Wake (Breathe III) (Underconstruction, over 400 pages lost)

[Riverdane]

“Dearly beloved…” the red-nosed halfing with the bloodshot eyes began. And then belched.

“Excuse me.” he said, not sounding very apologetic. Sylver leaned over to Emaus, nudging her.

“It’s a sign.” he whispered.

“Shh!” Emaus replied, nudging him back hard enough to almost break his ribs.

“Dearly beloved…” the halfling began again. “We are gathered here today to join this man…” he gestured.

“That’s Sylver’s pet, Father Drokka.” Dane said with a forced smile.

“Oh, I thought he looked a little funny.” Father Drokka said. He half turned away from them, producing a flask from his robes. He drank deeply.

“Are we sure this assling is a cleric?” Sylver whispered to his wife. Another jab, hard enough that he had to call off his pet before it attacked Emaus.

“Ok.” Drokka said, turning back to them and capping his flask. “Third times the charm. Who’s the groom?”

Dane and Sylver pointed simultaneously to Riverdane. River waved weakly at the priest.

River’s attire had not changed from the graduation ceremony the day before. Still in his brilliant crimson and silver, he would have been hard pressed to find anything more regal looking than what he wore. Camille would have wanted it no other way.

“Ok,” Drokka said, swaying back and forth in a way that was making them all ill. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to join this man…”, a finger pointed at River, “and this woman…” Another finger, pointing once more to Sylver’s earth pet.

“The one in the dress!” Sylver exclaimed in disgust.

Drokka peered at both Sylver and Emaus, both in their robes.

“HER!” Sylver sighed, turning the halfling towards his daugher.

His beautiful daughter. None of the assembled had ever seen Camille in anything except pantaloons or armor since she turned thirteen. But now, standing there, with her long blonde hair weaved into a single braid, with a floral tiara in her hair, with Emaus’s old wedding dress, fitting on Camille’s form even better than it had fit the original owner, she was….stunning. When Sylver walked her up the aisle and River turned to see her, his smile froze on his face, slowly thawing to simple awe. Dane had to shake his son by his shoulder to bring him out of his spell.

“Ah!” the halfing exclaimed. “Her! Umm…gathered here to join this man and her in holy matrimony. And quickly, I have a party in Rivervale in about…”

“We know, Father.” Dane smiled tightly. “Please continue.”

“Ok.” Drokka said. “The highspeed version! Do you…” A long pause, as the halfling fished some index cards out of his robes. “Riverdane Wyldechylde take this…” Another pause, then he turned to Camille. “What’s your class, lady?”

“Paladin.” Camille beamed. Nothing could ruin this moment for her, not even an inebriated cleric.

“…take this Paladin, Camille Nosurname, to be your lawfully wedded wife, in the eyes of all the gods, should they strike you dead if you’re lyin’?”

River did not hesitate except to look at his beautiful bride and fall in love all over again, for the fourth time since Sylver had escorted her up the aisle.

“I do.” he said, eyes smiling at her.

“Good.” Drokka slurred. “And do you, Camille Nosurname take this…” a look to Riverdane. “Class?”

“Shadowknight.” River said quietly.

“…take this Shadowknight…” And then Drokka’s mouth dropped open. “What the hells? A Paladin marrying a Shadowknight??”

Sylver pressed two gold pieces into the halfing’s grubby hands. “JUST marry them please.”

Drokka eyed the gold in his hand, and then made it disappear into his robes. “…take this Shadowknight to be your lawfully wedded husband, in the eyes of all the gods, should they strike you dead if you’re lyin’, which they’re gunna do anyway when they find out you two got married?”

“I do.” Camille said, her eyes growing wet, but determined not to cry. Knights don’t cry.

River actually looked relieved. He turned to his father quickly.

“She does!” he whispered.

“I know!” Dane laughed under his breath. “Now pay attention!”

“The ring?” Drokka asked. Camille waved her hand happily at the priest. She had refused to remove the ring River had placed on her finger at the graduation.

“Oh.” he said, eyes watering. “You did that already.” He looked lost.

“I think they can be pronounced man and wife.” Emaus suggested.

“Good idea!” Drokka said, waving his flask. “I now pronounce you man and wife! Kiss her!”

Camille was in River’s arms before he had even fully turned to her. He scooped her up and crushed her to his chest, lips locking passionately with his new bride. Emaus threw her arms around Sylver, taking him by surprise, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Dane rocked back on his heels with a silly grin on his face, and then reached out impulsively and hugged Sylver’s pet. The earth elemental just stared at him blankly. Drokka toasted them all, and polished off his flask. He weaved off to the side, ready to spend Sylver’s gold on some new spirits.

“What happened to the ‘Does anyone here see any reason why these two should not be married?’ part?” Sylver muttered sadly. Emaus just squeezed him tighter, leaning in close to his ear.

“Get over it.” she whispered with a smile.

And thus, with the earth elemental throwing rice and the priest throwing up, began the new lives of Riverdane and Camille Wyldechylde.
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[Riverdane]

They appeared at the druid ring in Lavastorm with a flash of green light. CloudDancer had been wisely left in the stable in Freeport; between the barren rock landscape dangerous cliff faces and cracks in the rock, she was safer there. Besides, their destination was less than a quarter mile from the druid portal.

Lavastorm was located in a bleak mountainrange off of the Nektulos Forest. It received little traffic; the entire area was surrounded by high unsurmountable mountains, creating a circular area with no other exits than the one leading through the mountains from the Nektulos. One way in, same way out.

The area itself was a hellish nightmare of jagged volcanic rock. Open pits of lava, stinking of sulfur, boiled merrily on the surface, dotting it like bright orange wounds. Steam and gasses leaked through fissures everywhere, the area permeated with the sound of hissing. In one particularly large crater of lava, named Solesek’s Eye, the walls were cut away into three walkways leading to three separate entrances. One, the Temple of Solesek Ro, rarely seeing anyone at its doors except for the odd pilgrimage of questers who would visit for instruction of ancient quests and be rewarded for their efforts upon completion. Another entrance was to the home of the fire goblins, and a mining colony of some gnomes and their clockwork servants. And their objective, the last opening. The lair of Lord Nagafen.

A brief visit with Whizbang had included both a run down of what had transpired and a history lesson from the ailing gnome. Whizbang and Pedi had met the news of Camille’s loss with striken looks, Pedi squeezing Whizbang’s hand and promising Camille that she would check on Emaus. Pedi had felt a touch of Emaus’ grief when they had first brought in Whiz and she had thought she would lose him. She could only imagine what hell Emaus was going through.

Jentry’s mutiny and the overthrow of Lucan’s grip on Freeport was met with a grunt of approval from Whizbang. “Now maybe that stinkhole can start to catch up to Qeynos.” he said. Pedi repressed an urge to strangle him for badmouthing Camille’s birthplace and pinched his arm hard instead.

The battle with Mistmoore left the gnome’s mouth open wide. He looked at Talvarien beaming as Camille recalled the final moments of Mayong’s existence.

“You planted a tree in him.” Whizbang said in shock.

“Yup, powpowpowpow!” Talvarien said. “Right through the heart, BAM.”

“I’m amazed.” Whizbang uttered.

“Why?” Talvarien asked, “Because of my brilliant quick-thinking and incredible reflexes?”

“No.” Whizbang said. “That you’re still alive after stealing our table leg.”

“Err…” Talvarien gulped, glancing at Pedi. She did NOT look amused.

