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Sanjin turned the wand he had acquired from Gulnith over and over in his fingers yet again. The dragon disciple sorceress remained tied to a tree, knocked out yet again (Greygook was brokering no chances she could free herself, barely allowing her time to eat to keep her strength up).
The Bringers of Light, including Kivessin and their sorceress officer, Sionia, were off to the side, all sleeping (meditating, in Sionia’s case) near the fire along with the former Lancel coven prisoners, who mostly remained on the ship, only coming down for warmth during the cold nights. Feral remained apart, even sleeping on the ship, clearly unsure of herself in this mixed company without Khaska. She and Sionia had arrived three days ago, and Sanjin expected Rynn and the others to arrive yesterday, but they had not. With his lowlight vision, Sanjin could see even during this period of true night, but he hoped the others would soon join them. He didn’t like the idea of pushing on with his research into the voidgates and other things on his own. He especially didn’t like the idea that somehow they had been unable to escape from Darkcrest, victims to some unforeseen, possibly fatal, circumstance.
As sunset twilight came upon them, Sionia rose from her meditation and joined the wizard on watch.
“You are concerned for your friends?”
“I am. I would hope they would have been here by now. I fear the worst.”
“Your friends seem more than capable, and I know my Bringers can give a good accounting of themselves should it become necessary. I am sure they will be here soon.”
And she was right. About an hour after sunset twilight, Sanjin’s sharp eyes caught the distant figures of Rynn, Khaska, Orensland, and the two Bringers approaching from the west. They joined the others at the camp and reported back, finally able to tell their tale of what happened as they left Darkcrest. Everybody was very happy to hear that Lady Drakh had met her end, and the Bringers as a whole were very happy to hear of Khaska’s “epic” moment after finishing her off. Sionia used the sending stone to report the results back to Garth Calad, and received a positive reply back.
Then the conversation turned towards what should happen next.
“Lord Titanius has invited you to come to Garth Calad,” Sionia said. “He would like a more full accounting of the events, and I and my soldiers are to return to Darkcrest to continue our work in the city once things have died down. I hope Fynn is okay without our support.”
“I still feel that we should return the baroness’ armor to her hometown of Cyriest,” Khaska said. “I don’t know that it’s immediately pressing, but that’s possible.” He was also thinking of the quest to find the Storm Giant given him by the centaur seeress, but that could wait until everybody was situated.
“What is going to happen to us?” asked one of the former prisoners. “Will you just abandon us here on the Death Side?”
“There’s not enough room on the ship for all of us,” Greygook said. “We’re going to have to split up somehow. Though maybe I could shuttle groups back and forth to Ethir Port or somewhere, and we could take our leave of each other then. My ship is at your service.” He looked at Sanjin. “Mister Sanjin and I have had interesting conversations about the things you have discovered, but perhaps that’s a conversation for after we make sure everybody is taken care of.”
“We certainly have the money that we could outfit everybody at Ethir Port. Make sure folks have equipment and armor and passage home, wherever that is,” said Orensland. Even with just the one bag of holding they had kept, their available cash reserves were more than adequate.
“What do you wish, Feral?” asked Khaska.
The Maha’i woman demurred for a moment. “You have spoken of the lands where our people dwell,” she said. “I have interest in visiting them. Though, the invitation to visit Lord Titanius is also intriguing. The Bringers seem to be good people, helping those less fortunate than others.”
“It seems you all have a decision to make,” Sionia said. “My Bringers and I will return to Darkcrest. Most of the prisoners would like to head to Ethir Port and from thence to wherever they wish. What you do after that is a matter for you all to decide.”
The party then retreated off to the side to have their private conversation. Greygook joined them.
“If we just headed to the other voidgate,” Sanjin said, “the one near the Wastes on the living side, we could explore the entire system much more easily than using the one in the library of the former Maramos coven back in Darkcrest.”
“That’s my vote,” Greygook said.
“Honestly,” Rynn said, glancing over at Gulnith, “after we question her, I’m pretty sure I’ll want to head into the Zyrbryxion Marshes.”
“The Marshes! Are you crazy?” the gnome asked. He folded his arms. “Don’t expect me to fly you there. I ain’t suicidal. If you want to fly yourself there, you’d have to buy your own ship.”
Orensland piped up. “If you taught us how to fly yours, would you be willing to sell it?”
The gnome looked at him sideways. “Perhaps. Even if we go our separate ways, I expect to be well compensated for whatever profit we all get from the voidgates. That was our main motivation for studying them—to be renowned and receive all the benefits from being the discoverers of such an ancient and useful part of our moon’s history.”
“It seems we should at least have Greygook take the people we have rescued from Lady Drakh’s dungeons to Port Ethir. We can easily pay for their transport to a destination of their choosing with the money we have acquired,” said Khaska. “I am also keen to perhaps visit Mount Elduin. Eranaois said a seer there could help me know more of my future.”
“I bet all of us could benefit from that kind of insight,” Orensland said.
“That’s all well and good,” Rynn said, “but the voidgate system will still be there in the future. Baroness Moretti will still be dead. My wife and …” he choked up a little, “… child may be enslaved by the Cult of Skyrnyn in the Marshes right now.”
“There are indications there is a voidgate in the Marshes,” said Khaska. “Perhaps exploring the voidgate system could be an easier way to get into the Marshes than by walking or even flying.”
“Well,” Orensland said, “cracking his knuckles. I think we first need to ask some questions of our friend over there. Do we want to ask questions, or do we want our Bringer friends to ask the questions? Or do you want to take a walk, Khaska?”
The cleric didn’t like the implications of any of those questions. But it was true that finding out what Gulnith knew was of paramount importance to their next steps, whatever those may be.
“There must be some way to get information out of her that would not require me to ‘take a walk,’” he replied. “Surely we should explore those options first.”
“Tricking is good,” Rynn replied. “But she needs to pay for her crimes.”
“I have not forgotten that,” Khaska said, “but we seek justice, not vengeance.”
Rynn glanced at the cleric, but held his tongue.
Orensland snapped his fingers, looking over at Gulnith, unconscious and on the other side of the skyship and the campsite. “I have an idea. But I need to take first watch tonight.”
Orensland shadowdanced over to Gulnith a short time later, moving stealthily (even though all his allies were aware of the plan by now) to keep the ruse up. When he reached her, he moved behind her and began whispering.
“Gulnith. Gulnith!” It took a moment … they had not let her wounds heal and she had not eaten much for several days, but eventually she woke up.
“It’s me. Orensland. Look, I’m sorry about what happened back in Darkcrest. My friends turned on Narvoth for their own reasons, and I got caught up in the middle. I’ve managed to keep you alive so far but now that we’re all back together outside of Darkcrest, I don’t know that I can stave off the Bringers anymore, and they want to execute you. You know how their kind is.” He took a deep breath. “I can get you out of here, and we can run, but I of course don’t want to be killed or enslaved by the Cult when we reach some kind of safety, presumably in the Marshes, for not having died defending Narvoth and Rickas. The way I see it, you have two options here. Trust me, or hope the Bringers don’t smash your skull in. I hope you pick the former, because I still want to help the cause, but I’d rather not be flayed alive either. Squeeze my hand if you want to escape tonight and will help me not get killed by the Cult. I’m to take first watch.”
