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Dearest Readers, Truth, like the lightest driftwood, will rise to the surface of even the murkiest river.

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﴾ THE HIDDEN SWORD ﴿

Book Three: Meeting of Fires | Chapter 68: Not a Picnic! (Part One)

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Decades ago if someone had told him someday he would find himself crawling like a woeful worm through the perilous forests of the savage lands beyond his beloved home in pursuit of answers to questions ominously ambiguous, poking his nose into the affairs of the N'Tel'Quess and subjecting his delicate olfactory nerves to their diverse odoriferousness, all to be led to a darkly uncertain fate while shackled and held captive by an incongruously uncouth sun elf - Xan would have managed a polite laugh at their face.

A polite laugh sounding suspiciously like choking on his tea while in the last ring of a death rattle.

But the oppressive weight of the iron encircling his wrists and the chains dangling between them clinked in cruel mockery of his baleful reality. Yet with the steadfastness of one resigned to the futility of his circumstance, still he strove to examine them if perhaps some means to unlock his restraints could be found.

If only he had paid attention to one of his older brothers. Once and seemingly a lifetime ago, a very young Xan had been dragged by his sibling, a fifty-year old elf by then and one who should have known better, to their mother's study to stand guard while the latter dared to disable the locks to a chest full of Experimental Tel'Quessir Moonshine.

Of course, Xan proved to be the Worst Lookout- a boy more interested in his book than in the corridor where Mother had suddenly emerged, her precognition for shenanigans honed from having sired a brood with a significant proportion of troublemakers. Well, troublemakers who still proved more useful to the clan by eventually joining the family enterprise rather than throwing away their lives to thankless collective duty and community service.

Xan furiously wagged his head to drive away the intrusive ponderings and trained a scowl at the manacles, if it would help him regain focus. As he suspected, his restraints must be reinforced by some mild enchantment, evidenced by the barely perceptible current prickling along the rim of the cuffs.

But a specific charm to work on both manually and magically secured locks had been in the spellbook taken by Mulahey. Oh, the criminal neglect of prioritizing enchantment and defensive spells! But could anyone lay blame upon him for foolishly expecting he would have no need for it in the company of a thief, a fellow mage, and fighters capable of simply bashing any obstacle?

"You can forget about picking or even magicking them."

Xan cleared his throat, feigning indignance at Fox Head's accurate scrutiny of his motives. She leveled him a bored look before her eyes fell on the shackles.

"Notice the lack of a keyhole anywhere? Special-issue handcuffs warded with a secure spell," she said, and casually tugged at the links. "Can only be opened by a safeword."

"You mean a password."

"No, a safeword, exactly what they called it. Come to think of it, am not sure why they named it that. Weirdos sniggering when I gave them the words I wanted to use. Eh, what's the difference?"

They? A clue indicating that this sun elf isn't acting alone, perhaps even sponsored by an organization with resources.

Or worse.

Acquired her gear from a smith inspired by the drow and their depraved designs. Xan breathed in sharply. "I hope you can recall the safeword."

"Of course, I remember – it's right here at the tip of my tongue," she said and blew a raspberry at him while walking away.

"Oh marvelous," Xan muttered dryly as he followed. "I am so relieved."

He certainly wasn't looking forward to his lifeless husk of a corpse being dug up a millennia later by grave robbers. Only to be slandered with spurious speculations of having met his shameful demise from a punishment following some heinous crime, or worse, a perverted ritual gone awry.

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Throughout the day, Fox Head led them in a path eastward, then northwest again. When it appeared they might reach the edge of the woods by the coastline, she would take them back to an easterly course as if to scour as much of the forest as possible. Compared to the vastness of Cloakwood and Sharp Teeth, Fire Leaf merely spread over a narrower area, abruptly bordered at the south by the Cloud Peaks.

Stopping only for Xan to catch up in breath and foot, the sun elf proved relentless in her march, though seemingly not with the ease and speed of a ranger sure of the path, but with the desperation of a soul apprehensive at finding something or someone much too late.

How greatly did he desire to ask of the purpose for her pursuit, yet always the half-orc's warnings cautioned him to keep his peace. For indeed, perhaps the only reason for her to keep him alive must be for answers.

Answers to what questions? Xan furrowed his brows.

If she were the very same elf in the bounty notices, then what rhyme and reason governed her actions? If instead, Tazok had sent her, then the half-ogre must have heard at least a quarter of the half-orc's insubordination. Thusly, her mission would be to bring in the elf still whole and intact for further questioning.

