Leave-takings


Chapter XVIII - Leave-takings

The sounds of men's shouts echoed from outside the open window, accompanied by the sounds of metal, clanking in unison. Ah yes, Tersiano knew what those sounds meant, the eternal symphony that spoke of soldiers marching into battle. Well trained soldiers, if the wild mage did not miss his guess. If the companions waited around here much longer, their discovery by the Czak Myar would be imminent. He strode over to the edge of the window, shouldering two of the black-shrouded assassins out of his way.
He peered out into the night, searching for visual confirmation of what he knew to already be true. There they came, at the end of the street. There came the black-mailed soldiers that had been such a festering sore in his side for so long. Granted, not as long as they had been for Quillion, if the Half-Elf's story could be believed, but still a pain.
Despite the threat they posed, the Czak Myar did not warrant Tersiano's full attention. He reserved that for the shadowy presence that lurked overhead, felt but not seen. The wild mage dared not form a spell to actively seek the Rivanwraith's location, for that would draw the creature's attention like a lighthouse on a clear night. He did, however, form a simple Sensitivity spell to sharpen his senses to any activity on the psychic plane.
After he completed the simple hand gestures, the raw emotions that seethed in the alley struck him like a balled-up fist. He closed his eyes and ducked his head away reflexively, cursing himself for a fool. He should have known better than to look at battle-ready soldiers through the psychic plane. Even the most calm and rational trooper on the outside would be a seething cauldron of fear, anger, and excitement on the inside. These powerful emotions could dominate the psychic plane, even if generated by the weak-minded.
Mentally preparing himself for the view, Tersiano opened his eyes again to view the roiling mass of energies before him. The soldiers' emotions ran high, true, but even their powerful signature on the psychic plane paled in comparison to the awesome dark malevolence that hovered overhead. Tersiano could see the black shroud hovering over the entire visible sky, its whole criss-crossed by jagged streaks of blood-red lightning. Oh, not true lightning, for certain, but the uncontainable energy that flowed from one of the last of the Rivanwraiths.
Taking care to maintain as low a psychic profile as possible, Tersiano watched the dark shroud grow thicker as the Rivanwraith drew nearer. The companions' only hope lay in the squadron of Czak Myar below. Tersiano smiled grimly to himself at the irony. The emotional charge the soldiers emanated could easily disguise the companions' own signatures. If they did not, then a very short-lived fight loomed on the horizon for them all.
The wave of fear and dread that preceded the Rivanwraith's arrival affected the Czak Myar only slightly, Tersiano noted. Apparently they had grown accustomed to the monster's presence among them. Tersiano laughed to himself. The benefits of joining the Czak Myar must boggle the mind. At any rate, they seemed to be handling the fear better than he did. Luckily, he had the power and training to disguise any response he felt to the creature.
The lightning-etched, black shroud hovered over the alley for long minutes, minutes that Tersiano could tick off one thunderous second at a time in his mind while he watched and waited. The Rivanwraith seemed to be looking for something, but not too terribly strongly, for it also occupied itself with drinking up the emotional energy of the troops marching below.
Once the thing seemed to be sated, it continued on, its movement only apparent by the thinning of the black shroud over the night sky. Tersiano continued to watch and listen until the sound of the Rivanwraith dulled to only a lion's roar in his mind. He then stood back up in the windowsill and canceled the Sensitivity. Too late, he realized his mistake. Even the simple canceling of a small spell caused enough magical energy to flow that the mages traveling with the Czak Myar gave a sudden shout and pointed towards the window where he stood. Nightrene take them! The damned mages now knew one of their kind watched them from this house and soon the troops would follow.
Tersiano moved away from the window unhurriedly, knowing that the Czak Myar wizards were fully aware of his and the other companions' presence there. The stone bridge anchoring the balcony to the building across the alley would be proof of that, even if they had not sensed him there. In retrospect, he admitted to himself that making the thing might not have been the best idea.
The wild mage faced the gathered group of companions and assassins and spoke in his ringing metallic voice. "Well the good information I have is that the Rivanwraith has left, apparently seeking tastier morsels than us. Unfortunately, the magi of the Czak Myar have detected my presence here. I'm afraid there's no hiding from them this time, my lords."
He watched their reactions to his words with undisguised amusement. Melina glared at him as if he had intentionally drawn the magi's attention. Dealyon, of course, stood as impassive as ever. Tersiano admired the Druid for that uncanny ability. The rest of the companions reacted with what Tersiano thought was a proper amount of excitement and fear. Good. A healthy dose of fear always brings forth the proper wariness. However, before he could install more dire information on the collective persons, Quillion spoke up, eyeing Tersiano askance as he spoke to Oheniies.
"Sage," came the Half-Elf's woolen voice, "the time has come for me to get the information from you I need. Although I do appreciate your story and it's revelation of unknown history, I need to know where Vormeastion's lair is."
"Hmph!" responded the sage. "You still have no patience young Quillion. The answers you seek are not here for you to find. You have let your Elven rashness dominate your otherwise logical mind. You can't keep on doing that, for it will get you killed one day."
Tersiano almost laughed out loud at the Sage's response to Quillion, especially since "young" Quillion was older than any of the companions, but a sharp look from Ohneiies to Quillion stifled the laughter before it began. Interesting. It appeared the sage spoke not out of whimsical fancy. He knew something about Quillion and his future. Tersiano grumbled in the back of his throat. This sage's habit of knowing information about the companions grated on the wild mage's nerves. However, no matter what Tersiano's mind on the subject, the sage had not been proven wrong yet.
"I don't care in the slightest about your opinion of my temperament, sage," snapped back Quillion. Tersiano fought back a sudden urge to applaud before the Half-Elf continued. "You claim to know so much about us all, then you must know why we're here and the Czak Myar are after us and why the need is so important."
"Believe me, my boy, I know why you're here. There is much information you need to know to continue your journey, but alas, there is now no time for me to impart it on you"
Tersiano could hear the strain in Quillion's voice as the man struggled to hold his impatience at the sage's cryptic remarks. The wild mage could not blame him much, either. "Then tell us what we need to know. Where is Vormeastion's lair? Is he still alive? Where did you meet him?"