She squeezed his hand.
So be it.
A few hours later everybody else was “asleep” and Orensland shadowdanced over to Gulnith, cutting her bonds with a swift slash of his dagger. This was the most dangerous part … if she wanted to try to take on the camp (a risky proposition, but all her propositions at this point were risky) this would be the moment. Orensland tensed, his hand at his longsword, ready to draw it, but she merely rubbed her wrists to restore circulation and then nodded away. They crept quietly away from the camp.
After she ate some of his rations hungrily and after an hour of swinging her arms to get them back to their proper usage from being tied up for days, he felt they were making good time. Still, he wait until they were well away from the camp and had journeyed for several hours in silence before he spoke up.
They had been traveling, walking at quite a quick pace for some time, before Orensland felt he could begin a conversation with her. He thought it best to start with something innocuous, as well as flattering. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but should I refer to you as Supreme Wyrmhead now?”
“That remains to be seen. Certainly my survival of the assasination attempt on Wyrmhead Rickas and Hierophant Narvoth will be seen as a positive by our membership. I suspect I can push off any rival challengers.” She glanced over at him. “If I ascent to Supreme Wyrmhead, rest assured you'll be rewarded handsomely. How would you feel about being my personal bodyguard?”
“I cannot express how honored I would be. I admit I feared the membership would reduce me to the status of a slave for my past actions— though happy to serve, it would be a minuscule contribution of my more unique talents. To be a bodyguard of such a high-ranking official is more than I dared dream.”
“Your skills are uniquely suited for many things that would be of use. And you played your hand well when your compatriots turned on us, biding your time to save at least me.”
“I will serve to the best of my ability. I am curious of one thing, if I may ask— I have a friend from before my time serving Lord and Lady Maramos who claims her sister joined a pilgrimage with the Peaceful Children who was with child. I am curious if it would be possible to find her (or her child) among the slaves at the citadel.”
“How long ago was this pilgrimmage?”
Orensland had no idea when the pilgrimages would have first started. So he decided to play it safe. “About a year ago.”
“Then I'm sad to say they are probably dead. The Peaceful children were a front for the cult to gain more slaves, but they betrayed us. We obliterated the last pilgrimage as well as all of the high rnaking members of the Children, who were actually priests of Nerull.”
The shadowdancer thought back to the site they had found in the Martumal forest, nearly a year ago. Complete devastation, and a grave insult to the god of death himself. The cult had been responsible for that? Wow. But, his playing it safe wouldn’t actually get him information on Rynn’s family and the fate of the other slaves that actually made it back to the Citadel. “If there’s a chance they made it to the Citadel prior to the Cult’s attack on the Children could they still be alive? I wasn’t given an exact timeline, I’m afraid.”
“If they weren't in the last pilgrimmage, then yes, they are at the Citadel, which is where we are heading.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You won't be able to tell this friend about his family, you know. Once we get to the Citadel, I intend to stay there until the Dedication, which is years from now.”
“I knew that would probably be the case— it’s merely a curiosity I’ve considered since learning of the prior relation between the Cult and Children. Will our time at the Citadel be a preparation for this ‘Dedication,’ then? May I ask what that entails? I admit I was curious during our meeting with the Maramos household, but the subsequent events prevented me from asking you in private about it.”
“The Dedication is something we only discuss at the Citadel itself. If you recall the conversation with Lord and Lady Maramos, we didn't even tell them. All you need know now is that we have plans to survive the onslaught from Arkenos during the Dark Times. First things first.”
“Even this close to the marshes? Forgive my candor, but is it so sensitive a topic it cannot be uttered in a remote wilderness next to the Citadel as we are in?”
“The decision was not made by me, and I don't intend to be killed for disobeying.” That was interesting. It implied that, even if she was Supreme Wyrhmead, or about to be, there were still things that could be done to get one killed. She wasn’t shedding too many tears of Narvoth and Rickas, after all. Was there someone higher than the Wyrhmead? Or a council or something? Perhaps now wasn’t the time to push for more details on this point.
“Once we get to the Citadel, then we can discuss it.”
“Wise words, I understand.”
“Will we have to walk through the marshes to get to the Citadel? I’ve been told such actions can be quite dangerous.”
She smiled, her teeth showing, each of them now more pointy than the average human tooth. “The Marshes are dangerous because of our forces. They patrol the edges of them quite thorougly. If we can get there, we'll be safe.” She glanced behind. “We'll have to hide well from that skyship if they pursue us.”
“I see. So the rumors of danger are true, just not danger of wild beasts.” He also glanced back, knowing that he would see nothing. Rynn said they would hold back, lest they scare her into panicking. She was weak after several days of being tied up and eating very little. Orensland was on his own, but he was also not very worried, her spellcasting aside.
“I’ll keep an eye out, ma’am, both for them and for potential hiding places if they come. But I took the first watch. It’s likely we won’t be noticed for the entire night, since our pattern had been for the first watch to wake up the second.” He swung the conversation back to the Marshes. “I’m glad to know that we won’t be fighting off wild beasts for hundreds of miles of swamp.”
“The degree to which everybody on our moon is scared of the Marshes is a testament to our forces and how efficient they are at blocking people from going in and out. In fact, so few even try it these past few years I almost wonder if we should draw down our forces patrolling the edges. There are other uses to which they could be put.”
“That is quite a large area to cover. Is the Citadel quite populated, then? How many kinds of people might we find there?”
“The Cult has all kinds of races, any who wish to worship Tiamat or the dragons in general. We also have a sizeable drow army, but they worship Lloth, as is their custom.”
“That would explain Narvoth’s displeasure over their presence, I suppose. How many slaves are there at the Citadel, then? Are they primarily used for construction labor?”
“Yes. The surrounding area has been built as a nightmare of traps and defenses. Any attack by the devils of Arkenos would be not worth it.”
Orensland thought through the implications. Surely the forces of Arkenos would have skyships or flying beasts … or else how would they get here? He thought to ask about this. “Including strikes from the air?”
At this, she smirked. “You don't need to be concerned with our air defenses, but the slaves to not contribute to those.” She was being cagey, but gave off an absolute air of confidence. Perhaps this was a way to inquire about other live dragons. “The only creatures I can think that would evoke that degree of confidence are dragons. Come to think of it, are you not worried the Knights might find out about your base in the marshes and seek to end your enslavement of so many?”
“The Knights abandoned the Deadlands almost a century ago in their attempt to prepare for the Dark Times. Our operation in the most inhospitable place on our moon as far from civilization as possible remains outside their purview. We’ve built up our forces and defences slowly over time, so as not to draw attention. You’d be surprised how much one can accomplish bit by bit, but over decades.”
“Fair enough. But that leads me back to my question … are you not worried about air defenses? We worship dragons, but surely you don’t have free dragons defending the Citadel?”
This time, she did not reply.
Orensland decided to push forward. He tried to look startled, perhaps even hopeful. “You don’t mean to insinuate… there are such things as free dragons?”
She was still smirking, but changed the subject. “We had best keep moving. Our best chance is to get a good distance away this first night before they realize your ruse.”
“I look forward to perhaps meeting one in person one day. But yes, we should continue.”
