The 2nd of Aryth, 993 Y.K., early morning, on the northwestern coast of the Demon Wastes
Delegado recovered first, slashing at the babau and scoring a hit along its side. He could have pressed in deeper, but he knew to pull away before the acid jelly pitted his blade. Orphan reacted next, punching the demon in its back. Neither attack had much effect, although Orphan’s hands smoked from the acid. “Back to Khyber with you!” the half-orc yelled. For once he envied his many relatives who found strength in their rage.
Thomas gripped his greataxe, then stepped back, doing nothing.
“Thomas!” yelled Delegado, jerking back to avoid claws heading for his throat. “Get in here!”
“Let the Silver Flame help her,” sneered the half-daelkyr.
“Dissension,” giggled the demon, slashing a line on Orphan’s shoulder. “Chaos. Beautiful.”
“The Flame will help me,” Ois said, holding her jaw as she stood. A glow came from her hands, a silvery glow that closed her wounds and made her face whole again, save for the scar that the ogre magus in Droaam had given her. The blood that had fallen was slowly absorbed into the snow on the beach.
“So tasty she smells!” the demon said, whirling to attack her again.
Orphan jumped the demon, grappling with him, but this time he had no protection from the acid. He managed to keep the thing still, but his body smoked painfully. With a shudder, the warforged went limp, falling off of the demon and lying still on the beach. Fluid and oil leaked from the warforged’s cracked and smoking frame. Unlike Ois’ blood, it did not mix with the snow. Instead it ran over it, leaving a dark line that slowly snaked to the water’s edge.
Orphan’s sacrifice was not in vain, as it had bought Ois time to recover. The changeling paladin took her longsword in both hands and cried, “I smite thee with the Silver Flame!” Unlike Delegado’s sword and Orphan’s fists, her sword went all the way through the creature, making it gape at the sword point that poked through its chest. Silvery fire spread out from the wound, making the demon howl.
Delegado’s sword opened the demon’s guts, and Thomas’ greataxe finally spoke, cutting it in the head. The demon staggered, trying to slash and bite, but it failed to do so. Ois shifted her stance, and cut her sword free.
The babau collapsed like a sack of wet meat, its acid smoking against the snow. Ois and Delegado both cleaned their swords on the snow in the same motion, and then turned to point them at Thomas.
“Come at me then,” Thomas said, the head of his greataxe smelling of ozone as the demon’s acid sizzled on it. “Let’s finish this, eh?”
“I am going to kill you,” Delegado said, snarling.
“No, you won’t,” Ois said. “Thomas, you hate me, but do you want Orphan to die? Or your horse? Or Feather?”
“Listen to the lady or we’ll finish what we started in Merylsward, freak,” Delegado said with menace. He wanted to tear Thomas limb from limb, but he was not like his relatives. He comprehended her plan, and he knew that brain would be better than brawn right now.
Thomas stepped back and circled a bit. “You think I trust either of you? Orphan’s dead.”
“Look at him, look at his eyes!” Delegado said. “He’s not dead, he’s inert, just like that time in the caves south of the Holt! Now are you really his friend or was that just the Mockery’s flattery?”
“I am his friend!” Thomas thundered. “I’m not some changeling liar! But I have no more scrolls, I can’t repair him!”
“You can conjure up a storm,” Ois said. “Impair visibility and movement. It will stop any more teleporters, and it will buy is time to try and fix him.”
Thomas considered this. “Fine,” he said. “But step away from me while I do it, I don’t trust you.”
“Mind if I get the last of the caltrops from your horse?” Delegado asked.
“Like they’ll help,” snorted the half-daelkyr. But he sheathed his greataxe handle and pulled the staff off of his back.
Delegado got the caltrops and scattered them as best as he could while Thomas called on the power of the staff. The half-orc also gave Feather the ‘home’ command so that the hawk settled back down on his armored shoulder.
The sky was turning a leaden gray, and rain began to fall as lightning bolts danced between the clouds. Thomas gripped the staff and stared. The rain was a shower of icy darts at first, then a drizzle. Soon it would be a maelstrom.
Ois was trying to prop up Orphan’s body to see what she could do, but she had no training as a craftsman or blacksmith. “I don’t know what to do!” she said. “I used the last of my laying on hands ability on him, but it was only a trickle, and his construction wouldn’t take it properly.” Tears ran down her face as she held the warforged. “Delegado, I don’t know what to do for your friend. I’m sorry.”
“We’re all sorry,” Thomas said, his voice becoming faint. “But what good does sorry are? There is no forgiveness. There is no peace. There is only death.” Above them all thunder boomed, and the storm picked up.
“I thought it took you ten minutes to get the staff to work!” Delegado yelled, rain running down his face.
“Something is pushing it!” Thomas said. “Something is accelerating the weather!”
Thunder boomed, and freezing rain soaked them all. Vision was reduced significantly, and the angry howls of hundreds of fiends could be heard as their prey winked out of sight due to the sudden downpour.
“The idea was to hide us, not pin us down,” Delegado shouted. His heart was not in it, however. He was more concerned with Ois and Orphan.
“What do I do, Delegado?” she asked. Her tears were washed away by the pouring rain as she gripped Orphan. He body was no longer smoking from the acid, but the leaking fluid was now touching water’s edge, and floating on the water. “I have no more spell power to help him! What do I do?”
Delegado looked around, watching the cold rain cut everything off from view, watching Orphan’s fluid mix with the cold sea, hearing the snarls and gibbering of the approaching fiend army. He crouched next to her and helped her hold his friend.
“Pray,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“Pray,” he said again. “It couldn’t hurt, right?”
She stared at him incredulously, and then began her low chanting. “Silver Flame attend to us, Silver Flame protect us, Silver Flame warm us. Here your servants need you, here your servants beseech you…”
I don’t have her pretty words, Delegado thought. And I don’t know who or what is out there. Maybe the Sovereign Host, maybe the Silver Flame, maybe the nature force the druids worship. Maybe even this logical hidden abstract idea Orphan believes in. But whatever you are, help him! Help Orphan, because I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more!
Thomas came over, dropping to his knees. “Silver Flame protect us, Silver Flame warm us…” Ois was so shocked she paused for a second, but then she grabbed his hand and they continued to recite the catechism together.
“You want words, I’ll give you words,” Delegado said in a soft voice. “You show me there is something watching over this world, you help this man – this warforged – my friend!”
Thunder boomed, and the demons howled, their clawed feet scratching as they broke out of the snow-choked defile. To the northeast and southwest the heavy thudding of great feet continued to grow.
The three of them prayed for the warforged as death approached from three sides.
END BOOK ONE
TO BE CONTINUED
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Chapter 21 - Part 9
Cold.
What does it mean, that this is my only reaction?
Cold.
No, my reaction is numbness, emotional cold. If I feel no fear, it may be because of Ois, but if I feel nothing, it is because of me.
As if by themselves, his eyes turned up the beach, then down. The great fiendish animals were far off, but efficiently cutting off any chance of escape. Iron Orphan didn’t want to look, he wanted to close his eyes. Put them back into their semi-organic containment units. He didn’t want to see them come out of the defile, either. It was failure. In an hour, maybe two, they would be surrounded. All the pain, all the death, even murdering that lousy King, was for nothing. They had no way out.
How do I know if I did anything, in the long run?
How do I know anything at all? Why did I ever think I could do this when I am less than a year old?
Cold.
“Hey, wake up, you sluggard!” yelled Delegado. Orphan focused, and realized that the half-orc had been trying to talk to him for the last minute or two. “You in there, Orphan?”
“Yes,” Orphan said at last, coming out of his despondency somewhat. “Yes. What? What is it?”
“What do we do?” Delegado asked.
“Why are you asking me?” Orphan retorted.
“You’re in charge,” Thomas said.
“I don’t want to be,” Orphan said. “Look where I’ve led us! We’re going to die! And for what?”
Ois cleared her throat. “Don’t worry,” she said in response to the warforged’s glare. “I am not about to give you another lecture about the Silver Flame.” She had given up on that since leaving Ashtakala, since her one-time pupil had refused to speak with her. She had talked to Delegado about little things, over the past few days they had always seemed to find time to discuss the inconsequential, but she hadn’t preached to anyone. “I simply want to discuss our situation. Logically.”
“We have no scrolls, no potions, no arrows, no throwing weapons, and only one horse unless you’re going to conjure yours up again,” Orphan retorted. “They will be here in an hour, maybe two, and maybe some will teleport in early. All of you are tired and hungry and we aren’t going to last long once it starts. What did I leave out?”
“You can’t just give up,” Delegado said. “We have a riddle that we all memorized, a riddle that we have to solve.”
“Oh excuse me while I check some tomes out of the library,” Orphan said sarcastically.
Delegado swung a fist at him. Orphan caught it, and restrained himself from breaking the half-orc’s arm.
“Looks like you aren’t dead yet,” Delegado said, pulling his hand back. “Now think. Can you get to the Shadow Marches? You don’t need to breathe, maybe you can swim under the tide.”
“I’d die in that water,” Orphan said. “We tested it. It’s freezing. I’d last longer than any of you, but I would die.”
Thomas flexed his muscles and shifted his grip on his greataxe. “We will all die, and our flesh will be carrion,” he said.
“You finally talking to me?” Delegado asked. “Because you pick the strangest things to say sometimes.”
“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” Thomas said. “And you,” he added to Ois. “We’re going to die, and I need someone to kill the stormstalk after I go, so I’m talking to you.” The stormstalk glared at him balefully.
“I never lied to you about the Silver Flame,” Ois said sadly.
“Don’t start,” Thomas said. “Just don’t.”
“Orphan, let’s get it together and have a plan,” Delegado said.
“Alright,” Orphan said. “How about giving a message for Feather to deliver to Blood Crescent?”
“It’s too cold, he isn’t made for this weather,” Delegado said. “And he’d get eaten by something. Otherwise I’d have sent him away earlier.”
Orphan considered this. “Maybe we can charge down one beach, and I can hold off some of the things while the rest of you climb the cliff. Once up there Ois can summon her steed and you can keep moving. You’d have to go, too, you might find enough food to live off of the land, or at least get to the Labyrinth.”
Ois shook her head. “I am not the climber, Orphan, I am sorry.”
“Those cliffs are covered in ice,” Delegado said. “I don’t know that I could, either. Certainly not before something with wings came by. Those cliffs are almost seventy feet in height.”
“Do you have a better plan?” Orphan asked.
Before Delegado could respond, there was a shimmer, and a gaunt demon teleported in. Orphan recognized the swept back horn. “Babau!” he yelled. “Beware the acid skin!”
The babau slashed at Orphan, gouging him, and then turned and cut Ois. Ois gasped as the babau’s claws slashed over her old facial scar. Blood flew from her face as muscles were shredded, revealing her jaw and teeth. She fell to her knees, clutching her opened cheek as the fiends drew nearer.
What does it mean, that this is my only reaction?
Cold.
No, my reaction is numbness, emotional cold. If I feel no fear, it may be because of Ois, but if I feel nothing, it is because of me.
As if by themselves, his eyes turned up the beach, then down. The great fiendish animals were far off, but efficiently cutting off any chance of escape. Iron Orphan didn’t want to look, he wanted to close his eyes. Put them back into their semi-organic containment units. He didn’t want to see them come out of the defile, either. It was failure. In an hour, maybe two, they would be surrounded. All the pain, all the death, even murdering that lousy King, was for nothing. They had no way out.
How do I know if I did anything, in the long run?
How do I know anything at all? Why did I ever think I could do this when I am less than a year old?
Cold.
“Hey, wake up, you sluggard!” yelled Delegado. Orphan focused, and realized that the half-orc had been trying to talk to him for the last minute or two. “You in there, Orphan?”
“Yes,” Orphan said at last, coming out of his despondency somewhat. “Yes. What? What is it?”
“What do we do?” Delegado asked.
“Why are you asking me?” Orphan retorted.
“You’re in charge,” Thomas said.
“I don’t want to be,” Orphan said. “Look where I’ve led us! We’re going to die! And for what?”
Ois cleared her throat. “Don’t worry,” she said in response to the warforged’s glare. “I am not about to give you another lecture about the Silver Flame.” She had given up on that since leaving Ashtakala, since her one-time pupil had refused to speak with her. She had talked to Delegado about little things, over the past few days they had always seemed to find time to discuss the inconsequential, but she hadn’t preached to anyone. “I simply want to discuss our situation. Logically.”
“We have no scrolls, no potions, no arrows, no throwing weapons, and only one horse unless you’re going to conjure yours up again,” Orphan retorted. “They will be here in an hour, maybe two, and maybe some will teleport in early. All of you are tired and hungry and we aren’t going to last long once it starts. What did I leave out?”
“You can’t just give up,” Delegado said. “We have a riddle that we all memorized, a riddle that we have to solve.”
“Oh excuse me while I check some tomes out of the library,” Orphan said sarcastically.
Delegado swung a fist at him. Orphan caught it, and restrained himself from breaking the half-orc’s arm.
“Looks like you aren’t dead yet,” Delegado said, pulling his hand back. “Now think. Can you get to the Shadow Marches? You don’t need to breathe, maybe you can swim under the tide.”
“I’d die in that water,” Orphan said. “We tested it. It’s freezing. I’d last longer than any of you, but I would die.”
Thomas flexed his muscles and shifted his grip on his greataxe. “We will all die, and our flesh will be carrion,” he said.
“You finally talking to me?” Delegado asked. “Because you pick the strangest things to say sometimes.”
“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” Thomas said. “And you,” he added to Ois. “We’re going to die, and I need someone to kill the stormstalk after I go, so I’m talking to you.” The stormstalk glared at him balefully.
“I never lied to you about the Silver Flame,” Ois said sadly.
“Don’t start,” Thomas said. “Just don’t.”
“Orphan, let’s get it together and have a plan,” Delegado said.
“Alright,” Orphan said. “How about giving a message for Feather to deliver to Blood Crescent?”
“It’s too cold, he isn’t made for this weather,” Delegado said. “And he’d get eaten by something. Otherwise I’d have sent him away earlier.”
Orphan considered this. “Maybe we can charge down one beach, and I can hold off some of the things while the rest of you climb the cliff. Once up there Ois can summon her steed and you can keep moving. You’d have to go, too, you might find enough food to live off of the land, or at least get to the Labyrinth.”
Ois shook her head. “I am not the climber, Orphan, I am sorry.”
“Those cliffs are covered in ice,” Delegado said. “I don’t know that I could, either. Certainly not before something with wings came by. Those cliffs are almost seventy feet in height.”
“Do you have a better plan?” Orphan asked.
Before Delegado could respond, there was a shimmer, and a gaunt demon teleported in. Orphan recognized the swept back horn. “Babau!” he yelled. “Beware the acid skin!”
The babau slashed at Orphan, gouging him, and then turned and cut Ois. Ois gasped as the babau’s claws slashed over her old facial scar. Blood flew from her face as muscles were shredded, revealing her jaw and teeth. She fell to her knees, clutching her opened cheek as the fiends drew nearer.
Chapter 21 - Part 8
By the end of the twenty-seventh of Sypheros they had used the remainder of their scrolls. From what scrying Thomas could do and what Feather saw on his flights, the fiends were still massing, still grabbing every resource they could find to capture those who had invaded their unholy city. Most of them were blocking the way to the Icehorn Mountains, Festering Holt, or the Labyrinth, while others seemed to be crawling out of every crevice in the volcano to the north of Ashtakala. They were forced to head northwest, then due west, trying to avoid the demonic patrols. As it was, some flying fiends had to be dispatched to keep them from telling the rakshasa of the intruders’ whereabouts. That used up most of their arrows.
On the twenty-eighth they used up the last of their alchemical devices, and they lost their tents and one bedroll to a flyby attack from a thing that seemed to be a dark corruption of an eagle, only ten times as big as a normal one. In the afternoon they entered a wide defile that moved down the slope of what must have been a great riverbed eons ago. From what Feather told them, it was the only way to go that did not lead them into masses of hunting fiends. Delegado surmised from the shape of the slope that they were heading to the Bitter Sea, but he could not be sure.
They stopped earlier than planned on the twenty-eighth when Ois’ horse dissipated unexpectedly early. They did not know why, but Orphan guessed the fiends were somehow interfering with conjuration spells that were drawn from good powers. Since Delegado had been riding with Ois while his father’s body was tied to Thomas’ horse, this forced them to stop. They could not run like Orphan could.
That night they were attacked from the high ground on either side of the defile. Their enemies were routed, but by Delegado using his remaining arrows. With half a night’s sleep they started traveling by foot. When the sun rose on the twenty-ninth, Ois was able to summon her horse again, and they took off just ahead of a horde of dretches driven by skeletal things with whips of eldritch energy. They fled the entire day, not stopping to eat, pushing themselves and their mounts as much as they could. They kept moving after sunset as well, not stopping until the defile opened past a break in what was a high cliff stretching to their right and left. A broad plain of cold, snow-covered barren and cracked earth stretched open before them. A wink of seawater teased them from the horizon, and Delegado thought he could smell the salt in the water.
They slept about four hours, and ate briefly. When they had some light from a moon, they moved cautiously across the snow after Thomas had used the staff to choke the defile with another blizzard.
When dawn came, they were standing on the shore, watching as they saw movement at the northeastern and southwestern horizons along the beach that formed an edge along the cliffside. Movement that would show itself to be fiendish dire animals in large numbers, directed by forces unseen. Behind Orphan and his companions was an army struggling through the snow-choked defile. Ahead lay only a cold, dead sea, with storm clouds as dark as death gathering in the sky.
On the twenty-eighth they used up the last of their alchemical devices, and they lost their tents and one bedroll to a flyby attack from a thing that seemed to be a dark corruption of an eagle, only ten times as big as a normal one. In the afternoon they entered a wide defile that moved down the slope of what must have been a great riverbed eons ago. From what Feather told them, it was the only way to go that did not lead them into masses of hunting fiends. Delegado surmised from the shape of the slope that they were heading to the Bitter Sea, but he could not be sure.
They stopped earlier than planned on the twenty-eighth when Ois’ horse dissipated unexpectedly early. They did not know why, but Orphan guessed the fiends were somehow interfering with conjuration spells that were drawn from good powers. Since Delegado had been riding with Ois while his father’s body was tied to Thomas’ horse, this forced them to stop. They could not run like Orphan could.
That night they were attacked from the high ground on either side of the defile. Their enemies were routed, but by Delegado using his remaining arrows. With half a night’s sleep they started traveling by foot. When the sun rose on the twenty-ninth, Ois was able to summon her horse again, and they took off just ahead of a horde of dretches driven by skeletal things with whips of eldritch energy. They fled the entire day, not stopping to eat, pushing themselves and their mounts as much as they could. They kept moving after sunset as well, not stopping until the defile opened past a break in what was a high cliff stretching to their right and left. A broad plain of cold, snow-covered barren and cracked earth stretched open before them. A wink of seawater teased them from the horizon, and Delegado thought he could smell the salt in the water.
They slept about four hours, and ate briefly. When they had some light from a moon, they moved cautiously across the snow after Thomas had used the staff to choke the defile with another blizzard.
When dawn came, they were standing on the shore, watching as they saw movement at the northeastern and southwestern horizons along the beach that formed an edge along the cliffside. Movement that would show itself to be fiendish dire animals in large numbers, directed by forces unseen. Behind Orphan and his companions was an army struggling through the snow-choked defile. Ahead lay only a cold, dead sea, with storm clouds as dark as death gathering in the sky.
Chapter 21 - Part 7
“It sounds like we are abandoning Meschashmal,” grumbled a young brass dragon. He was smoking a pipe the size of a horse. It was an affection of his that was quite recent, maybe only twenty years old.
“Meschashmal is dead,” snorted an angry gold. The gold dragon was not much older than her brass-colored co-conspirator, but she had been angry most of her life. “We ought to be thinking of revenge! Death! Retribution!”
“You forget the bigger picture, darling,” said a young male green who had been pursuing the gold for a century. She still hadn’t mated with him yet. “We need to thwart the Lords of Dust as they plan so that the Prophecy will not be marred.”
“Don’t patronize me!” the gold snapped.
“Calm down, all of you,” said a crusty copper with an abundance of chin whiskers. With Meschashmal dead he was the oldest member of the Chamber living. “We can do nothing about Meschashmal, but we can protect the Prophecy, which I may add Meschashmal gave his life for.”
“Distracting the fiends so the three can sneak into their city,” the brass said, taking another puff. “Impressive. They will die of course.”
“They are four,” snapped the gold. “And I care not a whit that they die, but I do care that they are supposed to deliver the riddle and they cannot.”
A crystal hummed in the center of the rocky glade where they were meeting, and the copper directed a mental nudge at it. “Yes?” he asked.
“An interesting alignment of the planes has occurred,” came the tinny voice on the other end that was in reality an extremely large red who studied patterns of magma inside a volcano that housed a planar vortex. “The ship is moving. The four may be part of it, but they will again become three.”