Ohneiies' eyes opened wide in surprise at Quillion's questions. Tersiano's mind whirled at the sage's reaction to the Quillion's obvious questions. Surely the sage knew why we came. Why was he reacting this way?
"You want me to tell you where Vormeastion lives?" the sage asked with incredulity. "What makes you think I would know anything of the sort?"
Tersiano felt his jaw drop open at the sage's words, but after seeing the rest of the companions' expressions of dismay and surprise, he snapped his mouth shut and turned to stare at Quillion. The Half-Elf looked at Oheniies with an expression of fierce determination, as if he would bully the answer he wanted form the mage and ignore any words he did not want to hear. The wild mage could feel the beginnings of anger stirring in his belly and would wager that the other companions felt the same. They all had risked their necks on a quest to find this sage solely upon Quillion's word that Oheniies knew where Vormeastion's lair resided. Now they were trapped in that very same sage's house with the armies of Mirdas Morgal bearing down upon them and a Rivanwraith nearby.
Quillion's voice, however, betrayed no nervousness as he spoke to the sage. "I've read the book you wrote many years ago telling of your meeting with Vormeastion. It said you spoke with him at length."
"It's true, I did speak with him at length, and it was a fascinating discussion, to say the least, but that was almost eighty years ago and he gave me no indication of where he might be residing. For all I know, he might be living outside in the alley dressed up as a harlot. I cannot tell you now whether he even lives or not."
The disappointment Tersiano felt mirrored itself on the face of the Half-Elf as the stone facade he had constructed crumbled away. The Half-Elf bowed his head and his shoulders slumped as he wrapped his cloak around himself. Tersiano could just make out a half-whispered "no" come from the Half-Elf's lips. Lysinthia moved to where Quillion stood, her heart in her eyes, and wrapped her arms around the willowy leader of the companions.
Tersiano gripped his crystal staff tightly with both hands in irritation. Just bloody wonderful. The Half-Elf gets comforted by a beautiful blonde bard after he leads us into this trap in pursuit of information that does not exist. Not much punishment there. The wild mage whirled around quickly, his cloak and robes billowing out satisfyingly and began to stride towards the window again. If only they could find a way to escape.
The next words from the sage, however, stopped Tersiano in mid stride. "There might be someone who would know where Vormeastion lives, now that I think of it."
Tersiano turned back towards the sage slowly, noticing as he did that Quillion had raised his head and stared at the sage with the same skeptical hope that Tersiano felt. Oheniies did not appear affected in the slightest by the collective range of looks the group around him gave. The tension in the room felt like a snake poised to strike as Tersiano spoke in his clear, metallic voice. "Who?"
Oheniies looked pensive as he furrowed his brow and spoke in a lighter, less confident voice, almost as if he were not certain of his words as he uttered them. "There is a library in Gypsyroam... the same library you visited previously, Quillion. This library houses books for all of the people of the world... but it also contains books that are only offered to a select few. Some of these books are dark tomes that would burn the fingers of someone not strong enough to handle them. Others contain information that could alter the perceptions of the world for everyone, and thus.... these books were deemed dangerous by the powers that be and stashed away in the hidden rooms of the library."
Preosha moved closer to the sage, riveted by this new source of information. Tersiano gave a quick bark of laughter. Anything that someone deemed forbidden would attract Preosha like an Ogre to the sea. The diminutive inventor spoke up, interrupting Oheniies' reminisces.
"What type of books?" she asked Oheniies tersely. Tersiano had never noticed an attraction to frivolous stories and tales from Preosha and though she had listened to Oheniies' tale with the same rapture as the others, she typically disregarded them as useless unless it had some bearing on her situation. At the mention of forbidden knowledge, however, she now took the time to be interested in the words of the big sage.
Tersiano gathered the sage thought the very same thing as he chuckled and eyed Preosha amusingly over his pipe before answering. "Why, my dear, there are books that contain all of the knowledge our forefathers thought to record down for posterity," replied the sage. "Those that knew how to write, anyway." His voice raised a bit as he continued. "Haven't you noticed the distinct lack of progress in the last few hundred years? Would you not think the world would improve its situation even accidentally over that length of time?"
The sage's strong words both excited and angered Preosha, Tersiano saw, as her eyes flashed, but she still shrank away from Oheniies' glower. Tersiano felt a flash of irritation as well, but only because the sage allowed himself to become distracted again.
"This is all very well, but would you mind getting to the point, old boy?" asked Tersiano. "The Czak Myar might be interested to hear your views on the world's progress, but I certainly do not wish to hear it along side them."
"Yes," added Quillion, "you were mentioning someone who might know of Vormeastion's location."
"So I was," growled the sage, "the head librarian there, Digrath, is a font of knowledge from times both past and present. If there is anyone still left on this planet who knows of Vormeastion's whereabouts, other than Vormeastion himself, it would be Digrath."
Quillion looked at Oheniies askance. "I spent a long time in that library and I never saw nor even heard of a librarian named Digrath."
"Do you really think he would walk around and announce his presence to the world? There are people out there who would see him killed outright if they knew he had even a tenth of the knowledge he does. I, however, know of him and his knowledge and I believe it is time to bring them both into the world again."
"Excuse me," came Ephirea's words from the window, "but do you two mind scheduling another time to argue with each other? The soldiers are almost here."
As if Ephirea had shaken him from a dream, Quillion snapped into what Tersiano called his "command" persona. He apologetically disengaged himself from Lysinthia and looked about the room, cataloguing his surroundings.
"Dealyon," came his quiet, but forceful words, "try and wake Scintara up, we're going to have to move fast if we're going to get out of here and on the road to Gypsyroam"
"Well, that's fine Quillion, but how in Tartarus are we going to get out of this building, much less get out of the city?" asked Melina in a tone that made Tersiano cringe inwardly. Sometimes the Accabashi woman could turn entirely too pessimistic for Tersiano's taste.
Ilithiron, moving away from Scintara so that Dealyon could kneel next to the thief's unconscious form, spoke in his sonorous voice, drawing everyone's attention to him. "I know of a way, but it is only for assassins' use and certainly not made for this many of us to use." He indicated around the room, where the companions and the half-dozen assassins stood.
