail, could they at least do it faster?
Expectedly and like a giant petulant child, Mulahey merely glowered at him for a moment, then screeched and resorted to pounding his fists at the table, its contents rattling yet safe within their baskets. Even so, Xan cast wary glances while pretending to rifle through his notes. At least the wood can take the half-orc's misplaced anger, a pity it cannot fight back.
"All the tests failed and now we have nothing left for the ores," Mulahey roared, rounding on the elf. "This is all your fault, Blacksheaf!"
Xan pressed a hand to his heart with an innocent look. In what manner was it his fault that they've expended all the Iron Plague Potion too soon?
Oh right, he had subtly been using more of the substance than necessary in their experimentations. Sometimes even covertly spilling a drop or two. Even asking to repeat a test several times.
Not to mention a couple of vials being hidden away when Mulahey wasn't looking. For that, Xan had to convince the kobold assigned to guard duty at the storage to let him visit the teu'kerym.
The Greycloak squirmed in his seat as he recalled the attempt in awkward reflection.
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"But Master Blacksheaf," the kobold guard had barred the door with her tiny spear and told the elf with a tiny tremble. "Master Mulahey said we're not to let you touch your moonblade."
"I am aware of his orders," Xan had said with effort to contain his impatience. "But I truly must see and be alone with my moonblade."
"Be alone with your moonblade?" the kobold guard had asked with wide beady red eyes. "To do what, Master Blacksheaf?"
Xan had paused, eyes darting around evadingly. "Do what with the moonblade? Ah, I- ah- must-"
By Sehanine, what does one do with their moonblade alone in a room anyway?
"I must well- sharpen it."
Of course, the moonblade would never need sharpening – one could chop away at rocks and an entire mountain, and the steel would remain lustrous and keen until the utter inevitable destruction of the realms.
"Yes, I need to sharpen it regularly. Clean, oil, and polish, and sharpen it until it shines even though the effort will probably be expended with futility. And since I'm sharpening it the- ah- elven way, the ritual has to be done in secret and out of sight of non-elven eyes."
The kobold guard had blinked questioningly at him.
"It is a magical ritual, therefore," Xan had said, a brow raised unsurely. "Non-elves might go blind if they see it being done?"
The kobold guard had looked around nervously, then lifted her spear. "All right, Master Blacksheaf," she had said with a sympathetic nod towards the door. "We all know how swords always need sharpening. Go do it and be quick before anyone else finds out."
"Sukriya," Xan had mumbled his thanks with eager haste, all but flapping frantically right through the door like a raven starved of its most precious shiny treasure.
And with that, the elf had managed to tuck the precious bottles into a secret pocket along the inseams of his gray cloak he had used to swaddle the moonblade. A small accomplishment, though it would matter less and even nothing should he perish first in this miserable pit.
Yet onward he must go to futility.
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Xan cleared his throat and grudgingly willed his mind to return to the present where the cantankerous Cyricist continued with his hysterics.
At Mulahey's accusations, the Greycloak schooled his features into one of seeming concern for the half-orc's cause. For indeed, what if Tazok finds out of any delay in their operations, and if ores start being mined uncorrupted?
Xan swallowed what felt like glass shards in his throat. How could he not think of Mulahey's stories of the half-ogre's cruelty, often told conveniently over meals? The torture and brutality inflicted on prisoners and subordinates alike- all described by Mulahey with relish while giving the elf strange and unreadable looks.
"I thought Tranzig was supposed to leave a new batch of solvents by the burned oak the other day?" Xan asked with genuine expectation, inwardly relieved at having somehow scritched and scratched and belly-rubbed out of a few kobolds this clue about a drop-off point outside the mines.
"Yes, yes, he was supposed to do that. I should send the kobolds out to fetch them," Mulahey rambled, but the budding hope in his hoggish eyes quickly faded to angry disappointment. "But it matters not if we'll only use it all up while failing all over again. Oh, what is the point?"
The elf pursed his lips in wry agreement. At least the half-orc was now speaking Xan's language as well.
Mulahey grabbed the elf by the shoulders and shook him with the desperation of a drowning man. "Isn't this potion crafted with elven magic? Then you should know what it is made of!"
"I told you- I am just a messenger and observer, not an alchemist," Xan stammered, apology almost genuine.
"You useless knife-ear! Then what value do you still have to me?"
About to respond with an extremely underestimated quantified approximation out of habit, the elf hesitated, suddenly disturbed.
For upon the half-orc's face spread a manic smile, the same when he inflicted that painful kick from before. And to Xan's horror, the half-orc let go of one shoulder and raised it to cup the elf's jaw, staring down at him even more intently.
Seldarine, may this not be what it might be, Xan prayed even more urgently than that time when he realized he had studied the incorrect edition of an alchemical textbook for an exam at the Academy.