Further questioning by being subject to Tazok's monstruous interrogation methods so vividly recounted by Mulahey.

Dilatory amputations done with a jagged rusted saw.

Interminable flayings with the peeled flesh generously seasoned and rubbed with sea salt and pepper and paprika.

Disembowelments so drawn out the prisoners often expired from the unbearable agony before the entirety of their innards had been outed, and- and- and-

- Xan lost his nerve and his footing.

He stumbled, the tip of his boot caught in something low but solid. Yelping he pitched forward, fully expecting to plant his face in the ground.

But Fox Head swiftly rounded and caught him firmly by the shoulders.

Wheezing from momentary surprise, Xan returned to his senses, suddenly aware how with unthinking trust he likewise clung to her arms. Hesitant, he looked up at Fox Head, at the rustling canopy above, sunlight streaming like aureate gossamer around her face, haloing the edges of the coppery mane afire with the afternoon gold.

Down at him she likewise gazed, eyes wide with equal surprise but lips tight in restrained concern.

"My- thanks," Xan stammered, flustered.

Fox Head blinked, then cleared her throat.

"Don't thank me," she replied, expression suddenly indifferent, bobbing a chin at the oak towering above them. "Thank the tree that raised only one root in your path."

How mortifying- this admonition of an elf losing his balance in the forest, of all places!

Cheeks burning, he awkwardly disengaged from her even as Fox Head merely looked him over like a shepherd inspecting a lamb lagging behind the flock.

"We're stopping here for now."

A moment of rest? Praises to the Seldarine and their undeserved mercies.

But she must have noted the look of relief on his face, for she snapped, "Only because I want you to answer my questions without huffing and puffing like a phlegmy gnome out of breath at the pipe."

Of course, concessions always come with chains attached.

"So don't you break out into song and dance just yet!"

As if he could do that even in a joyous occasion of which his tormented existence had been blatantly sparing. Petulantly Xan crumpled down on his haunches. Fox Head squatted before him, balancing on the balls of her feet and eyed him sharply.

"All right, so you still won't tell me who you are. How about you tell me of this Mulahey, the half-orc you were with and what is he to Tranzig. And don't waste my time pretending you've never heard those names because one of Tranzig's men wheezed it right through his bloody broken nose."

Has she no knowledge of Tranzig's connection with the iron plague? Puzzled, Xan's eyes unconsciously darted to the side, snapping back to the sun elf who snorted impatiently at his continued silence.

"He didn't mention anyone else with Mulahey," Fox Head added skeptically. "Maybe Tranzig's guy was about to give up your name as well before he croaked?"

She poked him in the chest. "So I'm asking you now - Who exactly are these fellows? What have they to do with that elf who's been killing scores of bandits but has that huge bounty on their head, which I know Tranzig has been spreading around like a slimy sneeze. Who is Tranzig working for and what are his men doing dragging some secret stuff across the border into Amn?"

Secret stuff? She must mean the Iron Plague Potion but had failed to confirm its true nature from Tranzig's associates prior to their demise.

Xan looked at Fox Head, saw the impatience in her face, the frustration in her eyes. Indeed, who is she, this elf keenly seeking out the connections among these nodes? Vexed as he was now feeling, the temptation brushed his mind to simply speak what little he knew. If perhaps doing so might earn him freedom.

But his sight fell upon her hands, the clenching and unclenching fists as if readying to draw the sword. Undoubtedly, the very same sword that silenced Tranzig's men even after one of them cooperated. Xan pursed his lips in a tight line.

No, he must never yield, not even an iota of information. Somehow, stall until the opportunity presented itself for escape, enable him more time to uncover knowledge useful to the People. Fruitless and futile it all may be. Xan looked away.

Denied again, Fox Head stood and threw up her hands. "Oh, how very helpful of you," she said acidly. "Well, you've lollygagged enough on your bum. Up! Up on your feet and keep walking, Lord Butter-Toes."

Will this sun elf never expend her catalogue of countrified gibes? Exhaling, Xan hauled himself to his feet, groaning at the growing ache in his limbs. It would take more than half a decade of bed rest and a season of daily sessions at the healing pools to fully recover from this ordeal.

Yet rather than resuming the march, Fox Head paced restlessly, knuckles on her waist, seemingly considering another puzzle. "At least tell me if those kobolds are planning an ambush to rescue you. For their own good, I hope not."