He hadn’t discussed this next portion with his friends, but he thought it worth the risk—to ask about the potential metallic dragons they had encountered. “I’ve actually suspected such dragons may yet exist. I’ve encountered two individuals that struck me as… oddly powerful. I’ve kept my suspicions to myself, but in thinking about it, they would have been metallic dragons. If they were such, would they serve as a threat to the Citadel?”
Gulnith immediately snapped to attention, reached for the shadowdancer and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close. “What?! Who?! Tell me! When was this?!?"
Her reaction genuinely startled him, and he spoke with a bit of a stutter. “W-well… the first was a gnome near Hammerdine about a year and a half ago. I was working a job with him. Why? Are my suspicions true?”
“What was his name?”
“I admit I do not recall, though I suspected he may have been a silver dragon. Again, ma’am, I must ask— is it true?”
She released him, pausing for a long while before finally replying. “It may be.”
“Ma’am, what does this mean? If it were true, would that be a danger to the Citadel?”
“Little enough danger to us, but still something we would wish to eliminate. You mentioned several people you thought might be metallic dragons. Who are the others?”
“One other. A dwarf we met at Fort Windhaven. Sanjin, the wizard, was the one who primarily interacted with him and voiced suspicions to me that he was a bronze dragon. An apothecary, Sanjin would remember the name.”
“Ma’am, you were right in that we must make haste. We do not know when they will begin pursuing us.”
She began to walk faster, but still kept the conversation going. “Were there any others?”
“Not that I knew of. What will you do with my suspicions?”
“When we get to the Citadel, we’ll begin investigations. If we can find these Metallics, we will eradicate them in the name of Tiamat.”
“In the name of Tiamat.” Then he reached down and grabbed his sap, smacking her over the back of the head with it in a sudden strike. She went down in a heap quickly, still very wounded from the last few days.
“That went better than expected,” he said. Then he moved to tie her up and gag her for their wait for the others to follow in a few hours.
He didn’t need to wait long. A little less than an hour later Rynn and Ranna pushed through the nearby grass. About half an hour later the skyship appeared, slowly drifting over the hills they were on.
Orensland reported on what she had said (though omitted the portions about the metallic dragons, wanting to have that discussion privately with the others in the party) and then asked what they should do. There was a long pause.
“I think she told me quite a bit,” he continued. “But if the Bringers can get some more out of her, I say go for it.”
Khaska looked worried, but didn’t respond. Rynn shrugged, and went to sit down near Gulnith.
“Well,” Sionia said, “let’s wake her up and get to questioning her.” She motioned to one of the clerics, who reached out a hand to heal her just barely. The divine magic flowed into the sorceress and Gulnith’s eyes fluttered for a moment, then snapped open and found Orensland. He could practically hear her teeth grating, even through the gag, and her hands opened and clenched impotently.
“We have questions for you,” Sionia said. “I’ll be asking for more specifics than our roguish friend over there.” She brandished a torch and a dagger. “And we’re not going to be as nice about it.”
Some time later, Sionia came over to where the party had made camp, though Rynn had remained over with Gulnith and the Bringers. “We’ve received some more specific intel on how they work the slave trade here in the Deadlands, but I think she’s told us all we’re going to get form her without a more exhaustive interrovation that we don’t have the time for. With your permission, I think it’s time to kill her now, and we can all go our separate ways.”
Khaska stood and beckoned the others. “Come, it is time to see her evil ended.”
As they approached, Gulnith glared at them. Rynn stood to join the others. The Bringer’s fighter stood with sword to Gulnith’s neck. Her gag was gone so she could speak, and her face showed signs of bruises newly forming. A smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and her feet were exposed and blackened.
“I’m glad to see you’ll get what you deserve after all these years,” Rynn said to her. She looked at him. Puzzled. Rynn nodded. “I thought so.” He turned to the others. “She doesn’t even recognize us from Laishtek.” He walked closer and knelt in front of her. “You helped corrupt one of our friends in Laishtek, and in your escape killed yet another friend.”
Her eyes widened at that and she glanced around. “Amara’s friends.” She frowned. “Where’s the monk?”
“Her path has led her away from ours,” Khaska said. “We parted ways with her, though we have our new wizard friend here to aid us.”
“So what is Amara up to these days?” Orensland said. “We have a score to settle with her, too.”
“Serving the cause,” Gulnith said. Then she laughed “You may have inadvertently helped your friend by killing all of us. It remains to be seen who is ruthless enough to rise to Supreme Wyrmhead. Pity she didn’t join us on the trip to Darkcrest. We would have snuffed you out before you even had a chance to try anything.”
“Evil will, in the end, always, turn on itself as it did in Darkcrest. We merely took the opportunity to affect the outcome,” Khaska intoned.
“You have history with this woman?” Sionia asked. “Then perhaps one of you should be the one to finish her. Perhaps you, Rynn, because of the loss of this friend of yours.”
“Her name was Fan,” the ranger said. “And I’d rather not be the one to do this.” He thought back to his moment of anger with Adam. His hand grabbed the hilt of the orcish dagger, not wanting to do that same kind of action. Reckless. Impulsive.
He felt Khaska’s hand on his, atop the dagger. “I do not think this situation is the same as the one you are thinking of. Adam goaded you into action, taunting you. There were, perhaps then, options with the authorities in Hammerdine. But we are here in the deadlands, away from such structures and societal niecities. This woman has committed murder. Slavery. Theft. Has consorted with evil doers and seeks to harm the very moon we walk on with the organization she seeks to lead. If you decide to kill her here, that will be a very different decision.”
“It’s your choice,” Sionia said. “But she’ll be dead shortly whether at your hands or ours.”
Rynn thought for a moment, and then reached into his haversack to draw out his bow. His bow. The one he had spent months crafting. He didn’t take out bonestrike. He didn’t grab one of the other enchanted bows bestowed on him by the vampires. It was his personal bow.
He took a few steps back and nocked an arrow. “Anybody have any last words for our friend here. Or do you have any last words?”
“I hope you keep going after the Cult,” she said. “That’s not going to end well for you.”
“The day comes ever sooner that your name will be forgotten,” Khaska said. “And all that will live on is the memory of your sins.”
Orensland just gave a jaunty wave.
Then Rynn drew the bow back, sighted along the arrow, and loosed it. It hit her heart with a wet thud, and she slumped over, dead.
Khaska hoped, wherever her soul had gone to its rest, that Fan felt some measure of justice. He would have to remember to write to her family, especially to her brother, Orthan.
“Well done,” Sionia said. “You’re sure you won’t come with us to Garth Calad? You would be welcome.”
“No thank you,” Khaska said. “With Greygook, we have other business to attend to on the living side. But we wish you well. If you are returning to Darkcrest, may I suggest you keep an eye on the Maramos’ household. I feel there are secrets there that may be worth watching, even if the vampires themselves are now dead.”
“We’ll keep an eye on everything,” she said, “but thanks for the advice.”
The party loaded up onto the Glittersail skyship, and watched as the Bringers burned Gulnith’s body (to help hinder possible resurrection) until the flames vanished into the distance.
“To Mount Elduin,” Greygook said, “I believe, and then I’ll take these poor folks to Ethir Port, right?” He pointed to the prisoners.
“Indeed,” Khaska said. The possibility of contronting this stone giant seer troubled him. Should one know about one’s future? Perhaps not. But perhaps being armed with foreknowledge could also help prevent future tragedies. “To Mount Elduin.”