“What does that mean?” the brass dragon asked, pushing his pipe to the side.
“It means that this isn’t over,” sneered the gold. “What we need to do is decide what to do about it.”
The green frowned, the exhaled a bit. “Our only choice is the druid,” he said. “We may not like working with her, but she can accelerate the weather there.”
No one spoke for a while. The white dragon druid was extremely difficult to work with, and as she was not a member of the Chamber, she charged a high price for her silence.
“Do it,” the copper said finally. “We don’t have a choice.”
“Meschashmal is dead,” snorted an angry gold. The gold dragon was not much older than her brass-colored co-conspirator, but she had been angry most of her life. “We ought to be thinking of revenge! Death! Retribution!”
“You forget the bigger picture, darling,” said a young male green who had been pursuing the gold for a century. She still hadn’t mated with him yet. “We need to thwart the Lords of Dust as they plan so that the Prophecy will not be marred.”
“Don’t patronize me!” the gold snapped.
“Calm down, all of you,” said a crusty copper with an abundance of chin whiskers. With Meschashmal dead he was the oldest member of the Chamber living. “We can do nothing about Meschashmal, but we can protect the Prophecy, which I may add Meschashmal gave his life for.”
“Distracting the fiends so the three can sneak into their city,” the brass said, taking another puff. “Impressive. They will die of course.”
“They are four,” snapped the gold. “And I care not a whit that they die, but I do care that they are supposed to deliver the riddle and they cannot.”
A crystal hummed in the center of the rocky glade where they were meeting, and the copper directed a mental nudge at it. “Yes?” he asked.
“An interesting alignment of the planes has occurred,” came the tinny voice on the other end that was in reality an extremely large red who studied patterns of magma inside a volcano that housed a planar vortex. “The ship is moving. The four may be part of it, but they will again become three.”
“What does that mean?” the brass dragon asked, pushing his pipe to the side.
“It means that this isn’t over,” sneered the gold. “What we need to do is decide what to do about it.”
The green frowned, the exhaled a bit. “Our only choice is the druid,” he said. “We may not like working with her, but she can accelerate the weather there.”
No one spoke for a while. The white dragon druid was extremely difficult to work with, and as she was not a member of the Chamber, she charged a high price for her silence.
“Do it,” the copper said finally. “We don’t have a choice.”
Chapter 21 - Part 6
“Tell me we have coffee left,” Delegado groused, tightening the drawstrings on his gloves as he got out of his extra-thick bedroll and stomped over to Iron Orphan. It was early in the morning on the twenty-seventh of Sypheros, and they were some seventy miles northwest of Ashtakala. Once they had gotten ten miles away from the city, the cold weather had come back in full effect.
“Our coffee bag got torn open by those burrowing worms that killed your horse yesterday,” Orphan told him, staring at the distant horizon.
“I was hoping you found some,” Delegado said, starting to stack up kindling. They had little left, but the others would need it. “You know, no matter how much I see it, you look funny in an overcoat.”
Orphan was relieved to see some of Delegado’s humor coming back. Just yesterday when they had been putting bags from Delegado’s dead horse onto Thomas’ mount, Orphan had been forced to point out that it would be difficult to successfully flee while hauling Bartemain’s body. Delegado had been close to snapping, until Ois had undone the bandage around Bartemain’s skull, letting the dust that the body was stuffed with leak out. Now Bartemain’s corpse weighed one-third of what it did when they went over the wall of Ashtakala, and along with their dwindling supplies, the extra weight had made a huge difference.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Orphan asked the half-orc. “You can get another hour in.”
“I don’t like the dreams I’m having,” Delegado said. He started the fire over the small pile of kindling and held his hands over it. “You don’t dream, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Orphan said. “I understand that particularly vivid fears, traumas, and sometimes hopes seem real and the dreamer feels no control over the dreams.” He paused. “You were dreaming about your father, I take it.”
“Yeah,” Delegado said, glancing at the corpse that was carefully laid out on the ground. He nudged the fire a bit, and once he got it going he whistled.
Feather stuck his head out from under Delegado’s bedroll. Upon seeing the fire the hawk spread his wings and hopped up to the flames to warm himself. Delegado fed the bird some grain.
“Are you going to focus now?” Orphan asked. He had learned that Delegado focused his senses in the early morning to distill and shape the limited spell power that he drew from nature.
“In a minute,” Delegado said, his voice a bit hollow. “I’m going to feed Feather first.” The half-orc turned to look at the volcanic mount that dominated much of the sky. “You’d think that thing would provide some warmth since we’re sitting practically at its feet.”
“It’s been quiet all night,” Orphan said. “I’ve watched it.”
“Yeah and now you’re watching the sunrise again,” Delegado said. “You are predictable, Orphan.”
“It never stops being beautiful,” Orphan said.
“No, it does not,” the half-orc agreed. There was a pause. “You took every watch yourself, didn’t you? Again.”
“You all need sleep,” Orphan said. We’ve been running non-stop since we got past the storm around Ashtakala. And you know the only reason we haven’t been overwhelmed is because of the blizzards that Thomas has been throwing up to slow the fiends down.”
“Yeah, you did a good job on that one,” Delegado said. “Between him and that warforged army in Merylsward maybe you have the makings of a diplomat.”
“I seriously doubt it,” Orphan said. The warforged recalled how once they were free of the Ashtakalan storm Thomas had unceremoniously bolted eastwards without a word. The warforged had had to run after the half-daelkyr and jump up into the saddle behind him. Thomas was bent on leaving all of them, and Orphan had forcibly grabbed the reins to slow the horse down. The conversation had not been pleasant.
“She lied to me!” Thomas had snarled.
“She had to, she and Delegado had a past!”
“She let me believe there is redemption!”
“There is!”
“You don’t know that! I don’t know why I try!”
“So where are you going, Thomas?” Orphan had asked. “Where?”
“You got the riddle from the prisoner, yes?” Thomas had asked in return. “You don’t need me. I’m going back to the Icehorn Mountains. I should have never gotten involved with people again!”
“I need you,” Orphan pointed out. “We have a better chance of surviving if you’re with us.”
“Like I care,” Thomas said. “I owe the half-orc nothing, I owe the liar nothing, and I owe you nothing.”
“You owe me your life,” Orphan said. “I’m the one that knocked you out instead of killing you, remember? A common room full of people wanted you dead, and would have succeeded, but I knocked you unconscious. You would have never made it to Pienna without me.”
Thomas sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “Not only are you the only one who has never lied to me, you’re also the only one whose company I can stomach.” He slowly turned the horse around, and they rejoined the others.
Thomas had indeed been of use to them, if not very social. He had snarled at both Ois and Delegado, and refused to speak directly to either of them. But he had used the mirror that Ois had procured with his scrying spells. They had discovered that a force of demons was coming in from the east, from the west, and from the north, all trying to cut them off. The lightest concentration of fiendish forces was to the north and west, so they had headed in that direction. The other scrolls that Ois had procured were primarily attack spells, and Thomas had used them to summon bolts of lightning, fireballs, and other bursts of energy to punch through the fiendish lines. They had barely made it through, and were only free because of the weather that Thomas was able to conjure up.
“You might want to pick information spells,” Orphan said to Delegado.
“You don’t know how much we can trust Thomas?” the half-orc asked with a raised eyebrow.
“We only have one scrying scroll left, and no protective scrolls,” Orphan said. “He’ll cast it soon to get a feeling for the lay of the land, but we may need information later.”
“I’m no wizard,” Delegado said. “My information comes from Feather. I’ll focus my power on being able to talk to him.”
Orphan nodded. Once Delegado was done they would prepare breakfast for the others, and hopefully they would escape their pursuers before their dwindling stocks of supplies disappeared.
“Our coffee bag got torn open by those burrowing worms that killed your horse yesterday,” Orphan told him, staring at the distant horizon.
“I was hoping you found some,” Delegado said, starting to stack up kindling. They had little left, but the others would need it. “You know, no matter how much I see it, you look funny in an overcoat.”
Orphan was relieved to see some of Delegado’s humor coming back. Just yesterday when they had been putting bags from Delegado’s dead horse onto Thomas’ mount, Orphan had been forced to point out that it would be difficult to successfully flee while hauling Bartemain’s body. Delegado had been close to snapping, until Ois had undone the bandage around Bartemain’s skull, letting the dust that the body was stuffed with leak out. Now Bartemain’s corpse weighed one-third of what it did when they went over the wall of Ashtakala, and along with their dwindling supplies, the extra weight had made a huge difference.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Orphan asked the half-orc. “You can get another hour in.”
“I don’t like the dreams I’m having,” Delegado said. He started the fire over the small pile of kindling and held his hands over it. “You don’t dream, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Orphan said. “I understand that particularly vivid fears, traumas, and sometimes hopes seem real and the dreamer feels no control over the dreams.” He paused. “You were dreaming about your father, I take it.”
“Yeah,” Delegado said, glancing at the corpse that was carefully laid out on the ground. He nudged the fire a bit, and once he got it going he whistled.
Feather stuck his head out from under Delegado’s bedroll. Upon seeing the fire the hawk spread his wings and hopped up to the flames to warm himself. Delegado fed the bird some grain.
“Are you going to focus now?” Orphan asked. He had learned that Delegado focused his senses in the early morning to distill and shape the limited spell power that he drew from nature.
“In a minute,” Delegado said, his voice a bit hollow. “I’m going to feed Feather first.” The half-orc turned to look at the volcanic mount that dominated much of the sky. “You’d think that thing would provide some warmth since we’re sitting practically at its feet.”
“It’s been quiet all night,” Orphan said. “I’ve watched it.”
“Yeah and now you’re watching the sunrise again,” Delegado said. “You are predictable, Orphan.”
“It never stops being beautiful,” Orphan said.
“No, it does not,” the half-orc agreed. There was a pause. “You took every watch yourself, didn’t you? Again.”
“You all need sleep,” Orphan said. We’ve been running non-stop since we got past the storm around Ashtakala. And you know the only reason we haven’t been overwhelmed is because of the blizzards that Thomas has been throwing up to slow the fiends down.”
“Yeah, you did a good job on that one,” Delegado said. “Between him and that warforged army in Merylsward maybe you have the makings of a diplomat.”
“I seriously doubt it,” Orphan said. The warforged recalled how once they were free of the Ashtakalan storm Thomas had unceremoniously bolted eastwards without a word. The warforged had had to run after the half-daelkyr and jump up into the saddle behind him. Thomas was bent on leaving all of them, and Orphan had forcibly grabbed the reins to slow the horse down. The conversation had not been pleasant.
“She lied to me!” Thomas had snarled.
“She had to, she and Delegado had a past!”
“She let me believe there is redemption!”
“There is!”
“You don’t know that! I don’t know why I try!”
“So where are you going, Thomas?” Orphan had asked. “Where?”
“You got the riddle from the prisoner, yes?” Thomas had asked in return. “You don’t need me. I’m going back to the Icehorn Mountains. I should have never gotten involved with people again!”
“I need you,” Orphan pointed out. “We have a better chance of surviving if you’re with us.”
“Like I care,” Thomas said. “I owe the half-orc nothing, I owe the liar nothing, and I owe you nothing.”
“You owe me your life,” Orphan said. “I’m the one that knocked you out instead of killing you, remember? A common room full of people wanted you dead, and would have succeeded, but I knocked you unconscious. You would have never made it to Pienna without me.”
Thomas sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “Not only are you the only one who has never lied to me, you’re also the only one whose company I can stomach.” He slowly turned the horse around, and they rejoined the others.
Thomas had indeed been of use to them, if not very social. He had snarled at both Ois and Delegado, and refused to speak directly to either of them. But he had used the mirror that Ois had procured with his scrying spells. They had discovered that a force of demons was coming in from the east, from the west, and from the north, all trying to cut them off. The lightest concentration of fiendish forces was to the north and west, so they had headed in that direction. The other scrolls that Ois had procured were primarily attack spells, and Thomas had used them to summon bolts of lightning, fireballs, and other bursts of energy to punch through the fiendish lines. They had barely made it through, and were only free because of the weather that Thomas was able to conjure up.
“You might want to pick information spells,” Orphan said to Delegado.
“You don’t know how much we can trust Thomas?” the half-orc asked with a raised eyebrow.
“We only have one scrying scroll left, and no protective scrolls,” Orphan said. “He’ll cast it soon to get a feeling for the lay of the land, but we may need information later.”
“I’m no wizard,” Delegado said. “My information comes from Feather. I’ll focus my power on being able to talk to him.”
Orphan nodded. Once Delegado was done they would prepare breakfast for the others, and hopefully they would escape their pursuers before their dwindling stocks of supplies disappeared.
Chapter 21 - Part 5
The gnome scampered quickly for one of its kind. He had spent more than half his life in the Labyrinth, first as a guest, then as an ally, of the Maruk Ghaash’kala, and he had learned about sprinting in the demon-infested wilderness. The gnome’s outline flickered as the magical blur effect slowly receded from it. Before the illusion spell ended, he was tumbling down a steep slope into the shady depths of the Labyrinth.
Strong hands with green and gray skin caught him, and the gnome looked up into the red eyes of Gaan’den, the holy warrior whose face was marked by a ritual scar of Kalok Shash.
“You take too many chances, Little Brother,” the orc said in his birth tongue, his deep voice a heavy whisper.
“All worth it,” the gnome said, scrambling down from the massive fingers. He spoke to the orcs in their own language, a fluency that had saved his life when he had first met them years ago. “I saw the dragon’s corpse, and the hundreds that it slew.”
“Praise be to the Dragon for killing evil, may Kalok Shash comfort its soul,” intoned Gaan’den. “But this does not explain why Little Brother risked his life.”
“A zakya,” the gnome grinned. Creaking of armor could be heard at that, as the other orcs in the area listened in to hear. “Leading some of the lesser fiends into the Split Rock Trail. The zakya is the captain who slew your father, I recognize his hair beads.”
A deep growl came from Gaan’den, and the orc licked his lips at the opportunity to avenge his father. “We go to ambush now,” he said, turning to the tribe hiding in the darkness behind him. “Little Brother will sing the battle song, and the fiends’ blood will flow!”
Orcs pumped their fists silently, wanting to roar their approval, but not wanting to alert their prey. Outside the Labyrinth, the demons were the hunters, but when they foolishly ventured into this place, they became the hunted.
Little Brother did his best to keep up with his adopted family. He wanted to tell them more, especially about the sudden masses of fiends that had abruptly turned and charged towards Ashtakala when he flying thing had come with the message tube. The orcs were more driven than he was curious, but maybe one day he would have an opportunity to find out what prompted such a great migration.
Strong hands with green and gray skin caught him, and the gnome looked up into the red eyes of Gaan’den, the holy warrior whose face was marked by a ritual scar of Kalok Shash.
“You take too many chances, Little Brother,” the orc said in his birth tongue, his deep voice a heavy whisper.
“All worth it,” the gnome said, scrambling down from the massive fingers. He spoke to the orcs in their own language, a fluency that had saved his life when he had first met them years ago. “I saw the dragon’s corpse, and the hundreds that it slew.”
“Praise be to the Dragon for killing evil, may Kalok Shash comfort its soul,” intoned Gaan’den. “But this does not explain why Little Brother risked his life.”
“A zakya,” the gnome grinned. Creaking of armor could be heard at that, as the other orcs in the area listened in to hear. “Leading some of the lesser fiends into the Split Rock Trail. The zakya is the captain who slew your father, I recognize his hair beads.”
A deep growl came from Gaan’den, and the orc licked his lips at the opportunity to avenge his father. “We go to ambush now,” he said, turning to the tribe hiding in the darkness behind him. “Little Brother will sing the battle song, and the fiends’ blood will flow!”
Orcs pumped their fists silently, wanting to roar their approval, but not wanting to alert their prey. Outside the Labyrinth, the demons were the hunters, but when they foolishly ventured into this place, they became the hunted.
Little Brother did his best to keep up with his adopted family. He wanted to tell them more, especially about the sudden masses of fiends that had abruptly turned and charged towards Ashtakala when he flying thing had come with the message tube. The orcs were more driven than he was curious, but maybe one day he would have an opportunity to find out what prompted such a great migration.
Chapter 21 - Part 4
Orphan came to a stop about twenty feet in front of the great whirling wall of dagger-like glass and contemplated the riders catching up with him. Delegado’s face was grim, and he rode poorly as he kept putting a hand back on his father’s body. Feather cawed and launched himself from his master’s back, flying to Orphan over the horses, and Delegado didn’t seem to notice. This was worrisome. Every ounce of Delegado’s concentration would be needed to find that slim passage of safety through the storm.
In contrast, Thomas rode angrily, savagely jerking the reins. The daelkyr half-blood seemed to have something against changelings, from what he said. At the very least he was so angry over Flamebearer’s deception. Orphan wondered just how reliable Thomas would be. It seemed that Thomas had placed great hope in redemption with the Silver Flame and that the half-daelkyr now saw those hopes as having been illusory.
How that would affect Thomas’ ability to manipulate the weather remained to be seen.
Both horses arrived at the same time, and with a cawing sound, Feather settled back down on Delegado. The hawk looked angry when Delegado took him and began wrapping him in the reed cocoon, but did not protest.
“I’m not carrying the liar on my horse!” snarled Thomas. “I won’t!”
“She wasn’t trying to fool you,” Delegado said.
“So she was trying to fool you instead,” Thomas snapped at him. “That makes it all better!”
“Thomas, get the staff out, and get the storm calmed down, or we are all dead,” Orphan said flatly. “Delegado killed a second rakshasa lord while we were in the city, and they are all hot on our heels. You can look back and see them coming over the wall.”
Thomas looked impressed, despite his ire. “You did?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Delegado said, touching the body tied down behind him. “They were torturing my father. We’re getting Orphan and Ois past the storm, Thomas, then you can go with them, go your own way, or go with me.”
“Where are you going?” Orphan asked. Delegado did not answer. “You going to hunt down every demon in the Wastes? You going to go join the orcs in the Labyrinth? Or are you going to keep Ois from dying out here, keep your word to fulfill the Prophecy, and get your father’s body back to the Shadow Marches?”
Ois came riding up behind them. “Thomas,” she began. “I can explain –”
“Shut her up, I have to concentrate,” Thomas snapped, pulling the staff out and holding it in both hands. “Orphan, you need to mount up, Delegado you need to tie the horses together.” He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. His stormstalk danced as it looked at Ois, seeming to mock her.
Delegado quickly joined the three horses, though Ois’ celestial mount seemed to not want to let him touch it at first. Once Ois patted the horse, Delegado was able to tie its bridle and saddle to his and then Thomas’ while Orphan pulled himself up behind Ois.
“Put your arms around my waist,” the changeling told him. Orphan did so, marveling at the smooth strength of her mithril armor.
“So firm but so light,” the warforged mused.
“Keep your hands where they are, Orphan,” Delegado snapped. “Not higher and not lower.” Orphan thought that Delegado was joking, but he wasn’t sure what the half-orc meant.
“Now,” Thomas said. The staff glowed, and wind rose around them, buffeting the sand and grit. Back at the horizon, where fiends were swarming over the city wall and spilling out onto the plain of black gravel to come after them, the sudden winds knocked them back, holding them in check temporarily. The half-daelkyr opened his eyes. “I’m holding down the storm as best as I can, Delegado. Find our way.” The half-daelkyr turned his head back to look at Ois. “Unless you think the Silver Flame will do it.”
Orphan felt Ois stiffen, but the changeling said nothing.
In contrast, Thomas rode angrily, savagely jerking the reins. The daelkyr half-blood seemed to have something against changelings, from what he said. At the very least he was so angry over Flamebearer’s deception. Orphan wondered just how reliable Thomas would be. It seemed that Thomas had placed great hope in redemption with the Silver Flame and that the half-daelkyr now saw those hopes as having been illusory.
How that would affect Thomas’ ability to manipulate the weather remained to be seen.
Both horses arrived at the same time, and with a cawing sound, Feather settled back down on Delegado. The hawk looked angry when Delegado took him and began wrapping him in the reed cocoon, but did not protest.
“I’m not carrying the liar on my horse!” snarled Thomas. “I won’t!”
“She wasn’t trying to fool you,” Delegado said.
“So she was trying to fool you instead,” Thomas snapped at him. “That makes it all better!”
“Thomas, get the staff out, and get the storm calmed down, or we are all dead,” Orphan said flatly. “Delegado killed a second rakshasa lord while we were in the city, and they are all hot on our heels. You can look back and see them coming over the wall.”
Thomas looked impressed, despite his ire. “You did?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Delegado said, touching the body tied down behind him. “They were torturing my father. We’re getting Orphan and Ois past the storm, Thomas, then you can go with them, go your own way, or go with me.”