After showing Whizbang the golden hilt and pommel, the gnome launched into what he knew concerning the next leg of their quest.

“Alright, your next target is Lord Nagafen. He is presently holed up in a large cavern located in Lavastorm. The way to his lair is through a series of warrens and chambers that hold a few living obstacles. A whole tribe of kobolds have set up shop at the entrance, and the original occupants are deeper in, fire giants who would bathe in that lava that would incinerate you in a heartbeat. Since Lord Nagafen has been imprisoned there, rumor has it that he has formed an alliance with the giants and their King Tranix. Lady Vox has done similarily with the ice giants in Permafrost.”

“Wait a minute.” Rocsalt cut in. “Naggy and Vox are in prison? Why? And who locked them up?”

“Both Nagafen and Vox are shrouded in speculation. What I’m going to give you are what some of the scholars agree on. Others would fight to their deaths to contradict this information. But this is what I would tend to believe, given what I’ve read. What do you know about the Sleeper?” Whizbang asked.

“A dragon, locked up for some reason on Velious.” Rocsalt said, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s all.” Grelin nodded. Camille and Talvarien just looked blank.

“Correct,” Whizbang said, “Kerafyrm, aka the Sleeper, was a prismatic dragon, the result of mating of two dragons of different colors, something forbidden amongst the dragons since the beginning of time since it could create another dragon with power to rival Veeshan, the Wurm Queen. He was put to sleep by the elders of the dragons of Norrath to prevent his ever coming into his true power and Veeshan herself. It is rumored that Mayong Mistmoore himself was somehow involved with Kerafyrm’s imprisonment. Four of the ancient elemental dragons sacrificed their lives in service to this cause, sealing themselves inside the tomb, their lifeforce creating a shield that kept Kerafyrm from awakening. As long as they remained there, the Sleeper sleeps. These four dragons are known as the Warders. Waking the Sleeper is something the dragons, and most civilized folks, wanted to prevent. The speculation on what the Sleeper will do upon waking is vast, but most agree it will be the destruction of all dragonkind, and anyone who gets in his way.”

“So, where do Naggy and Vox come into this?” Rocsalt pressed.

“Lord Nagafen and Lady Vox decided to pool their resources together, mate and create their own little Sleeper, another prismatic dragon.” Whizbang said slowly.

“What??” Talvarien exclaimed, “Naggy and Vox were getting it on?” The interruption earned him a dirty look from Whizbang.

“The Ring of Scale was the faction of dragons that Naggy and Vox belonged to, along with Talendor, Lady Gore, and the like.” Whizbang continued. “The Ring of Scale revolted at the thought. They saw the danger that this union could create, but Nagafen and Vox were sure they could control their offspring. They were overruled, decided to go on with their plan anyway, were found out, the fertilized egg destroyed, and the would-be parents imprisoned, each in a lair that could support them. Nagafen, being a fire dragon, ended up locked away in Lavastorm, and Vox, an ice dragon ended up trapped in Permafrost Keep, near Halas and Everfrost. Their prisons were magiked to keep them from touching the walls without experiencing excruciating pain, that would eventually lead to death. They were imprisoned with their belongings, so each dragon reportedly have a rather decent hoarde locked up with them. Over time, each of them made alliances with the giants that resided outside their prisons.

The giants further complicated the mess. Seeing adventurers growing more and more powerful, to the point where two highly skilled invaders, such as us at the top of our class, could invade their home and lay waste to them, they delved into their magic and combined it with the magic of the dragons, effectively turning the dragons into giant watchdogs. If, say, Grelin and Roc here went blazing through the home of the fire giants and the giants needed to retreat, they could back up into Naggy’s chamber. The magic was thus that if Naggy saw anyone too powerful for the giants to handle, with his eyes he could banish them out of the dungeon. Vox could put you at the entrance to Permafrost Keep, and Naggy to the edge of the lava pit in Lavastorm. Some giants had wanted to make that banishment include all levels of training, but Rallos Zek intervened, only allowing them to have the dragons banish those of unbeatable power. Rallos wanted no cowards for followers.”

“So we are too dangerous for the giants?” Talvarien asked.

“Theoretically.” Whizbang said. “All of us here in this room have the training to practically solo most of the giants there, thus putting us on the banishment list. And to use non-experienced troops would involve an entire raid of people just learning what it’s like to raid, and that would take luck, intense training, and time. Luck we can’t trust. Intense training we could try, but time? We simply don’t have it. I am certain Grieg, even without being aware of what we are trying, isn’t just sitting on his ass up there. His project was put behind a month due to my little chemistry experiment and he wasn’t happy about that. And who could we enlist to go after the dragons for us? Walkers is too experienced to get anywhere near Vox or Naggy. And how many people would stop in their studies, not reaching levels of spell use and disciplines just to have a shot at killing two dragons with limited treasury and an army of giants to kill through? You could only teach them the basics, buff them up and send them in, and hope they grasp the concept of complete heal chains and agro control. You couldn’t teach them new spells, you couldn’t teach them class defensive and offensive tricks of the masters, because that damned watchdog spell would label them “unbeatable” by giant standards, trigger the banishment and you’d find yourself half a mile away where you started. Vox and Nagafen stay pretty much unmolested.

Now, the prison theory is what I believe. Other scholars say that Vox and Nagafen were both thrown out of the Ring of Scale for ‘unknown’ reasons, and that Vox took over in Permafrost when the ice giants relocated to Velious, and that she is not actually imprisoned in Permafrost at all. They also support a tale that Erollisi intervened on the behalf of one of her followers from Qeynos that was supposed to be sacrificed to Nagafen, and caused him to fall in love with the maiden by sewing his heart to his stomach, allowing his heart to rule his hunger. When the maiden left him, his heart, which had grown too big to allow him to leave his chamber, burst and he bellowed fire, creating Lavastorm with its lava pools.”

Camille gave an unusal look of bitterness. “I doubt Erollisi would have intervened on the maiden’s behalf.” she said, “I met Erollisi when I awoke in Hate, and she’s a spiteful bitch.”

“Bitch or not, the whole thing smacks more of romanticism than fact.” Whizbang said. “Fact, both dragons are never seen outside their lairs. I would tend to favor the prison story. I can’t see the Ring of Scale allowing the creation of another prismatic. And the banishment defense is true. I experienced it myself when I went with Caniel and Kaelwolf to spy on the Lady. Froze my ass off getting to her. I looked at her, she looked at me, and poof, ended up at the front of Perma again.”

“So the plan is,” Rocsalt said. “I sneak and feign my way in, grab the coins from Naggy without him noticing me, exit the same way, head to Permafrost, rinse, repeat?”

“It’s the only way I see that would work under the circumstances.” Whizbang said.

So there they were at the edge of the crater known as Solesek’s Eye, the entrance to the lair of Lord Nafagen, prisoner of the Ring of Scale, a short distance away. The heat from the lava in the crater brought beads of sweat to Camille’s brow. She nervously wiped it away on the back of her hand. The heat wasn’t the only thing making her sweat.

Relax, she told herself. We go in, Roc grabs the coins, we go out. Easy. No sweat.

Right.
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[Riverdane]

The entrance was guarded, of course. Kobolds, resembling a cross between dogs, bears, and man guarded the front area. Invisibility proved to be impossible; whatever magic had originally blended the three ancestors of the kobolds into the muscular balls of black and brown fur also left this particular tribe with the ability to see things hidden from the naked eye. That or they had a resident shaman among them casting spirit sight. Or just their wet dog noses picking up the scent. Whatever the reason, the assumed covert entrance of Camille and company resulted in a flurry of weapons, fur and claws.