“But,” Greygook said, “tomorrow. I want us all to get a good night’s rest before we begin flying on a more permanent basis with you all untried sailors.”
“Fair enough,” said Sanjin.
Unfortunately the next morning found them all not that rested. Khaska felt like his head would split from a raging headache, Greygook complained of nightmares of his dead brothers having kept him from sleeping well, and even the elves, Sanjin and Orensland, had found their meditations less than invigorating. Rynn stayed in the bottom of the ship, half wanting a drink to help him sleep better. He didn’t even get up to eat breakfast with the others, a series of cold rations and hardtack. Hardly appetizing.
“Maybe we should take another day. Ugh,” Greygook said. “I mean, we are on the Death Side. It’s not hard to sail at night, since half of the night is actually with sunlight.”
“I will defer to your expertise in the realm of flying and preparartions for flying,” Khaska said, “but I don’t know that staying here for long is wise, either.”
“Ho, the ship!” came a voice. Everybody turned to look.
An elf was approaching the ship, which was hovering about thirty feet off of the ground, tied off to a tree. He had on leather armor that had seen better days, dirty and ragged, but still functional. He had a longbow slung over his shoulder, the same way that Rynn carried his, and a quiver on his back. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but it was clearly in need of a good wash.
“A bit surprised to see a skyship parked here in the middle of nowhere,” he said, still approaching. “You folks lost? I might be able to help. I’ve lived in the Deadlands for many decades. Could maybe point you towards Hub or Darkcrest or Port Ethir, if you want. I wouldn’t sail east or south, if I were you. You’ll head straight into the marshes and I don’t know that would be such a good idea.”
“What’s your name, friend?” Greygook asked, his hand resting on a crossbow just below the deck line.
With that, Rynn stood up and looked over the side. Arandur’s face brightened. “Rynn! By Ehlonna it’s good to see you!”
Rynn was overjoyed to see Arandur, but slightly saddened to see a deep new burn scar across his right cheek. The master ranger had come to some violence in the intervening years since they parted.
Khaska turned to Greygook to explain who Arandur was as Rynn came down the rope ladder to the ground, carrying Ranna with him. Ranna approached cautiously, but warmed right up to the fellow ranger. Rynn and Arandur embraced.
“How have you fared?” Rynn asked. “I’m sorry to see that new scar,”
“Oh,” Arandur said. “Had a run-in with a pair of ogres on the southern plains. Apparently they didn’t take too kindly to my hunting in their territory. One of them grabbed a log from my fire and smashed me over the face with it in our fight. But at least that one won’t bother anybody anymore. The other fled, and I didn’t feel much like shooting it in the back. But you look well! What brings you back to the Deadlands? What have you been doing since we last parted?”
Khaska cleared his throat, having descended from the ship with the others of the party. Feral, the other freed prisoners, and Greygook stayed up on the ship.
“I should introduce my friends,” Rynn said. He made introductions, and the others were happy to meet their friend’s mentor.
“It is an honor to meet the elf that has shaped my friend’s life so significantly,” Khaska said, giving a slight bow.
Arandur looked at him intently. “A Maha’i. We don’t get many of them here on the Death Side. What brings you to this part of our little moon so far from your homeland?”
“Actually, I seek to help Rynn. He is a good friend, who has helped me in my quests. I desire to return the favor.”
“Quests?” Arandur looked at Rynn. “You’ll have to tell me all about your adventures.”
They sat down by the firepit left by the Bringers and Khaska quickly started a fire with some remaining sticks and branches from one of the nearby groves of trees. Rynn told a shortened version of the adventures they have had. Arandur let him finish, but seemed interested in their adventures near Twilight.
“So you say that you went there to seek an artifact for Khaska here?”
Khaska nodded, and felt like he could respond, though in similarly vague terms. “We had received a tip that a Maha’i artifact had been kept in a monastery near there. When we arrived we discovered that the artifact was actually contributing to the violence and disorder in the area, and we felt obligated to put a stop to it.” He demurred, not wanting to reveal too much. “I beg your forgiveness, I don’t wish to speak too much of sacred things.”
“Well, I hope this artifact has been destroyed or locked away somewhere, so it can’t do any more harm.”
“We have taken care of it temporarily,” Khaska replied, “and currently seek a permanent solution, to cleanse the artifact of demonic influence. I'm afraid I cannot share specifics, but if you would know anything about such matters, I would like to hear any advice you would have.”
“I don't have much expertise in that sort of thing. I think I'd have to see or inspect it to be of further assistance, I'm afraid.”
Khaska thought for a moment, looked at Rynn, then back at Arandur. “Well, I trust my friend, and I trust you, if you swear not to speak of this with people outside of present company.”
“You have my word.”
But then just as Khaska was about to reach for the haversack that sat at his side, Orensland hissed a warning and stood up, drawing his sword.
Everybody turned to follow his gaze to see a human approaching. The man was tall and well-muscled, wearing mithral plate armor. His face was scarred from past battles and his long brown hair hung behind him in a braid. He was holding a pike, and at his side were a Warhammer and an axe, but he held the pike loosely, his other hand up in a non-threatening manner. He stepped forward slowly until he was about twenty feet from the campfire and then he knelt, bowing his head briefly before looking directly at Khaska and speaking to the cleric.
“I saw you slay Lady Drakh in Darkcrest, and I know who you are. I have sought you out to entwine myself with your legend. But first, I desire to speak with you on a matter of great urgency. Privately.”
Khaska looked at this newcomer, analyzing this strange situation. The man was sincere, that he could tell, but he also seemed very worried. And he was focused on Khaska specifically, his eyes pleading.
“I beg your forgiveness, Rynn and Arandur,” the cleric said, cautiously, eyes never leaving this newcomer. “I will speak to this man as he requests.”
Khaska stood, grabbing his haversack and moving towards this human, who stood, but continued to hold his large weapon in a way that would be difficult to attack from.
“My name is Hajir al-Shams,” he whispered, “and I have come to warn you. The elf by the fire, with the bow, is not an elf. The being that brought me here has given me a blessing. For one hour I can ‘see things as they really are.’ And that elf is really a disgusting old woman. What’s more, there are two others in the camp, one on the ship, and another on the ground between the ship and the fire. You are in danger!”
Khaska’s blood ran chill. “Are they watching us now?” Khaska replied, also in a whisper.
The stranger smiled. “I think everybody is watching us.” He grew serious again. “I dare not look directly at them for fear of revealing that I can see them, but the other one on the ground is approaching.”
Khaska’s mind ran through what it might be, and he remembered legends and stories from his training of hags, evil fey creatures corrupted by their own greed and sadism. Mostly solitary, but on occasion working in a coven—always a trio. Night hags could change their forms. He felt the hair on his arms raise in horror.
“Come walk with me,” he said, moving away. Hajir followed, moving sideways with Khaska.
“She stopped moving,” this human said. “She remains closer to the camp than to us.”
Hag covens were extra powerful, but only if they remaind within thirty feet of each other. This man was speaking truth. And Khaska had been about to hand Kvanir over to one of them! The thought made him sick. “Thank you sincerely for the warning. You are describing something with which I have some familiarity, but no experience as yet. Will you accompany me back to the camp, and, if what you say is true, help us to repel these intruders?”