"We may not have a choice, Ilithiron" grumbled Quillion. "Ell, see if you can determine how many soldiers are outside. I need numbers." The Yerracht gave the Half-Elf a quick nod and moved towards the window as smooth and fast as a bolt of lightning. Tersiano watched Ell's grace and speed with envy. If only he could move with that same fluidity.
"Tersiano," the Half-elf's voice brought Tersiano back to the moment, "I'm going to need something to distract the Czak Myar for a few minutes. Can you do it?"
"Well now, we'd all better hope so. Don't you think?" quipped the wild mage. Tersiano's arsenal contained many types of spells that could be used for just that purpose. It would all depend on the number of soldiers out there and how gullible they were. Luckily for him, people in collective groups were more likely to believe illusions than individuals. As Tersiano considered his options, his mind kept track of the conversations going on around him.
"How's Scintara, Dealyon?" asked Quillion, his voice as solid as stone.
"She is recovered, but still a bit groggy," came the Druid's answer. "Provided we can keep her from attacking the sage, she will be fine."
"Oh, don't worry about that," mumbled Scintara, gathering herself to her feet, "I'm not stupid enough to let history repeat itself." She flashed her dimpled grin at the sage, who smiled serenely in return. "What's going on?" she asked after looking around the room at the grim faces of the companions and assassins.
Ephirea, as usual, answered first, putting everything in the humorous light that Tersiano always enjoyed. "Oh, the usual. Czak Myar outside, troops from Mirdas Morgal invading the city, and no way for us all to escape."
Scintara gave a short burst of laughter before grimacing and holding her side. "Well, it's nice to know some things never change."
As Scintara joined Melina and Ephirea, Ilithiron gathered his men into a corner of the room, away from the companions, and he and his assassins huddled together conspiratorially. Preosha moved a bit closer to their group, attempting to overhear snatches of their conversation. Tersiano knew from past experience that the inventor would not give up without being physically escorted away from them. As the assassins made no sign of forcing her to leave, Tersiano made note to himself to interrogate her later over what she heard. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Tersiano saw one of the assassins raise his head from the group and make eye contact with him. The man then gave an exaggerated wink and ducked his head back into the group.
"I think we…" began Quillion, but his words trailed off as he heard the same clashing of steel from inside the alley that Tersiano did. The wild mage quickly formed the intricate pattern for shaping a Scrying to see what was occurring in the alley.
As he finished the pattern that had taken him great concentration years ago, but now came to him as easily as breathing, a vision come to Tersiano's mind. Not a vision that others could see, for it had been attuned for only himself. In the vision, soldiers in black scale mail occupied the far side of the alley, streaming through the opening in ever-greater numbers. However, on the near side of the alley, through an opening near Oheniies' house, a squadron of the Knights of the First Order charged into the narrow passage. The formerly deadly silent alley had quickly become a battlefield where only the luckiest could survive.
Just as Tersiano prepared to give a report to Quillion, Ell popped her head inside the window. Tersiano took a second look at her and gave a short laugh, for her head was upside-down at the top of the window. The Yerracht must be hanging from the eaves in her half-tiger form.
"The Knights of the First Order are here," she purred in her soft voice, "There's one intense fight brewing right near this house."
"The pretty kitty speaks true, oh fearless leader," confirmed Tersiano, his metallic voice ringing like thunder in his own head. "The battle outside grows in intensity even as we speak. I wouldn't doubt that Emiriak and his elite force are not far away."
"Then it's time to leave. This battle is the distraction we needed. Ilithiron, where's this way out you spoke of?" asked Quillion.
"I told you before, Half-Elf, the way out is for assassins only," replied the masked assassin leader.
"Time's running out, man," barked Quillion, "and we don't have time to deal with idiotic professional secrets!"
"Now you listen to me, half-breed!" replied Ilithiron, with equal heat. "I'm not going to give away…"
"I'm sure our ever-so-generous assassin speaks of the secret tunnels that run under the city streets," interrupted Oheniies, a malicious gleam in his eyes. "In fact, one of those tunnels opens up right beside my own home. It's quite handy when I want to go somewhere and not be seen, to be certain." Tersiano watched the effect Oheniies' last statement had on the assassin, who whipped his head around with wide eyes and mouth open before catching himself and glaring at the sage with increasing enmity.
"Fortunately," continued the sage, unmoved by Ilithiron's overt hatred, "I have a better way for you and your companions to leave, Karallia ri Ferion. A way much more secret than the Assassin's Guild's secret tunnels." Oheniies gave another pointed look towards Ilithiron, who in turn glared at his men. One of his assassins, a man with amused eyes over his mask, gave a muffled snicker.
"You have a way out of here and you're just now telling us?" asked Quillion. "I can't believe you've waited so long to… what did you call me?"
Tersiano watched the laughter lines around Oheniies' eyes deepen as a broad smile crossed his face. "Oh I don't think this is the time to get into all that, Half-Elf," answered the white-robed sage. "Of primary importance should be your imminent escape from your enemies. Don't you agree?"
Quillion took a quick glance around at his friends before nodding his head. Tersiano quickly gestured for Quillion to draw nearer. The Half-Elf smiled apologetically at Lysinthia, who still held fast to his hand, and stepped over to where the wild mage stood, a quizzical look on his face.
"Don't worry about the sage's words, he was using an ancient tongue, old boy. I can translate it to you later and you can infer what it means from there," he whispered, knowing that, with Ell outside, only Quillion would have the sharp hearing to understand his words.
"Oh, I think it would be easier if you just told him now," said a voice from behind Tersiano. The wild mage whipped around, his cloak billowing out, to face the speaker. There stood the same assassin who had winked at him earlier and laughed at Oheniies' jibes at Ilithiron. "I mean really, tin man, now is as good a time as any, or so they say."
"Hello, Thimellan," said Quillion in a flat tone of voice. "I wondered where you had gone since the jailbreak." Tersiano's eyes grew wide at Quillion's recognition of the magical creature who had saved their lives in Two Sands and interfered with their plans ever since. The creature had conjured a remarkable illusion to fool him for so long, Tersiano forced himself to admit. The wild mage did not like to be fooled, though, and this respect for Thimellan came grudgingly.