These kobold, both warrior and shaman class, had no idea what had just walked through their door. Three guards, two brawny warriors and a smaller shaman with a wolf pet, blinked in surprise when the four walked in. The shaman recovered first, sending in his pet, and began to cast something that looked like slow on the woman, seeing the sharp serrated blade of her sword and placing her on the top of the danger list. One of the warriors broke into a sprint for a large bell on a rope, meaning to call the pack down to assist. Four to three odds put them at the disadvantage, and they knew it.

Before the warrior could reach the bell, the one half-elf with the bow had sent an arrow through his paw, pinning him to a support beam against the wall. The kobold howled in pain.

The shaman almost finished casting slow when the woman’s eyes pulsed light. An invisible force picked up the shaman and drove it into the wall with enough force to break three of his ribs. The spell was forgotten as pain shot through his chest.

The second warrior roared and made to spring at the woman’s back, as the shaman’s pet leaped at her from the front. With a flash of blue moonlight from the hands of the second half-elf, the wolf was enveloped in pale light, every internal organ cooking at once. When the pet reached the woman, it was already dead, thumping off her breastplate and dropping to the ground, the smell of burnt liver rising from it. Involuntarily, all three kobolds began to salivate.

Meanwhile, the warrior advancing on her back suddenly had his feet swept out from beneathe him by the leather-clad, furless male. The enraged warrior flailed about on the ground, seeing his two partners die almost simultaneously; the woman thrust through the shaman’s heart with her wicked looking blade, and the bowman cutting the throat of the pinned warrior with a short sword from his belt. And then, seconds later as he tried to claw his way back to his feet, the furless human, dodging each impotent swipe with a speed the kobold had not thought possible, struck him in the face with the heel of his palm, flattening his muzzle and driving cartilege and bone up into his canine brain. Death came instantly. Two convulsive shudders, and the entrance to Lord Nafagen’s lair was breeched.

The bell never sounded once. If it had, it would have tolled ‘Doom’.
_________________

[Riverdane]

They moved fast, deeper into the caverns. A certain urgency was upon them; they all knew the pressure of time riding on them. They killed kobolds in their way quickly, efficiently, and silently. They knew eventually a kobold would stumble across their bloody trail through its stronghold. Or a change of guard would happen, and then the alarm would be sounded. And then retreat would be cut off. Grelin could always port them out, but the entire lair aware of intruders would make Rocsalt’s job extremely difficult. Sneaking for a monk required the element of surprise. Creatures looking actively for intruders would render Roc’s ability to sneak in unseen practically useless.

Talvarien, working more on instinct than any skill with tracking could provide, pointed around a corner silently. They could all hear the steady, slow WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP from the direction he pointed. On closer inspection, they could see a large ten by ten section of stone slowly rise up from the floor, revealing a passageway beyond, and then WHUMP it would drop down, flush to the floor, sealing off retreat.

“Trap?” Camille whispered, eyebrow raised.

“Yes and no.” Rocsalt replied quietly, mind working double speed. “This looks like a roadblock. It is too obvious and rises too slowly to be a trap meant to surprise people. More likely it is here to slow down anyone the kobolds are chasing.”

“Why not just dead-end it?” Talvarien asked. “These corridors are tiny. Run someone in here with a dead end and you’ll have them right where you want them.”

“Because,” Roc mused. “I think this is the one way beyond to where we need to go….through to the giants. They would need a way to reach them, but no reason to make it easy. Simple enough when not under duress to just slip under it as it rises. But an enemy with full pursuit would be stopped, even if for a little bit. And that kind delay may be all the time the dogs need to bring a runner down.”

Camille nodded in agreement. “Ok then.” she whispered. “Let’s head in, one at a time.”

One by one they crouched and slipped under the stone as it raised. Talvarien glanced up quickly as he passed under. Two tons of rock, lifting over his head. He hurriedly slipped through.

“Mashed ranja is definitely not on the menu.” he murmured to himself.

Once through, the walls became a little more rough hewn. They found themselves in a chamber with exits to the left and right.

“Left.” Talvarien said, Grelin nodding. Both trackers saw the majority of traffic, if not all, went through the left opening.

As they traveled through the tunnel to the left, they were uncomfortably aware of the fading bloodstains that splashed the walls and floor. In recesses off to the sides, unseen to them in the dark, they could hear a loud clickclickclick.

“Lava duct crawlers.” Grelin identified for them, recalling the large dog-sized beetles Whizbang had warned them about as they had left. A bite from one and its poison could boil a man’s blood in two minutes. That would explain the blood along the tunnels. Kobold runners that were not wary had probably fallen prey to those nasty yellow beetles, which provided a secondary checkpoint on the crawl to Nagafen and the giants but were far from tame. Fortunately, the duct crawlers were off doing whatever it is bugs do as they passed.

Further on they gave a wide berth to large bats hangling upside down from perches in alcoves in the wall. Sonic bats, Whizbang had described them, able to stun a person more effectively than any paladin just with a shriek from their small fanged mouths. These were asleep. The sonic bats would have posed another unintentionally set trap in their path, but as luck would have it, finding the bats sleeping worked in their favor.

Then another fork, left and right. Talvarien indicated to take the right. The left led upward into darkness and looked unused.

“Hold on a sec.” Rocsalt said, stopping Talvarien leading them through the right branch with a hand on his arm. “I want to check something out.”

Rocsalt slipped into the darkness to the left while the other three waited nervously for him and the juncture. All around them they could hear the clickclickclick of the lava duct crawlers. After ten long minutes Rocsalt suddenly appeared behind them, sneaking so quietly they had not seenhis approach.

“What the hells?” Talvarien asked, “How did you get behind us?”

“That left fork goes to the goblin camps.” Rocsalt said, pointing the way he had disappeared. “It’s all interconnected. I actually snuck my way through the goblins and back outside to Lavastorm through that other entrance we saw, then went back in the way we came. No change of guard yet, was easy to get back. The goblins are much easier to sneak past, and I have a feeling they don’t see invisible. We could have gotten to this point without leaving bodies had we realized it.”

“Hindsight does us no good at this point.” Camille said. “We can always come back out that way, avoid the dogs all together. Or better, just have Grelin port us out as soon as you have the coins and get out of the lair.”

“Aye,” Rocsalt said, but his eyes were still looking down the left fork. Roc was a puller, and Camille could sense him storing the route in that spot of his brain pullers reserve for their mental maps. River had had the same look in his eyes on many trips they had made. While she was just looking at the scenery, River would be looking for ways in and out of an area and calculating how quickly he could get back to the spot they were in with the obstacles he saw in his way. Pullers were a strange breed.

“Let’s go.” Camille said, pulling Roc by the sleeve down the right fork. He followed easily enough, but his eyes darted one last time to the left.
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[Riverdane]

The right fork deposited them into a den of the lava duct crawlers. For four harrowing minutes, with Grelin and Talvarien rooting down anything that moved, Camille hacked her way through them, while they tried to bite through her plate boots. She and Rocsalt practically danced through the four beetles, keeping their feet out of the mandibles of the duct crawlers. At one point, near the end of the battle, one eager bug tried to clip off Rocsalt’s foot at the ankle. The monk had to leap straight up and onto the beetle’s back, flattening its legs underneathe it while Camille drove Reaver through its front pinchers and into its mouth. It died twitching, spitting its venom all along Camille’s gore covered blade. She wiped it off in disgust across its crushed back, wondering how the kobolds managed to get past this area. Maybe the beetles had moved in afterwards, effectively sealing off the kobolds from the giants. Or maybe there was a backway in, something they were missing like when they missed the goblin entrance. All she knew is that the path they had chosen was leaving a long string of corpses behind them, and that made her nervous. Dead bodies tend to alert occupants that their home is under siege.