“I will gladly pledge my weapons to you and your allies, Tawru.” Khaska started at being called by that name. This human must have seen him slay Lady Drakh, as he had claimed. But how would he know Tawru’s legend? And how did he find them, a week’s travel from Darkcrest? He had not expected to be personally connected with the stunt back in the vampire city so soon! But, if there were night hags about, those questions would have to wait.
“I will signal my rogue friend to go to the ship. You prepare to attack the one on the ground. I will attack the one posing as my friend’s mentor. When I have you introduce yourself, that is the signal to attack.” He turned to the others … and noticed Orensland was gone.
A new whisper. “Sounds like a good plan to me, but give me a chance to get back into position.” Khaska smiled. Of course the shadowdancer had ghosted over here to listen in on their conversation.
Hajir smiled. “I wondered if you would reveal yourself.”
“You can see me?!?” Orensland sounded offended, even in his whispers.
“Probably only for the next half an hour, until the blessing wears off. You look like the two women, partially visible, to me right now. The one on the ship is at the back, closest to the fire.”
“Alright. Let me get back.”
As they were walking back, Orensland reappeared just behind Arandur, sheathing his sword.
“Orensland!” Khaska called out. “We have a new friend who has followed us from Darkcrest. Go to the ship and find him some breakfast rations.”
Orensland nodded and moved over to the ship where he clambered up the rope ladder. Khaska waited until he had been on the ship for a few seconds, then turned to the group. “This man has followed us from Darkcrest, where he saw me slay Lady Drakh. He has pledged himself to our service.” He held his hand up and indicated for the man to introduce himself.
“My name is Aestus Fellblade,” he said, and then drew his hammer and axe, whispering a command word and causing the axe to erupt in flame, sprinting over to what appeared to Khaska to be thin air and began attacking.
“It’s not working!” he shouted. From Aestus' point of view, his weapons passed right through the creature.
Orensland similarly whipped his sword through the air, hoping it would connect and that this other hag would not have moved. Nothing. Rynn and Sanjin looked startled at the unfolding situation.
“Well of course you can’t attack beings on the ethereal plane!” Arandur said, standing up. That was enough for Khaska … the ruse of these witches was over. So the cleric gave the Arandur clone a faceful of Scorching Ray bolts. Rynn cried out, but stopped as Arandur shrieked an unearthly scream, the sound mutating from something an elf might have made to a high pitched cackle. When the flames finished bathing Arandur, there was another person standing there, a bent over old woman, one eye missing, blood and pus dripping down her face from the gaping socket, her other eye seemingly drifting of its own accord. Her skin hung in tatters, as if she had once been obese but was now rail-thin. Her mouth opened up as she laughed, and it appeared that each of her rotted teeth was capped by a different kind of metal spike. Rynn looked horrified and Sanjin stumbled backwards. Ranna began barking furiously.
She looked over at Aestus.
“I don’t know how you can see us, but the Blight Wives will consume you all! Find the sword!”
From Aestus’ point of view the other two became solid to his eyes, and he saw that everybody else could now see them. Orensland visibly recoiled from the stringy-haired one on the deck of the ship, her long fingernails now leaving marks along the side of the ship. The Maha’i woman screamed and the gnome grabbed his crossbow. The one in front of Aestus was a sight, blotchy yellow warts on purple skin, jaw jutting out from her face like a dog’s snout, and maggots writhing where her hair should be.
“We should focus our attacks on one,” Khaska yelled out. “If they are separated or if one dies, their magic is weakened.”
Aestus was unimpressed by the abomination standing before him. He pointed his flaming axe at her. “You’ll regret the day you met the Fellblade and Tawru One-Horn!” he cried out as he moved back in to attack her.
The entire camp exploded into action.
The abomination that had been Arandur cackled and began to chant, her eyes turning an inky black. She said something in a language nobody recognized, its very harshness assaulting their ears as she waved dismissively at Khaska, who instantly fell over, asleep. The one on the ground pointed up at Orensland, laughing a spell at him, and the shadowdancer felt the magic take hold as he shrunk down, becoming a rat, leaving Greygook, Feral, and the rest of the House Lancel prisoners relatively defenseless. Greygook fired a crossbow, shot, and it went wide …
But it was Feral who screamed and then traced an arcane symbol in the air nearly in panic mode, her horns suddenly glowing white before firing a blast of magic at the hag on the ship. The magic slammed into her, not only burning the hag’s skin, but physically knocking her off the ship. She pinwheeled into the ground where she hit with a thud. She immediately got up and cast a spell at Aestus. He felt the magic take hold, but then steeled his mind against it. It dissipated and he rushed over to the hag that had attacked Tawru, smashing the fiend with his battleaxe and his warhammer in a flurry of blows that left her bloodied and haggard. Sanjin also hit her with a spell, and was certain they had severely wounded her, as he watched her good eye return to its “normal” yellow tinged color and the inky void that had taken over her blank socket also dissipated. She seemed to agree that the situation wasn’t going well, suddenly phasing out.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Aestus spat in her general direction. “Coward!” He pointed at the one that had fallen from the ship. “Onward!”
Greygook took the signal and fired his crossbow at her, and Feral also moved to the edge of the ship and launched another arcane blast from her glowing horns. This time, with everybody focused on that hag, they noticed that the Maha’i woman was using arcane magic! That hag took a few steps to the side, lining up Rynn and Sanjin and blasting them with a Lightning Bolt spell. Rynn dodged nimbly out of the way, but Sanjin took the full force of the blast. Angered at the ruse of these creatures, Rynn finally let loose with a pair of arrows. His ranger magic coursed through the first, causing the ground around the stringy-haired hag to erupt with choking vines and thistles. But even bound as she was, she targeted Aestus, who shrank into a rat as her Polymorph spell took hold.
Khaska, now awake, got up and with a prayer to Teresh launched more bolts of Scorching Ray at this hag, the fire washing over her, injuring her quite well, even if not as effective as he would have hoped.
“If you kill the rat forms of Orensland and that new guy,” Sanjin was yelling, “it will turn them back to their natural form. It won’t hurt them. Just do it!”
“None of that! Don’t spoil the surprises!” sniggered the one with maggots on her hair. She cast a spell targeting the wizard, but he just shrugged it off.
Greygook ran over to part of the deck and ducked beneath the side. A moment later Orensland popped back up, fully himself. He took stock of the situation just as Feral launched a third bolt at the stringy-haired one on the ground.
“Feral! You’ve been holding back on us!” the shadowdancer yelled. “Now get out of here. The sword’s on the ship. We’ll take care of them on the ground! You need to run!” He hoped his ruse would help distract these witches.
Khaska was completely dumbfounded seeing the Maha’i woman using arcane magic. He had tested her! He thought so, anyway. What other secrets was she hiding?
Despite being trapped by the vines, vines that were now digging and scraping against her skin, the stringy-haired hag also targeted Sanjin again, but this time he recognized the spell and managed to dodge part of the Lightning Bolt.
Khaska shook his head. Answers about Feral would have to wait. Following Sanjin’s instructions he ran over and stomped on the rat that used to be Aestus, crushing it.