"I think I understand now what Tranzig meant when he said the potion was made with elven craft," Mulahey said, licking his lips hungrily as his grip tightened on Xan's chin.
A deathly chill froze his spirit, likewise knowing what the half-orc meant. For arcanists of an evil nature, elven body parts were among the most highly sought after ingredients for the vilest of spells and potions. Had it not been one of the direst warnings to Tel'Quessir children as to why they were never allowed to leave the safety of their home until fully capable of defending themselves?
"Well, I could- spare a few hair strands?" Xan mumbled. "They haven't been properly washed in days. I certainly would not miss a few. Look how scraggly and unsightly they are now."
Mulahey pulled a fistful of the elf's hair, forcing Xan's head to tilt painfully. Even in the dim light of the torches, they shone and shimmered like the finest auburn silk. The half-orc growled in envy. Xan cleared his throat with a self-effacing cough.
"Perhaps, clippings from my fingernails? All the dirt and grime and rough work in this place. I'm sure they're quite filthy and crusted by now."
Snorting, Mulahey let go of Xan's hair and grabbed the elf's left wrist, roughly pulling up his hand for inspection. Smooth, clean, nails all a healthy pinkish tint, and spotless. The half-orc growled in envy. Xan stared at them likewise puzzled. How, by the Seldarine?
"I have a better idea," Mulahey said with disturbing eagerness. "Have you seen the bounty notices?"
Xan half-nodded, half-shook his head. If only he hadn't read them at all.
"That murderous elf who lost an ear? He could still move around, even fight. How about you, Blacksheaf? Maybe you won't mind making a small sacrifice for the glory of our cause?"
Then to his horror, the half-orc let go of his wrist and proceeded to leisurely trace the side of Xan's face until he found the left ear. Mulahey went on to rub the elf's ear from the lobe to the pointed outer helix, as if he were inspecting the finest parchment between his coarse fingers.
But this blighted defilement! Xan glared at the half-orc, lips drawn in a tight line to keep himself from outright screaming at this repulsive violation of his person.
More so at the fact that he knew Mulahey never washed his hands after touching Cyric's altar.
"P-perhaps this place isn't optimal for surgical activities," Xan managed to croak out. "Better if we return to the surface, and have a trained healer with sanitized implements, and a cleric on standby to-"
"No need for those," Mulahey tutted. "You forget, I am a priest of Cyric. The Dark Prince granted me power to mend hurts so I may inflict them again, and besides-," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a knife. "I already have the tool."
Xan squinted uneasily at the blade glinting wickedly in the firelight.
"Yes, you have the tool," he stammered with an anxious grin. "But it's – quite small?"
At the insult, Mulahey growled and pushed him against the wall, pinning the slighter elf with his bulk. A bloated palm clamped heavily against Xan's mouth. Panic burned through his chest, and he squirmed against the press with feeble futility.
"Don't struggle," Mulahey teased. "But if it helps, I can cast a holding spell on you. You won't be able to move, but you will still see, and hear, and feel everything. You just won't be able to scream."
Against his ear the cold and cruel blade brushed with a whisper of terrible things to come. Terrible things that should have been inflicted on him since he first came to this godsforsaken pit.
Eyes wide with terror, Xan whimpered what might be his last prayer.
Aillesel Seldarie.
And by mental reflex borne from the days spent with the kobolds, the same petition in draconic.
Ariureathear vaecaesin letoclo ve.
And the answer came in the form of the rustling of the curtain door followed by the panicked pitter-patter of clawed feet.
"Alarm! Alarm," squeaked the kobolds as they barged into the laboratory. "Intruders from the surface!"
Abruptly, Mulahey pulled away to face his minions. Freed from the oppressive weight, Xan gasped for breath and staggered away while the other remained distracted.
For all the kobolds began to gather into the room, sharing word and disbelief at finding their traps disabled – despite having placed hundreds and more and in every corner and every few paces. As for the giant spiders of which so many infested the lower levels, they found only carcasses.
Whether expertly chopped up or stabbed, bludgeoned with extreme prejudice, punctured with arrows like grotesque pincushions, or seemingly untouched yet reeking with traces of magic.
Anxiously the kobolds yipped and paced, waiting for their chief to return. Mulahey took in the news, wringing his hair, the earlier impudence now abruptly replaced by growing panic.
Xan raised a tremulant hand to his neck, relieved by the unexpected deliverance yet no less shaken at how close he had been to losing that physical constituent which identified him as a Tel'Quessir.
With quivering fingers, Xan shielded his ear. Did the mad elf who lost his own endured the same degradation, perhaps worse?
With a deep breath, he composed himself and approached the others. Just then, the kobold chief arrived with the rest of their pack.
Mulahey wagged a fist at them. "I said, report!"