Surprised by the query, Xan glanced around as if assuring himself of the dragonkin's absence. "No, they will not follow us, not anymore."

"You're not just saying this to make me think they won't jump at us along the way?"

"It is the nature of their kind to cause trouble, but not these ones." Xan rubbed at his manacled wrists, eyes fixed on the iron around them, a sad reminder of the prior fate of his former wardens. "Those kobolds were a tribe living peacefully among the ruins of Firewine until they were driven out."

"By what? Ghosts? Other monsters?"

Xan scrunched his face in disgust, recalling the pitiful creature's story. "Humans, for certain. As one of the kobolds described to me - Big folk. Armor so dark and swords bloody and sharp, and arrows of coldest iron so many."

"Hmm, sounds like a pretty loaded band of grave diggers," Fox Head murmured, clicking her tongue. "Poor little kobolds, not really bothering anyone else but kicked out of their cozy holes just like that. Hells, can't anybody leave anyone alone, living or dead, these days."

Indeed, rapacious tomb raiders and disturbers of the peace afforded to the departed and their memories, as well as of the small and insignificant living souls without a place in this world, Xan would have added in the service of accuracy.

"Overwhelmed and their tribe nearly annihilated, they managed to escape to these woods. But Mulahey somehow chanced upon their pack and cruelly forced them into his service by slaying some of their number. Such had been their state and I had sought to alleviate their plight whenever I could," he recounted, his voice low while reliving the unwelcome memories.

From the corner of his vision, he perceived Fox Head listening intently, an odd expression of sympathy on her face.

"How come you were alone when I caught up with you? Where are they now?"

"I do not know anymore," Xan replied. How puzzling, her peculiar interest in the dragonkin. "Since Mulahey abandoned us, I set them free and told them to find a new home and make a more peaceful life for themselves. I last saw the pack heading further south."

Further south away from them and all this madness.

"You did?" Fox Head said, her expression brightening for a moment. In her eyes flashed a rare flicker of esteem.

"Good, good," she said, bobbing her head, satisfied and relieved. "I met a nice kobold once, and I'd hate to hurt any of his cousins if I could help it." She winked and continued walking, whistling shrilly at him to trail after her as if he were some servile beast.

Xan watched her, canting his head in befuddlement, before following as well.

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They had been marching for a while when a sound most frightful and ominous made them halt in their tracks.

"Sehanine save us! What manner of a horrendous monster is capable of emitting an unbearably dreadful howl?" Xan blurted out in genuine apprehension.

Once more, the otherworldly groan reverberated its sonorous torment, followed by a rumbling resonant in its dolorous anguish. Yet his captor remained still, not even a hint of acknowledgment nor attempt to ready herself.

"There it is again," he mumbled, glancing around in panic. "Are we not going to hide or flee? Whatever it is, it sounds awfully close."

"Of course, it's very close," Fox Head snarled, knuckles on her waist. "Because it's my stomach."

Xan cringed, appalled by the evidence of a Tel'Quessir body producing such an unearthly racket. He watched as she dropped the pack and rubbed at her belly, tensing as if debating within herself. Then seemingly resigned to a decision, Fox Head shut her eyes with a scowl, curled her fists and exhaled repeatedly as one might attempt to calm themselves lest they erupt in a ravenous rampage.

And with the timidity one must demonstrate while standing atop the belly of a hungry bulette, Xan dared to ask, "Out- of- - rations?"

Her stomach replied in the affirmative with a quick pitched croak. Snorting, Fox Head roughly grabbed a slender wooden cylinder and a fistful of darts from a leather pouch strapped to the side of the bag.

"Stay here and wait while I get us something to eat," she said brusquely, wagging the blow dart at him. "Don't forget, I still have your Sparkly Shiny Sword with me," the sun elf added, cocking her hip to flippantly swing the moonblade at him like some bushy fox tail.

Getting a little too comfortable there aren't you, Xan mentally indicted the teu'kerym still smugly inert.

"Now don't go wandering around then tripping over another tree root again. But this time falling into a ditch filled with quicksand and acid-tipped spikes and twenty hungry ankhegs." She paused and held up all the fingers of a hand. "Make that… twenty-five ankhegs."

How morbidly specific, Xan noted dryly. He bobbed his head in compelled compliance which Fox Head acknowledged with a grunt before proceeding to the hunt.