“Where are you going?” Orphan asked. Delegado did not answer. “You going to hunt down every demon in the Wastes? You going to go join the orcs in the Labyrinth? Or are you going to keep Ois from dying out here, keep your word to fulfill the Prophecy, and get your father’s body back to the Shadow Marches?”
Ois came riding up behind them. “Thomas,” she began. “I can explain –”
“Shut her up, I have to concentrate,” Thomas snapped, pulling the staff out and holding it in both hands. “Orphan, you need to mount up, Delegado you need to tie the horses together.” He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. His stormstalk danced as it looked at Ois, seeming to mock her.
Delegado quickly joined the three horses, though Ois’ celestial mount seemed to not want to let him touch it at first. Once Ois patted the horse, Delegado was able to tie its bridle and saddle to his and then Thomas’ while Orphan pulled himself up behind Ois.
“Put your arms around my waist,” the changeling told him. Orphan did so, marveling at the smooth strength of her mithril armor.
“So firm but so light,” the warforged mused.
“Keep your hands where they are, Orphan,” Delegado snapped. “Not higher and not lower.” Orphan thought that Delegado was joking, but he wasn’t sure what the half-orc meant.
“Now,” Thomas said. The staff glowed, and wind rose around them, buffeting the sand and grit. Back at the horizon, where fiends were swarming over the city wall and spilling out onto the plain of black gravel to come after them, the sudden winds knocked them back, holding them in check temporarily. The half-daelkyr opened his eyes. “I’m holding down the storm as best as I can, Delegado. Find our way.” The half-daelkyr turned his head back to look at Ois. “Unless you think the Silver Flame will do it.”
Orphan felt Ois stiffen, but the changeling said nothing.
Chapter 21 - Part 3
Amazingly, over a half-hour went by without incident. A great commotion was still occurring around the city, but none of it on their approach to the northern wall. Given that such was Orphan’s plan, Ois thought that meant the warforged was still alive.
Finally Delegado paused, and again they crouched behind some rubble. “Okay,” he said. “We’re close enough.” He clicked his tongue and extended his arm. Feather landed onto the half-orc’s arm, and Delegado cast his spell, conversing with the bird. Ois listened, impressed that Delegado had found his own magic. When they had been together in Aundair, the half-orc had known no magic, and he had been trying to train a snake from the Marches that she was very leery of. The half-orc finished his spell, and Feather launched himself into the sky, heading north. “He’s going to find Thomas,” Delegado explained.
“It’s very impressive to watch you do that,” she said.
“Oh?” he said. “Didn’t think I had the brains to figure out some spells?”
“I thought you had the brains,” she said, lifting Bartemain’s father again. “I didn’t know you had the subtlety.”
Delegado’s face grew sad, and he reached over and shifted his father’s corpse so that it lay better on Ois’ shoulder. “I wish he could have seen it.” He blinked. “He’s leaking dust.” The half-orc rummaged around in his pack.
Ois looked about. The commotion in the other areas of the city was dying down or coming closer. “We need to hurry, Delegado,” she said.
“Won’t take long,” he told her. He took out a bandage, one of the bandages he had gotten from the eyeless witch in Festering Holt. He carefully tightened it around his father’s head. “No reason to give them a trail, right?”
Delegado finished fiddling with the bandage, and then trotted down the street, clutching his bow. They crouched as they ran, moving low and sticking to building fronts, trying to keep from giving away too much of a profile.
Finally Delegado paused, peering ahead. They were about five thousand feet from the city wall, but the building ahead had collapsed centuries ago, and the street area beneath it was full of holes and unsafe angles. “You have any more of that oil?” he asked. “It’s a short duration.”
“I know,” she said. She set her mace down, fished the oil out, and then tossed it to him. He caught it and stuck it in his belt stash as she picked her mace up again. “That one is two minutes only, use it well.”
“Hunh,” he said. “You hear that?” His eyes tightened, then he grinned. “Orphan’s coming, but he has company.” The half-orc pulled the oil out and coated his bow.
“Your dragonmark?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said. “On three.” She felt something, a rumble in the city. “One.” Now she heard muffled noises coming from the holes by the collapsed building. “Two.” There was shouting now, and she heard many feet coming from the nearby streets. “Three,” Delegado said, stepping out from behind cover.
Orphan leaped out of one of the holes in the street, landing on a pile of masonry. The warforged was covered in scratches, cracks, and burns. Smoke wisped from the rags of what was his monk’s uniform, but he still had his belt and his sai. From down one street a crossbow twanged, but the bolt came nowhere near the warforged.
Delegado stepped, turned, and fired two arrows at once. The fiend with the crossbow shrieked as Delegado felled it.
“Orphan!” he yelled. “Go to the wall!” Ois was already running, carrying Bartemain over her shoulder. She knew Delegado’s plan without being told.
“Rakshasa is behind me!” Orphan said, flipping backwards.
On cue, a tiger-headed fiend in wizard’s robes fly out of the hole and cast a spell, peppering Orphan with magical darts that left pitted holes in the warforged’s frame. Another tiger, this one a lesser rakshasa, was climbing up behind its master. The snarls and threats of other horrible things could be heard in the remains of the sewer pipes as well, all waiting for their chance to maul and hurt.
Ois swung, and the lesser rakshasa, a tiger-man in scale mail with a hand and a-half sword, screamed as the mace hit him. The Eberron shard on the mace shattered, and the rakshasa disintegrated.
“Flame has blessed me!” Ois cried, running past the ashes that floated away from where the lesser rakshasa had been. The mace was shriveling now as well, apparently its form did not hold after the dragonshard was used, so she dropped it and drew her longsword.
“Wonderful,” Orphan said, flipping backwards over the other holes towards the wall. “Delegado, come on!”
The half-orc was not moving. Instead, he was grinning as he sighted his temporarily-blessed bow at the rakshasa wizard. “Say hello to my little friend!” the half-orc whooped as he fired three arrows from the massive bow into the floating rakshasa wizard. The rakshasa was caught off guard, and it howled in pain as the arrows sunk deeply into its body. Its next spell fizzled even as the tiger-thing was in mid-cast, the pain having broke its concentration.
“Get over the wall!” Delegado yelled to Ois and Orphan. The rakshasa was trying to fly away from the blessed longbow, but the half-orc’s weapon had the range factor. “I’ll catch up when I’m done!” Five more arrows flew, and the rakshasa fell dead, its brain and heart pierced. Once a lord of this place, it was now a corpse.
By then Orphan was scampering up a ladder, ignoring the hidden bells within it that would have alerted every fiend in the area if the general uproar had not. Between those converging from the surface streets and those still trying to get out of the tunnel, the area was going to be very densely populated soon. Halfway up he realized that Ois was struggling under her burden, and he went back and helped her climb while holding the body.
“Who is this?” Orphan asked. “The prisoner?”
“Yes,” Ois said, shoving Bartemain upwards. “Changed somehow. He was Delegado’s father and he spoke of a cloud over a jewel.” She did not think it was possible for a warforged to look startled, but Orphan did. Nonetheless he quickly hauled Bartemain’s body to the top of the wall and then jumped off, no doubt doing his trick of a slow fall. Ois had seen monks sworn to the Silver Flame do the same thing.
Ois turned around to see Delegado firing in a blur, slowly working his way towards her. His bow brought down lesser fiends flying overhead, and bulkier things that tried rushing down the street. He had a look in his eyes that scared her. He did not seem to care if he died.
“Del!” she called, rushing towards him, hacking at scaly hands that reached through rent places in the ground, trying to grab her feet and his. She grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, we have to go!”
“I’m coming,” he said, firing two arrows at once into a hole in the ground. A terrible cry of pain came from below. “Just a few more. Just kill a few more.”
“Del!” she screamed.
“Did you see what they did to my father?” he howled at her. He sighted and took an incredible shot between two spires, sending an arrow into the eye socket of a harpy with a fiendish aspect to her. The creature fell, her wings no longer keeping her aloft.
“If we don’t get outside the wall soon you’ll never bring your father’s body back to your village!” she said, tugging at him.
He went, if reluctantly. A hunched thing tried to shatter her mind, not knowing that she was immune to fear, and she decapitated it. A wriggling insect thing teleported into the air next to her, but she eviscerated it before it could attack. Somehow they made it to the ladder. She made Delegado go up first, smiting a drooling half-ape, half-lobster thing. He sent down a rain of arrows from atop the wall that gave her cover to ascend the ladder.
When she got atop the wall, she saw Thomas in the distance charging on his horse and leading Delegado’s to where Orphan was waving his arms below. Delegado had affixed his grappling hook, and tossed the silk rope to the ground below. His face was made of stone as he whirled and dropped another flying thing with three arrows. “Get down there,” he told her.
She nodded, and she took out the potion gave her. After drinking it, she sheathed her sword then rushed forward and grabbed him.
“Hey!” he yelled, caught off guard as she stepped off the wall. The magic in the potion held true, and they floated to the ground gently.
“I don’t want you to make some stupid stand up there,” she said. “That bless weapon oil won’t last forever, and you’re running low on arrows.”
“If you would have told me you were going to do this I wouldn’t have needed to leave behind a really good rope and hook,” he told her angrily. “And I have no intention of making a stupid stand, not when the rest of you need me to get you through the storm.”
They landed, and saw that Orphan had tied Bartemain’s corpse onto the back of Delegado’s horse.
“What in Khyber is this?” yelled Thomas, his face turning red. He was staring at her with anger and pain in his inhuman eyes.
Ois realized that she had forgotten to change back.
“That’s Flamebearer,” Orphan said. “Also known as Ois Silva. She is –”
“I know what she is!” Thomas snapped. “She’s a changeling! They can’t be trusted!”
“Thomas, she was hiding from me,” Delegado said, mounting up. Feather flew down and landed on the half-orc’s shoulder. “Now we have an entire city of demons behind us, so let’s deal with this later! We have to get to the storm!”
“You can summon your own horse, liar,” Thomas snapped at her with anger. He wheeled his mount and charged after Delegado. Orphan ran after them both, and soon overtook them.
Ois frowned, and summoned her steed. As always it appeared in a glowing nimbus of silvery light, tossing its magnificent head. She grabbed the saddle horn and mounted quickly, riding after the others as the cries of the demons ascending the wall reached a fever pitch.
Finally Delegado paused, and again they crouched behind some rubble. “Okay,” he said. “We’re close enough.” He clicked his tongue and extended his arm. Feather landed onto the half-orc’s arm, and Delegado cast his spell, conversing with the bird. Ois listened, impressed that Delegado had found his own magic. When they had been together in Aundair, the half-orc had known no magic, and he had been trying to train a snake from the Marches that she was very leery of. The half-orc finished his spell, and Feather launched himself into the sky, heading north. “He’s going to find Thomas,” Delegado explained.
“It’s very impressive to watch you do that,” she said.
“Oh?” he said. “Didn’t think I had the brains to figure out some spells?”
“I thought you had the brains,” she said, lifting Bartemain’s father again. “I didn’t know you had the subtlety.”
Delegado’s face grew sad, and he reached over and shifted his father’s corpse so that it lay better on Ois’ shoulder. “I wish he could have seen it.” He blinked. “He’s leaking dust.” The half-orc rummaged around in his pack.
Ois looked about. The commotion in the other areas of the city was dying down or coming closer. “We need to hurry, Delegado,” she said.
“Won’t take long,” he told her. He took out a bandage, one of the bandages he had gotten from the eyeless witch in Festering Holt. He carefully tightened it around his father’s head. “No reason to give them a trail, right?”
Delegado finished fiddling with the bandage, and then trotted down the street, clutching his bow. They crouched as they ran, moving low and sticking to building fronts, trying to keep from giving away too much of a profile.
Finally Delegado paused, peering ahead. They were about five thousand feet from the city wall, but the building ahead had collapsed centuries ago, and the street area beneath it was full of holes and unsafe angles. “You have any more of that oil?” he asked. “It’s a short duration.”
“I know,” she said. She set her mace down, fished the oil out, and then tossed it to him. He caught it and stuck it in his belt stash as she picked her mace up again. “That one is two minutes only, use it well.”
“Hunh,” he said. “You hear that?” His eyes tightened, then he grinned. “Orphan’s coming, but he has company.” The half-orc pulled the oil out and coated his bow.
“Your dragonmark?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said. “On three.” She felt something, a rumble in the city. “One.” Now she heard muffled noises coming from the holes by the collapsed building. “Two.” There was shouting now, and she heard many feet coming from the nearby streets. “Three,” Delegado said, stepping out from behind cover.
Orphan leaped out of one of the holes in the street, landing on a pile of masonry. The warforged was covered in scratches, cracks, and burns. Smoke wisped from the rags of what was his monk’s uniform, but he still had his belt and his sai. From down one street a crossbow twanged, but the bolt came nowhere near the warforged.
Delegado stepped, turned, and fired two arrows at once. The fiend with the crossbow shrieked as Delegado felled it.
“Orphan!” he yelled. “Go to the wall!” Ois was already running, carrying Bartemain over her shoulder. She knew Delegado’s plan without being told.
“Rakshasa is behind me!” Orphan said, flipping backwards.
On cue, a tiger-headed fiend in wizard’s robes fly out of the hole and cast a spell, peppering Orphan with magical darts that left pitted holes in the warforged’s frame. Another tiger, this one a lesser rakshasa, was climbing up behind its master. The snarls and threats of other horrible things could be heard in the remains of the sewer pipes as well, all waiting for their chance to maul and hurt.
Ois swung, and the lesser rakshasa, a tiger-man in scale mail with a hand and a-half sword, screamed as the mace hit him. The Eberron shard on the mace shattered, and the rakshasa disintegrated.
“Flame has blessed me!” Ois cried, running past the ashes that floated away from where the lesser rakshasa had been. The mace was shriveling now as well, apparently its form did not hold after the dragonshard was used, so she dropped it and drew her longsword.
“Wonderful,” Orphan said, flipping backwards over the other holes towards the wall. “Delegado, come on!”
The half-orc was not moving. Instead, he was grinning as he sighted his temporarily-blessed bow at the rakshasa wizard. “Say hello to my little friend!” the half-orc whooped as he fired three arrows from the massive bow into the floating rakshasa wizard. The rakshasa was caught off guard, and it howled in pain as the arrows sunk deeply into its body. Its next spell fizzled even as the tiger-thing was in mid-cast, the pain having broke its concentration.
“Get over the wall!” Delegado yelled to Ois and Orphan. The rakshasa was trying to fly away from the blessed longbow, but the half-orc’s weapon had the range factor. “I’ll catch up when I’m done!” Five more arrows flew, and the rakshasa fell dead, its brain and heart pierced. Once a lord of this place, it was now a corpse.
By then Orphan was scampering up a ladder, ignoring the hidden bells within it that would have alerted every fiend in the area if the general uproar had not. Between those converging from the surface streets and those still trying to get out of the tunnel, the area was going to be very densely populated soon. Halfway up he realized that Ois was struggling under her burden, and he went back and helped her climb while holding the body.
“Who is this?” Orphan asked. “The prisoner?”
“Yes,” Ois said, shoving Bartemain upwards. “Changed somehow. He was Delegado’s father and he spoke of a cloud over a jewel.” She did not think it was possible for a warforged to look startled, but Orphan did. Nonetheless he quickly hauled Bartemain’s body to the top of the wall and then jumped off, no doubt doing his trick of a slow fall. Ois had seen monks sworn to the Silver Flame do the same thing.
Ois turned around to see Delegado firing in a blur, slowly working his way towards her. His bow brought down lesser fiends flying overhead, and bulkier things that tried rushing down the street. He had a look in his eyes that scared her. He did not seem to care if he died.
“Del!” she called, rushing towards him, hacking at scaly hands that reached through rent places in the ground, trying to grab her feet and his. She grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, we have to go!”
“I’m coming,” he said, firing two arrows at once into a hole in the ground. A terrible cry of pain came from below. “Just a few more. Just kill a few more.”
“Del!” she screamed.
“Did you see what they did to my father?” he howled at her. He sighted and took an incredible shot between two spires, sending an arrow into the eye socket of a harpy with a fiendish aspect to her. The creature fell, her wings no longer keeping her aloft.
“If we don’t get outside the wall soon you’ll never bring your father’s body back to your village!” she said, tugging at him.
He went, if reluctantly. A hunched thing tried to shatter her mind, not knowing that she was immune to fear, and she decapitated it. A wriggling insect thing teleported into the air next to her, but she eviscerated it before it could attack. Somehow they made it to the ladder. She made Delegado go up first, smiting a drooling half-ape, half-lobster thing. He sent down a rain of arrows from atop the wall that gave her cover to ascend the ladder.
When she got atop the wall, she saw Thomas in the distance charging on his horse and leading Delegado’s to where Orphan was waving his arms below. Delegado had affixed his grappling hook, and tossed the silk rope to the ground below. His face was made of stone as he whirled and dropped another flying thing with three arrows. “Get down there,” he told her.
She nodded, and she took out the potion gave her. After drinking it, she sheathed her sword then rushed forward and grabbed him.
“Hey!” he yelled, caught off guard as she stepped off the wall. The magic in the potion held true, and they floated to the ground gently.
“I don’t want you to make some stupid stand up there,” she said. “That bless weapon oil won’t last forever, and you’re running low on arrows.”
“If you would have told me you were going to do this I wouldn’t have needed to leave behind a really good rope and hook,” he told her angrily. “And I have no intention of making a stupid stand, not when the rest of you need me to get you through the storm.”
They landed, and saw that Orphan had tied Bartemain’s corpse onto the back of Delegado’s horse.
“What in Khyber is this?” yelled Thomas, his face turning red. He was staring at her with anger and pain in his inhuman eyes.
Ois realized that she had forgotten to change back.
“That’s Flamebearer,” Orphan said. “Also known as Ois Silva. She is –”
“I know what she is!” Thomas snapped. “She’s a changeling! They can’t be trusted!”
“Thomas, she was hiding from me,” Delegado said, mounting up. Feather flew down and landed on the half-orc’s shoulder. “Now we have an entire city of demons behind us, so let’s deal with this later! We have to get to the storm!”
“You can summon your own horse, liar,” Thomas snapped at her with anger. He wheeled his mount and charged after Delegado. Orphan ran after them both, and soon overtook them.
Ois frowned, and summoned her steed. As always it appeared in a glowing nimbus of silvery light, tossing its magnificent head. She grabbed the saddle horn and mounted quickly, riding after the others as the cries of the demons ascending the wall reached a fever pitch.
Chapter 21 - Part 2
The plaza was much as they had left it, although the city was not. Alarms were going off, gongs were being tolled, and enough creatures were yelling to drown out the screaming coming from the top of the tower.
Feather was on Ois’ shoulder now, and not happy about it. Delegado had his bow on his right shoulder, and his father’s body on his left, so there was no place for the hawk to sit. Delegado had to use a spell to make Feather stay with Ois, the bird didn’t know her well enough to trust her, otherwise.
“It sounds like Orphan hasn’t been caught,” Delegado said. “Let’s head north.”
“Which way is north?” she asked.
“This way,” he said, sword out, hurrying down the street. Ois’ noticed that a small trail of dust leaking from her blow to Bartemain’s head was leaving a trail, but one that seemed to blend in with the dust on the street. She hurried after Delegado, but said nothing to him about his father’s head seepage. He was too close to cracking now, too many emotional things had happened to him in too short a period of time.
Because you keep too much in, Delegado, she thought accusingly. You always did. The only emotion you aren’t ashamed of is irritation. Feather squawked and launched himself from her shoulder, as if sensing her mental criticism of his master.
She felt ashamed. The Flame should have burned away grudges. Again, she was found lacking in her own eyes.
You try to out perform everyone, as if you have something to prove, a dwarven cleric of the Flame had told her once. He was right, but that didn’t change her. Her drive was what defined her, something that Delegado could not seem to grasp.
The half-orc stepped behind a half-collapsed overhang, crouching near some rubble. He gingerly set his father’s body down, and then sheathed his sword. Scanning the opposite corner, where a gaping hole in a wall let them see the dusty interior of what had once been a large building, the half-orc took out his bow and drew two arrows against it. Feather settled down on a nook above Delegado and fluttered his wings nervously.
She hurried to crouch next to him, hiding her sunrod against her body. She also sheathed her sword and drew out the mace with the dragonshard that she had found. “What do you see?” she asked, knowing that his orcsight was telling him something.
“Something moved in there,” he said. “I don’t know what, but it’s waiting for us, I know that. I think it’s hiding behind that column in there, the one that’s fallen over halfway.”
Ois concentrated, focusing her senses with the Silver Flame. The Flame burned away all distractions, showing her the narrow world of good and evil. A great blot spread across her vision behind that half-fallen pillar. “It’s very dangerous,” she said, withdrawing her senses. “Very evil. Very hungry.”
“Then why isn’t it hunting Orphan?” Delegado asked. “What’s it waiting for? Why can’t they order it around?”
She thought about that. “Maybe it was, and it heard you coming.”