"A small group," the kobold chief panted. "But well-armed. Though slow in progress, more skilled than the ones before. They disabled each one of our traps and even killed all the giant spiders. They're now moving through the level above and might soon come down here."
Terror registered in the half-orc's face. He curled his fists and bit at his knuckles. "It can only be Tazok's own bodyguards! Then why didn't you stop them yourself? Isn't that why I kept you and your useless tribe alive?"
"But-," the chief kobold whined. "Master Blacksheaf told us to never engage the enemy. He said we are only to lay more traps and hide."
And survive. Xan felt a small spring of relief. How ironic that kobolds, of all creatures, would heed the advice of an elf.
Mulahey rounded accusingly on him. However, with the threat to his appendages postponed for now, Xan felt more able to stand up to the half-orc.
"We have more critical issues at hand – our very existence is now in peril, and we are all doomed unless we act," he said. "Please tell me you have exigency measures in place?"
Listlessly, Mulahey swiveled around as if seeking something. "Yes, yes, I have a back-up plan in case something like this happens," he muttered, then called at the kobolds and pointed to several of them.
"You, burn everything and leave nothing behind. And you," Mulahey said, gesturing to the others. "Gather my things and prepare for my departure through the secret door. This place and my task be damned, for I shall not lose my head to Tazok, no, not to him!"
Xan raised a skeptical brow. A contingency plan, indeed. For once, a credit to this floundering scoundrel – though the response was intended only to save his own suety hide.
Galvanized into action, the kobolds spread out to do as bidden. Amidst the hubbub, Xan stood apart, silent but his mind racing at the possibilities.
Heroic rescuers! Could it be? His chance at freedom?
Or, rather-
Murderous mercenaries? Tazok's assassins come to finally deal with loose ends?
Guided by the standard framework wherewith he obtained his conclusions, the Greycloak made his decision and headed for the door.
"Where do you think you're going, Blacksheaf?" Mulahey cried. "Are you abandoning me? Coming out to meet with the enemy to betray me?"
Xan faced him. "Neither. But if I am to help you at all, you will let me arm myself."
Mulahey dithered for a moment but finally waved dismissively and Xan took it as express permission. He darted out of the laboratory and rushed straight into the storage area where a pair of kobolds were still gathering a sack of food and camping gear. With relief, he retrieved the teu'kerym from a crate, and wasted no time in fastening the moonblade to his belt and swaddling himself with his cloak.
Unfortunately, Mulahey still had his spell book. A regretful circumstance, but at least the teu'kerym was in his possession again.
He rejoined the group just as they had gathered in the nethermost corner of the grotto. Smoke already rose from various sections of the cavern.
"Master Blacksheaf," cheered the kobolds. "Good thing you made us gather all the oil, papers, stubble, and straw in one place. It was easier to find them and use as fuel for the fires. Made our work much faster!"
The Greycloak could only grin ruefully. "Pleased to be of what little help I could afford," he murmured while casting guilty glances at the laboratory now burning along with all the evidence.
Xan eyed the flames with both relief and disappointment.
Relief – for if the coming mercenaries were indeed Tazok's men, then they will find nothing serviceable to continue the sabotage of the ores.
On the other hand, disappointment – for if they were instead adventurers hired by the mayor to resolve the mine's troubles, then the reward for their competence would be nothing more than ashes and questions left unanswered.
The kobold chief barked orders at a handful of the pack to pull at ropes tied to a slab of rock against the wall. Several pulleys creaked as the stone block rose a few feet from the ground and revealed a low door. A third of the kobolds filed through followed by Mulahey who squeezed in, heaving and grunting. Another third followed suit. Xan turned to the remaining ones.
"Go ahead, Master Blacksheaf," one of them said reassuringly. "We will bring up the rear after you and collapse this door behind us to make sure nobody follows."
He nodded, hand on the moonblade, and squatted through the door. Only one step in and he was able to straighten himself, now in a sizable tunnel. The others were already moving ahead. He waited until the rest have come in until the kobolds ushered the elf to go on. In his haste, Xan no longer listed his bearings until a sudden breeze smothered his face.
At last, the surface!
It was not until they stepped out of the tunnel did the kobolds activate the final trap. Before Xan could take note of his surroundings, the rumbling of collapsing rocks from within filled his ears as a great wind rushed out of the exit door and enveloped everyone in a cloud of dust.
Coughing, he wiped his face and padded at his hair and clothes. And breathed with relief at finding all the dragonkin complete and intact around him.
But sighing with disappointment at seeing Mulahey standing there, still alive and in one beastly piece.
He blinked at the trees, mentally unfurling the map he had lost with his things. This must be Fire Leaf Forest now, the leaves not their usual green speckled with orange and yellow, but a grim gray in the current night.
Xan turned his sight to the sky above him and sighed.
For the stars, now real and true, glittered in the unbounded heavens as if mocking the captivity still binding the elf to his captor.
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