In the next room, they found a new type of bug, a spider with skin as hard as stone. No web, but it didn’t need one. The thing moved at them so fast when they entered the room they didn’t have a chance of escaping, as it flew across the floor, all eight legs scrambling faster than they could follow.

All of Camille’s blows to it bounced off as if she had struck the wall. Talvarien’s snare slowed it down a bit, but it still could MOVE. Talvarien’s arrows ricocheted off it, tips breaking. The spider bunched its legs, after ignoring Camille’s glancing swing across its body, and sprung, extending all eight legs out like a starfish’s arms, prepared to hit her head and snap those legs shut like a venus fly trap closing on a fly. Only Grelin hastily pushing her out of the way saved her from getting a deadly cap that would take more than normal strength to pry off her head. The spider landed on the ground and skittered over to the side, watching them carefully with its multifaceted eyes.

Rocsalt did nothing but put his palms together, as if praying. His breathing slowed, his eyes growing hooded as he slipped into a meditative state none of his companions would ever be able to reach, with the adrenaline kicking through their bodies. But Rocsalt was in peace, years of training allowing him to reach a sense of balance and focus in the midst of battle. The spider made a high pitched mewling sound, like a hungry kitten, legs bunching. Rocsalt calmly took one of his bandages from his pack and began to wrap his knuckles in cloth.

“Pull it.” Roc said softly.

Camille’s eyes blazed bright, and her stun pulsed out. The spider shrugged it off, the stun doing nothing to slow it. But it did aggrivate it enough for it to make another spring at her face. It moved so fast, ignoring the stun she thought would give it pause, that she didn’t even have time to raise her shield in defense.

Like an uncoiled viper, Rocsalt’s fist pistoned out, bandaged knuckles striking the spider mid-flight. The spider shattered like glass, legs littering the floor, pieces of it peppering Camille’s face. She blinked, one leg landing on her shoulder and staying there. Talvarien gaped.

“Pow.” Rocsalt said.

“Yeah!” Talvarien exclaimed. He took the one leg off of Camille’s shoulder, feeling the granite hardness of it. “Roc beats the Rock! Did it hurt?”

“Ask the spider.” Rocsalt said, heading up a ramp leading from the room.

“I don’t think it’s talking, POW!” Talv chuckled, new respect for the monk.

Tossing the stone leg onto the floor with the other pieces, Talvarien followed the others after Roc up the ramp.
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[Riverdane]

They waited.

After a few moments, Rocsalt jogged back from scouting ahead, a troubled look on his face.

“Something’s wrong.” he said.

“What?” Camille asked. Did the giants see them coming? Was the alarm raised already? Did their announcement of dead kobolds alert them that their were intruders in the House of Nagafen?

“I found the giants’ area, the doors are too large to be anything else.” Rocsalt said. “But its deserted.”

“Deserted?” Grelin asked, eyebrow raised.

“They’re not in there?” Talvarien exclaimed.

“I don’t know.” Roc said, brow furled. “It’s not deserted as in ‘packed up and moved’ deserted. But there are no giants at all guarding the front, and what I would imagine is King’s Tranix’s throne room is empty. I went all the way to this drop bridge that spans some lava, but no sign of any giants.”

“What does that mean, Roc?” Camille asked, worry gnawing at her.

“I think they are all deeper, possibly as far as in Naggy’s room itself.” Rocsalt surmised.

“Which would make it…” Camille began, understanding.

“…almost impossible with all those eyes to sneak up on him, aye.” Rocsalt finished.

“So what do we do?” Talvarien asked helplessly.

“Well,” Roc suggested. “We can at least get as close as we can without being spotted, see if I can get a layout for the room. Then we can head back outside, and wait. I’ll sneak back in through the goblin tunnels, and I’ve already got a route pretty much in the shadows I can take to Naggy’s lair. I’ll just come in and avoid the dogs and sneak right back out.”

“Alright.” Camille said, “If you think you can get back here when the giants are in the throne room and get passed them…”

“Easy as pie.” Rocsalt assured her.

“Pie…” Talvarien groaned mournfully, “Damned Mistmoore is looking up at my apples by now…”

“Lead the way, Roc.” Camille prompted.

Rocsalt nodded, and they followed the monk into the fortress of King Tranix.
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[Riverdane]

“Would you LOOK at that…” Talvarien whispered, eyes huge.

Lord Nagafen.

They had nervously followed Rocsalt through a huge door leading into the giants’ complex. The walls were so high, they felt insignificant, like ants crawling through a great hall. Camille’s head didn’t even clear the seat of King Tranix’s throne as they passed. And as Roc had reported, all of the rooms were empty. They crossed the bridge over the lava quietly, and moved cautiously around two more corners, feeling the air grow hotter with each step. And as they moved, they heard voices in the distance, growing louder as the air grew warmer, till they could finally make out what was being said. And as they turned the last corner, they finally came upon the area they had been searching for.

Lord Nagafen lay on his belly, surrounded by over thirty giants. The giants themselves were five times the height of Camille, dressed in white tunics over their red burnished skin. Sporting thick black moustaches, they almost all looked like exact duplicates, except one, wearing a golden crown instead of the customary white turban the others wore. The giants were a combination of fat and muscle, looking slightly pudgy, but Camille had no illusions that one fat fist would crush her to pulp if it landed on her unprotected head.

Nagafen was a brighter red than the giants, a juggernaut of crimson scales, wicked sharp teeth, yellow eyes filled with hellfire, tremendous claws. Huge red leathery wings lay folded against his massive back. His head was at the end of a long serpentine neck. At the moment it lay on the ground between his forepaws. His bed was a mountain of gold, with swords, axes and other weapons sticking out of the heap. Jewels, necklaces and other riches glittered amongst the gold. The bed of Lord Nagafen would turn a small guild into one of the richest in Norrath, if Death itself didn’t lay upon it.

Camille watched Lord Nagafen from afar, as he inhaled and exhaled. Each exhale allowed a little fire to escape his mouth, bathing the gold in front of him in a ruddy red light. That cooked gold was what she was here for; ten gold pieces worth of magic ore, treated by dragonfire to render it useful in the creation of Earthcarver, a sword that would chop through anything…once. Even the living stone of Grieg Veneficus.

The party hid in the shadows, out of sight of the dragon and his thirty companions. They could see mining tools, giant sized, laying around in abandoned heaps. The picks had seen better days, well used. But now, their use was over.

Thrity feet from Nagafen, as long as he was and just as wide, was a pool of lava, bubbling slowly. All around it was piled chopped rock and obsidian, built up like shallow walls around it, creating a short stubby volcano around the lava pool. Against the walls of the vast chamber were more piles of discarded rock, lining almost every wall. A lot of rock and rubble.

“That’s fresh cut.” Talvarien whispered motioning to the rock formation around the lava pool.

“Sssh.” Camille said, straining to hear Nagafen, who had started to speak. She recognized already what Talvarien has pointed out, and the implications were frightening.