“Why not attack me directly if it’s so powerful?” he asked her. “No, it’s got cunning, but it isn’t smart.”
“A fiendishly-bred animal?” she asked. “I have seen many in this land.”
“Tell me about it,” he snorted. “Thomas and I fought wolves, snakes, and all sorts of devilspawn things. I take it you did, too.”
“A fiendish mountain goat,” she said.
He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Wow,” he said in that sarcastic tone she knew too well.
“It tried to knock me off a mountain,” she said.
“But the Silver Flame protected you,” he said, returning his gaze to the building with the gaping hole.
“Later I faced a fiendishly-bred thunder lizard, similar to the most dangerous beast in the heathen Talenta lands,” she told him. “Lightning from the sky came when I prayed to the Flame and destroyed it.”
Delegado looked puzzled. “You’re a druid?”
She did not give him the satisfaction of rolling her eyes. “So you think it’s a fiendish animal, or a fiend with animal intelligence?”
He shrugged. “Either way it will move soon, then I’m going to shoot it.”
She took a flask out of her belt and unstoppered it, then poured its oil over the top of his longbow. The magical oil seeped into the wood of the bow, and it glowed with holy light briefly. “Bless weapon oil,” she said. “Made by the finest brewers in Thrane. The Silver Flame will help your weapon strike past the defenses of the fiends.”
“Where were you when we were trying to kill that rakshasa lord?” he asked her.
“You fought with a rakshasa lord?” She could not keep the impressed tone out of her voice, and the grin on his face made her angry. Again. Being smug was a subset of pride on most lists of seven sins, but she sometimes wondered if Delegado was proof that smugness was the eighth great one.
“Yeah,” he said. “Orphan killed it, but we all helped.” He squinted. “There!”
Delegado stood, and fired both arrows. Something in the building snarled in pain. It began to charge out into the street, but Delegado shot four more times and it collapsed.
She squinted. She could see it now. It was like an ape, but with a scaly hide the same color as the stone of the building. She nodded and picked up Bartemain.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Leaving you free to use your bow against the many enemies that face us,” she said. “I believe the phrase is, ‘range beats numbers every time,’ yes?” She settled Bartemain’s body onto her shoulder. He did not weigh a lot, but she could clearly feel the sand within his body.
Delegado suddenly leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. He said nothing, however, but jogged down the street. Feather flew after him, and Ois followed with her new mace in her hand.
Feather was on Ois’ shoulder now, and not happy about it. Delegado had his bow on his right shoulder, and his father’s body on his left, so there was no place for the hawk to sit. Delegado had to use a spell to make Feather stay with Ois, the bird didn’t know her well enough to trust her, otherwise.
“It sounds like Orphan hasn’t been caught,” Delegado said. “Let’s head north.”
“Which way is north?” she asked.
“This way,” he said, sword out, hurrying down the street. Ois’ noticed that a small trail of dust leaking from her blow to Bartemain’s head was leaving a trail, but one that seemed to blend in with the dust on the street. She hurried after Delegado, but said nothing to him about his father’s head seepage. He was too close to cracking now, too many emotional things had happened to him in too short a period of time.
Because you keep too much in, Delegado, she thought accusingly. You always did. The only emotion you aren’t ashamed of is irritation. Feather squawked and launched himself from her shoulder, as if sensing her mental criticism of his master.
She felt ashamed. The Flame should have burned away grudges. Again, she was found lacking in her own eyes.
You try to out perform everyone, as if you have something to prove, a dwarven cleric of the Flame had told her once. He was right, but that didn’t change her. Her drive was what defined her, something that Delegado could not seem to grasp.
The half-orc stepped behind a half-collapsed overhang, crouching near some rubble. He gingerly set his father’s body down, and then sheathed his sword. Scanning the opposite corner, where a gaping hole in a wall let them see the dusty interior of what had once been a large building, the half-orc took out his bow and drew two arrows against it. Feather settled down on a nook above Delegado and fluttered his wings nervously.
She hurried to crouch next to him, hiding her sunrod against her body. She also sheathed her sword and drew out the mace with the dragonshard that she had found. “What do you see?” she asked, knowing that his orcsight was telling him something.
“Something moved in there,” he said. “I don’t know what, but it’s waiting for us, I know that. I think it’s hiding behind that column in there, the one that’s fallen over halfway.”
Ois concentrated, focusing her senses with the Silver Flame. The Flame burned away all distractions, showing her the narrow world of good and evil. A great blot spread across her vision behind that half-fallen pillar. “It’s very dangerous,” she said, withdrawing her senses. “Very evil. Very hungry.”
“Then why isn’t it hunting Orphan?” Delegado asked. “What’s it waiting for? Why can’t they order it around?”
She thought about that. “Maybe it was, and it heard you coming.”
“Why not attack me directly if it’s so powerful?” he asked her. “No, it’s got cunning, but it isn’t smart.”
“A fiendishly-bred animal?” she asked. “I have seen many in this land.”
“Tell me about it,” he snorted. “Thomas and I fought wolves, snakes, and all sorts of devilspawn things. I take it you did, too.”
“A fiendish mountain goat,” she said.
He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Wow,” he said in that sarcastic tone she knew too well.
“It tried to knock me off a mountain,” she said.
“But the Silver Flame protected you,” he said, returning his gaze to the building with the gaping hole.
“Later I faced a fiendishly-bred thunder lizard, similar to the most dangerous beast in the heathen Talenta lands,” she told him. “Lightning from the sky came when I prayed to the Flame and destroyed it.”
Delegado looked puzzled. “You’re a druid?”
She did not give him the satisfaction of rolling her eyes. “So you think it’s a fiendish animal, or a fiend with animal intelligence?”
He shrugged. “Either way it will move soon, then I’m going to shoot it.”
She took a flask out of her belt and unstoppered it, then poured its oil over the top of his longbow. The magical oil seeped into the wood of the bow, and it glowed with holy light briefly. “Bless weapon oil,” she said. “Made by the finest brewers in Thrane. The Silver Flame will help your weapon strike past the defenses of the fiends.”
“Where were you when we were trying to kill that rakshasa lord?” he asked her.
“You fought with a rakshasa lord?” She could not keep the impressed tone out of her voice, and the grin on his face made her angry. Again. Being smug was a subset of pride on most lists of seven sins, but she sometimes wondered if Delegado was proof that smugness was the eighth great one.
“Yeah,” he said. “Orphan killed it, but we all helped.” He squinted. “There!”
Delegado stood, and fired both arrows. Something in the building snarled in pain. It began to charge out into the street, but Delegado shot four more times and it collapsed.
She squinted. She could see it now. It was like an ape, but with a scaly hide the same color as the stone of the building. She nodded and picked up Bartemain.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Leaving you free to use your bow against the many enemies that face us,” she said. “I believe the phrase is, ‘range beats numbers every time,’ yes?” She settled Bartemain’s body onto her shoulder. He did not weigh a lot, but she could clearly feel the sand within his body.
Delegado suddenly leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. He said nothing, however, but jogged down the street. Feather flew after him, and Ois followed with her new mace in her hand.
Chapter 21 - Part 1
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – HONOR THY
The 25th of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., late afternoon, in the Demon city of Ashtakala
“You are Bartemain?” Ois asked, her mind reeling. “But that’s – ” She paused, trying to find a word that could be shaped into making some sense.
She didn’t finish her sentence. Delegado had drawn his sword and slashed through the bars. Snarling and growling the half-orc cut the bars to shreds like they were slow mayflies too foolish to know that a flame licked up at them.
“Son,” Bartemain said, stepping through the opening. He hugged the half-orc that towered over him.
“Poppa,” Delegado said. “Poppa.” He hugged his father back, his eyes shut tight. Ois knew that Delegado was holding back tears. She knew faces. She remembered his face when he had received word of his father’s death. The proud half-orc had not been afraid to show his sorrow then.
Ois was instantly suspicious. The finest augerers available to Tharashk had declared Bartemain dead, and the best trackers in Blood Crescent had found no trail. Why would he be here? Especially in a city full of shapeshifting rakshasa. She touched her soul to her mind, where the Silver Flame burned brightly. Her holy sense, carefully calibrated by her paladin training and adherence to the moral codes, detected no evil in Bartemain. There was plenty of the background evil that this place radiated, but none in Bartemain. He was no fiend. He was Delegado’s father.
She stepped forward and touched Bartemain’s side, which showed sore and bruised flesh through a hole in his shirt. Calling forth the power of her faith, she laid her hands down and cured the bruise. Curiously, it resisted her, as if something in this place did not want to let her heal the prisoner. It took twice the level of holy energy that it should have taken.
“Thank you,” he said to Ois. “My ribs, they feel brand-new!”
“Poppa, how?” Delegado asked. “The augerers said you were dead!”
“This land has strange magical twists to it,” Bartemain said. “Divination does not work properly. All I know is that we were ambushed by a force far larger than we had ever seen before. Instead of a few scattered fiendish animals, a disciplined force of these mindless things with melted bodies attacked us as we gathered narstones. We held them back, but they were a distraction. A great spider thing, twice as tall as our tallest warrior, slashed my hand off at the wrist with a foreleg that ended in a massive cleaver. Then its eyes shot this ray of strange light. I knew nothing. When I came to, I was here, and feeling returned to my body bit by bit. I had been turned to stone for the trip across the Wastes. The rakshasa closed the open wound in my wrist, and they began to question me.” He shuddered. “They kept asking me about a dream I had, a message in the dream. They tortured me endlessly at first, and then they lost interest. But they did not want to let me die.”
Ois considered this. “What message?” she asked.
“Ois, let him be!” Delegado thundered.
“Calm down, boy,” Bartemain coughed. “She’s doing her duty, obviously. What’s your name, miss?”
“Ois Silva,” she said. “Paladin of the Silver Flame, sworn to law and good.”
“You with that crowd now?” Bartemain asked his son, his eyes crinkling in surprise.
“No Poppa, Ois and I – well, we used to – we are friends,” Delegado stammered.
Bartemain smiled knowingly. “I see. How did you find me?”
“I have a greater dragonmark now,” Delegado said proudly.
Bartemain made a happy gasp and hugged his son anew. “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I could not be more proud.” Something occurred to him then, and he licked his lips. “Delegado, did your mother – is she still…”
“She is alive, she did not remarry,” Delegado said. “She was deep in mourning, she still loves you. But we thought you were dead.”
“You got the sword, I see,” Bartemain said. “I’m glad, there was so much protest when I gave it to you.”
Ois’ heart melted, but she forced her mind to be practical. She was happy for Delegado but something was wrong. There was no food in the cell, no outlet for waste, and no ventilation. Further, for a man of Bartemain’s age, he was unusually spry and quick.
But her ability to detect evil told her nothing. Bartemain was not evil, according to her paladin senses. However the senses she had developed years earlier as a thief told her something else. Something was not where it should be, the shape of the facts was all wrong.
“Bartemain, I don’t want you to exert yourself too much, but we must leave now,” she said smoothly. “There is no telling when the fiends will know that we have broken into this place.” She watched his chest carefully.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “But, Delegado let me see my sword, just one more time. Let me hold it.” His ragged shirt and the exposed skin underneath were not moving as he spoke.
Of course, she thought. If he can survive in an airtight cell, he doesn’t need to breathe when he talks, either. She said nothing, though, knowing that Delegado’s mind would still be reeling. The half-orc needed to be shown, not told. Ois rested a hand on a hidden dagger, one made of adamantine.
“Absolutely, Poppa,” Delegado said, handing it over, hilt-first. “I polish it whenever I can.”
“Mm-hm,” Bartemain said, taking a practice swing at the air. “You always did revere where you came from, Delegado.” He suddenly whirled and swung at his son’s head. Feather squawked in alarm.
Ois was already there, her lightning-fast draw parried the blade, and sparks flew where the two adamantine weapons clashed. Bartemain was far stronger than a man his age should be. “What are you?” Ois asked, shoving the longsword back, if only barely.
“Poppa?” Delegado asked weakly. He seemed frozen. Feather had hopped to a corner and was cawing.
“I am Bartemain of House Tharashk,” the old man said. “Or I was.”
He swung at Ois instead, and she ducked backwards. “Delegado, stop him!” she yelled, tossing the half-orc her adamantine dagger. He caught it, but barely. He seemed numb.
Ois drew two more daggers and threw them in rapid succession, then she pulled her flametouched longsword free. The daggers were not enchanted, but they were well-balanced, and they both struck Bartemain in the chest. She heard a slight whisking sound, and then her dagger fell out onto the floor. No blood appeared, and from Bartemain’s face, he hadn’t even felt it.
Delegado roared on seeing that, and stepped around, flanking the thing that wore his father’s face. He obviously had decided the man was a rakshasa, although Ois was not sure. Delegado stabbed deep with the adamantine dagger Ois had given him, and sank it up to the hilt in the man’s spine.
Bartemain’s eyes showed no pain. He whirled and slashed, and Delegado barely stepped back in time. As it was a scratch across his cheek drew blood. Had the half-orc been a fraction slower, it would have cut his head wholly open.
Ois focused, and called upon the Silver Flame. “Evil shall be burned!” she declared. She smote, crouching as she did, slashing strongly at the back of Bartemain’s knees. Her sword passed through them, but left no wound. Bartemain’s flesh closed over the cuts, leaving him standing. She thought she smelled spilling dust, but the weapon seemed to deliver no damage to the elderly human.
The flickering flame that she called up with her smiting was another matter. It danced and burned, and Bartemain howled. He turned back to Ois, trying to cut at her, but Delegado took advantage of the situation to grab at the older man. The half-orc was not as smooth a wrestler as the warforged, and he almost took another slash in the shoulder, but he got behind Bartemain’s sword hand and grappled with the thing that appeared to be his father.
“Who are you?” Delegado snarled.
“I am your father, boy!” Bartemain said. “You are named after my brother, who died when a chuul attacked our home when I was a teenager. I took you to Stormreach in the early summer of 973 Y.K., and we bought that glass bowl with the moving paint oils in its walls for your mother. I showed you how to shoot a longbow, and I bought you your first one after you took down the rabid boar from four hundred feet.” He was twisting as he said this, but spry as he was, he could not match his son’s strength. Delegado pinned his father’s hands, and Ois took the adamantine longsword away.
“I feel sand within you!” Delegado cried. “Not flesh, not blood! Who are you?”
“I am your father,” Bartemain said. He stopped struggling and looked sadly at his son. “The fiends took my flesh, and replaced it with dust. The process was incredibly painful, but now I am like a Cannith war machine. I need no air, no food. I cannot control all of my actions. They have programmed me to attack intruders who seek to free me.”
“We’ll free you of this,” Delegado said.
“You can’t, boy!” Bartemain said, bitter laughter escaping cracked lips. “They only did it to keep me alive! I’m too old for this! I should be dead! They didn’t want me to die, because they hadn’t figured out the riddle that they tortured out of me hundreds of times!”
“No!” Delegado yelled. “There has to be a way!”
“The pain, boy, you don’t know the pain,” Bartemain said. “You have to bludgeon me, the dust they stuffed me with shoves aside swords and spears. You have to crush my skull.”
“No!”
“We came here for the riddle,” Ois said. “Tell it to us, and we will do our best to help you.”
“We’re not killing him!” Delegado roared.
“When the greatest jewel is obscured by clouds, the chance for peace will be in balance, and the steel cap must not be opened,” Bartemain said. “I don’t know what it means. Neither do the fiends. Now kill me.”
“We’re going to tie you up and bring you with us,” Delegado said, his eyes wet. “We’ll find a way to turn back what the fiends did to you.”
The stone set high in the wall over Bartemain’s bed began to hum. They all looked at it.
“That’s them asking me to report on anything here,” Bartemain said. “If I don’t respond, they’ll be here in minutes. If I do respond, their programming of me won’t let me lie. Kill me, Delegado. That’s an order.”
“I can’t,” the half-orc said. Ois could tell Delegado was breaking down.
“You will!” Bartemain ordered.
“I can’t.”
Bartemain turned his eyes to Ois. “You there, do you know how much evil will triumph if you are caught?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Grab a mace from in there and crush my skull, then!” he told her. To Delegado he said “Son, I love you, but I can’t control myself. You let her do what she has to do.”
Ois saw Delegado nod, and then she ran back into the storeroom. She found a mace quickly, a well-balanced thing with an Eberron dragonshard in it. She returned and found Delegado still pinning his father. Bartemain’s head was clear.
“Do it right,” he told her.
“It will be too fast for you to feel any pain,” she said.
Ois swung, and Bartemain’s head cracked like an eggshell. He went limp in his son’s arm, and dust dribbled from his wound instead of blood.
Delegado retrieved his sword, and handed Ois her daggers. He then lifted his father’s body. “I’m not leaving his body here,” he said, his eyes red.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said softly.
They ran out of the room, and bolted down the curving ramp to the tower’s base.
The 25th of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., late afternoon, in the Demon city of Ashtakala
“You are Bartemain?” Ois asked, her mind reeling. “But that’s – ” She paused, trying to find a word that could be shaped into making some sense.
She didn’t finish her sentence. Delegado had drawn his sword and slashed through the bars. Snarling and growling the half-orc cut the bars to shreds like they were slow mayflies too foolish to know that a flame licked up at them.
“Son,” Bartemain said, stepping through the opening. He hugged the half-orc that towered over him.
“Poppa,” Delegado said. “Poppa.” He hugged his father back, his eyes shut tight. Ois knew that Delegado was holding back tears. She knew faces. She remembered his face when he had received word of his father’s death. The proud half-orc had not been afraid to show his sorrow then.
Ois was instantly suspicious. The finest augerers available to Tharashk had declared Bartemain dead, and the best trackers in Blood Crescent had found no trail. Why would he be here? Especially in a city full of shapeshifting rakshasa. She touched her soul to her mind, where the Silver Flame burned brightly. Her holy sense, carefully calibrated by her paladin training and adherence to the moral codes, detected no evil in Bartemain. There was plenty of the background evil that this place radiated, but none in Bartemain. He was no fiend. He was Delegado’s father.
She stepped forward and touched Bartemain’s side, which showed sore and bruised flesh through a hole in his shirt. Calling forth the power of her faith, she laid her hands down and cured the bruise. Curiously, it resisted her, as if something in this place did not want to let her heal the prisoner. It took twice the level of holy energy that it should have taken.
“Thank you,” he said to Ois. “My ribs, they feel brand-new!”
“Poppa, how?” Delegado asked. “The augerers said you were dead!”
“This land has strange magical twists to it,” Bartemain said. “Divination does not work properly. All I know is that we were ambushed by a force far larger than we had ever seen before. Instead of a few scattered fiendish animals, a disciplined force of these mindless things with melted bodies attacked us as we gathered narstones. We held them back, but they were a distraction. A great spider thing, twice as tall as our tallest warrior, slashed my hand off at the wrist with a foreleg that ended in a massive cleaver. Then its eyes shot this ray of strange light. I knew nothing. When I came to, I was here, and feeling returned to my body bit by bit. I had been turned to stone for the trip across the Wastes. The rakshasa closed the open wound in my wrist, and they began to question me.” He shuddered. “They kept asking me about a dream I had, a message in the dream. They tortured me endlessly at first, and then they lost interest. But they did not want to let me die.”
Ois considered this. “What message?” she asked.
“Ois, let him be!” Delegado thundered.
“Calm down, boy,” Bartemain coughed. “She’s doing her duty, obviously. What’s your name, miss?”
“Ois Silva,” she said. “Paladin of the Silver Flame, sworn to law and good.”
“You with that crowd now?” Bartemain asked his son, his eyes crinkling in surprise.
“No Poppa, Ois and I – well, we used to – we are friends,” Delegado stammered.
Bartemain smiled knowingly. “I see. How did you find me?”
“I have a greater dragonmark now,” Delegado said proudly.
Bartemain made a happy gasp and hugged his son anew. “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I could not be more proud.” Something occurred to him then, and he licked his lips. “Delegado, did your mother – is she still…”
“She is alive, she did not remarry,” Delegado said. “She was deep in mourning, she still loves you. But we thought you were dead.”
“You got the sword, I see,” Bartemain said. “I’m glad, there was so much protest when I gave it to you.”
Ois’ heart melted, but she forced her mind to be practical. She was happy for Delegado but something was wrong. There was no food in the cell, no outlet for waste, and no ventilation. Further, for a man of Bartemain’s age, he was unusually spry and quick.
But her ability to detect evil told her nothing. Bartemain was not evil, according to her paladin senses. However the senses she had developed years earlier as a thief told her something else. Something was not where it should be, the shape of the facts was all wrong.
“Bartemain, I don’t want you to exert yourself too much, but we must leave now,” she said smoothly. “There is no telling when the fiends will know that we have broken into this place.” She watched his chest carefully.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “But, Delegado let me see my sword, just one more time. Let me hold it.” His ragged shirt and the exposed skin underneath were not moving as he spoke.