"Oh, I've never left, Quill-boy. I couldn't possibly stay away from you people. You're entirely too interesting, even if you have pointy ears," quipped Thimellan. The contrast of the voice and the solid form Thimellan had chosen almost made Tersiano dizzy to hear. Then, right on cue, according to Tersiano's theatrical soul, the creature of magic transformed. The body of the assassin melted into a pool of thick, multi-colored liquid on the ground and just as quickly rose again to re-form back to Thimellan's normal form. If one could call his form "normal" by any means. Despite his innate ability to see the ambient magical energy that seethes around the planet, Tersiano could not discern how Thimellan managed to make such a unique transformation.
A chorus of surprised gasps echoed throughout the room as each of the companions reacted to Thimellan's reappearance. "I should have known," Tersiano heard Malaryn grumbling from the back of the room. Thimellan stood there, in his startlingly brilliant mauve doublet with bright green leggings preening under the attention of the people in the sage's bedroom, including Oheniies himself, whose reaction to seeing Thimellan in his presence startled Tersiano.
The big, robust sage walked to where Thimellan stood and dropped to one knee before him. By the assumed boredom on the creature's face, he seemed to take it all as a matter of course. Then, with speed rivaling that of Ell in her full tiger form, Oheniies stood and grasped Thimellan in a full bear hug, swinging the brightly-colored midget around and laughing in turn.
"Your mightiness, it's so good to see you back in the house of Oheniies," said the sage in between laughs. "It's been far too long."
"It hasn't been that long, Whitey. Say, a hundred years or so," replied Thimellan, his breathless voice raised a full octave by the pressure of Oheniies' grasp.
"Hey, wait just a minute here," demanded Ephirea, stepping forward to stand next to the two of them. "You two know each other? Why did you bow down to him?"
Oheniies dropped Thimellan to the floor unceremoniously, but the creature simply bounced back up as if it were perfectly normal. The sage turned towards Ephirea, but looked around at the faces of the companions. "You mean you don't know who this is?" he asked in a tone used for speaking to three-year olds. He studied their faces for a moment before bringing up his hand and tapping his finger against his lips. "No, I can see you don't." He heaved a great sigh before continuing. "Well, if he has not told you by now, then it's certainly not my place to."
"Don't think less of them, O-man. They're a bit young yet to know all that's going on," said Thimellan with a smile on his face that threatened to split it in half. "I don't really tell them much of anything. In fact, if I did tell them, I think I'd…" Thimellan's eyes suddenly grew wide as he stopped speaking. "Oops! Gotta go," he pronounced and then disappeared in a blink.
"Well that was rude," announced Ephirea. "You'd think he would have at least said why he's still here. Don't you think, Oheniies?"
The sage did not answer her, however. His eyes seemed to be looking inward and he paid neither her nor any of the others any attention. Tersiano felt a dread apprehension come over him just as Ell burst into the room, her yellow, feline eyes wide open with fear. He head whipped back and forth, her eyes looking at but never truly seeing the companions standing there.
"It's back!" she hissed in a low undertone. No one in the room needed to ask what she meant by "It". They all knew, for her reappearance preceded the dead chill that gripped all of their hearts in a fist of ice. The Rivanwraith.
As soon as they felt the touch of the Rivanwraith's presence, all of the assassins in the room immediately fell to the ground in fear and stared up at the ceiling awaiting their doom, all except Ilithiron. The Guildhead showed the effects of the power, to be certain, but it did not cause him to cower with the others. Interesting. Tersiano made certain to be a bit more wary of the assassin if he had felt the Rivanwraith's touch before.
The companions, almost opposite of the assassins, tightened their self-control and gathered together in the center of the room. Quillion stood in the middle of the huddled group, his face a mask of iron. He took a quick look around to make sure all the companions were present and his mask slipped a bit as he laid eyes upon Aramari's terrified face. Tersiano noticed Malaryn moving to stand next to the priestess, appearing torn between whether to offer comfort or to seek it from her.
"Our time's run out, guys. We have to leave now, or we're dead for sure. This thing will consume us if we try to fight it. We need to go to your escape route, Oheniies, and…" The Half-Elf's words trailed off as he became aware of the fact Oheniies was not listening to him. Tersiano turned his head almost in unison with Quillion's and they both spotted the big sage in the center of the room, his arms crossed over his chest with his eyes closed and his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Quillion growled low in his throat and barked out, "Malaryn, get him over here! He's our only chance to get out of here."
The smith nodded his head gravely and, with a quick glance at Aramari to reassure himself, he walked towards the sage. As Malaryn moved away, Tersiano reached out and grasped Quillion's forearm, nodding his head towards Ilithiron, who stood nearby with a look of confusion on what showed of his face.
"Ilithiron!" Quillion snapped, his voice still modulated so as not to be overheard outside the window in the din of battle. "Why haven't you gathered your men up and left? Bloody Tartarus, man! Don't you know what's coming?"
The assassin simply turned his head and gazed towards the companions with the same dazed look on his face. "I'll go to him," Scintara suddenly said, and she moved to the assassin, uttering soothing words to him all the way. He seemed to accept her direction as she turned him towards his men, whom fear still held in thrall.
As Tersiano lost view of Scintara behind the assassin, Malaryn brought Oheniies to the group. The sage seemed to not even notice the smith's iron grip on his arm. Just bloody wonderful! Now the only person who can get the companions out is unresponsive. Tersiano could feel another of his black moods approaching. The only thing likely keeping it at bay was the awful, ever-increasing presence of the Rivanwraith.
"Oheniies?" inquired Quillion, intent on snapping the sage from his trance. "Oheniies? Wake up, man. We need you. Oheniies?"
"We don't have time for this," snarled Melina suddenly, and the Accabashi woman stepped up to the sage and promptly punched him in the stomach as hard as she could. The unexpected move seemed to work as the sage gave a start and opened his eyes to see the companions staring at him. Tersiano gave an inward chuckle as Melina gave Quillion a satisfied look and walked back to her position, trying to hide the fact she cradled her wrist protectively.