Finally, a moment to rest before he could collapse from utter exhaustion, long before he might ever fall in a battlefield. Xan glanced around at the suffocating denseness of the forest around him. To flee was certainly out of the question – she still has his moonblade, after all.

And a pair of legs proven capable of running him down and perhaps even kicking his teeth in. Nope, a foolhardy escape was very much out of the question.

More than an hour passed before Fox Head finally returned with a pair of rabbits. Then followed the mundane task of her skinning and gutting then roasting the meat on open fire, the proceedings of which Xan didn't follow closely, so intently did he ruminate on his presently doleful predicament.

After some time, she handed him his share of the meal which he defeatedly received. Or rather-

Xan stared down at the twisted length of charcoal impaled on a roughly shaven branch.

"It's roasted rabbit." Fox Head eyed him and his obvious skepticism, shrugging as she took her share and sat upon a log. "So I may have overcooked our supper a little bit."

As best as he could manage with both hands still shackled, Xan delicately peeled a section of the charred surface.

"The inside is still raw," he declared with a tone drier than the regretful state of the meat.

"Guess I sort of undercooked them too?"

By the Seldarine, how was this even possible? He wagged his head and glanced up at her. Would she dare eat her own creation, though? No, for instead, she merely stared down at the scorched meat in her hands. Sehanine, it was even beginning to crumble into black dust.

How utterly sad, dejected, and forlorn.

Not the Charred Rabbit. But the Fox herself.

For a strange expression had settled upon her face – brows deeply furrowed, mouth drawn tight, eyes misted. Knuckles taught as she gripped the spit so forcefully it might snap between her hands. A painful memory or mere regret for a poorly executed meal?

Even so, did she never have to cook for herself and always had to have someone else do it for her before this?

Xan sighed, utterly resigned. If he must-

"Since I prefer any swift and painless end over the protracted agony of death by starvation," he said, in his mind a silent prayer for the acceptance of the coming foolhardy recommendation. "If you are able to acquire another rabbit or two, I can cook them for both of us, while endeavoring to do so without accidentally poisoning ourselves in the process."

Hope flashed in her eyes, though as if catching herself, Fox Head pondered the offer for a moment. "Works for me," she finally replied, rising to her feet.

"Very well. Do you happen to have salt and herbs with you?" At her questioning look, Xan explained, "To ameliorate the gaminess of the meat."

"I have some-," she mumbled and counted on her fingers, eyes darting up. "-salt for bug stings and ivy rashes. Some thyme in there, but they're for bruises and scrapes. Then some black pepper for those small but bloody cuts so I don't have to use up my bloodstaunch. Oh, and I do have rosemary for stomach aches for those berry bushes that didn't look too suspicious like they should've, right? Will that be enough?"

Of course, trust this one to use herbs but only as tinctures mostly to relieve the outcome of violent activities.

"Yes, they should suffice."

Blow dart in hand, Fox Head stood and tapped the side of the pack with a foot. "Everything's in this left pocket here, if I remember right." She marched off and yelled over her shoulder, "I won't be gone for long. So don't try anything funny that won't make me laugh."

Xan bristled at the parting remark but set himself to the task - a challenge with his wrists still shackled.

First, assess the type of fire she made to cook, or rather, incinerate the rabbit. No wonder- the logs had been placed in a standing cone, hence it all blazed too hot and too soon. Instead, he stacked the kindling in a crisscross pattern over the tinder, followed by the firewood – sure to burn hot likewise but low enough to evenly roast the meat. Given the physical restraints, the process took a while, but eventually he managed to kindle a fire. Well then, it would appear he did learn something from the occasional mandatory training excursions with the rangers of his vale home.

He turned to the pack for the seasonings. Gingerly he felt at the first pocket, found only one pouch, that of the thyme, instead of everything as Fox Head had claimed. Xan rolled his eyes.

With further probing, the second pocket yielded the rosemary, the black pepper in the third and last one. The salt must be in an inner compartment, then. Xan rolled his eyes in the other direction.

Goodness, could she not have placed them in a single receptacle for ease and efficiency of retrieval? Truly now, the inconsiderate lack of organization by some people!

With great caution, he opened the bag and shrank back.

No viper sprang out to bite him.

Nay, but something much worse.

Xan stared down with uncomprehending dread at the very mouth of the Abyss.

At the utterly disorganized and chaotically packed bag crammed to bursting!

With a sharp breath, he steeled himself and proceeded to dig in, clawing through and pulling out everything in his way – clothes, pouches of sundries, tools, rope among a host of others, setting these down on the grass beside him.