Of course, she thought. If he can survive in an airtight cell, he doesn’t need to breathe when he talks, either. She said nothing, though, knowing that Delegado’s mind would still be reeling. The half-orc needed to be shown, not told. Ois rested a hand on a hidden dagger, one made of adamantine.
“Absolutely, Poppa,” Delegado said, handing it over, hilt-first. “I polish it whenever I can.”
“Mm-hm,” Bartemain said, taking a practice swing at the air. “You always did revere where you came from, Delegado.” He suddenly whirled and swung at his son’s head. Feather squawked in alarm.
Ois was already there, her lightning-fast draw parried the blade, and sparks flew where the two adamantine weapons clashed. Bartemain was far stronger than a man his age should be. “What are you?” Ois asked, shoving the longsword back, if only barely.
“Poppa?” Delegado asked weakly. He seemed frozen. Feather had hopped to a corner and was cawing.
“I am Bartemain of House Tharashk,” the old man said. “Or I was.”
He swung at Ois instead, and she ducked backwards. “Delegado, stop him!” she yelled, tossing the half-orc her adamantine dagger. He caught it, but barely. He seemed numb.
Ois drew two more daggers and threw them in rapid succession, then she pulled her flametouched longsword free. The daggers were not enchanted, but they were well-balanced, and they both struck Bartemain in the chest. She heard a slight whisking sound, and then her dagger fell out onto the floor. No blood appeared, and from Bartemain’s face, he hadn’t even felt it.
Delegado roared on seeing that, and stepped around, flanking the thing that wore his father’s face. He obviously had decided the man was a rakshasa, although Ois was not sure. Delegado stabbed deep with the adamantine dagger Ois had given him, and sank it up to the hilt in the man’s spine.
Bartemain’s eyes showed no pain. He whirled and slashed, and Delegado barely stepped back in time. As it was a scratch across his cheek drew blood. Had the half-orc been a fraction slower, it would have cut his head wholly open.
Ois focused, and called upon the Silver Flame. “Evil shall be burned!” she declared. She smote, crouching as she did, slashing strongly at the back of Bartemain’s knees. Her sword passed through them, but left no wound. Bartemain’s flesh closed over the cuts, leaving him standing. She thought she smelled spilling dust, but the weapon seemed to deliver no damage to the elderly human.
The flickering flame that she called up with her smiting was another matter. It danced and burned, and Bartemain howled. He turned back to Ois, trying to cut at her, but Delegado took advantage of the situation to grab at the older man. The half-orc was not as smooth a wrestler as the warforged, and he almost took another slash in the shoulder, but he got behind Bartemain’s sword hand and grappled with the thing that appeared to be his father.
“Who are you?” Delegado snarled.
“I am your father, boy!” Bartemain said. “You are named after my brother, who died when a chuul attacked our home when I was a teenager. I took you to Stormreach in the early summer of 973 Y.K., and we bought that glass bowl with the moving paint oils in its walls for your mother. I showed you how to shoot a longbow, and I bought you your first one after you took down the rabid boar from four hundred feet.” He was twisting as he said this, but spry as he was, he could not match his son’s strength. Delegado pinned his father’s hands, and Ois took the adamantine longsword away.
“I feel sand within you!” Delegado cried. “Not flesh, not blood! Who are you?”
“I am your father,” Bartemain said. He stopped struggling and looked sadly at his son. “The fiends took my flesh, and replaced it with dust. The process was incredibly painful, but now I am like a Cannith war machine. I need no air, no food. I cannot control all of my actions. They have programmed me to attack intruders who seek to free me.”
“We’ll free you of this,” Delegado said.
“You can’t, boy!” Bartemain said, bitter laughter escaping cracked lips. “They only did it to keep me alive! I’m too old for this! I should be dead! They didn’t want me to die, because they hadn’t figured out the riddle that they tortured out of me hundreds of times!”
“No!” Delegado yelled. “There has to be a way!”
“The pain, boy, you don’t know the pain,” Bartemain said. “You have to bludgeon me, the dust they stuffed me with shoves aside swords and spears. You have to crush my skull.”
“No!”
“We came here for the riddle,” Ois said. “Tell it to us, and we will do our best to help you.”
“We’re not killing him!” Delegado roared.
“When the greatest jewel is obscured by clouds, the chance for peace will be in balance, and the steel cap must not be opened,” Bartemain said. “I don’t know what it means. Neither do the fiends. Now kill me.”
“We’re going to tie you up and bring you with us,” Delegado said, his eyes wet. “We’ll find a way to turn back what the fiends did to you.”
The stone set high in the wall over Bartemain’s bed began to hum. They all looked at it.
“That’s them asking me to report on anything here,” Bartemain said. “If I don’t respond, they’ll be here in minutes. If I do respond, their programming of me won’t let me lie. Kill me, Delegado. That’s an order.”
“I can’t,” the half-orc said. Ois could tell Delegado was breaking down.
“You will!” Bartemain ordered.
“I can’t.”
Bartemain turned his eyes to Ois. “You there, do you know how much evil will triumph if you are caught?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Grab a mace from in there and crush my skull, then!” he told her. To Delegado he said “Son, I love you, but I can’t control myself. You let her do what she has to do.”
Ois saw Delegado nod, and then she ran back into the storeroom. She found a mace quickly, a well-balanced thing with an Eberron dragonshard in it. She returned and found Delegado still pinning his father. Bartemain’s head was clear.
“Do it right,” he told her.
“It will be too fast for you to feel any pain,” she said.
Ois swung, and Bartemain’s head cracked like an eggshell. He went limp in his son’s arm, and dust dribbled from his wound instead of blood.
Delegado retrieved his sword, and handed Ois her daggers. He then lifted his father’s body. “I’m not leaving his body here,” he said, his eyes red.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said softly.
They ran out of the room, and bolted down the curving ramp to the tower’s base.
Chapter 20 - Part 17
“Here we go,” Ois said, pulling the lever back. The door clicked free of its restraining pins and swung inwards. A hiss of air entering accompanied it. “No traps,” she said. “It was airtight, though.”
“No alarms,” Delegado noted.
“That we can hear,” she said.
“Well, now’s the time to pray, then,” Delegado said.
“You want to pray to the Flame?” she asked.
“I did once,” he told her. “It didn’t work.” She was shocked at that. “But – but you can, if you want.”
“Flame guide us both then,” she said, stepping in, the sunrod raised high.
It was a long room, with bookcases and shelves carefully arranged. Most of the them held books and scrolls, but Delegado saw rings, wands, weapons of archaic make, and bars of gold and silver that could buy any man in Khorvaire a lifetime of leisure.
“This way,” Delegado whispered, pointing. He led her to a shelf near the back that held a porcelain trough. Rooting around in it he found the headband. It was a simple thing, braided leather etched with symbols, quite out of place with the ostentatious wealth of the place. He folded it and tucked it into a pouch. Ois took a brace of potions and a pair of wands, as well as an expensive-looking mirror.
“I thought you gave up being a thief,” he told her.
“We’ll need these,” she said. “Thomas can use them to drive the fiends back, and he can scry with the mirror.” She pulled out a pair of books and some scrolls. “Here, put these in your backpack. Thomas can use them as well.”
“Okay, but let’s make that it,” Delegado said. “The more we raid the more risk that we find trouble. We need to find a prisoner, but I don’t see a cell.”
“You’re not looking in the right place,” she said, walking over to the wall. “Ask yourself why this bookcase is unoccupied, then look at the scratches on the floor.” She ran her fingers along the wall and found a catch. Seconds later the wall with the bookcase pivoted inwards. “There may be many prisoners in this place,” she said. “Aside from the wretch whose screams we can hear. But this prisoner is considered a treasure.”
Delegado stepped in, and lead the way. She walked next to him, holdng the sunrod high. They did not walk far, perhaps fifteen feet until the turn to the right, and then then were in front of a cell with bars that had thorny projections. On the other side of the thorny bars was a straw-covered cot, and above it was a stone set high in the wall that glowed with faint illumination.
A man slept on the cot, his back to them. His hair was white, and like his beard, it was long and ragged. His clothes were filthy and torn. He seemed to stir when they approached and he rolled over, peering at them. He was human, and elderly, and missing one hand. The prisoner slowly stood, wiping his face with his one hand. A face that may have been human, but was still a near-copy of the half-orc’s.
“Delegado?” the man croaked.
“Poppa?” the half-orc gasped.
“No alarms,” Delegado noted.
“That we can hear,” she said.
“Well, now’s the time to pray, then,” Delegado said.
“You want to pray to the Flame?” she asked.
“I did once,” he told her. “It didn’t work.” She was shocked at that. “But – but you can, if you want.”
“Flame guide us both then,” she said, stepping in, the sunrod raised high.
It was a long room, with bookcases and shelves carefully arranged. Most of the them held books and scrolls, but Delegado saw rings, wands, weapons of archaic make, and bars of gold and silver that could buy any man in Khorvaire a lifetime of leisure.
“This way,” Delegado whispered, pointing. He led her to a shelf near the back that held a porcelain trough. Rooting around in it he found the headband. It was a simple thing, braided leather etched with symbols, quite out of place with the ostentatious wealth of the place. He folded it and tucked it into a pouch. Ois took a brace of potions and a pair of wands, as well as an expensive-looking mirror.
“I thought you gave up being a thief,” he told her.
“We’ll need these,” she said. “Thomas can use them to drive the fiends back, and he can scry with the mirror.” She pulled out a pair of books and some scrolls. “Here, put these in your backpack. Thomas can use them as well.”
“Okay, but let’s make that it,” Delegado said. “The more we raid the more risk that we find trouble. We need to find a prisoner, but I don’t see a cell.”
“You’re not looking in the right place,” she said, walking over to the wall. “Ask yourself why this bookcase is unoccupied, then look at the scratches on the floor.” She ran her fingers along the wall and found a catch. Seconds later the wall with the bookcase pivoted inwards. “There may be many prisoners in this place,” she said. “Aside from the wretch whose screams we can hear. But this prisoner is considered a treasure.”
Delegado stepped in, and lead the way. She walked next to him, holdng the sunrod high. They did not walk far, perhaps fifteen feet until the turn to the right, and then then were in front of a cell with bars that had thorny projections. On the other side of the thorny bars was a straw-covered cot, and above it was a stone set high in the wall that glowed with faint illumination.
A man slept on the cot, his back to them. His hair was white, and like his beard, it was long and ragged. His clothes were filthy and torn. He seemed to stir when they approached and he rolled over, peering at them. He was human, and elderly, and missing one hand. The prisoner slowly stood, wiping his face with his one hand. A face that may have been human, but was still a near-copy of the half-orc’s.
“Delegado?” the man croaked.
“Poppa?” the half-orc gasped.
Chapter 20 - Part 16
Orphan snapped the longbow in half as he dropped down from the third-story window. The spellcasting rakshasa was still hot on his trail, although he had left the two lesser rakshasa archers behind, one with a sprained knee. A grayish beam of light went over the warforged’s shoulder as he fell, and where it hit, some rubble was turned to dust.
Orphan saw another grate, and he stepped on it, assuming a fighting stance. The rakshasa came floating down from the rooftop that he had been flying over, rainging bolts of electrical energy. The warforged dodged, but barely, and the smell of ozone rose from his back. The grate beneath him took a hit, but remained solid. The warforged took a hunk of rock that had been blasted from the street, and hurled it at the rakshasa.
The rakshasa sneered and waved his furred hand. A mere motion summoned magial force, knocking the rock aside, and then the rakshasa raised both hands, chanting.
Orphan sprinted as the spell was cast, running across the street. A fog came into being where he had been standing, an acrid thing with a terrible burning stench that licked at his heels and back, making the composite materials of his body sizzle. Orphan suppressed the urge to cry out in pain, forcing himself to keep running. He leaped up in the air and grabbed the rakshasa, easily pinning the thing’s legs and dragging it downwards.
“You dare?” it growled, slashing at him with its claws. One made a deep scratch in Orphan’s face, narrowly missing his eyes.
“No, I succeed,” Orphan told him, climbing the rakshasa’s body and pinning his arms. The rakshasa began to rise, still mentally controlling his flying magic.
“You can’t hurt me with your arms,” the tiger-thing laughed. “You can’t. My kind have been able to shrug off blows from the mightiest of dragons. You think you can choke me like some coliseum wrestler?”
“I killed one of your number and dumped him in a pit of lava,” Orphan said. “I killed him with the sai on my belt.”
“You boast emptily before you die,” the rakshasa snarled, lifting up higher while floating across the street, heading for a building with a red spire. He was now hovering above the acidic cloud.
“Tunnels that wind all over,” Orphan said. “A ghost of a coutal guarding a rod holding the essence of one of your greatest ones, a rod that can only be destroyed by adamantine. Over a hundred dretches.”
“You work for Gaijiros, that is how you got in here!” the rakshasa snarled. “Your pain will be legend!”
“Only if you find me,” Orphan said, dropping down into the fog made of acid. It burned him as he passed through it, but he had judged correctly. He landed on the grate, and his weight knocked it free of its mooring, and into the sewers.
The warforged was running even before the grate slammed into the dust.
Orphan saw another grate, and he stepped on it, assuming a fighting stance. The rakshasa came floating down from the rooftop that he had been flying over, rainging bolts of electrical energy. The warforged dodged, but barely, and the smell of ozone rose from his back. The grate beneath him took a hit, but remained solid. The warforged took a hunk of rock that had been blasted from the street, and hurled it at the rakshasa.
The rakshasa sneered and waved his furred hand. A mere motion summoned magial force, knocking the rock aside, and then the rakshasa raised both hands, chanting.
Orphan sprinted as the spell was cast, running across the street. A fog came into being where he had been standing, an acrid thing with a terrible burning stench that licked at his heels and back, making the composite materials of his body sizzle. Orphan suppressed the urge to cry out in pain, forcing himself to keep running. He leaped up in the air and grabbed the rakshasa, easily pinning the thing’s legs and dragging it downwards.
“You dare?” it growled, slashing at him with its claws. One made a deep scratch in Orphan’s face, narrowly missing his eyes.
“No, I succeed,” Orphan told him, climbing the rakshasa’s body and pinning his arms. The rakshasa began to rise, still mentally controlling his flying magic.
“You can’t hurt me with your arms,” the tiger-thing laughed. “You can’t. My kind have been able to shrug off blows from the mightiest of dragons. You think you can choke me like some coliseum wrestler?”
“I killed one of your number and dumped him in a pit of lava,” Orphan said. “I killed him with the sai on my belt.”
“You boast emptily before you die,” the rakshasa snarled, lifting up higher while floating across the street, heading for a building with a red spire. He was now hovering above the acidic cloud.
“Tunnels that wind all over,” Orphan said. “A ghost of a coutal guarding a rod holding the essence of one of your greatest ones, a rod that can only be destroyed by adamantine. Over a hundred dretches.”
“You work for Gaijiros, that is how you got in here!” the rakshasa snarled. “Your pain will be legend!”
“Only if you find me,” Orphan said, dropping down into the fog made of acid. It burned him as he passed through it, but he had judged correctly. He landed on the grate, and his weight knocked it free of its mooring, and into the sewers.
The warforged was running even before the grate slammed into the dust.
Chapter 20 - Part 15
The strange black stone faded away as they rose higher and higher in the structure, replaced by a cold metal that Delegado had never seen before. It seemed to have no magic of its own, but Delegado wondered if even his adamantine blade could scratch it. He did not try to test his theory.
They had passed by two doors, both made of an onyx-colored wood that they did not recognize, but Delegado had ignored them. The headband was not there. He had to go higher.
“You sensing any evil?” Delegado whispered.
“Plenty,” she said. “Nothing specific. There is so much wrongness here, I am not even sure I would see anything against the background. How much farther until the headband?”
“We’re close,” Delegado said. They rounded a corner and he saw another door set in the wall facing the interior of the tower. This one was stone, and it had a complex locking mechanism on the lever.
“The other doors weren’t like this,” she said.
“The other doors weren’t locked,” he told her. “You don’t keep a door locked unless it’s low-traffic, otherwise it’s a pain. If they locked this, it’s a storeroom that they don’t use frequently.”
“All of that is just as logical a reason to have it trapped as well,” she pointed out. “And I’m not good enough with magical traps to tell you I can get through that door. Maybe you should use your sword to cut away the lever mechanism.”
“That risks them knowing their tower was infiltrated.”
“I think they’ll find out.”
Delegado thought for a moment. “Look at the lock,” he said. “Get a feel for it.”
She knelt and took out her kit, and he held the sunrod for her. “Hold it over that slot there,” she said, taking out a soft brush. He did, and she lightly dabbed the lever with the brush. “Delegado, this hasn’t been opened in a long time,” she said, gesturing to the dust on the interior lip of the mechanism. “Maybe even a year. Oalian said there was a prisoner in here?”
“Drorin said the first riddle was with the prisoner,” Delegado said. “And Oalian said that the prisoner with that first riddle is kept near the place where the stolen artifact of the Balanced Palm lies. That’s through that door.”
“How close is ‘near?’” Ois asked.
“I wish I knew,” he told her.
She continued to examine the lock, putting her wires to use, and then her slightly bent steel probes. “It’s locked, but it’s not complicated. I wouldn’t let the door shut, though. I don’t think there’s a lever on the other side.”
“Who makes a storage room that you can’t open from the inside?” Delegado asked. “Our guy is in there.”
“Then this door is going to be alarmed,” she said. “And given the nature of the rakshasa, that alarm is going to be magical. There are people trained in infiltration who can disable those. I can’t.”
“Disable and unlock what you can,” Delegado said. “Then we go in. I don’t know how long it will take me to bash through that door, but it’s time we don’t have.”
“It’s thick stone,” she said. “I guess you’re right.” She began to fiddle with the interior of the mechanism.
They had passed by two doors, both made of an onyx-colored wood that they did not recognize, but Delegado had ignored them. The headband was not there. He had to go higher.
“You sensing any evil?” Delegado whispered.
“Plenty,” she said. “Nothing specific. There is so much wrongness here, I am not even sure I would see anything against the background. How much farther until the headband?”
“We’re close,” Delegado said. They rounded a corner and he saw another door set in the wall facing the interior of the tower. This one was stone, and it had a complex locking mechanism on the lever.
“The other doors weren’t like this,” she said.
“The other doors weren’t locked,” he told her. “You don’t keep a door locked unless it’s low-traffic, otherwise it’s a pain. If they locked this, it’s a storeroom that they don’t use frequently.”
“All of that is just as logical a reason to have it trapped as well,” she pointed out. “And I’m not good enough with magical traps to tell you I can get through that door. Maybe you should use your sword to cut away the lever mechanism.”
“That risks them knowing their tower was infiltrated.”
“I think they’ll find out.”
Delegado thought for a moment. “Look at the lock,” he said. “Get a feel for it.”
She knelt and took out her kit, and he held the sunrod for her. “Hold it over that slot there,” she said, taking out a soft brush. He did, and she lightly dabbed the lever with the brush. “Delegado, this hasn’t been opened in a long time,” she said, gesturing to the dust on the interior lip of the mechanism. “Maybe even a year. Oalian said there was a prisoner in here?”
“Drorin said the first riddle was with the prisoner,” Delegado said. “And Oalian said that the prisoner with that first riddle is kept near the place where the stolen artifact of the Balanced Palm lies. That’s through that door.”
“How close is ‘near?’” Ois asked.
“I wish I knew,” he told her.
She continued to examine the lock, putting her wires to use, and then her slightly bent steel probes. “It’s locked, but it’s not complicated. I wouldn’t let the door shut, though. I don’t think there’s a lever on the other side.”
“Who makes a storage room that you can’t open from the inside?” Delegado asked. “Our guy is in there.”
“Then this door is going to be alarmed,” she said. “And given the nature of the rakshasa, that alarm is going to be magical. There are people trained in infiltration who can disable those. I can’t.”
“Disable and unlock what you can,” Delegado said. “Then we go in. I don’t know how long it will take me to bash through that door, but it’s time we don’t have.”
“It’s thick stone,” she said. “I guess you’re right.” She began to fiddle with the interior of the mechanism.
Chapter 20 - Part 14
Orphan threw his second dagger through a large window of painted glass. The crashing noise that it produced made a suitable distraction, and the group of rakshasas wearing armor and carrying swords almost as long as Orphan turned and ran towards the sounds. Orphan took off at a run, letting the tiger-headed things see him.
A shimmering wall of force appeared in front of the warforged, covering the whole street. Orphan jumped high, clearing the wall by inches.
A skeletal thing with a barbed tail jumped from a high window, landing in front of Orphan. It lashed out with its tail, and Orphan somersaulted over it. The thing tried to cast some sort of spell, but Orphan was already gone, bolting into a ruined building.
The warforged realized that he had made a mistake when he heard growling. There was little or no light in the long hallway he was running down, but there were several things in there with him that didn’t need light, and he had lost his sunrod to a toad thing with a flaming whip.