The human snapped back into existence from the small rat form. “Thank you, Master Tawru,” he said. Then turned to see that Orensland was engaged with the stringy-haired hag. Screaming a battle cry, Aestus moved into position, his flaming axe and warhammer blurring. Suddenly flanked by two expert melee fighters, the hag was hard pressed defensively. Aestus smashed her once, twice with his axe, then was about to try to trip her but the second blow proved to be too much. She began to collapse, and Aestus helped her down by smashing his warhammer into her skull and crushing it to the ground. The vines began to wrap more tightly around her corpse. She was gone. Not even giving her a second thought, Aestus whirled to assess the situation, just in time to see the Arandur clone hag reappear near Master Tawru.
“Behind you!” he called. The maggot-haired hag ran at Khaska, slashing at him, but now aware of the flanking maneuver, the cleric managed to shrug off the blows. He did notice, however, that they both seemed to be targeting his backpack, not him. Rynn landed two arrows in the Arandur imitating hag, while Khaska lanced into her with more Scorching Ray bolts. Orensland and Aestus ran towards the maggot-head one and began attacking ferociously.
The Arandur one yelled something in that same harsh language, and a moment later the two of them phased out.
“I can still see them,” Aestus said. “They’re moving off.”
Sanjin cast a spell on himself, his eyes flaring yellow for a moment. “I can see them too.” He and Aestus locked eyes for a second, then turned to watch the seeming thin air near the firepit. After a moment, everybody else saw Sanjin relax. “They’ve teleported away. I suggest we get out of here before they come back. It’ll be hard for them to track us, even on the Ethereal plane.”
The vines from Rynn’s magic were slowly crushing the body of the dead hag, as if she was being returned to the earth. Orensland moved over to her to try to find anything of value.
“Even from an abomination like that?” Khaska asked.
“Always.” Orensland said. He managed to find a black gemstone, but that was it. By the time he was done searching, everybody else was on the ship. He grabbed the rope ladder and began clambering up. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Needing a good night’s rest be damned,” Greygook said. “Let’s get out of here! What were those things?”
“Night hags,” Khaska said. “They would be the reason why we didn’t rest well. They can look into the dreams and memories of people and affect them, making it hard to get proper rest.” The skyship was rising quickly and sailing off to the west.
“Will they be back?” Orensland asked. “It seemed they were after a sword. Kvanir?”
Khaska nodded. “It stands to reason they would be interested in such a blade. Hags try to corrupt people and turn them to evil. A cursed weapon like Kvanir would be a great find in such endeavors.” He turned to Aestus. “We have you to thank for alerting us to their presence. I fear what would have happened had you not arrived when you did.”
“And how could you see them?” Rynn asked.
“And me!” Orensland still seemed miffed.
Aestus laughed at Orensland. “The being that brought me to you and Master Tawru gave me a blessing that would allow me to ‘see things as they really are,’ but just for an hour,” Aestus said. “I imagine your invisibility trick would normally work on me, Master rogue.”
“Orensland,” the elf stuck his hand out. “You’re really good at fighting.”
“It was an honor to do battle with Tawru and his allies. You fought well, Orensland.” The two grabbed hands and shook hard. “You all fought well. I can see why Master Tawru has selected you for his party.”
“Truesight,” Sanjin said. “You had that spell cast on you. I have that spell as well. I’ll be able to see magic disguises, invisible creatures, hags in the ethereal plane, things like that, for about another hour or so.” He looked at Aestus. “I imagine yours will wear off first. I’m Sanjin by the way.”
“Rynn Fowler,” the ranger also shook Aestus’ hand. “You said there was a being that brought you here?” Rynn asked. “Can we ask who that was?”
“I do not know what she was,” Aestus said. “But she spoke in my head and could take the form of both a horse to travel on and then an elf maiden as I left her company. She said her name was Alarya.”
“You’ve met Alarya!” Feral blurted out.
Everybody on the ship turned to her. In the excitement and rush of leaving, Khaska had nearly forgotten that she had participated in the combat.
“You know of this Alarya?” he asked.
She looked down, resuming her traditional shy pose. But then she straightened and looked the cleric right in the eye. “She is my patron.”
“Patron?” Sanjin said. “Ah! So you were casting Eldritch Blast! Nice! So you’re a warlock!”
“A warlock!” Khaska was astonished and worried.
“A rare kind of spellcaster,” Sanjin said, “but they do exist. They get their power directly from a powerful patron. Not like us wizards, who manipulate magic, or sorcerers, who are born with it. Their magic is borrowed. Sometimes comes with a price.”
“A price! Feral, what have you done?” Khaska was growing more worried by the moment! Had he failed so utterly in teaching Feral of the ways of their people. This seemed very un-Maha’i!
“Her patron brought me to you and saved us from the hags,” Aestus said. “Are all patrons evil, Master Sanjin?”
“No. Do you know what kind of being Alarya is?”
“She is a unicorn,” Feral replied. “And no, she is not evil. She allows me to do things like this.” And then she reached out to point at Sanjin. Her horns began to glow once again, and divine magic slowly flowed from them to wrap around the injured wizard. Some of his burns lightened and disappeared as she healed him.
“And her name isn’t Feral,” Aestus said, "it’s Farah.” He moved forward, holding his hands out to her. “I thought you dead like your parents. It is good to see you again! What has it been, a decade?!”
Her eyes widened. “Hajir!” She moved to embrace him in a big hug.
Orensland looked at this new human, to Farah, then back to Aestus. “I thought your name was Aestus?” The shadowdancer was skeptical. I mean, they had just fought off “Arandur.” Would this man prove to be a threat in the future as well? Despite his wicked-awesome fighting skills. (Orensland had loved fighting with another in melee combat. That hag hadn’t stood a chance!)
“When I was sold to the House of Araric, I was trained as a gladiator by Farah’s father, Spikes,” Aestus had his arm around the Maha’i woman. “Labiba named me Hajir Al-Shams, which means ‘heat of the sun,’ but my vampire masters thought the language unseemly, and renamed be in Draconic. I go by Aestus, draconic for ‘fire’ and use Fellblade as my surname. That was from my orc owner before I was sold into Darkcrest. I go by ‘Aestus,’ except to my close friends, so I would prefer you use that. I was known as ‘the Fellblade’ in the gladiator arena.”
“Fair enough,” said Sanjin. “Thanks for your help. I shudder to think what would have happened had you not arrived and warned us.”
“Well,” Greygook interrupted, “if it’s all the same to you, let’s take off. These conversations can wait for later! Help me draw up the anchor!”
After a few hours of sailing, the party relaxed a bit. Sanjin assured them that the hags could not easily follow them, though Khaska was quite certain they hadn’t seen the last of them. They would probably not give up on finding Kvanir just because of this one setback. The party would have to be on guard.
Everybody seemed wary of this newcomer, who spent most of the time talking with Farah, catching up. Eventually the cleric thought of a way they could reassure themselves concerning Aestus, and he privately proposed casting Zone of Truth tomorrow so they could speak with assurances he was telling the truth.
“I have been telling you the truth. I could just give you my word while in the Zone that I have done so. Should be enough.”
“That seems a reasonable compromise,” said Khaska. “And would save us some time.”
“I would ask you take the same oath as well,” Aestus replied.
“That also seems fair.”