From within this nest of anarchy, Xan drew out another pair of manacles, and then another.

Incredulous, he stared at them as they dangled between his hands. Is this madwoman planning to capture more unfortunate fellows for whatever dissembled purpose she has in that demented mind of hers?

Eventually, he managed to empty the bag, marveling at the natural strength wherewith Fox Head carried all this and him at the same time. Xan pursed his lips in grudging recollection. Well, she did demonstrate a familiar technique for carrying a body – a specific method employed by the vale guards that enabled them to properly bear the deadweight of an unconscious companion during external patrols on foot. And given his less-than-robust frame, such a task shouldn't have been too difficult a feat for one such as her.

Just as he had deduced, the pouch of salt had been indiscriminately jammed into one of the inner compartments. Well then, time to return her belongings into the bag. Should he just stuff in her things as she did, or should he utilize a more systematic way of packing each item according to weight and composition? As the sages often warned – always put things back the way you first saw them. Oh, but her method of organizing, or rather nonexistence thereof.

Either way, if he must!

Xan turned to the stack of things beside him and grabbed at whichever object lay atop the pile.

And he blinked in astonishment, surprised as he found himself holding a telling piece of identification in his hand.

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"Got more rabbits," Fox Head announced with sing-song cheer, clearly pleased with her accomplishment.

He groaned over the silence dispelled. "And quite too soon, unfortunately."

"All I did was go back to the patch of clover and wildflowers some ways from here, where I caught the first ones. Waited a bit, then soon enough, another pair hopped by. Started licking each other in the face like the first couple did, then one got behind the other again, then I shot them down just like what I did before."

Xan leveled her a horrified stare. "Did you just kill a pair of mating rabbits?" Twice, as well, what were the implacable odds.

Fox Head scrunched her shoulders and grinned a toothy guilty smile.

He sighed, shaking his head at the poor creatures for having met their demise from a banal act. Even so, as he had always correctly postulated – love and intimacy are among the most fatal and unrewarding of life's pursuits.

Hazards well worth avoiding for the sake of one's sanity and survival. Indeed.

As before, Fox Head dressed and speared the rabbits through the spits. But this time, Xan himself seasoned the meat and watched them over the fire, shooing her away whenever she expressed interest in helping.

"Are they done?"

"No."

"Can we eat now?"

"No."

"But you've taken them out of the fire!"

And with the haste of one willfully unmindful of culinary perils, Fox Head scooted over beside him and grabbed one of the rabbits. Yet despite his constraints and with swiftness that surprised even himself, Xan managed to grasp her arm before she could lift the food to her face, her mouth already open wide and ready to bite down.

"What do you think you're doing? You could have burned yourself," he hissed.

"But it doesn't look too hot," she protested.

"The meat is still cooking within. You must let it rest for another sixth of a candle."

"Oh," Fox Head mumbled, then stared at his hand still clutching her arm. For a breath she seemed to have frozen, as if recalling something, then sighed.

"Right, almost burned myself again if it weren't for-," she murmured then lowered the spit.

Xan let go and returned to tending the fire. How reckless and impatient. A wonder that this one hasn't ended up maimed or crippled or-

He glanced at the mutilated ear and thought nothing more.

A good while passed and he remembered what he had just unearthed earlier. His eyes furtively darted to the sun elf as he mentally scribed the repercussions. If he revealed what he knew of her, then she might be more inclined to release him in exchange for his silence.

Or he could let things remain as they were – him an unfortunate prisoner awaiting a fate exceedingly unpleasant and inconvenient once they leave the forest. For indeed, this discovery perfectly explained everything – the reasons for concealing her appearance in this place, even her very purpose in this very moment.

Either way, he was already doomed, whether the truth remained hidden or not. Whether that sword at her side remained sheathed or not.

"You ask me of my dealings with Mulahey and Tranzig, yet you say nothing of your own motives, especially your identity," he said and paused when she turned to look at him.

"No, I won't, because it's none of your business."

"Perhaps it is not and I pray it never will, but the Truth, though concealed and buried under the weight of all attempts at abstraction, shall eventually rise to the surface. And when it does, you can neither hide nor deny it."

Slowly he raised both hands, the chains clinking. "I now know exactly what you are."

Fox Head narrowed her eyes in a challenge. "And what exactly, am I?"

With complete conviction, Xan pointed to her and pronounced.

"A Flaming Fist."

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