Orphan doubled back, turning on his heels, and tore down the hallway. The bone thing was there, and it was surprised to see him. Orphan drew his sai and charged. Seeing the weapon, the creature assumed a fighting stance.
Orphan rolled between the fiend’s legs, stabbing it in its tail with his sai as he jumped back into the street. The fiend howled in pain and tried to counterattack, but the warforged was already gone.
A whooshing sound was Orphan’s only warning. He flipped up in the air and the fireball shot under him. When it hit, the entire facade of the building caught fire, but Orphan rolled clear without being singed.
The bone thing roared with pain as the fireball explosion took down a crossbeam, dumping stone onto its hide. Orphan bolted down the street again, sharply turning a corner to find a rakshasa in wizard’s robes waiting for him, flanked by two lesser members of his kind firing black longbows.
A shimmering wall of force appeared in front of the warforged, covering the whole street. Orphan jumped high, clearing the wall by inches.
A skeletal thing with a barbed tail jumped from a high window, landing in front of Orphan. It lashed out with its tail, and Orphan somersaulted over it. The thing tried to cast some sort of spell, but Orphan was already gone, bolting into a ruined building.
The warforged realized that he had made a mistake when he heard growling. There was little or no light in the long hallway he was running down, but there were several things in there with him that didn’t need light, and he had lost his sunrod to a toad thing with a flaming whip.
Orphan doubled back, turning on his heels, and tore down the hallway. The bone thing was there, and it was surprised to see him. Orphan drew his sai and charged. Seeing the weapon, the creature assumed a fighting stance.
Orphan rolled between the fiend’s legs, stabbing it in its tail with his sai as he jumped back into the street. The fiend howled in pain and tried to counterattack, but the warforged was already gone.
A whooshing sound was Orphan’s only warning. He flipped up in the air and the fireball shot under him. When it hit, the entire facade of the building caught fire, but Orphan rolled clear without being singed.
The bone thing roared with pain as the fireball explosion took down a crossbeam, dumping stone onto its hide. Orphan bolted down the street again, sharply turning a corner to find a rakshasa in wizard’s robes waiting for him, flanked by two lesser members of his kind firing black longbows.
Chapter 20 - Part 13
Their embrace lasted five minutes, before an angry cry from above made them break apart. Delegado jumped up, his fingers through the grate, and hoisted himself to where he could see what was going on. Chuckling, he dropped down.
“Well?” she asked, her sword out.
“Orphan’s shiruken took a rakshasa in the crotch,” he snickered. “No real injury, given their high resistance to weapons that aren’t blessed, but they are madder than the Fury. They’re in hot pursuit. In fifteen seconds I’ll work on the lock catch with my sword, then we’ll slip into the tower.”
“You ‘picked’ a lock like that when we were breaking into that tower near Bluevine,” she recalled.
“Yeah, I did,” he said with a smile. It was nice being with her again, working with her again. He waited, listening to the blood-curdling yells recede as they chased after the warforged. “Okay, we’re a go,” he said. He took his sword out and began sawing at the metal of the grate. The brass, or whatever it was, was tough, but not as tough as adamantine. Within a minute he’d popped it free of its mounting. He jumped up, braced himself against the interior lip of the grate portal, and pushed. The grate lifted and he slid it over.
Delegado quickly scrambled out of the sewer line and reached down to pull Ois up. They were in a wide plaza, decorated with small statuettes of gold, silver and other precious metals. The statuettes were finely detailed carvings of fiends, many with gemstones for eyes. The plaza was formed of long, semi-reflective flagstones, each the size of a horse if not bigger. In between the flagstones was a mosiac of smaller stones, each barely larger than a fish egg. The multitude of colors formed pictures of dragons dying, lesser races being enslaved, and various bloody instruments of torture. Delegado briefly wondered how long it took to make the border of gruesome scenes with the tiny stones, but then decided he didn’t want to know. The thought of a being that was able to sit and focus for that long on those themes made him ill. Also scattered about, especially near the main opening, were pedestals of worked stone holding bowls of various metals. Delegado saw blood in some of those bowls, and what he thought was tears from some large animal. Other bowls held what looked to only be water, but the half-orc was not about to trust their innocence.
“Where?” Ois asked, looking at the bowls with disgust.
“This way,” Delegado said, leading her by her free hand. They ran down the length of the plaza and under the shadow of the tower. Some fifty feet later he stopped, examining the apparently seamless surface.
“Are you sure it’s here?” Ois asked. “I don’t see any –” Delegado touched two points in rapid succession, and there was a soft click as a panel appeared, swinging inwards to show a hallway. “Your dragonmark told you how to open that?” she asked, clearly impressed.
“Yes, inside,” he said. They stepped in and Delegado shut the panel behind them.
The screams from the top of the tower could be heard, echoing in a strange fashion, but other than that, the place was as silent as a tomb. The hallway was curved, following the edge of the tower. There were no steps, but there was a curve in the floor, a perceptible ramp leading upwards.
Delegado looked around carefully, as did Ois. The walls and floor were a featureless black marble that seemed to absorb light. The illumination of Ois’ sunrod faded as it touched the wall, like it was being drained. Even Delegado’s orcsight could not pick out any texture on the wall.
“Don’t touch the wall,” Ois said softly. “It’s hungry.”
“Your paladin senses tell you that?” he asked.
“No, they just pick up a – a background evil. A desperation. I can’t explain it.”
Delegado stroked Feather’s neck to calm the bird down, and he focused his mind inward. He focused on the description of the headband that the order of the Balanced Palm had crafted centuries earlier.
His dragonmark tingled, and an awareness came to him. The headband was about fifty feet up, in the center of a tower.
“This way,” he said. She followed him up the sloping hallway.
“Well?” she asked, her sword out.
“Orphan’s shiruken took a rakshasa in the crotch,” he snickered. “No real injury, given their high resistance to weapons that aren’t blessed, but they are madder than the Fury. They’re in hot pursuit. In fifteen seconds I’ll work on the lock catch with my sword, then we’ll slip into the tower.”
“You ‘picked’ a lock like that when we were breaking into that tower near Bluevine,” she recalled.
“Yeah, I did,” he said with a smile. It was nice being with her again, working with her again. He waited, listening to the blood-curdling yells recede as they chased after the warforged. “Okay, we’re a go,” he said. He took his sword out and began sawing at the metal of the grate. The brass, or whatever it was, was tough, but not as tough as adamantine. Within a minute he’d popped it free of its mounting. He jumped up, braced himself against the interior lip of the grate portal, and pushed. The grate lifted and he slid it over.
Delegado quickly scrambled out of the sewer line and reached down to pull Ois up. They were in a wide plaza, decorated with small statuettes of gold, silver and other precious metals. The statuettes were finely detailed carvings of fiends, many with gemstones for eyes. The plaza was formed of long, semi-reflective flagstones, each the size of a horse if not bigger. In between the flagstones was a mosiac of smaller stones, each barely larger than a fish egg. The multitude of colors formed pictures of dragons dying, lesser races being enslaved, and various bloody instruments of torture. Delegado briefly wondered how long it took to make the border of gruesome scenes with the tiny stones, but then decided he didn’t want to know. The thought of a being that was able to sit and focus for that long on those themes made him ill. Also scattered about, especially near the main opening, were pedestals of worked stone holding bowls of various metals. Delegado saw blood in some of those bowls, and what he thought was tears from some large animal. Other bowls held what looked to only be water, but the half-orc was not about to trust their innocence.
“Where?” Ois asked, looking at the bowls with disgust.
“This way,” Delegado said, leading her by her free hand. They ran down the length of the plaza and under the shadow of the tower. Some fifty feet later he stopped, examining the apparently seamless surface.
“Are you sure it’s here?” Ois asked. “I don’t see any –” Delegado touched two points in rapid succession, and there was a soft click as a panel appeared, swinging inwards to show a hallway. “Your dragonmark told you how to open that?” she asked, clearly impressed.
“Yes, inside,” he said. They stepped in and Delegado shut the panel behind them.
The screams from the top of the tower could be heard, echoing in a strange fashion, but other than that, the place was as silent as a tomb. The hallway was curved, following the edge of the tower. There were no steps, but there was a curve in the floor, a perceptible ramp leading upwards.
Delegado looked around carefully, as did Ois. The walls and floor were a featureless black marble that seemed to absorb light. The illumination of Ois’ sunrod faded as it touched the wall, like it was being drained. Even Delegado’s orcsight could not pick out any texture on the wall.
“Don’t touch the wall,” Ois said softly. “It’s hungry.”
“Your paladin senses tell you that?” he asked.
“No, they just pick up a – a background evil. A desperation. I can’t explain it.”
Delegado stroked Feather’s neck to calm the bird down, and he focused his mind inward. He focused on the description of the headband that the order of the Balanced Palm had crafted centuries earlier.
His dragonmark tingled, and an awareness came to him. The headband was about fifty feet up, in the center of a tower.
“This way,” he said. She followed him up the sloping hallway.
Chapter 20 - Part 12
Delegado watched Orphan go, then crept up to the grate and waited. Ois moved next to him as well, her mithril breastplate making only the lightest of sounds. He smelled her hair, and found his heart beating in tune with her breathing.
“Your friend is extraordinary,” Ois told him in a whisper.
“Yes, he is,” Delegado said back just as quietly. “He is.”
“How did you meet him?” she asked.
Delegado turned to regard her. “Are we just doing a job together?” he asked. “If we are, then there’s no need for small talk, is there? But if it’s more – let’s discuss that now. Right now, while we wait for Orphan’s distraction, because we won’t get another chance. So which is it?”
Ois set her jaw, and stared into Delegado’s eyes. “Which do you want it to be?”
“I want you,” he said. “I always have. You put the obstacles in my way.”
“You made them obstacles,” she said. “They were a part of me, but you just didn’t want to share me. Why didn’t you come for me? Why didn’t you save me? Because I wouldn’t let you bring Shaidan’s head in for the bounty?”
“Do you really think I’m that immature?” he demanded. “Do you really think I’m that selfish?”
Ois swallowed. “No, I guess not. I just – I feel like…”
“You feel like causing me pain,” Delegado said. “You feel I let you down. The pain that the torturers of Droaam put you through didn’t equal the pain you felt when I abandoned you.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “I didn’t sleep for days. If not for an attack by Riedran pirates, I probably would have killed myself in Sharn once I delivered Marcuiss. Yes, I got drunk with Meddin. He and I were one of the few who survived the Riedran attack. But I thought you were dead, Ois. If I had known you were alive, if I had suspected, I would have called in every favor owed to me, every coin I had, every resource I could beg, borrow, or steal, and I would have been there.”
Ois looked down, fiddling with the silver arrowhead holy symbol of her faith that was tied to a cord on her neck. “Do you think it was easy to tell you to leave Thrane?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I may have once thought so, but – no.”
“You’ve matured since I last saw you,” she said. “I can tell that. But I have to ask. What was your price to come along? Orphan’s was the headband. Thomas said that Oalian granted you all an audience, and that he was promised peace. He has begun to find it with the Flame. But you…Thomas said he didn’t understand what you were promised, and that I should ask you. Apparently every time Orphan stepped near the subject, you gave a violent response.”
“You.”
“What?”
“My price was you.” Delegado pinched the bridge of his nose. “Drorin told me that you were alive. I didn’t believe him. I saw you die. But I came anyway, just in case there was a chance that you were the prisoner that Drorin spoke of, that you had been held here by the fiends in retaliation for taking Shaidan out.”
“You came into Ashtakala to find me?” she asked, bewildered.
“No, Oalian told me the prisoner wasn’t you,” he said. “By then, by the time I left Greenheart, I did it because it was the right thing to do.”
She was silent for a while. “What changed you?” she finally asked. “Drorin?”
“No,” he sighed. “Drorin is dead, killed by an Aundair wizard. Aundair mounted an attack on Merylsward, killing civilians indiscriminately to get at him.” He shook his head. “There’s no one thing that changed me. I’m not even sure that I changed, maybe I just – it’s not an easy answer, Ois.”
“I would like there to be an ‘us’ again,” she told him. “I would. But I’m scared.”
“Maybe because we have a habit of making commitments in life-threatening situations,” Delegado said. “Ois, let’s finish this, then let’s make sure we can still be ‘us.’ I’m afraid of – I’m afraid of…” He couldn’t finish the thought.
“I’m afraid,” she said, leaning in. “I’m always afraid. But – but sometimes – sometimes you have to – to –”
They next thing he knew they were kissing, their lips joined, and their tears mingling.
“Your friend is extraordinary,” Ois told him in a whisper.
“Yes, he is,” Delegado said back just as quietly. “He is.”
“How did you meet him?” she asked.
Delegado turned to regard her. “Are we just doing a job together?” he asked. “If we are, then there’s no need for small talk, is there? But if it’s more – let’s discuss that now. Right now, while we wait for Orphan’s distraction, because we won’t get another chance. So which is it?”
Ois set her jaw, and stared into Delegado’s eyes. “Which do you want it to be?”
“I want you,” he said. “I always have. You put the obstacles in my way.”
“You made them obstacles,” she said. “They were a part of me, but you just didn’t want to share me. Why didn’t you come for me? Why didn’t you save me? Because I wouldn’t let you bring Shaidan’s head in for the bounty?”
“Do you really think I’m that immature?” he demanded. “Do you really think I’m that selfish?”
Ois swallowed. “No, I guess not. I just – I feel like…”
“You feel like causing me pain,” Delegado said. “You feel I let you down. The pain that the torturers of Droaam put you through didn’t equal the pain you felt when I abandoned you.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “I didn’t sleep for days. If not for an attack by Riedran pirates, I probably would have killed myself in Sharn once I delivered Marcuiss. Yes, I got drunk with Meddin. He and I were one of the few who survived the Riedran attack. But I thought you were dead, Ois. If I had known you were alive, if I had suspected, I would have called in every favor owed to me, every coin I had, every resource I could beg, borrow, or steal, and I would have been there.”
Ois looked down, fiddling with the silver arrowhead holy symbol of her faith that was tied to a cord on her neck. “Do you think it was easy to tell you to leave Thrane?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I may have once thought so, but – no.”
“You’ve matured since I last saw you,” she said. “I can tell that. But I have to ask. What was your price to come along? Orphan’s was the headband. Thomas said that Oalian granted you all an audience, and that he was promised peace. He has begun to find it with the Flame. But you…Thomas said he didn’t understand what you were promised, and that I should ask you. Apparently every time Orphan stepped near the subject, you gave a violent response.”
“You.”
“What?”
“My price was you.” Delegado pinched the bridge of his nose. “Drorin told me that you were alive. I didn’t believe him. I saw you die. But I came anyway, just in case there was a chance that you were the prisoner that Drorin spoke of, that you had been held here by the fiends in retaliation for taking Shaidan out.”
“You came into Ashtakala to find me?” she asked, bewildered.
“No, Oalian told me the prisoner wasn’t you,” he said. “By then, by the time I left Greenheart, I did it because it was the right thing to do.”
She was silent for a while. “What changed you?” she finally asked. “Drorin?”
“No,” he sighed. “Drorin is dead, killed by an Aundair wizard. Aundair mounted an attack on Merylsward, killing civilians indiscriminately to get at him.” He shook his head. “There’s no one thing that changed me. I’m not even sure that I changed, maybe I just – it’s not an easy answer, Ois.”
“I would like there to be an ‘us’ again,” she told him. “I would. But I’m scared.”
“Maybe because we have a habit of making commitments in life-threatening situations,” Delegado said. “Ois, let’s finish this, then let’s make sure we can still be ‘us.’ I’m afraid of – I’m afraid of…” He couldn’t finish the thought.
“I’m afraid,” she said, leaning in. “I’m always afraid. But – but sometimes – sometimes you have to – to –”
They next thing he knew they were kissing, their lips joined, and their tears mingling.
Chapter 20 - Part 11
They walked for another hour past the nest of worms, and amazingly there were no other encounters. The shaft was exactly where Delegado said it would be, and they jumped it easily. The parts that they had to squeeze past were also where Delegado said they would be, and they too were easily bypassed. Orphan worried aloud about how effortless this was, and Delegado told him to count his blessings. Ois praised the Silver Flame, but Delegado made no comment to that, other than theorizing that perhaps something near the Labyrinth had distracted the fiends.
They came to where the sewer line collapsed. About ten feet before it was old rubble, there was another grate in the ceiling that let in a weak light.
Orphan put a finger to his mouth, imitating the shushing gesture, and crept up to the grate. He listened for a minute, and then returned. “There’s a conversation going on between two people in the language of the fiends,” Orphan said. “Plus there are several more footsteps. The fiends are not bothering to hide their presence in the plaza.”
“This is where they can reveal their true faces, and they can revel in their nature,” Ois said. She looked at Delegado. “It is very hard for someone who can change shape to ever feel totally at ease. I have only felt that way with you, back in the day, and when I am in deepest prayer with the Flame.”
“This isn’t exactly the time for you two to work out your relationship details,” Orphan said. “We need to figure out how to get into that tower.”
“I was merely explaining why I understood the mind-set of the Lords of Dust,” she said. “I have studied them in detail.”
Orphan and Delegado looked at each other, and Orphan could tell he and Delegado were thinking of the same thing. “How well?” Delegado asked Ois.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Do you speak their language?” Orphan asked.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I can try to infiltrate them, but they are likely to hail me, and I would be caught.”
“How close were they to the grate?” Delegado asked.
“Close enough,” Orphan said. “We need a distraction.” He reached into Ois’ pouch and helped himself to a sunrod. “I’ll head back down to the grate that was right before that crack in wall. You two wait here. I’ll go up in the city and start making noise. They’ll come after me, you get in the tower.”
“Orphan, they’ll kill you,” Delegado said.
“I can run faster than they can,” Orphan told him. “We all have our part to play, like you said. I’ll draw them away, you and Ois go in. I assume that you remember where the hidden door is, and that I’ve given you enough information about the headband to find it.”
“If it’s in there,” Delegado said. “If my mark works in there.”
“I’ll see you again, Delegado. I don’t plan to get caught. I’ll meet you at the north wall of the city.” He turned to go.
“Orphan,” Delegado said, his voice breaking. Feather shifter on Delegado’s shoulder, the bird looking pained as well.
Orphan turned back to face the half-orc. “You’ve been a good friend, Delegado, and you’re a good man. May that which watches over us bless you and protect you.”
“I’ve had too many friends die,” Delegado said. “You come to that wall, because I will wait for you until you come. Even if I have to send Ois over it with the information to Thomas. I will wait for you until you come.”
“Then I had best not get caught,” Orphan said.
“Flame bless you,” Ois said softly.
“Traveler favor his chance to you,” Orphan retorted, and not kindly.
They came to where the sewer line collapsed. About ten feet before it was old rubble, there was another grate in the ceiling that let in a weak light.
Orphan put a finger to his mouth, imitating the shushing gesture, and crept up to the grate. He listened for a minute, and then returned. “There’s a conversation going on between two people in the language of the fiends,” Orphan said. “Plus there are several more footsteps. The fiends are not bothering to hide their presence in the plaza.”
“This is where they can reveal their true faces, and they can revel in their nature,” Ois said. She looked at Delegado. “It is very hard for someone who can change shape to ever feel totally at ease. I have only felt that way with you, back in the day, and when I am in deepest prayer with the Flame.”
“This isn’t exactly the time for you two to work out your relationship details,” Orphan said. “We need to figure out how to get into that tower.”
“I was merely explaining why I understood the mind-set of the Lords of Dust,” she said. “I have studied them in detail.”
Orphan and Delegado looked at each other, and Orphan could tell he and Delegado were thinking of the same thing. “How well?” Delegado asked Ois.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Do you speak their language?” Orphan asked.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I can try to infiltrate them, but they are likely to hail me, and I would be caught.”
“How close were they to the grate?” Delegado asked.
“Close enough,” Orphan said. “We need a distraction.” He reached into Ois’ pouch and helped himself to a sunrod. “I’ll head back down to the grate that was right before that crack in wall. You two wait here. I’ll go up in the city and start making noise. They’ll come after me, you get in the tower.”
“Orphan, they’ll kill you,” Delegado said.
“I can run faster than they can,” Orphan told him. “We all have our part to play, like you said. I’ll draw them away, you and Ois go in. I assume that you remember where the hidden door is, and that I’ve given you enough information about the headband to find it.”
“If it’s in there,” Delegado said. “If my mark works in there.”
“I’ll see you again, Delegado. I don’t plan to get caught. I’ll meet you at the north wall of the city.” He turned to go.
“Orphan,” Delegado said, his voice breaking. Feather shifter on Delegado’s shoulder, the bird looking pained as well.
Orphan turned back to face the half-orc. “You’ve been a good friend, Delegado, and you’re a good man. May that which watches over us bless you and protect you.”