"Well that was crude, but effective, my barbarian woman," quipped the wild mage amusingly. The look Melina shot him in response almost amused him enough to make him forget their situation. It was then that the reason behind the feeling of unease that had been bothering Tersiano became apparent. The sounds of battle outside had ceased.


Tersiano's unspoken signal made Quillion aware of the cessation of noise from outside the window. Was the battle over? Tersiano made a gesture as if to cast a spell to see what was occurring, but Quillion forestalled him with a quick command. "No magic! None. That goes for everyone here." He looked around at the magic using members of the companions, ensuring that they all understood him. "If that thing is out there, it'll pinpoint us instantly." He turned his head and locked eyes with Ell, nodding his head towards the window. The Yerracht's sharp eyes had the best chance of spotting any danger. She nodded her head in return and crept towards the windowsill, peering over the edge.
"The battle has stopped," she reported, her voice little more than a whisper. "The Mirdas Morgal troops are collecting themselves at the back of the alley. The Knights are standing in place. They look to have stopped right where they were fighting."
"Do they look appear to be frozen in terror similar to the assassins here?" asked Dealyon in his low rumble.
"No, they all have the terrorized face, but their eyes are blank, almost as if they were dead," she replied, the last part in only a whisper that Quillion could barely discern, even with his sharp hearing.
The Druid turned his shadowed face towards Quillion and spoke with as much urgency as Quillion had ever heard him speak. "Those Knights may have bought us a bit of time with their lives. We should not tarry any longer."
"The Druid is right, Quillion," confirmed Oheniies in his bass voice. "Those men are likely dead or dying already. The Rivanwraith never leaves survivors." He turned his attention then to Ell and asked, "Do you see anything on the buildings over the alleyway?"
Ell paused a moment before answering. "No, I don't think… wait. Yes, there is some type of large shape on one of the walls. It's enormous. I can't tell if it's moving or not. There's someone sitting on it. Hold on, it's moving, it's…" The Yerracht then pushed away from the wall and sprang backward almost ten feet.
"What happened, Ell? Did it see you?" asked Quillion.
"I.. I don't think so," answered the tiger-woman, "but I can't be certain of it."
"Great, just bloody great," grumbled Ephirea.
"Stop that right now, archer," commanded Quillion, giving Ephirea his hardest glare. "We don't have time to worry about what's already happened. We need to focus on getting out of here."
"How do you propose we do that?" asked Melina, giving him a glare of her own.
In response, Quillion turned to Oheniies and gave him a questioning look, raising one eyebrow. The sage's eyes drifted from the window to focus on Quillion's face. Quillion had to keep Oheniies focused on the here and now, or they might all be dead or worse. The sage simply stared back at the Half-Elf with those ice blue eyes that had previously riveted the companions, but now seemed only old.
"Well?" persisted Quillion, irritated that the sage did not answer. "Where's this exit you promised earlier?"
"Oh yes, the exit," mumbled the sage almost absent-mindedly. "This way."
He turned and motioned for them to follow him to the door where he previously had made his entrance. As the companions passed by the group of assassins, Quillion motioned for the others to follow Oheniies and he stopped to speak with Scintara and Ilithiron. As he approached he could hear the low murmuring of Scintara's voice as she spoke to the assassins' Guildmaster. Though he could not make out any of the words, he did see the extreme look of concern that draped his friend's face as she spoke. As she saw him approach, she broke off her sentence and motioned him closer.
"He's not sure if he can rally his men," she stated as Quillion drew up next to them. The Half-Elf saw Ilithiron's back stiffen at Scintara's admission, though he said nothing to refute her words.
"It won't be easy for anyone, but it must be done now. Ell thinks the Rivanwraith might have seen her looking out the window," Quillion replied.
"Then you are right, Half-Elf. I must lead my men to safety," Ilithiron stated, his voice carefully neutral.
The assassin took two steps and grabbed one of his masked assassins by the lapels, yanking the man to his feet and shaking him roughly. "Get up man and fight for yourself!" he screamed, his normally smooth voice harsh with strain. "Do you really think you belong in the Guild of Assassins if all you can do is lie down at the first real challenge we've ever met?"
Slowly, but with increasing certainty, the assassin being shaken regained a semblance of clarity to his eyes. The man then focused on Ilithiron's face only inches from his own. The man roughly freed himself from his Guildmaster's grasp and took a step back, making an attempt at composing himself. Ilithiron fixed the man with a withering stare, his eyes gleaming over his black mask. Once the man finished straightening his shirt, he looked at Ilithiron with steady, if still somewhat fearful eyes. Ilithiron gave a tight nod as if satisfied and gestured for the man to do the same with the other petrified assassins.
The loud thumping sound from above the ceiling, accompanied by a deathly ice-cold chill, halted the man's motion. Quillion involuntarily ducked his head as if to avoid a blow. He could hear the sound of wood splintering coming from above, from the roof most likely. Quillion cursed his luck at the Rivanwraith's timing. Only a few more minutes and the assassins would have been safely evacuated. Well, there was no time like the present.
With a nudge to Scintara to follow suit, Quillion began dashing among the seated assassins grabbing each one and giving them a ringing slap followed by a unintelligible shout. As each one focused slowly on him, he pointed determinedly at Ilithiron who, catching on the Quillion's gambit, gave the assassins the silent direction to follow him. Each assassin increased their pace at the sound of the heavy footsteps and wood splitting from above their heads.
As each man sped past Ilithiron, he ordered them to follow someone named Reynar, apparently the name of the first man Ilithiron revived. Scintara had finished reviving all of the men near her and now stood next to Ilithiron, shaking her head fervently at something he said. Quillion shook the last man awake and shoved him in the direction of the pair just as a maniacal laughter resounded throughout the air around him. Quillion stood still for a moment, attempting to determine the source of the laughter, but it seemed to emanate from everywhere all at once. That could only mean magic, which spelled trouble for him any way he viewed it.
He turned to seek Scintara and noticed the last of the assassins disappearing through the hallway door. Scintara shouted something at Ilithiron Quillion could not hear, and shoved him as hard as she could towards the doorway. Despite her strength, the assassin barely budged, but the raw pain on his face told the whole story for Quillion. The assassin watched her face for a moment longer with his lips compressed and his eyes reflecting a hurt betrayal. He then looked at Quillion with a flash of disgust and hatred before turning and striding through the door without a backward glance.