“Your men have done well, Tranix.” Nagafen growled, a rich, aristocratic bass rolling from his mouth. “Soon this room will be yours as well. I will have no need for it.”

“The pleasure was ours, milord.” King Tranix, the giant in the golden crown, said formally, with a deep bow. “Sharing the space was tolerable, when it was our only option, but I am sure you will find yourself happier outside again, where you can hunt your own food. And my men can use this room for recreation. Living quarters take up much of the fortress, and the men grow restless when on top of one another.”

“I will leave my treasure here.” Nagafen said, motioning to his bed. “If one piece is missing when I come to check on it, you understand what will happen to your people.” It was not a question. The threat hung in the air pregnantly.

Tranix bowed his head, but not before Camille saw him scowl. Nagafen missed it. “Of course, milord. None of us would ever think to take that which is yours.” His head came up, and the scowl was gone, hidden carefully with a false look of concern. “Where will you go, now that we have finally dug the hole wide enough for you to swim out?”

Nagafen eyed the bubbling lava pool. “Are you certain that deep within the lava connects to the outside world?” he asked.

“Yes milord.” Tranix said. “I had one of my men swim all the way to Solesek’s Eye. He almost drowned; the way is far. But he said you will be able to move your mass through unobstructed, as long as you can hold your breath that long.”

“Good, good.” Nagafen said, eyes hooded, not looking at any of them. “I have held my breath long enough in this stinking prison. A little longer for my freedom is not too much to expect.”

“So…you will keep this room as your treasury, milord?” Tranix asked again, trying to acertain how often the dragon would be back. Relations between them had been strained enough with the lack of space. He was hoping the dragon would take his cursed treasure and disappear somewhere. Or stumble across a guild like Promethian Order and hold his blasted breath forever. He kept his face impassive as he thought this, however. Angering Lord Nagafen was something the King did not wish to do.

“Yes, this room will stay my treasury…for now.” Nagafen said. “I will make my way to Lady Vox, in Permafrost. Your cold kin may have had no luck burrowing her out, but then again, ice is solid straight through, unlike the beautiful lava we have running under the surface of this hellhole. You can send word for them to stop trying. Tell them that Lord Nafagen is coming to claim his bride, and the ice of Permafrost will be no match for the firey breath of Nagafen. I will melt her out of her cold prison and we will be together once more.” His hooded eyes shone brightly as he said it.

“And then?” Tranix asked.

“And then…” Nagafen said in a half whisper, more to himself than to his audience. “Then she and I will finish what we started, and our brood will show the Ring of Scale what it truly means to be imprisoned.”

“Just…” Tranix began carefully. “Don’t imprison them here….please.”

“No fear, Tranix.” Nagafen chuckled darkly, coming out of his self-absorbed vision of revenge. “I have a more uncomfortable place for my treacherous brothers and sisters. Your men have done well. I release you to your fortress.”

“Thank you, milord.” Tranix said, with only the slightest hint of irony at Nagafen ‘releasing’ the King’s loyal followers. At Tranix’s word, they would attack the dragon with picks if so commanded, but Tranix was unwilling to sacrifice that many men to make a point. He turned to the giants standing at attention behind him. “Back to your home, men.” he ordered. The giants began to leave.

With a nod from Rocsalt, Camille’s company ran back the way they had come, through the throneroom, out the large doors, down beyond the stone spider’s chamber, and to the fork leading into the goblin’s area.

They had seen enough.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“Wowowow!” Talvarien exclaimed. “Naggy’s loose!”

“Aye.” Camille said, eyes distant. The whole situation created more of a mess than than her brain could process. But perhaps… She spoke aloud as she worked it over.

“Naggy’s loose.” she said, not looking at any of them, eyes far away. “That gives us a much safer option. Naggy will leave the treasure, head out to free Lady Vox. We could just wait. Camp near Solesek’s Eye and wait for him to swim up out of the lava. With him gone, we could walk in there, take the coins. Wait for him to free Lady Vox, do the same thing. We would have time. Three weeks left, if Grieg’s estimate was correct. More than enough time. No danger to Roc, no danger to us. Get the damned coins and make the sword, go up and do whatever we can to kill Grieg.” Her eyes were bright with the prospect. “Kill Grieg and…” ….free River she wanted to finish, but Rocsalt cut her off quietly.

“No.” he said.

“No?” she said, turning to him. “What do you mean no?” The slightest hint of anger crept into her voice. This was her quest, not Rocsalt’s, and it wasn’t his call to make.

“No.” Rocsalt said. “This has become bigger now. We have to kill that dragon.”

“What??” she exclaimed. “Are you crazy? We can’t even get close to it, without it looking at us and banishing us…” Kill the dragon? Most likely kill themselves! “And for what, Roc? What was that you and Logik say? ‘Never stop pushing?’..” She regretted it the moment the words left her mouth. She had seen River do this in the past, one of his less endearing qualities. Challenge his authority and suddenly he was offensively defensive. She had seen her husband brood for days when Nizzre would suggest a different plan of action publically in front of others. But the reaction was identical to his. She couldn’t control herself. River had trained her well, in all his aspects…

Rocsalt had either not heard her or chose to ignore her. “Think of the larger picture here. Naggy is free. He frees Vox. We make the sword, go up to the moon and somehow defeat Grieg. Meanwhile, Naggy and Vox are making babies. Prismatic dragons. Forbidden by dragons everywhere, and dragons are some of the smartest creatures on the planet, and the oldest. Now we have a whole family of prismatics, plus two parents who can with a look, send any experienced dragonslayer to the entrance of Permafrost or banish them to Solesek’s Eye. Who would fight them? The children? Will we have saved the children of Norrath from Grieg just to put them in armor and march babies against an army of the most powerful dragons in the world and their two bitter parents?”

“If we get ourselves killed trying to kill Naggy, there won’t be any world left for Vox and Naggy to take over with their brood!” Camille countered. “Right now, Grieg is making a machine that is going to destroy River’s soul, eat him up and move the moon. THAT is our objective. Let Promethian Order deal with the prismatics! We aren’t a guild anymore, we’re just four people. We have enough shit to deal with without having to…”

Grelin flinched. He had heard River curse many many times. It was commonplace then. But never had he heard Camille do it.

“There is NO TIME!” Rocsalt practically yelled.

“Guys…” Talvarien began, looking nervously down the path toward the bats. “We really shouldn’t be standing here…”

They bother ignored him, glaring at each other. Debate was gone. Somehow, through both their unusual stubbornness, it had escalated into a verbal battle.

“No time!” Rocsalt repeated. “Again, Vox and Naggy can banish with a look! Promethian Order will be helpless against her. Unknowingly, the giants have created bigger monsters than they could have dreamed when they worked with the dragons to create that spell!”

“Roc, we are not compromising River’s soul. We are freeing him and stopping Grieg…” Camille interjected.

“This isn’t about River!” Rocsalt shot back. “Dammit Camille, I know you and River never had children, but this is about THEM, not US...”

Camille’s eyes went dark, and her face flushed as if slapped. “We never had time.” she said coldly. “We would have but…it’s none of your damned business!” She was flustered now. What he had said stung.

“Guys…” Talvarien said, a little more nervously. Again he was ignored.

Rocsalt realized he had swung below the belt, but plowed on. He had to make his point get across.

“We have to kill Naggy if we can. And if there is any four people who could do it, we are the four. I trust us. But to let this dragon escape into the world, the world we’re trying to save, just to allow it to destroy us…”

“I think,” Camille said, voice like ice. “I think this is just your way of going out, Roc. You know your time is short, and you want to go out with a bang. What the hells do you care about the future? You don’t even have one.” There, an eye for an eye.