“I’ve had too many friends die,” Delegado said. “You come to that wall, because I will wait for you until you come. Even if I have to send Ois over it with the information to Thomas. I will wait for you until you come.”
“Then I had best not get caught,” Orphan said.
“Flame bless you,” Ois said softly.
“Traveler favor his chance to you,” Orphan retorted, and not kindly.
Chapter 20 - Part 10
The worms were long and thin, and the same color as the dust that they lived in. Coiled individually, they wouldn’t have been even as large as a loaf of bread, but there were about fifty of them. If not for Ois’ ability to detect the residual evil in them from their fiendish breeding, Delegado would have stepped into the nest and died.
“That’s my last alchemical weapon,” Ois said as a combination of alchemically created fire, cold, and electrical discharge destroyed the worms. “Why did we have to use all of them?”
“Because we noted on our travels that the fiends all have different resistances, and we don’t know what will work,” Orphan said, throwing the last vial of acid. “What’s our inventory, Delegado?”
“I have forty-seven arrows,” the half-orc said. “Eighteen of them have magial enchantments. I’ve got my two daggers, all of the caltrops that we’ve salvaged, about six bags’ worth, half of it adamantine-tipped, a barkskin potion Pienna gave me, and three Jorasco potions. Plus my sword, obviously. Ois?”
“My daggers,” she said. “Two magical daggers with holy enchantments, and four masterwork daggers. I have my sword, my symbol, a holy water flask, two Jorasco potions that close wounds, another that stops poison, and another that provides a restoration of sorts from certain undead attacks. Plus, of course, the feather fall vial that Orphan so thoughtfully gave me. I have a pair of sunrods left other than the one I hold.”
“One shiruken and three daggers, plus my sai,” Orphan said. “Well, let’s hope that we don’t find any other surprises waiting for us before we exit the sewer.”
“Looks like you needed me,” Ois said. “Their poison may not have affected you, warforged, but Delegado would have died.”
“Let it go,” Delegado said.
“No gratitude from you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You only get that look in your eye when you’re feeling insecure,” Delegado said. “Orphan already accepted your usefulness, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
She pursed her lips. “Very well then, let’s go.” She turned to follow Delegado, and Orphan wondered about the strange relationship between the genders of the biological races.
“That’s my last alchemical weapon,” Ois said as a combination of alchemically created fire, cold, and electrical discharge destroyed the worms. “Why did we have to use all of them?”
“Because we noted on our travels that the fiends all have different resistances, and we don’t know what will work,” Orphan said, throwing the last vial of acid. “What’s our inventory, Delegado?”
“I have forty-seven arrows,” the half-orc said. “Eighteen of them have magial enchantments. I’ve got my two daggers, all of the caltrops that we’ve salvaged, about six bags’ worth, half of it adamantine-tipped, a barkskin potion Pienna gave me, and three Jorasco potions. Plus my sword, obviously. Ois?”
“My daggers,” she said. “Two magical daggers with holy enchantments, and four masterwork daggers. I have my sword, my symbol, a holy water flask, two Jorasco potions that close wounds, another that stops poison, and another that provides a restoration of sorts from certain undead attacks. Plus, of course, the feather fall vial that Orphan so thoughtfully gave me. I have a pair of sunrods left other than the one I hold.”
“One shiruken and three daggers, plus my sai,” Orphan said. “Well, let’s hope that we don’t find any other surprises waiting for us before we exit the sewer.”
“Looks like you needed me,” Ois said. “Their poison may not have affected you, warforged, but Delegado would have died.”
“Let it go,” Delegado said.
“No gratitude from you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You only get that look in your eye when you’re feeling insecure,” Delegado said. “Orphan already accepted your usefulness, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
She pursed her lips. “Very well then, let’s go.” She turned to follow Delegado, and Orphan wondered about the strange relationship between the genders of the biological races.
Chapter 20 - Part 9
Orphan ducked his head back around the corner. “It seems as if there are thousands of demons out there,” he said. “They are dancing, talking, feasting, but there is no sound. Then they disappear.”
“Illusions,” Ois said, working on the lock over the grate. “The fiends remind themselves of their glories. According to a manuscript I studied, the illusion gets more powerful the closer we get to the center of the city. At some point our clothing will pick up on the spell and begin to assume the look of demonic fashions of millennia ago.”
“Where did you find a manuscript about this place?” Delegado asked. His arrow was at the ready and his feet were braced for possible attack, but his tone towards the changeling paladin was soft.
“The Argentum,” she said. “I assume that you’ve heard of them. They’ve hired agents from your House enough times.”
“I’ve heard of them,” he said. “I’ve refused to work for them, and my House wanted me for other things anyway. I am surprised to find you working for them, they aren’t exactly...” The half-orc considered his words carefully. “They don’t seem concerned with the law as much as a paladin would be.”
“I don’t work for them,” she said, finally getting the lock open. She began to poke the wire around the grate edges, checking for mechanical traps. “I don’t think very much of them, either. They are too free with justifications. The only political group I belong to is the Chalice of Blood, a group that you might have thought of joining.”
“It sounds like a Karrnath group rather than a Thrane one,” Orphan observed. He felt tense, like a tight spring. Too much needed to go right for there to be a prayer of success, and too many things could go wrong.
“It is a group of nonhuman Silver Flame worshippers that uses peaceful, political, nonviolent means to advance nonhumans in the church ranks,” Ois explained, running the wire on the other edge of the grate. “The prevalence of humans within the church is only due to history and geography, not a flaw in church doctrine.”
“How did a manuscript on this city exist?” Delegado asked.
“Coutal bards sung down the walls millennia ago, before the demons rebuilt them,” Ois said. “In the long wars between dragon and fiend, the coutals had the greatest magical power, and thus delivered and took the greatest casualties. According to the author of the document, which has been translated many times over, copied many more times than that, and damaged extensively by erosion, a coutal bard had a familiar who survived long enough to tell another animal of its kind. That animal became the familiar for another coutal wizard, who wrote down a scrap of parchment that survived long enough to make its way to Xen’drik, before that land was shattered. An explorer found a rubbing of the parchment on a wall of tiles in a submerged cave. Morgrave University acquired the tile for its collection, and an agent of Phiarlan stole the tile from them for the Argentum.” She finished poking the wire and then put it away. “I need help getting this up,” she said.
Orphan and Delegado picked up the heavy grate, trying to keep it from scraping too loudly. From the dust and grit that fell, the grate had not been moved in centuries. Orphan held the grate on its edge, ready to drop it back into place.
Delegado was the first to jump into the sewer, and his boots landed in thick dust. He scanned both ways down the pipe. “Clear,” he called up softly.
“Go,” Orphan said to Ois. “Make sure that you have a sunrod activated since unlike bugbears neither you nor I have darkvision.”
“Delegado wants to let it go, but you don’t,” she said. “Interesting.” She dropped down into the sewer and activated a sunrod.
Orphan shook his head and lowered himself into a sitting position. Delegado grabbed his legs so that Orphan could drop the grate back into place as he entered the sewers.
“Alright,” Orphan said, once they were in the sewer line together. “What’s you mark telling you?”
“The sewer hasn’t been used for centuries if not millennia,” Delegado said. “So it’s had little if any maintenance. The line connects with another that leads to a plaza beneath the central tower. There the sewer line has been collapsed, so we’ll have to surface and enter through a hidden door.”
“You can tell that there’s a hidden door from here?” Orphan asked.
“Yeah, but my sense of things goes dead beyond that,” Delegado said. “That tower has plenty of magical shields still in place left over from who knows how long ago. In any event the mark’s effect will elapse by then.”
“And there’s no traps or obstacles between here and there?” Orphan asked.
“Not as of five seconds ago when I used the mark,” Delegado said. “There’s an open shaft we can jump across and two tight spots, but other than that we have a clear run.”
“Can your greater dragonmark find guards?” Ois asked.
Delegado shook his head. “Only static things, obstacles and traps and the like. But given how deserted the place is, I suspect we’ll find scavengers, not guards.”
“How long is the walk?” Orphan asked.
“An hour if we move at a normal pace, double that if we move carefully and quietly,” Delegado answered. “And the dragonmark’s effect ends in a little over an hour and a-half from now.”
“We split the difference,” Orphan said. “That way we keep the dragonmark’s effects as much as possible while minimizing detection. Lead the way, Delegado.”
“Illusions,” Ois said, working on the lock over the grate. “The fiends remind themselves of their glories. According to a manuscript I studied, the illusion gets more powerful the closer we get to the center of the city. At some point our clothing will pick up on the spell and begin to assume the look of demonic fashions of millennia ago.”
“Where did you find a manuscript about this place?” Delegado asked. His arrow was at the ready and his feet were braced for possible attack, but his tone towards the changeling paladin was soft.
“The Argentum,” she said. “I assume that you’ve heard of them. They’ve hired agents from your House enough times.”
“I’ve heard of them,” he said. “I’ve refused to work for them, and my House wanted me for other things anyway. I am surprised to find you working for them, they aren’t exactly...” The half-orc considered his words carefully. “They don’t seem concerned with the law as much as a paladin would be.”
“I don’t work for them,” she said, finally getting the lock open. She began to poke the wire around the grate edges, checking for mechanical traps. “I don’t think very much of them, either. They are too free with justifications. The only political group I belong to is the Chalice of Blood, a group that you might have thought of joining.”
“It sounds like a Karrnath group rather than a Thrane one,” Orphan observed. He felt tense, like a tight spring. Too much needed to go right for there to be a prayer of success, and too many things could go wrong.
“It is a group of nonhuman Silver Flame worshippers that uses peaceful, political, nonviolent means to advance nonhumans in the church ranks,” Ois explained, running the wire on the other edge of the grate. “The prevalence of humans within the church is only due to history and geography, not a flaw in church doctrine.”
“How did a manuscript on this city exist?” Delegado asked.
“Coutal bards sung down the walls millennia ago, before the demons rebuilt them,” Ois said. “In the long wars between dragon and fiend, the coutals had the greatest magical power, and thus delivered and took the greatest casualties. According to the author of the document, which has been translated many times over, copied many more times than that, and damaged extensively by erosion, a coutal bard had a familiar who survived long enough to tell another animal of its kind. That animal became the familiar for another coutal wizard, who wrote down a scrap of parchment that survived long enough to make its way to Xen’drik, before that land was shattered. An explorer found a rubbing of the parchment on a wall of tiles in a submerged cave. Morgrave University acquired the tile for its collection, and an agent of Phiarlan stole the tile from them for the Argentum.” She finished poking the wire and then put it away. “I need help getting this up,” she said.
Orphan and Delegado picked up the heavy grate, trying to keep it from scraping too loudly. From the dust and grit that fell, the grate had not been moved in centuries. Orphan held the grate on its edge, ready to drop it back into place.
Delegado was the first to jump into the sewer, and his boots landed in thick dust. He scanned both ways down the pipe. “Clear,” he called up softly.
“Go,” Orphan said to Ois. “Make sure that you have a sunrod activated since unlike bugbears neither you nor I have darkvision.”
“Delegado wants to let it go, but you don’t,” she said. “Interesting.” She dropped down into the sewer and activated a sunrod.
Orphan shook his head and lowered himself into a sitting position. Delegado grabbed his legs so that Orphan could drop the grate back into place as he entered the sewers.
“Alright,” Orphan said, once they were in the sewer line together. “What’s you mark telling you?”
“The sewer hasn’t been used for centuries if not millennia,” Delegado said. “So it’s had little if any maintenance. The line connects with another that leads to a plaza beneath the central tower. There the sewer line has been collapsed, so we’ll have to surface and enter through a hidden door.”
“You can tell that there’s a hidden door from here?” Orphan asked.
“Yeah, but my sense of things goes dead beyond that,” Delegado said. “That tower has plenty of magical shields still in place left over from who knows how long ago. In any event the mark’s effect will elapse by then.”
“And there’s no traps or obstacles between here and there?” Orphan asked.
“Not as of five seconds ago when I used the mark,” Delegado said. “There’s an open shaft we can jump across and two tight spots, but other than that we have a clear run.”
“Can your greater dragonmark find guards?” Ois asked.
Delegado shook his head. “Only static things, obstacles and traps and the like. But given how deserted the place is, I suspect we’ll find scavengers, not guards.”
“How long is the walk?” Orphan asked.
“An hour if we move at a normal pace, double that if we move carefully and quietly,” Delegado answered. “And the dragonmark’s effect ends in a little over an hour and a-half from now.”
“We split the difference,” Orphan said. “That way we keep the dragonmark’s effects as much as possible while minimizing detection. Lead the way, Delegado.”
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Chapter 20 - Part 8
The three rakshasa flew gracefully through the air, ignoring the bows and tokens of respect from the fiends that they passed over. Those fiends that could fly have swerved well out of their way, or dipped well beneath the altitude of their masters.
The rakshasa serenely descended to the ground, stay a good foot or so above the hundreds of corpses that littered the area. The great blue had slaughtered many lesser fiends with its lightning breath, its spells, and its mighty claws and teeth.
Soon the hovering trio approached the great corpse. More dead fiends surrounded the dragon’s lifeless body, but three kytons stood atop the corpse, their dancing chains warning the lesser fiends back.
“Masters,” the kytons said, bowing deeply and prostating themselves.
“Get the fiends here back to their usual places,” said the rakshasa on the left.
“Except for those who need to clean up the corpses of those who fell,” added the one on the right.
“Salvage what you can from them, but leave the dragon’s corpse to us,” concluded the one in the middle.
The three rakshasa turned to regard a particularly loud set of gibbering, scaled monkey things. “Take those to the Labirynth,” the rakshasa on the left said. “And some of the lemures. The orcs there need a distraction, lest they come out and make out life difficult.”
“You are in charge of cleanup here,” the rakshasa on the right said, pointing to one kyton. “You are in charge of herding the lesser ones back to their places.”
“And you,” said the middle rakshasa, pointing to the kyton whose bow had been a fraction less than the other two. “You lead the distraction into the Labirynth. Do not come back until the lesser fiends have all been destroyed.” The middle rakshasa didn’t bother to add that the waiting orc holy warriors were not about to let anyone that entered their domain get away.
The kytons scrambled to do as they were bid. The rakshasa waited imperiously, and in less than five minutes they were alone with the dead dragon, without even the dead demonlings for company.
The middle rakshasa cast the spell, and addressed the dead dragon. “Speak, or your soul will be forcefully put into your body, and you will be tortured for centuries,” it said imperiously.
The dragon’s mouth did not move, but an echo of his voice came from behind the shattered lips. “You bluff,” it said. “If you could do that, you would. I tell you nothing.”
“Why did you come here?” demanded the rakshasa on the left.
There was no answer. Speaking with the dead had its limits, especially if the dead were creatures of powerful will.
“Be not troubled in mind,” said the rakshasa on the right. “We had to try the spell, though we knew it was likely it would not suceeed. What evidence on the body is there?”
The middle rakshasa took out a small rod tipped with a Khyber dragonshard, and mumured words of a divination spell. “Dirt from the Eldeen Reaches,” it said. “This wyrm may have been the one who destroyed our agent that infiltrated Aundair’s intelligence service.”
The rakshasa on the right cast his own spell, and concentrated. After a moment he shook his had. “He was a Chamber agent, yes, but I can tell no more. The dragon prepared several counter-divinations on itself over the past few months.”
“Let us try logic,” said the rakshasa on the right. “Why would it come here? It wasn’t trying to get anything, or at least it seemed not to try. So far as we know it stayed airborne its entire time violating Fer’lrrg, not even touching the ground.”
“And it did not try to flee once spotted,” added the middle rakshasa. “It was trying to lead our agents to the Labiryth. Why? Has it equipped the orcs there with some weapon?”
“We have not heard from our colleague, Gaijiros,” said the rakshasa on the left. “His odd activities have not been accounted for. The many smaller fiends that he appropriated, and the ones we sent to investigate, are not accounted for.”
“One of our scouts did come back,” the rakshasa on the right said. “They found nothing save some bloodstains and remains enough to account for barely a score of the least ones. Of Gaijiros and his other followers there was no sign.”
“You are implying that Gaijiros was working with this dragon?” the middle rakshasa asked. “Impossible. How would they even approach one another?”
“Then we have no answer, and we are left with harvesting this wyrm’s corpse for consolation,” said the rakshasa on the right. “I suggest that we look outwards from that cave series that Gaijiros was so interested in. If there is a connection to the dragon, we may find it there.”
“We should also increase our agents’ surveillance of the Chamber’s agents,” the rakshasa on the left said. “I suggest that we call in some favors from the warforged cabal in Eston. The Chamber does not know of them.”
“Agreed,” said the other two.
The rakshasa serenely descended to the ground, stay a good foot or so above the hundreds of corpses that littered the area. The great blue had slaughtered many lesser fiends with its lightning breath, its spells, and its mighty claws and teeth.
Soon the hovering trio approached the great corpse. More dead fiends surrounded the dragon’s lifeless body, but three kytons stood atop the corpse, their dancing chains warning the lesser fiends back.
“Masters,” the kytons said, bowing deeply and prostating themselves.
“Get the fiends here back to their usual places,” said the rakshasa on the left.
“Except for those who need to clean up the corpses of those who fell,” added the one on the right.
“Salvage what you can from them, but leave the dragon’s corpse to us,” concluded the one in the middle.
The three rakshasa turned to regard a particularly loud set of gibbering, scaled monkey things. “Take those to the Labirynth,” the rakshasa on the left said. “And some of the lemures. The orcs there need a distraction, lest they come out and make out life difficult.”
“You are in charge of cleanup here,” the rakshasa on the right said, pointing to one kyton. “You are in charge of herding the lesser ones back to their places.”
“And you,” said the middle rakshasa, pointing to the kyton whose bow had been a fraction less than the other two. “You lead the distraction into the Labirynth. Do not come back until the lesser fiends have all been destroyed.” The middle rakshasa didn’t bother to add that the waiting orc holy warriors were not about to let anyone that entered their domain get away.
The kytons scrambled to do as they were bid. The rakshasa waited imperiously, and in less than five minutes they were alone with the dead dragon, without even the dead demonlings for company.
The middle rakshasa cast the spell, and addressed the dead dragon. “Speak, or your soul will be forcefully put into your body, and you will be tortured for centuries,” it said imperiously.
The dragon’s mouth did not move, but an echo of his voice came from behind the shattered lips. “You bluff,” it said. “If you could do that, you would. I tell you nothing.”
“Why did you come here?” demanded the rakshasa on the left.
There was no answer. Speaking with the dead had its limits, especially if the dead were creatures of powerful will.
“Be not troubled in mind,” said the rakshasa on the right. “We had to try the spell, though we knew it was likely it would not suceeed. What evidence on the body is there?”
The middle rakshasa took out a small rod tipped with a Khyber dragonshard, and mumured words of a divination spell. “Dirt from the Eldeen Reaches,” it said. “This wyrm may have been the one who destroyed our agent that infiltrated Aundair’s intelligence service.”
The rakshasa on the right cast his own spell, and concentrated. After a moment he shook his had. “He was a Chamber agent, yes, but I can tell no more. The dragon prepared several counter-divinations on itself over the past few months.”
“Let us try logic,” said the rakshasa on the right. “Why would it come here? It wasn’t trying to get anything, or at least it seemed not to try. So far as we know it stayed airborne its entire time violating Fer’lrrg, not even touching the ground.”
“And it did not try to flee once spotted,” added the middle rakshasa. “It was trying to lead our agents to the Labiryth. Why? Has it equipped the orcs there with some weapon?”
“We have not heard from our colleague, Gaijiros,” said the rakshasa on the left. “His odd activities have not been accounted for. The many smaller fiends that he appropriated, and the ones we sent to investigate, are not accounted for.”
“One of our scouts did come back,” the rakshasa on the right said. “They found nothing save some bloodstains and remains enough to account for barely a score of the least ones. Of Gaijiros and his other followers there was no sign.”
“You are implying that Gaijiros was working with this dragon?” the middle rakshasa asked. “Impossible. How would they even approach one another?”
“Then we have no answer, and we are left with harvesting this wyrm’s corpse for consolation,” said the rakshasa on the right. “I suggest that we look outwards from that cave series that Gaijiros was so interested in. If there is a connection to the dragon, we may find it there.”
“We should also increase our agents’ surveillance of the Chamber’s agents,” the rakshasa on the left said. “I suggest that we call in some favors from the warforged cabal in Eston. The Chamber does not know of them.”
“Agreed,” said the other two.
Chapter 20 - Part 7
Thomas crouched out of habit, even though it wasn’t necessary. He and the horses were invisible to non-arcane sight for another twenty minutes or so, so crouching wouldn’t add much to that. The shadow that passed over him was a large, dark thing, a great mockery of Feather made out of darkness. It bore riders that Thomas could not make out, and it headed up.