Quillion moved to stand next to the curly-haired thief, who gazed forlornly at the doorway the assassin had disappeared into. She turned to look at Quillion with her heart in her eyes and a tear trailing down her cheek. Then, as if nothing were wrong, she gave a lop-sided grin and wiped the tear from her face. Quillion smiled in return, though he did not feel like it. Scintara would never show weakness to anyone for long, even to her best friends. The Half-Elf opened his mouth to suggest their immediate departure, but no words came out as the maniacal laughter that permeated the room ceased suddenly, replaced by a voice Quillion remembered in his nightmares.
"Half-Elf! I can smell your foul reek all over this filthy hovel. There's no escape for your or your foolish friends now. I have the house surrounded and your would-be saviors, the Knights of the First Order have been… consumed by my pet here." Emiriak's voice dropped off to a low chuckle that brought Quillion's hackles up. He drew his sword in response to the red rage that grew within him at the thought of the dead Knights in the alley outside.
Scintara's arm reached out and touched his gently, and she flinched back at the murder in his eyes when he snapped his head towards her. At the sight of her fearful face, Quillion's anger subsided enough for him to regain control of himself. He lashed out impotently with his sword at the bedpost nearby. The action accomplished nothing constructive, he knew, but it did make him feel a bit better.
"After all of this running around the continent, hiding in fear like a rabbit every time I showed my face, this is the end you come to, Half-Elf, death in the house a decrepit old sage searching for something that doesn't exist," Emiriak's voice taunted. At that point, Quillion decided he had heard enough of the insane man's rambling and pulled Scintara with him through the doorway.
On the other side lay a hallway capped at the opposite end by a staircase leading down. Assuming his friends went that direction, Quillion moved that way himself, Scintara moving silently beside him, her eyes seemingly watching all directions at once. Unfortunately, one of Quillion's hopes shattered quickly as Emiriak's voice reverberated in the air around him. He had hoped the madman's voice would be confined to the bedroom.
"Tick tock tick tock, can you hear the clock running out for you, half-breed? The sands have almost run through and the time is nigh, Quillion A'Sirendon. That's right, I know you. I know everything about you, including where your family lives. Rivendale, wasn't it? V'cir hungers for you, you know, you and your friends. I don't know about you, but I think it's time we fed him."
As the pair arrived at the top of the stairs, Quillion heard a loud cracking sound coming from the behind him, followed by the sound of debris falling. A quick look over his shoulder showed a cloud of white dust billowing out of the doorway where he and Scintara had stood moments ago. He began to descend the stairs two at a time.
The stairs led to another large corridor leading left and right and the entrance to what appeared to be an enormous library right in front of the stairs' foot. Quillion looked both directions as carefully as he could in an attempt to discern where his friends had gone. The racket caused by the ceiling crashing down in the bedroom upstairs prevented him from hearing any telltale noises from his friends, and he could see no sign of their passage. Luckily, Scintara had much more refined skills when it came to signs of passage in civilization. The thief examined the floor for a moment, then nodded her head in the direction of the library in front of them.
"They went in there," she stated with certainty. She stood up quickly, hissing as she clutched her side at the sudden exertion. Quillion frowned as he watched her attempt to cover up her pain. Apparently Oheniies did not take it too easy on her when he disabled her in the hallway. Just another thing Quillion would love to take the man to task for had there been time to. Pain in her side or no, the thief strode towards the open doorway to the library with her customary walk, bouncy, yet still quietly smooth. Quillion, with one last backward glance up the stairway, followed her to the doorway, peering inside.
Despite the rushed circumstances, Quillion marveled at the enormous collection of books that decorated the multitude of shelves and stands throughout the room. The old sage must have spent half his lifetime collecting such a multitude of written lore. The Half-Elf certainly hoped Emiriak and his toadies did not burn the place down out of spite.
Thoughts of the Czak Myar reminded Quillion of his true task there. He strode through the room, keeping watch in every book-laden aisle they walked by. The far end of the room had another doorway lying open. As he approached, he noticed that the door appeared nothing like the others in the room. In fact, it had been cleverly disguised to appear as part of the bookshelf. Yet another thing he wished to have time to examine. The craftsmanship required working the wood that finely must have been exquisite.
"Quillion!" shouted Emiriak, his voice echoing from outside the library. "I have your trail now, hero. This time you're trapped!" The echoing voice trailed off into the same maniacal laughter Emiriak frequented now. The time for caution had passed. Quillion grabbed Scintara by the arm and sprinted through the concealed doorway, grabbing the outer edge and pulling it back behind him. As the doorway closed, Quillion could hear the heavy clicking of Emiriak's steel-capped boots on the hallway floor. He whispered a prayer to whatever God was listening that the Czak Myar leader did not see the door close. That would give he and Scintara a bit more time to find the others. At least if Emiriak was walking, the odds were good that the Rivanwraith had not followed him down the stairway.
Now that the doorway had closed behind him, Quillion could make out definite sounds of people talking coming from in front of him. The darkness had all but blinded him momentarily, so he closed his eyes to hasten the return of his night vision. When he opened them again, he could see the contours of the hallway around him, the mosaics on the walls, the unlit lanterns above and even the fine grain of the carpet underfoot. Grateful of the sharp sight he knew full-blooded humans did not possess, he turned to speak to Scintara, only to find she had disappeared. He looked deeper into the gloom of the hallway in front of him and saw her darker shadow moving silently along the wall's edge, one hand maintaining contact with the plaster. Trust Scintara to never let something like a lack of sight prohibit her from brashly going forward.
As he started down the hallway after Scintara, Quillion noticed a faint, flickering light source emanating from ahead. The sound of people's voices came from the same direction. Quillion caught up to Scintara quickly, since the thief traveled fairly slow due to her weaker vision, and leaned over to whisper in her ear.
"There's someone up ahead. Can you see the light source?" he asked, the sound of his voice sounding faint to even himself.
"Yes," she replied, equally as quiet. "I can't hear anything yet, though."