Khaska and Aestus spoke for several hours, sharing stories and knowledge, the cleric gaging the Maha’i knowledge of this human gladiator. Aestus knew some, but it had been many years. His knowledge of the legend of Tawru was largely based on the Gtarrei version, that Tawru had received vision from Markus (who had been banished to Arkenos by the Knights during the last Dark Times, of course) and called the Knights to repentance. So after he returned from freeing the slaves in Laishtek, he was executed for his temerity. Khaska gently corrected a few of the points—especially the fact that the Knights didn’t exist during the last Dark Times. But he did share some of the more historical facts—that Tawru and the Knights had fallen out, and that he had been killed because of this falling out after freeing the slaves.
“I suppose you would know,” Aestus said. There it was. The implication that Khaska was Tawru.
“I am not Tawru,” Khashka said, “though I seek to follow his path and do good works in his name, healing the wrongs done by others and the divisions that ensnare us. The Dark Times are coming, and the wounds between peoples and tribes must be healed before then. Even in journeying with this friends, two elves, a half-elf, and now a human, I hope I am starting on that path.”
“And yet, you carry a cursed sword. What need do you have of such a weapon, especially if such creatures as these hags seek it? Why not simply destroy it?”
Khaska looked down. “The sword is cursed, but it was not always so. In my travels and in seeking the relics of Tawru, I have found his sword. But it had been corrupted in the intervening centuries. I seek now to cleanse the sword, to return it to its natural state.”
“May I see this sword?” The human warrior held his hand out.
Khaska hesitated. “Forgive my reticense, but I would like to show it to you after you swear tomorrow in the Zone.”
Aestus withdrew his hand, a spot of anger flashing across his face. “Have I not earned your trust in battle?”
“Trust is won in many ways,” Khaska said. “Battle is just one. Though,” he glanced over at Orensland, “I think Orensland is very excited to have you join us. I beg your forgiveness, but the sword is a sacred item and must be kept secret. I am already worried about how these hags knew of it.”
“Very well.” Aestus said, shortly. The moment of silence between them was a bit awkward.
“I am glad that you have joined us,” Khaska said. “But my journeys have given me many secrets and insights into the past, insights that would be damaging if revealed improperly or to the wrong people. It is not you that is at fault, it is I, for being overly cautious and not wanting to further harm my people.”
“I trust your decisions,” Aestus said. “And I will swear tomorrow, and then perhaps I can see your sword.” He stood up to leave, though on a small skyship, he couldn’t go far.
The night passed, and in the morning they could see Darkcrest in the distance off of the starboard side. A haze of smoke and cinders still rose from the city, even over a week after Lady Drakh’s massacre.
As soon as Khaska had meditated and prepared his spells for the day, he cast Zone of Truth. Aestus immediately stepped into it, failed to even attempt to resist it, and swore that he was speaking the truth in all the things he had said. The others in the party similarly swore, and then Khaska went. As the cleric stepped into the zone, Aestus smiled and then asked a question, one that he had apparently been waiting to spring on the cleric.
“Are you Tawru?”
Khaska had already let the magic take hold of him. He could not speak a lie. But a thought had grown in his mind the past few days, and he felt he must share it rather than be silent and incur Aestus’ distrust.
“Not to my knowledge, but I do wonder if, in Darkcrest, I spoke the actual words of Tawru. Was I moved upon by some agency other than my own?”
“What, that you were mind-controlled?” asked Orensland.
“More that I wonder if,” he paused, “I knew such words from a previous life of mine?”
Nobody spoke for a while at that thought. Could Khaska be Tawru reincarnated?
Then Aestus asked to see Kvanir, and with this oath taken, Khaska showed it to him. The cleric felt sick to his stomach as he held the scimitar up, the same reaction he had every time holding the evil blade. Aestus took the scimitar, but didn’t seem to flinch at all. He cocked his head as if listening.
“That’s an odd way of speaking Maha’i. I only get about half the words, I think,” Aestus said.
“It speaks an older dialect,” Khaska said. Aestus returned the blade, and Khaska again felt the drain of holding it before he sheathed it and wrapped it up, returning it to his haversack.
With that, he straightened, and looked to Aestus. “Aestus, known as the Fellblade. You have saved us from enemies, fought by our side, and seek to join us. Your presence and faith give me hope in these uncertain days. I know not what the future holds, but I wish to honor your pledge, and invite you to join me and my compatriots, and bind your fate to that of ours.”
Aestus looked them over. Rynn, the dirty ranger with the wolf companion, Sanjin, the elf wizard, buried in one of his books, Orensland, one with the shadows, and Khaska, perhaps the reincarnation of Tawru himself. They were a good group. And he saw no reason not to trust Alarya, who had reunited him with Farah, his adopted sister.
“In the arena I had faith in nobody but myself and Spikes, when our masters had us fight together. Since his death I have had no faith but the blades at my side and the arms that wield them. I would be honored to join you, and fight with you against all evils that oppose us. He grabbed his weapons and held them aloft, showing off his iron muscles through the shirt he was wearing. I pledge myself to you, Khaska, and your allies, come what may.”
As they spoke for the next few hours, it seemed that Aestus had forgiven Khaska for waiting until after the Zone of Truth to show him Kvanir. Aestus was a plainspoken man, laughing and joking with them, sharing the tragedy of his life, listening to their stories, and slowly knitting himself in with the group, even the Lancel prisoners (several of whom had heard of his exploits in the arena).
Farah, on the other hand, stayed away from all of the others. After a little while, Khaska excused himself to go stand by her, looking at Darkcrest receeding into the distance. By the end of the day, it would be gone, just a memory.
“A new fire has begun in the city,” she said. True enough, he saw orange flames flickering at the edge of the city. He wondered what was happening. But he didn’t come over to make small talk, even if this was a conversation he was slightly dreading.
“I am pleased to now know your real name,” he said. “Farah. It means ‘joy.’”
“I had forgotten, my mother having died so long ago. It’s been years since anybody has called me anything but ‘Feral.’”
“An unfortunate bastardization of your true name,” Khaska said. “I am sorry for all the pain your life has given you.” He took a deep breath. “And I am sorry that I seem to have contributed to it, for underestimating you so.”
She glanced over at him. “How so?”
“You know much more than I thought, and you have some magic skill as well. I wish to ask under what circumstances you acquired it.”
“You were there, during the months in the House of Maramos. That is when I first was contacted by Alarya.”
“And why do you think she made contact with you?”
“Because I had reached out to … anybody who would listen?”
Khaska was troubled. “I have spoken to you of the gods and their power, and even taught you some prayers. Was my teaching inadequate?”
“You taught me a great many things.” She held up her gloved hands. “Do all Maha’i women have to cover their bodies so?”
“No. I have told you of Simtor, a fellow cleric at the city of Laishtek, whom I wished to introduce you to. He lives among Maha’i with different customs than I am accustomed to, and their women are not as covered, and can even become acolytes and clerics.”
She was still looking at Darkcrest. “Laishtek sounds like a city I would enjoy more than Jevereshk, then.”
“I had thought so. Will you be disembarking at Port Ethir, then? I can write a letter of introduction to Simtor. But I think we will be traveling by Laishtek ourselves on our way to our final destination on the living side.”
“I do not know. Let me think on that.” A pause. “Anything else?”
Khaska was hesitant. But still curious. “So you inquired for help and then met Alarya. This, then, must be why you inquired about unicorns.”