Going over the storm? Thomas wondered. The daelkyr half-blood felt a strange quiet in his mind when he looked at the great bird-thing. Instead of trying to figue out how to reshape its flesh, his mind was trying to figure out how to kill it. The stormstalk in his neck pressed against Thomas’ head, whispering supplications in his mind to flee from this place. There was no love lost between the daelkyr and the fiends. Each saw the other as the only true rival to domination over Eberron.
Thomas checked his scrolls again, worried at the diminished supply. The illusion spells that he had were flimsy, and would not last long. Furthermore too many of them would not travel with him as he creept with the horses to the northern side of the city, they needed a fixed location.
Silver Flame guide us all together again, Thomas prayed silently. He was glad that they had met Flamebearer, even if Delegado wasn’t. The bugbear’s words brought Thomas peace. She had told him that the power of the Flame to purify was based in its truth, and that the truth sets everyone free of self-made chains.
Thomas had placed his faith in that. He had to. The daelkyr half-blood had attempted to live with cynicism and isolation for years, and they hadn’t worked. Flamebearer had never lied to him, so he was counting on her.
Going over the storm? Thomas wondered. The daelkyr half-blood felt a strange quiet in his mind when he looked at the great bird-thing. Instead of trying to figue out how to reshape its flesh, his mind was trying to figure out how to kill it. The stormstalk in his neck pressed against Thomas’ head, whispering supplications in his mind to flee from this place. There was no love lost between the daelkyr and the fiends. Each saw the other as the only true rival to domination over Eberron.
Thomas checked his scrolls again, worried at the diminished supply. The illusion spells that he had were flimsy, and would not last long. Furthermore too many of them would not travel with him as he creept with the horses to the northern side of the city, they needed a fixed location.
Silver Flame guide us all together again, Thomas prayed silently. He was glad that they had met Flamebearer, even if Delegado wasn’t. The bugbear’s words brought Thomas peace. She had told him that the power of the Flame to purify was based in its truth, and that the truth sets everyone free of self-made chains.
Thomas had placed his faith in that. He had to. The daelkyr half-blood had attempted to live with cynicism and isolation for years, and they hadn’t worked. Flamebearer had never lied to him, so he was counting on her.
Chapter 20 - Part 6
“Ois Silva I presume,” Orphan suddenly realized.
Delegado returned his arrow to his quiver, and put the bow onto his shoulder. “Why are you keeping the scar?” the half-orc asked, his voice unsteady and his eyes wet.
“I can’t get rid of it,” she told him. “Not with my shapeshifting, not with Jorasco healing, and not with months of prayer. It’s a little gift from Tzaryan Rrac’s chief torturer. You remember Tzaryan Rrac, don’t you? He’s the ogre magus that you left me to.”
“I thought you were dead,” he said. “I thought you were dead!”
“Because I changed back after I hit the ground?” she asked. “I was almost dead! I saw Tzaryan as he shot that cold at me and I was playing possum. I almost got away with it, but once he had me inside he noticed I was still alive!”
Delegado started to walk towards her, and Orphan stepped out of the way, but Ois put a hand up. From the look in Delegado’s eyes she might as well have stuck a dagger into his heart. “Ois, I thought you were dead,” he said, his voice breaking.
“You should have come back for me,” she said. “He tortured me for weeks, trying to find out who else I was working with. I didn’t give up your name. I prayed to the Silver Flame, and I waited for you, but you never came.”
“I thought you were dead!” Delegado sobbed.
“You should have come back once your bounty was in Sharn,” she told him. “You didn’t escort Marcuiss all the way back to Darguun, Tharashk security did. You don’t know what that did to me when I found out. Sharn was my first stop when I finally got back to the five nations. I found out all about your drunken carousing with the sailor named Meddin. No, you didn’t care about me at all, else you would have at least come back for my body.”
“Why didn’t you tell us who you were when we were travelling here?” Orphan demanded.
“I realized something when I was on the rack, having my ribs poked with needles,” she told the warforged. “I had a lot of time to think. Tzaryan Rrac tortured me, cut me, burned me, then had magic used on me to cure me. He wanted to let me know he was willing to torture me forever if need be.”
Delegado fell to his knees, his splayed fingers grasping the flagstones of the street. The half-orc began to retch. Orphan felt terrible, knowing how it must kill the proud bounty hunter to display such weakness. “We are in a city of evil surrounded by enemies on a mission that may literally have the fate of the world resting on it,” he told the changeling paladin. “This isn’t time for the bard’s tale version of the events.”
“I realized that I was being punished,” Ois said. “Before I was captured, I told Delegado that I would be with him no matter what the heads of my church said. I lost my faith. I was punished. When I found my faith again, in that dark place of pain, I vowed that should I get out, I would never allow my feelings for Delegado to interfere with my mission again. Once I made that vow, a gnoll sacrificed himself for me.”
Delegado got up and wiped his mouth on one sleeve. “A gnoll? In Droaam? This the same race that likes to eat intelligent races because they feel more fear?” His eyes were red, but his righteous anger was back. “That little ignition of yours approves of them?”
“He asked me about my faith, in the dark hours,” she said. “He recognized the evil of the way he was raised. He wanted to join the Silver Flame. He wanted repentance. He helped me get out, and he paid for it with his life. I stole the mithril armor that Shaidan wore. Tzaryan was keeping it as a trophy. Apparently he was more enraged about losing the trophy than losing me. He tried to hire Petran to find it for him, expecting me to flee east from his manor to Vralkek. Instead I fled north, to Dhavin’s Post. I changed to a half-orc, and my knowledge of the language and the customs that you described to me got me a job as a Tharashk day laborer until I could get to some Flame missionaries. Between the way I was saved my a gnoll, a member of a race that people regard as monsters, and the fact that it was the missionary arm of the church that helped me get back to Thrane, I changed orders.”
“Like they would have let you go that easily,” Delegado said. “I don’t believe you.”
“Tzaryan got some things out of me,” she said. “He knew I was a Silver Flame paladin, and that I was an agent of Thranish intelligence. He knew I was working against the Lords of Dust, and that I killed Shaidan because Shaidan was working for them. The ogre magus spread a description of the scar on my cheek far and wide after I escaped. My value as an intelligence officer was extremely limited after that. Shortly thereafter someone captured Xavier Dunnel.” Her face said that she knew exactly who that someone was. “That effectively ended Thrane’s intelligence capabilities in southern Khorvaire. They had to rebuild from the ground up, which couldn’t include using me. They aceded to my request to missionize in the Eldeen Reaches, figuring that it would make things difficult for Aundair. So between your failure to come back for me, and your other successful activities, you left me without any other purpose.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“You were too busy tending to your bounty to check otherwise,” she told him coldy. “Don’t you remember you yelling at me that I was putting my outside affiliations over our relationship? Looks like you put your House’s bounty ahead of our relationship, too.”
“That’s not the same thing!” Delegado snarled. “Tharashk is my family.”
“The Silver Flame is mine,” she responded.
“You came into the Wastes, however,” Orphan interjected. “Why?”
“A prophecy,” she said. “One that came in a dream, then in person. A halfling named Drorin who told me that my words were needed in the Festering Holt, and that on Saint Valtros’ Day I would deliver a terrible blow against a great stronghold of evil. He could tell me nothing else, and he told me nothing about you. My dreams of him continued even after he left, every night, until the day of The Ascension. Then the dreams cut off.”
“I thought you were dead,” he repeated. “I had no other reason to think otherwise. I never went back to Droaam because I couldn’t relive how I had lost you. Do you know what it felt like when I finally realized it was you, that you had been with us the whole time?”
“Do you know how much it hurt to see you?” she asked him. “A gnoll raised in Droaam gave his life for the Silver Flame, but you wouldn’t give it three seconds. Your temper nearly got you arrested and executed, because you can’t differentiate between a faith and some of its more ignorant followers.”
“Okay, you two are done,” Orphan said.
“You don’t know enough to tell me –” Delegado began.
Orphan glared at him. “Did you hear me? This mission is bigger than you two. The discussion is done.”
Delegado’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing, staring at Orphan with anger and pain.
“I can deal with this if he can,” she said. “Let’s continue.”
“Oh no,” Orphan said.
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“You’re going back up that ladder and over that wall,” Orphan said, handing her a potion. “That’s a potion of feather fall. We bought it because it was there, we basically cleared out everything in Greenheart, but it will get you back outside the wall safely. If you hurry, you can find Thomas before we leave the city.”
“Orphan, what are you doing?” Delegado asked.
“Delegado, you agreed that I was in charge of this mission, is your word worth anything or not?”
“You cannot dismiss me!” she said.
“I can’t trust you either,” he told her. “And I don’t work with people I can’t trust. Get back up that ladder. Now.”
She drew her longsword. “You had better watch –” she began to say, but then Orphan’s arms moved. He slapped the sword out of her hands, and it clanged on the flagstones.
“I said you’re leaving,” Orphan told her bluntly. “You try pulling a blade on me again and I won’t let you take it back. Now pick that up, sheathe it, and get back up that ladder.”
“Orphan,” Delegado said. “She’ll die. She’s not going to catch up with Thomas, he’s on horseback. She’ll get grabbed and she’ll die. I can’t let that happen. If you send her away, I’ll have to go with her, to protect her.” His eyes pleaded with the warforged.
“You don’t have a very good track record protecting me,” she told the half-orc. She carefully picked up her sword, then put it in her sheath. “And I am not leaving in any event. Will you kill me, Orphan? Or knock me out and leave me for the fiends to find? Would Sensei Visha approve of either?”
“Actually, yes I would,” Orphan said. “It would be a wonderful distraction.”
“Orphan!” Delegado said. “Have you lost your mechanical mind?”
“He’s bluffing,” Ois said. “He’s not very good at it, though.”
“I’m not sure that I am,” Orphan said. “Ask yourself if you are hurting or harming this mission. Ask yourself if throwing Delegado off with this emotional pain that you seem to enjoy causing him will help him track down what we need to find.”
“I’m fine!” the half-orc insisted.
“Ask yourself if you really want someone who can freely detect evil presences with you or not,” she retorted.
“I’d prefer someone I can trust,” he said.
“Orphan, let me speak to you privately,” Delegado said.
The warforged looked at Ois, then nodded. He walked across the street with the half-orc. Feather sat over them and gave one soft caw, commiserating with Delegado.
“I don’t want her,” Orphan whispered. “I don’t.”
“Because she caused me pain,” Delegado said softly. “That’s the only reason. Otherwise you really should have her with you.” Orphan tipped his head to one side, realizing that the half-orc was right. “Don’t fight my battles for me, Orphan. She hurt me. She’ll continue to hurt me. But it’s my problem. I can do the job. And we could use her.”
“This is a bad idea,” Orphan told him.
“I have worked with her before. It increases our chances of being successful. By a great margin.”
“She wouldn’t mind seeing you dead, and you want to work with her?” the warforged asked.
“She doesn’t want to see me dead,” Delegado said. “She wants to see me be sick with guilt – which I am. And you want to punish her for hurting me.”
Orphan said nothing. Finally he nodded.
“Don’t,” Delegado told the monk. “She’s been punished more than enough.”
“Fine,” the monk said. He turned and walked back to Ois. “You’re in, but let’s get something straight. I’m in charge here. If you deviate from my orders, then I will knock you out, fiends or no, Delegado’s guilty feelings or no. Is that clear?”
“Very,” she said. “There’s something flying this way, something evil. We should take cover.”
“Follow Delegado, his dragonmark is finding us the path,” Orphan said. “And you keep your little trap-finding wires out and your blade away unless we enter combat.”
She nodded, and Delegado clicked his tongue. Feather landed on Delegado’s shoulder, and they all headed into the guardhouse to get under cover.
Delegado returned his arrow to his quiver, and put the bow onto his shoulder. “Why are you keeping the scar?” the half-orc asked, his voice unsteady and his eyes wet.
“I can’t get rid of it,” she told him. “Not with my shapeshifting, not with Jorasco healing, and not with months of prayer. It’s a little gift from Tzaryan Rrac’s chief torturer. You remember Tzaryan Rrac, don’t you? He’s the ogre magus that you left me to.”
“I thought you were dead,” he said. “I thought you were dead!”
“Because I changed back after I hit the ground?” she asked. “I was almost dead! I saw Tzaryan as he shot that cold at me and I was playing possum. I almost got away with it, but once he had me inside he noticed I was still alive!”
Delegado started to walk towards her, and Orphan stepped out of the way, but Ois put a hand up. From the look in Delegado’s eyes she might as well have stuck a dagger into his heart. “Ois, I thought you were dead,” he said, his voice breaking.
“You should have come back for me,” she said. “He tortured me for weeks, trying to find out who else I was working with. I didn’t give up your name. I prayed to the Silver Flame, and I waited for you, but you never came.”
“I thought you were dead!” Delegado sobbed.
“You should have come back once your bounty was in Sharn,” she told him. “You didn’t escort Marcuiss all the way back to Darguun, Tharashk security did. You don’t know what that did to me when I found out. Sharn was my first stop when I finally got back to the five nations. I found out all about your drunken carousing with the sailor named Meddin. No, you didn’t care about me at all, else you would have at least come back for my body.”
“Why didn’t you tell us who you were when we were travelling here?” Orphan demanded.
“I realized something when I was on the rack, having my ribs poked with needles,” she told the warforged. “I had a lot of time to think. Tzaryan Rrac tortured me, cut me, burned me, then had magic used on me to cure me. He wanted to let me know he was willing to torture me forever if need be.”
Delegado fell to his knees, his splayed fingers grasping the flagstones of the street. The half-orc began to retch. Orphan felt terrible, knowing how it must kill the proud bounty hunter to display such weakness. “We are in a city of evil surrounded by enemies on a mission that may literally have the fate of the world resting on it,” he told the changeling paladin. “This isn’t time for the bard’s tale version of the events.”
“I realized that I was being punished,” Ois said. “Before I was captured, I told Delegado that I would be with him no matter what the heads of my church said. I lost my faith. I was punished. When I found my faith again, in that dark place of pain, I vowed that should I get out, I would never allow my feelings for Delegado to interfere with my mission again. Once I made that vow, a gnoll sacrificed himself for me.”
Delegado got up and wiped his mouth on one sleeve. “A gnoll? In Droaam? This the same race that likes to eat intelligent races because they feel more fear?” His eyes were red, but his righteous anger was back. “That little ignition of yours approves of them?”
“He asked me about my faith, in the dark hours,” she said. “He recognized the evil of the way he was raised. He wanted to join the Silver Flame. He wanted repentance. He helped me get out, and he paid for it with his life. I stole the mithril armor that Shaidan wore. Tzaryan was keeping it as a trophy. Apparently he was more enraged about losing the trophy than losing me. He tried to hire Petran to find it for him, expecting me to flee east from his manor to Vralkek. Instead I fled north, to Dhavin’s Post. I changed to a half-orc, and my knowledge of the language and the customs that you described to me got me a job as a Tharashk day laborer until I could get to some Flame missionaries. Between the way I was saved my a gnoll, a member of a race that people regard as monsters, and the fact that it was the missionary arm of the church that helped me get back to Thrane, I changed orders.”
“Like they would have let you go that easily,” Delegado said. “I don’t believe you.”
“Tzaryan got some things out of me,” she said. “He knew I was a Silver Flame paladin, and that I was an agent of Thranish intelligence. He knew I was working against the Lords of Dust, and that I killed Shaidan because Shaidan was working for them. The ogre magus spread a description of the scar on my cheek far and wide after I escaped. My value as an intelligence officer was extremely limited after that. Shortly thereafter someone captured Xavier Dunnel.” Her face said that she knew exactly who that someone was. “That effectively ended Thrane’s intelligence capabilities in southern Khorvaire. They had to rebuild from the ground up, which couldn’t include using me. They aceded to my request to missionize in the Eldeen Reaches, figuring that it would make things difficult for Aundair. So between your failure to come back for me, and your other successful activities, you left me without any other purpose.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“You were too busy tending to your bounty to check otherwise,” she told him coldy. “Don’t you remember you yelling at me that I was putting my outside affiliations over our relationship? Looks like you put your House’s bounty ahead of our relationship, too.”
“That’s not the same thing!” Delegado snarled. “Tharashk is my family.”
“The Silver Flame is mine,” she responded.
“You came into the Wastes, however,” Orphan interjected. “Why?”
“A prophecy,” she said. “One that came in a dream, then in person. A halfling named Drorin who told me that my words were needed in the Festering Holt, and that on Saint Valtros’ Day I would deliver a terrible blow against a great stronghold of evil. He could tell me nothing else, and he told me nothing about you. My dreams of him continued even after he left, every night, until the day of The Ascension. Then the dreams cut off.”
“I thought you were dead,” he repeated. “I had no other reason to think otherwise. I never went back to Droaam because I couldn’t relive how I had lost you. Do you know what it felt like when I finally realized it was you, that you had been with us the whole time?”
“Do you know how much it hurt to see you?” she asked him. “A gnoll raised in Droaam gave his life for the Silver Flame, but you wouldn’t give it three seconds. Your temper nearly got you arrested and executed, because you can’t differentiate between a faith and some of its more ignorant followers.”
“Okay, you two are done,” Orphan said.
“You don’t know enough to tell me –” Delegado began.
Orphan glared at him. “Did you hear me? This mission is bigger than you two. The discussion is done.”
Delegado’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing, staring at Orphan with anger and pain.
“I can deal with this if he can,” she said. “Let’s continue.”
“Oh no,” Orphan said.
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“You’re going back up that ladder and over that wall,” Orphan said, handing her a potion. “That’s a potion of feather fall. We bought it because it was there, we basically cleared out everything in Greenheart, but it will get you back outside the wall safely. If you hurry, you can find Thomas before we leave the city.”
“Orphan, what are you doing?” Delegado asked.
“Delegado, you agreed that I was in charge of this mission, is your word worth anything or not?”
“You cannot dismiss me!” she said.
“I can’t trust you either,” he told her. “And I don’t work with people I can’t trust. Get back up that ladder. Now.”
She drew her longsword. “You had better watch –” she began to say, but then Orphan’s arms moved. He slapped the sword out of her hands, and it clanged on the flagstones.
“I said you’re leaving,” Orphan told her bluntly. “You try pulling a blade on me again and I won’t let you take it back. Now pick that up, sheathe it, and get back up that ladder.”
“Orphan,” Delegado said. “She’ll die. She’s not going to catch up with Thomas, he’s on horseback. She’ll get grabbed and she’ll die. I can’t let that happen. If you send her away, I’ll have to go with her, to protect her.” His eyes pleaded with the warforged.
“You don’t have a very good track record protecting me,” she told the half-orc. She carefully picked up her sword, then put it in her sheath. “And I am not leaving in any event. Will you kill me, Orphan? Or knock me out and leave me for the fiends to find? Would Sensei Visha approve of either?”
“Actually, yes I would,” Orphan said. “It would be a wonderful distraction.”
“Orphan!” Delegado said. “Have you lost your mechanical mind?”
“He’s bluffing,” Ois said. “He’s not very good at it, though.”
“I’m not sure that I am,” Orphan said. “Ask yourself if you are hurting or harming this mission. Ask yourself if throwing Delegado off with this emotional pain that you seem to enjoy causing him will help him track down what we need to find.”
“I’m fine!” the half-orc insisted.
“Ask yourself if you really want someone who can freely detect evil presences with you or not,” she retorted.
“I’d prefer someone I can trust,” he said.
“Orphan, let me speak to you privately,” Delegado said.
The warforged looked at Ois, then nodded. He walked across the street with the half-orc. Feather sat over them and gave one soft caw, commiserating with Delegado.
“I don’t want her,” Orphan whispered. “I don’t.”
“Because she caused me pain,” Delegado said softly. “That’s the only reason. Otherwise you really should have her with you.” Orphan tipped his head to one side, realizing that the half-orc was right. “Don’t fight my battles for me, Orphan. She hurt me. She’ll continue to hurt me. But it’s my problem. I can do the job. And we could use her.”
“This is a bad idea,” Orphan told him.
“I have worked with her before. It increases our chances of being successful. By a great margin.”
“She wouldn’t mind seeing you dead, and you want to work with her?” the warforged asked.
“She doesn’t want to see me dead,” Delegado said. “She wants to see me be sick with guilt – which I am. And you want to punish her for hurting me.”
Orphan said nothing. Finally he nodded.
“Don’t,” Delegado told the monk. “She’s been punished more than enough.”
“Fine,” the monk said. He turned and walked back to Ois. “You’re in, but let’s get something straight. I’m in charge here. If you deviate from my orders, then I will knock you out, fiends or no, Delegado’s guilty feelings or no. Is that clear?”
“Very,” she said. “There’s something flying this way, something evil. We should take cover.”
“Follow Delegado, his dragonmark is finding us the path,” Orphan said. “And you keep your little trap-finding wires out and your blade away unless we enter combat.”
She nodded, and Delegado clicked his tongue. Feather landed on Delegado’s shoulder, and they all headed into the guardhouse to get under cover.
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