"Let's move a bit closer," he suggested, wanting Scintara to have her sight in case trouble started.
They walked as silently as possible as they approached the source of the voices and the light. Quillion knew he could not move as silently as the talented thief could, but he did not make a sound. They were almost a dozen feet away from the corner that the people were around, when a pale, cold light appeared not ten hands to Quillion's left. The Half-Elf jumped backward, stumbling into Scintara, who gave out a surprised cry before managing to get clear of him. There, with a glowing ball hovering over his hand, stood Dealyon, watching the two of them with a little half-smile on his face.
"The two of you really should attempt to make less noise when skulking, you know," he declared, his low voice filling the tunnel with echoes. Scintara's eyes flashed and she stomped over to plant herself in front of the Druid, her eyes reflecting the many things she prepared to say to him. Though Quillion would have loved to hear it, the tirade never occurred, for Aramari poked her head around the corner and spotted the three of them in the hallway.
"There you two are! I'm glad Dealyon found you so soon. Let's go, Oheniies has the way for us to get out of here," she said before disappearing back behind the corner.
Scintara waggled her finger at Dealyon admonishingly before following the priestess around the corner. Quillion heard a low chuckle coming from the Druid and turned his head to look at him. The Druid stared at the corner with the same stony face he always wore. Perhaps Quillion had heard something else. No, that had definitely been laughter coming from the brown-cloaked man. Quillion shook his head in amusement as he gestured for both of them to follow the thief. Dealyon making humor. He supposed that next Ogres would give up the sea and take up farming.
As he rounded the corner, Quillion saw the companions arrayed in a semi-circle facing Oheniies whose worried-looking face relaxed visibly when he laid eyes on the Half-Elf. His friends seemed stretched thin, as if one little thing could set off their tempers, especially Ephirea, who never truly had control of hers to begin with. Malaryn's face broke into one of his toothy smiles as he stepped back to make way for Quillion and Dealyon.
"I'm glad you two made it," he said, trying to keep his voice low. "Oheniies wouldn't tell us what we were going to use to get out of here 'til you showed up." He lowered his voice and leaned in to speak close to Quillion's ear as he continued, "He didn't seem to care much whether Scin' showed up or not, though."
Quillion reached out and placed a comforting hand on the smith's thick shoulder, nodding his head in understanding. The sage had shown an interesting fascination with Quillion since the Half-Elf's arrival in the man's home, probably even before.
"Well, we're all here now, sage. Tell us about this secret escape route of yours," he demanded. Quillion admired the fact the sage seemed unperturbed by the overt hostility the companions directed towards him. In fact the man almost seemed jovial compared to the haunted look he wore up in his bedroom at the first sign of the Rivanwraith.
"Ah, an escape route, that's an interesting description of it, for it is, in all possibility, the shortest "route" to get to its destination," replied Oheniies. "Behold!" he declared magnanimously, pulling two silver cords that dangled from a sliding doorway behind him. The doorway slid with almost no sound on tracks laid into the stone ceiling and floor. Behind it stood what appeared to be a large mirror stand with the exception of the lack of a mirror in its frame. In the place where the mirror should go, a deep, non-reflective black surface existed. "A little trinket left behind by one of the former residents of this house," continued the sage.
"A trinket?" exclaimed Ephirea, "Who used to live here that this is a trinket?"
"Oh, I'm told to believe that he was quite the powerful mage. He must have been, for I've had an Orc's time in Tartarus getting this thing to work," replied the sage.
"What is it?" asked Preosha, who edged closer to the mirror stand, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the edge of its metal frame.
"Why, it's a permanent Gateway, my dear inventor," he declared, "One of the only ones ever to be seen or documented."
"Can it take us anywhere we need to go?" asked Melina, a hopeful catch to her voice.
"I suppose it can, but I can only get it to go one place, other than here of course," he admitted.
"What?" snapped Tersiano, his metallic voice sounding especially tinny in the confined space of the hallway. "I thought you said you had mastered this little device."
"No, I said I said I've had an Orc's time in Tartarus getting it to work. I never said I'd made it work well."
"It doesn't matter," interrupted Quillion. He did not want any petty arguments preventing them from leaving this place. "You said it can send us somewhere away from here, correct?"
"Oh, that's for certain, it's even on your way, to boot," answered the sage.
"That's all I need to know," stated Quillion firmly, shooting a quick look at Tersiano to forestall any further arguments. "Turn it on and let's get out of here."
"Oh, why rush off now when I've only just arrived?" asked a voice behind Quillion, a voice that chilled him as much as the pained look on Oheniies' face as he saw the voice's owner. How in bloody Tartarus did Emiriak get here so fast without Quillion hearing him?
Quillion drew his sword breaker from its sheath on his hip and turned to see the black-mailed man standing only strides away, holding his dead-black scimitar casually in one hand. Behind Emiriak clustered easily a dozen of his Czak Myar, with more coming if the torch light behind them meant anything. The man's blue eyes were coated with a yellowish tinge as he scanned the array of companions before him with disdain. Those eyes stopped roving as they fell upon Quillion, though, and the Half-Elf could feel the surge of hatred pulse from the man as if it were a thing alive.
"You've led me a merry chase, half-breed, but it all over now. I think we'll soon be reliving the old days when I kicked you around the ground like the dog you are," said the Czak Myar.
"I was tied up and gagged back then, Emiriak," answered Quillion, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "This time I'm ready for you."
"You're an idiot, Half-Elf, if you think your pathetic power could even delay me for a moment," snarled Emiriak. "I have the power to cloak my entire legion in silence so you could not even detect us with your deformed ears, and I haven't even begun to get warmed up. I think I'll kill you all one at a time and force the others to watch them be consumed by V'cir." He hefted the black scimitar menacingly.
"No time for that, old boy, we've places to be," spoke Tersiano over Quillion's shoulder. "Julando!" he shouted, releasing a spell he must have formed while obscured by the other companions. The ground a stride in front of Quillion suddenly burst into a roaring wall of flame stretching entirely to the ceiling. The heat from it forced Quillion to shield his face and step backwards. The companions on either side of him followed suit.
"Nice spell," he shouted to Tersiano over the roar of the flame wall.
"Thank you," the wild mage replied, "it's my latest."