Now it was Rocsalt’s turn to look as if slapped. The two humans stared at each other hostilely, Grelin looking back and forth between them with a sad, hurt, bewildered look. What was happening to them?

“Guys!” Talvarien exclaimed, oblivious to the battle.

A long howl from behind them broke Roc and Camille’s staring contest. All heads snapped toward the sound.

“The kobolds…” Talvarien said on the edge of panic, as more howls joined in….too many.

“They know we’re here.”
_________________

[Riverdane]

The howls rose, louder and louder, echoing through the narrow halls. The sonic bats woke with a fluttering of wings. They flew down the corridor, towards the sound of the approaching dogs, away from the party of adventurers at the fork.

Grelin listened, as Talvarien drew his bow. Too close, he thought, the bats would slow them, perhaps, but too close…

“Get close.” Grelin said, stepping in between the triangle of his friends. He began to murmur the evac spell that would deposit them at the very first room they had entered. The bats were sending out their sonic shock, and then their high pitched call became a scream, as the howling increased. The kobolds were ripping them apart.

Grelin’s eyes flashed green, and then the entire party took on the same brilliant emerald color. And then he saw something happen that he rarely saw, but happens.

All of his friends disappeared.

Yet he remained.

The evac skipped me, he realized dimmly, turning to face the corridor. It could happen; the spell was shaky at best. On occasion it could skip a random person, even the caster himself. There would be no chance to cast another. In fact, no chance to cast much of anything.

The kobolds were coming through the last passageway..

Grelin’s hands and mouth were moving simultaneously. The first kobold to come through the open was cooked the same way the pet at the entrance was, moonfire shooting from the druid’s eyes, for a moment making his eyes nothing but pale blue pupiless orbs, radiating death. The kobold fell, smoking, to the ground, momentarily blocking the passage. The kobolds behind Grelin’s first victim stopped, the ones in the back smashing into the ones in front. Their sheer momentum pushed the dead kobold forward, and then the foremost one stepped onto the dead body rolling before him and leaped over.

Another blast, another cooked dog, and more of a roadblock. But the ones in front had seen what the last had done, and nimbly leaped over his corpse. And still they kept coming, growls and yips deep in their throats.

A different pulse, and Grelin had the front two snared. For a moment the two slowed, causing a much more difficult obstacle to move past. But soon they would be at the fork, where the area widened, and they would be able to spread out to the sides and hit him from three directions. He had to get out of there.

For good measure, he rooted one of the lead dogs pushing on the backs of the two snared ones. Dogs behind him tripped and fell over him, creating more of a mess. Grelin sensed how much mana he had left. Low. He had one shot at the evac, but he would pull it off before they reached him, he could tell, if he hurried. He recalled the spell, gesturing just so.

Fizzle.

He felt the mana leak as the spell began to work, and then just peter out. He fizzled. Top of his class and STILL the random, unusual fizzle would occur, an insult not only because of failure of the spell and loss of mana, but the fact that someone with his experience should fail at spells they mastered years ago. Cursing his luck, between the flawed evac and now this fizzle, he recast the evac.

Nothing.

He was out of mana.

The dogs hit him high and low, bowling into him, wrestling him to the ground. Grelin felt the air knock out of him, as he was practically buried under a mass of fur and muscle. The sheer weight of them broke his left leg painfully, as more and more they poured in. His leg screamed, but the bite to the throat he was waiting for never came. They weren’t trying to kill him, but they might just succeed anyway. His right shoulder dislocated, and darkness swam up and threatened to swallow him. He bit his own tongue hard to keep from blacking out. The pressure of the dogs was going to collapse his ribs, though. He could feel their heavy weight upon him, squeezing the breathe out of him.

And then, suddenly, the pressure was off. He saw through blurred vision a larger, bigger breed of kobold lift the last warrior that was on top of him and toss him to the side as if he weighed nothing. Grabbing Grelin by the collar, he yanked the druid up to his feet. Grelin’s weight landed on his broken leg and he went down like a sack of potatoes, writhing on the ground. The large kobold grabbed his good arm and started dragging him along the ground toward the kobolds’ lair. Grelin slid along behind him helplessly, pain flaring in all parts of his body.

“Out of my way, you dogs!” the large kobold growled. “You almost killed him, you mongrels! The King wants him alive!”

The other kobolds whined pitifully, realizing they had almost killed Grelin. It was a sure sentence of death for the lot of them if they had. The King of the kobolds was very strict about discipline among his troops.

Grelin closed his eyes as the large kobold dragging him stepped without looking twice under the dropping-wall trap. With a violent yank, he pulled Grelin out from under the rising block of stone just before it reached its apex and crashed down. And deeper they went.

Finally, Grelin, no longer sure of where he was, found himself dumped unceremoniously onto the floor in a small cave. He was jerked up roughly to his feet, this time by his dislocated arm. He almost screamed out loud. Almost. Two smaller kobolds chained his wrists and feet tightly to the wall, spread eagle. His entire body ached, but the most he could do was sag his head. His blonde hair, wet with sweat, fell forward over his eyes. The rest of his body was held taunt and immobile. Grelin looked up and saw a grey furred kobold enter, larger than any he had seen, even larger than the one who dragged him there.

“Sire!” the two smaller kobolds yipped, standing at attention.

“Sire.” the large kobold said, saluting with a paw over his heart.

“Begone, pups.” the King ordered the two smaller dogs. “But you, my champion, stay.”

The Champion nodded as the two smaller kobolds tore off. They seemed glad to be out from under the King’s eye.

“Were there others with him?” the King asked the Champion, glancing at Grelin hanging on the wall.

“No, sire.” the Champion replied, “He was the only one we found.”

The King looked at Grelin’s body dubiously. “He’s barely out of his pup years, this man killed all of those guards?”

“And more, sire.” the Champion said apologetically, hanging his head. “He killed two more when we grabbed him.”

“Hmm.” the King mused, looking at Grelin. “One of the front guards was pinned to the wall with an arrow. Do you see a bow on this man?”

The Champion looked up, blinking. “Well, no, si…” A sudden backhand from the King had the Champion dropping to his knees, muzzle stinging.

“Then WHERE ARE THEY?” the King exploded, delivering a kick to the Champion’s side. The Champion groaned apologies.

“I…don’t know sire.” he gasped.

The King reached over and grabbed Grelin by the chin, tilting his head up to see him. One of Grelin’s eyes was swollen and purple, nearly sealed shut from an elbow he had received during the pile-on. His functioning green eye glared at the King balefully.

“Where are your friends?” the King demanded, shaking Grelin’s head by the chin. Grelin said nothing, just stared. “How many of them are there out there? Are you planning to attack Lord Nagafen??” Each question was a violent shake, but Grelin was still quiet. Not a word. The King dropped Grelin’s head back onto his chest, and yanked up the Champion by one furry arm.

“Not a word of this goes to Nagafen until we have information on what kind of breech this is. If there is an army waiting outside and I don’t report it properly, it will be my head.” the King barked. “But your head, my champion, will roll with mine.”

“What would you like me to do?” the Champion inquired, flinching reflexively as the King spat out his orders.

“This one likes to play the silent game.” the King said, looking in disgust at Grelin. Grelin looked back up at him from under his hair, lips twisted in a snarl. From the pain?, the King wondered.