“She came to me in dreams, and I did not understand at first what she offered me.”
“And what has she offered?”
“Magic. Power. I experimented a little when you were not present, but it scared me.”
“You did not hesitate when the hags attacked. You aquitted yourself well in the battle. I am proud of you. But, if you feel comfortable sharing, Sanjin spoke of a bargain. I wonder what Alarya has asked of you.”
Farah shrugged. “So far she has asked nothing of me. I don’t know if that will change. I don’t know what will happen if I refuse. She is a unicorn. Are they not noble and good creatures?”
“They are. All beings from the realms of Celestia are. But they may still ask a great price for their help.”
“That will be my decision when the time comes.”
“Of course,” Khaska demurred. “I fear I am doing it again. I wish to apologize for anything I said or did that was patronizing. If you have learned your magic from a Celestial being, I would be grateful if there is anything that I could learn from you.”
She looked at him for the first time in their conversation and arched an eyebrow. “Covering my body to make me invisible? Not even wanting to touch me when you are the first member of my race I’ve seen since my parents? Why would you think that was patronizing? Now that I have power and influence, you want to learn from me, and treat me as a peer? No, thank you.”
And with that, she turned to look back at Darkcrest, but this time angled her body even more from Khaska. The conversation was over.
Khaska was crestfallen, slowly moving away. A few moments later he watched as Aestus went over to her and they began talking in hushed tones.
The journey to Ethir Port only took seven days, the ramshackle seaside town the first sign of civilization, the term used loosely. A far cry from the opulence of Darkcrest, the various huts and shops and inns and guildhouses were all made of wood, much of it rotting, some of it newer. The streets were filled with filth and the people around tried not to look anybody in the eye. There were a great many halflings, and some of the buildings seemed squat. Even some of the inns were designed with two levels, one for halflings, another for more normal sized folk.
Between them all the group was able to find and purchase passage for all of the House Lancel prisoners. One joined a merchant ship headed to his home of Sethrayin. The elf purchased passage on a skyship headed down to the elven lands on Slyn. One purchased a sword and some leather armor and hired himself out as a mercenary for a caravan heading down to Hub. The last merely took her stipend of two hundred gold and disappeared.
“Just need to grab some more supplies,” Greygook said. “Khaska’s magic food is just okay. And I know Aestus is tired of magic food, having eaten it for a week before he even met us! Rynn, you care to join me?”
“I wish to purchase some arcane components,” Farah said. “Perhaps, Sanjin, you could show me how to do so?”
“Sure thing,” the wizard replied.
That left Khaska alone—Aestus and Orensland were back guarding the ship which had settled down near the edge of town, near some others, apparently a bit of an unofficial skyship landing field. With no real desire to stay in this ramshackle city, and seeing several grubby-looking dwarves eyeing him, he thought it best to return to the ship himself.
He found a party.
Orensland and Aestus were on the ground, surrounded by gnomes and halflings, with more arriving all the time. One had brought a bottle of relatively fine wine and some cups to drink, and another was playing a fiddle. There was much talk and merriment. Khaska was immediately suspicious.
“You must be Khaska!” One of the halflings said, pointing to him as he rounded a nearby skyship, a skiff even smaller than Greygook’s ship. “Three cheers for Khaska!”
And they actually gave three cheers, following the halfling’s lead. She clapped her hand as Khaska clambered up the rope onto the ship.
“Apparently your rescue of the gnomes and their ship near, what was it?” asked Aestus.
“Rhun,” Orensland said.
“Right. Apparently you have garnered quite a reputation here. Especially Orensland.”
“Any friend of Orensland Shadowwalker is a friend of ours!” the gnome with the wine bottle said. “Fancy a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Khaska said.
“Suit yourself.” The gnome took a deep swig.
“Save some for the others!” the halfling woman said, swiping the bottle from him.
“How did you learn of us?” Khaska said, sitting down next to the halfling woman.
She shrugged. “Word spread of your help to the people of Rhun from the Cloudlovers. You helped save them from those stupid whitecloaks and risked your own necks. We also saw a sailing ship come through a few months back. Captained by a dwarf. Bronzebeard. He picked up some new crew and sailed off into the Upper Jaw, and spoke of his time with you all when asked where he had come from.”
It was obvious the halflings needed little excuse to throw a celebration, and the mere presence of these “heroes” was enough to justify one. As they waited for the rest of the party to return, other halflings appeared with baked goods or other small gifts. When Greygook returned, the supplies he had bought were immediately bought back and replaced with better supplies. Sanjin and Farah returned a bit later, and Farah immediately clambered up to the ship with a new backpack and staff. Khaska looked to Sanjin, who shrugged.
“I think she wants to try out a new spell she’s been granted recently. Had to buy about 10 gold worth of incense and other things to burn. I’d leave her. She said it would take a while. I suspect she’ll be summoning a familiar.”
Khaska was reminded of Kirza, Amara’s white bird familiar. What form would this new familiar take? But then he was swept back up into the party again, despite his obvious discomfort at the attention.
Khaska continued to keep an eye on the ship. Eventually, he saw a flash of white light, and could no longer help himself. He climbed the rope ladder to look and see Farah. She had completed her spell, and sitting on the deck in front of her was a small human figure with white feathered wings. A cherub. This actually relaxed Khaska. Such a being could only be summoned by a person of good heart, and he imagined that meant her powers had come from a begin with a similarly good heart. The cherub, however, glanced over and saw him.
Farah fixed Khaska with a stare. “Alarya saw value in me as an individual and made it so that I will never be alone and powerless again.” She reached out to touch the cherub’s head, then paused, took her gloves off, and then stroked the small figure’s face. She put the gloves aside, and the cherub climbed up onto her arm, easily hoisted up despite its size.
Khaska closed his eyes, unsure what to say. An apology was all he could think of. “I am sorry that I have failed you so thoroughly, Farah. Do you still wish to continue on to Laishtek with us, or shall we part ways here?”
“You have not failed me completely. I am grateful for many of your lessons. I think I learned a few, however, that you did not intend. I would like to journey to Laishtek with you. It will be faster, and, I assume, safer.”
“There are people here who I’m sure would take you safely there,” Khaska said, “but I, for one, will be glad of the extra company during the trip. We are going to Mount Elduin first, you know.”
“I am aware.”
He turned to go, but then came back up the single run he had descended. “I am sure you would be most welcome here at the party. These halflings are good people. And a break from our worries is always helpful.”
She turned to the cherub, speaking to it in a few hushed tones. She touched it again, then snapped her fingers, and it vanished in a puff of divine light. Then she stood and came to the ladder. Khaska was glad.
The celebration lasted long into the night, attracting a good number of people from the town itself. It was obvious to the party that these kind of events were frequent, based on conversations with the party-goers. Parties happened here among the halflings at the drop of a hat. There was dancing and music and food and drink (some non-alcoholic that Khaska could partake of) until just before sunrise twilight. Eventually things died down and the halflings returned to their homes in the city itself, some returning to the skyships nearby with their gnomish friends.
With the House Lancel prisoners all taken care of, their ship restocked and repaired, and with the blessing of their newfound friends, they departed the next morning. It was time to seek out this Storm Giant seer atop Mount Elduin, and see if he might shed light on their future.
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