Quillion turned his attention towards Oheniies, who regarded the wild mage appraisingly. "Can you open that Gateway now, sage?" he asked. "We probably only have a moment or two before Emiriak gets through."
"Of course," responded the sage. He turned to face the gateway and began speaking words in its direction. At least Quillion assumed so, for he could hear nothing over the sound of the wall of flame. After a few more words from Oheniies, the black interior of the Gateway briefly bloomed forth in a brilliant light before settling into a multi-colored swirling pattern.
"It's ready!" shouted the sage, his face looking a touch more withered than before.
"Then let's go!" Quillion shouted to the companions, reinforcing his command with a frantic wave of his arm towards the Gateway. As usual, Scintara led the way, leaping through the gateway without even testing to see if the other side had any footing. He would bring her up on that later, if he had a chance. The rest of the companions began to follow her lead, though stepping a bit more cautiously into the swirling colors.
Then, as the last of his friends passed through the Gateway, a loud explosion pounded Quillion's eardrums, and he clapped his hands painfully over his ears, dropping his sword breaker in the process. Stumbling, he managed to turn around and see Emiriak standing where the wall of fire previously burned. The man had his face turned up towards the ceiling and his arms were spread out wide as if in rapture. However, the scimitar he still held tightly in his grasp.
Through the ringing in his head, Quillion could hear Oheniies shouting at him, telling him to back away. Quillion did as he told and watched the sage step forward between Quillion and Emiriak, who now lowered his head and glared at the sage.
"Back away, old man, I'm not interested in you. The one that wants you is upstairs waiting patiently," laughed Emiriak.
"Your confrontation with Karallia ri Ferion will not be today, Czak Myar. He has other things to accomplish first," proclaimed the sage. He then raised his hands and whipped his fingers off to the side. A shimmering wall appeared between he and the Czak Myar, a wall that Quillion could barely distinguish from the air itself. Emiriak looked disgustedly at the wall and then swung his scimitar at his with a full arm swing. The sword bounced off the wall with a shower of sparks that sent Emiriak reeling back a couple of steps. The black-haired soldier's face showed his shock at being repelled so violently. Oheniies then turned to Quillion, a smile on his increasingly old-seeming face.
"I'll wager it's been a while since that boy's been denied so much. I think we're having a bad effect on his temper," he chuckled.
"I'm not going to take that bet," replied Quillion standing up and retrieving his sword breaker. A glance over the sage's shoulder saw Emiriak remounting his assault on the barrier, each strike violently sending him backward in a shower of sparks. Each time, Quillion noticed as well, that Emiriak struck the shield, Oheniies shuddered visibly. "Are you all right?" he asked, grasping the sage's arm.
"I'll be fine," the sage said, "That sword has some tremendous power is all. Come, you'd better hurry."
Quillion prepared to step into the portal, but stopped when Oheniies pressed a small velvet pouch into his hand.
"Take this," said the sage, closing Quillion's hand around it. "Ever since you arrived here, it was no longer with its rightful owner."
None of the million questions lingering in Quillion's mind could find words but one, "You aren't coming with us?"
"No," answered the sage in a sad voice as he flinched from another of Emiriak's blows. "I don't need this device to form a Gateway." He gestured towards the portal before them. "Besides, someone must remain behind to destroy this thing so the Czak Myar cannot follow. Farewell, my young friend." The sage then pushed Quillion through the gateway and the Half-Elf's sight blurred within the blinding swirl of colors.
The next thing he felt was his body landing on a dusty, hardwood floor. He did not lie there for long before a set of hands helped him to his feet. When his vision cleared, he saw Malaryn standing in front of him with a warm smile to greet him, surrounded by the rest of the companions. Despite his disorientation, he grinned back. Malaryn's smiles always had that effect on him.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"In musty, old cellar as near as we can tell," answered the big man. "Scintara's out looking to see what's outside. Where's Oheniies?"
"He stayed behind to destroy the gateway," said Quillion. He looked behind him where the Gateway should have stood, but he saw nothing. It looked to be a one way trip through that device. The door behind Malaryn flew open suddenly and all of them turned to see Scintara standing there with a half-eaten apple in her hand.
"Well troops," she mumbled through a mouthful of fruit, "let me be the first to welcome you to Gisk."


Oheniies finished the incantation that rendered the Gateway powerless with a regretful sigh. It appeared he never would have the chance to solve the device's mysteries. So be it. The gateway was a small example of the mysteries he would have to leave behind as a result of these blasted Mirdas Morgal troops. How many times must he be forced to retreat from them, leaving behind everything he loved?
As if his thoughts summoned it, another powerful blow from Emiriak shook him, as he sacrificed his own strength to keep his protective spell intact. He turned to face the Czak Myar troops who had caught their leader, fallen again by the recoil of his attack. Normally Oheniies would consider such a ludicrous pursuit in futility simply madness, but he knew better. Though mad Emiriak might be, the soldier knew all too well that each attack weakened Oheniies that much further. A little while longer and he would break through.
Oheniies knew he should go, but he felt reluctant to leave behind the house he had lived for the past century and a half. He knew exactly how much strength he needed to cast his personal Gateway and escape, so he decided to absorb as much of his familiar surroundings as he could.
"Well, I've put you on the right path, Quillion, you and your comrades," he said to no one in particular, since he knew the Czak Myar could not hear him behind the spell barrier. Long years in solitude had given him the habit of talking to himself. It comforted him now, as well as filled up the silence. "It's now up to you all to finish what you've started. I only hope you have the courage to see it through."
Another powerful shock from Emiriak sent a violent shudder through his body and sent the black-mailed soldier back into a heap of his men. That blow nearly broke through.
"Time to go now for sure," he said as he stood up straight, preparing to summon a Gateway. He then heard a sharp whoosh and felt a tug on his left shoulder. That was strange. Where did that splattering sound come from? Before he could investigate, however, he heard a voice from behind him, a voice that seemed to echo from down in a well.
"I don't think it's time to go just yet, Oheniies. We have only begun to talk."


©   1998   C.A. Lutke

They Who Are No More Hero`s Return, chapters 11 and beyond The City of No Rules