“Torture him.” the King continued, with a small chuckle. “You know what to do. If he starts to slide into death, get the Priest in here to revive him and torture him again. You have the skills, my champion.” The champion just smiled, for the first time since entering the room. “If anyone can make him talk, you can.”

“Aye.” the Champion grinned nastily. “I’ll make him talk.”

Grelin just looked up, one eye open, one sealed shut, and slowly smiled.
_________________

[Riverdane]

They waited silently at the druid ring, all three of them with eyes glued to the center, watching for that shimmer of light that would occur when Grelin appeared.

He didn’t appear.

Panic was settling into Camille, a feeling she didn’t like, not one bit. The exchange with Rocsalt had been bad enough, guilt for the things she had said hot inside her, and now… Grelin was her oldest friend. Had stayed close by, in and out of the guildhouse from the day River died when all the others had slowly disappeared. She had seen him dumped by a bad evac before. Hells, she had even rezzed him before when things had gone bad. But her father’s death left her frightened and shaken badly. She numbly realized that her fight with Rocsalt, the irritability, the overcaution may have been…WAS…a residual effect of Sylver’s death. She had no time to grieve, to mourn. Straight from finding the body, she had found herself pitted against his killer, then off to this barren wasteland to tangle with a dragon… She realized she was still in shock, and had snapped inside. And her ridiculous argument with Rocsalt resulted in them being caught with their pants down, and now Grelin was missing.

“It’s been a half hour.” Talvarien said nervously, breaking the silence. Camille and Roc turned eyes from the druid ring to the ranger. Talvarien was twirling one of his arrows between his fingers anxiously.

“He may have run towards the goblins, may have gotten lost in there.” Rocsalt suggested.

“Yeah.” Talvarien replied, nodding. But he didn’t believe it. He didn’t say what all of them were asking themselves: why didn’t Grelin just slip into the goblin section and port out? Because he never got the chance to leave, Talvarien concluded. The dogs were too close.

“We have to go find him.” Camille said, coming out of her own tortured thoughts. “He may still be alive in there.”

“How much time?” Talvarien asked.

“Two and a half hours, if he’s dead.” Camille answered quietly.

“If we have to fight our way in, that may not be enough time.” Rocsalt said, starting off towards the back entrance to the the goblin camps. “Stay here, I’ll get him.”

“Roc…” Camille said, moving toward him. He stopped, and looked back at her, eyebrow raised

He’s waiting for me to tell him not to go, she realized.

“Good luck.” she said, nodding to him. “And let’s talk when you get back.”

“Aye.” he said, eyes softening. “Be ready to heal or rezz, but either way, we’re both coming back.”

“Roc…” Talvarien asked, “You want me to go in with….”

“Not this time, Talv.” Rocsalt said over his shoulder, marching off. “This time I need to move like a shadow.”

“Right.” Talvarien said, with a halfhearted wave.

Rocsalt slipped into the back-entrance and was gone.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“We have to go in there.” Camille said, drawing her sword. An hour had passed. Each minute that had gone by weighed more heavily than the last. After sixty of them with no sign of Grelin or Rocsalt, Camille found herself a nervous wreck.

Talvarien had drawn his bow, ready to go in, with a look of desperation on his face. They had started this as four people. Now they were down to two. The quest that had started smoothly with Mistmoore’s death was rapidly disintegrating.

“I’ll heal as I can, if it gets messy.” Camille said, turning to Talvarien at the entrance Rocsalt had used an hour ago. “You just do your thing from a distance unless I get swamped. And let’s both have root up, it’s the only crowd control we have.”

Talvarien nodded, swallowing his tension. They had to go in.

Suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway, staggering. Talvarien’s bow swung up instantly.

Rocsalt, with Grelin in his arms.

“He’s still with us.” Roc gasped under the weight. Camille dropped Reaver to the ground and helped Roc lower Grelin slowly. Talvarien let out a long exhale, easing his pull on the bow with relief.

Grelin’s face was a mass of blue and purple bruises. Both eyes were so puffy Camille couldn’t see anything of them except the wounds. His arms and belly had been carved almost ritualistically, his clothes shredded. Fingers on both hands were bent at odd angles, like broken twigs. He was covered in blood, Rocsalt’s front upper body soaked in it from carrying him. Barely noticable, Grelin’s chest lifted and dropped. He was still breathing, somehow. He was still alive.

Roc wiped the blood off on his leggings as Camille’s eyes began to light bright blue, her hands moving over Grelin’s face. Talvarien just gaped in horror at the druid.

“How is he still alive?” Talvarien whispered.

Camille’s hands matched the blue light in her eyes, and slowly, the bruises on Grelin’s face began to disappear, the swelling reducing before their eyes.

“I found him chained to the wall. Some kobold was carving him up like a pig.” Rocsalt said, gravely. “I broke both his arms before I split his skull against the wall.”

Grelin’s eyes suddenly snapped open, locking on Camille’s blank, blazing gaze. His mouth opened like a fish out of water.

“Said…nothing.” he croaked. Then his eyes rolled up in pain, as he became aware of the rest of his body’s wounds. Camille moved her hands to his chest, over the deep slices to his belly, healing as she went.

“How did you get him out?” Talvarien asked incredulously.

“Same way I got in.” Rocsalt replied, watching Camille work her miracles over their friend. “I unchained him, gathered him up in my arms, and snuck back through the goblin section.”

“You snuck all that way carrying him?” Talvarien asked, blinking.

Camille finished Grelin’s torso and worked her way down both arms, closing the open gashes, mending his broken fingers.

“Aye.” Roc said, “Sneaking where I had to. Almost got caught in that damned trap. Was hard as hell crouching and carrying him under without pitching forward from the weight. And then I forgot about the damned bats. One hit me from behind. I had to crush it off my head by slamming backwards against the wall.”

Camille ran her hands down Grelin’s legs, healing slices and fixing his broken leg. Her mana was nearly gone, but she had done it. Grelin was healed. His eyes were closed again, unconsciousness having stolen upon him while she had fixed him. Her eyes stopped glowing and returned to their more natural shade of blue. She leaned back, drained.

“He’ll live.” she said, standing up shakily.

“Good.” Roc said, turning back toward the entrance to the goblin camps. “Now to figure out how we’re going to…”

“Roc....” Talvarien said oddly.

“Yeah?” Roc asked, turning back. Camille and Talvarien stood staring at him. Cold fear washed across the monk as he saw a tear roll down Talvarien’s face unchecked.

“The bat…” Talvarien said weakly, pointing at his bald head.

“What?” Rocsalt asked sharply, reaching behind his head where the bat had smashed into him. “What are you…”

And then he stopped, and slowly brought his hand around to look at it. His features went dead calm. He held his hand to them, palm out.

It was wet with his blood.

“Checkmate.” he said quietly.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“I’m sorry.” Camille whispered. For everything, she added silently.

Roc nodded, looking back at his palm. Camille could see the bruises forming under his eyes, as Robaz had warned. How much time did Rocsalt have left? A half hour? Less?

“Roc…” Talvarien said helplessly.

“Talv.” Roc cut him off. “I want you behind this big rock, here.” He pointed. Then he turned to Camille. “Cami, you hide behind this other one. When I call out, Cami, come out stunning, med while I’m gone. Talv you step out and fire two arrows at me, right here.” He tapped quickly between his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. His bloody finger left a red smear that acted as a target. “Understand?”

“Aye.” Camille said numbly. Talvarien just nodded, jogging off behind the rock.

“Drag Grelin off behind rock with you, Cam.” Rocsalt said, turning toward the goblin entrance.

Camille caught Grelin under his armpits, dragging him back the way Roc had indicated. She saw Roc running for the entrance.

“Where are you going??” she called out to him.

He didn’t turn back. “To pull a dragon.” he answered, and disappeared.

They waited.

Grelin’s eyes came open, and he sat up, rubbing his head.

“I’m alive.” he murmured.

Camille nodded, not turning to him. He got up to his feet, but she pushed him back with one arm, eyes intent on the goblin entrance.

“Wait.” she cautioned. Grelin waited.

“Prepare!” Rocsalt shouted loudly, appearing suddenly in the entrance to the kobold’s lair, off to their right. Their heads snapped from the goblin entrance to where he had magically appeared.

“Catch.” Rocsalt said, tossing something to Camille and running back to the goblin entrance, waiting. Camille caught it with her free hand. A gold coin, just one. With no insignia on it, just smooth gold.

“I pissed him off, and he banished me.” Rocsalt called, watching the lava of Solesek’s Eye. It was starting to bubble, large air pockets opening and belching sulfur into the air.

“Incoming Lord Nagafen.” he announced loudly. And then, an afterthought. “Single.” Grelin stared incredulously.

“Now wait…” Rocsalt ordered. The bubbling increased. The smell in the air was burnt rotten eggs. Camille’s eyes locked on Rocsalt. His eyes were still there, clear, steel, watching the lava. But his face…was changing. Losing its shape, its features. The disease was eating him away inside.

“Wait…..” Rocsalt said again, watching the lava. Talvarien’s leg started shaking in anticipation, but his grip on his bow was steady.

“Wait….” Rocsalt murmured.

Suddenly the lava erupted up and out, splashing in a deadly rain onto the sides of the crater. The molten liquid barely missed Rocsalt, standing at its edge.

A long red serpentine head burst through the lava, neck following, rising up like a giant snake out of the crater, whipping around. Lava poured off to collect back in the pool that hid the rest of Lord Nagafen. He roared deafeningly, belching fire into the air in a long stream. The fire billowed out, then disappeared, as the red dragon inhaled air in a huge gulp. Rocsalt bunched his legs and sprung.

Camille watched Roc fly out over the lava like a missile. He landed square on Nagafen’s neck, up high near his head. The monk clamped his legs around the neck like a vise and held on, while Nagafen went crazy, sensing something on him. His head swung around insanely, trying to shake his unwelcomed rider.

“NOW!” Rocsalt yelled.

As Grelin watched helplessly, Camille stepped out from her hiding spot, eyes pulsing light. Her biggest stun pushed out from one hand, hitting Nagafen in the chin, knocking his head up so that he peered into the sun, stunned, unable to function as his head rang. The move almost threw Rocsalt off his back, but he hung on. Talvarien stepped out. He could not see Rocsalt beyond the dragon’s neck. Instead he fired two arrows directly at Nagafen’s throat. They bounced off as if they had hit a steel wall.

“No!” Rocsalt cried, poking his face to the side, into Talvarien’s line of sight. He tapped a face no longer recognizable between his eyes. The mark was still there. “Here, Talv here!”

Before Naggy could drop his head from the stun, Talvarien drew and sent two more arrows at Rocsalt. Roc let go of the dragon’s neck with his hands, squeezing with his legs, and with reflexes so fast that Talvarien thought he had shot Rocsalt dead, caught an arrow in each hand.

Naggy’s head came down, eyes glowing, staring at Talvarien. With a blink of light, Talvarien simply was not there. Instead, the ranger had appeared at the kobold’s entrance, disoriented, banished.

Naggy swung his head towards Camille.

With a primal scream, Rocsalt drove both arrows, points down, deep into Nagafen’s eyes.

For a moment, Nagafen froze, fire pouring out of his mouth, coming so close to Camille she through she would boil alive in the hot air. But she was not banished. The fire suddenly petered out as Nagafen’s brain realized it had been punctured, and the head crashed down onto the stone walkway, Roc still on top of it. One last small lick of flame escaped Nagafen’s jaws, and then…nothing.

“He’s dead??” Talvarien practically screamed from the kobolds’ entrance. He had another arrow in his bow, ready, just in case.

“He’s dead.” Rocsalt, or what was identifiable as Rocsalt, replied hoarsely. He stood, balanced on Nagafen’s skull, looking at them. His skin has a spongey look to it, his face swollen, with red sores beginning to appear. His fingers were losing their shape, his hands becoming something like a fleshy mitten. All under the skin was movement, horrendous movement. The only thing that was still his were those steel grey eyes. They were alert. Roc was still in there. He began coughing, a wet sucking sound. He doubled over, but still kept his balance on the dragon’s head. Suddenly the head began to drag towards the lava, as the weight of Nagafen’s dead body began pulling it down into the pit. Rocsalt straightened up, looking out at them.

“Jump off, Roc!” Talvarien cried, seeing the retracting dragon drag his rider towards the molten rock.

“Jump.” Grelin begged quietly.

“Roc!” Camille cried, running forward. Rocsalt turned his grey eyes onto hers. One hand went out to stop her from approaching. She stopped dead, helplessly staring at him as the body slid backwards.

“Never…” Roc began, and then was in a fit of coughing again. The head was just beginning to sink into the lava, molten liquid splashing up to burn and dissolve Rocsalt’s boots, when he came out of the cough. He thrust one fist high in the air, the sign of a conqueror.

“NEVER STOP PUSHING!” he cried triumphantly.

And then Rocsalt and Lord Nagafen slipped below the surface of Solesek’s Eye.
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[Riverdane]

Talvarien dropped to his knees at the edge of the lava, tears flowing freely, without shame. His bow lay discarded on the floor, his hands on his legs, shaking his head slowly as he silently wept. His eyes were locked on the spot where Rocsalt had gone down. No movement in the lava, nothing. Roc’s fist raised victoriously in the air was the last thing Talvarien saw. He kept it up even as the lava was cooking him alive.

Camille stood, arms limp, body numb. The tip of Reaver dragged on the floor. She felt like she should say something, anything. But she was struck dumb by the whole thing. Her eyes grew wet, and then she was crying, or something like crying. She could taste the saltiness as they ran down her cheeks to her mouth. So why didn’t she feel anything? Anything at all? Shock, she realized. I’m still in shock.

Grelin was the worst, and not because of tears. He looked so….confused. Last thing he remembered was passing out as Rocsalt unchained him, and then Roc was pulling a dragon, looking bloated and inhuman, totally alien. He was fine and Rocsalt was dead.

“Why?” Grelin asked.

Without needing any more words, Talvarien understood him. Not turning he said, “A bat got him when he was bringing you back.”

All of the color drained from Grelin’s face. He walked slowly to the lava, looking suddenly ill. Camille thought he was going to throw up, but he didn’t.

“Thank you.” he said softly to the firey lake.

“Cami.” Talvarien said, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve and pulling himself together as best he could. “The dragon is dead. How many coins did Roc throw you?”

“One.” she said, with little interest. She watched Grelin standing at the edge of the lava. One step and the druid could disappear after Rocsalt. Four steps and she could. She wondered how long it would hurt before she would stop feeling the burns.

“Then I need to sneak in there and get the other nine.” Talvarien said.

That woke her out of her trance. “NO!” she almost screamed, grabbing him by his arm. “No going in there!”

“Cami…” Talvarien said, trying to free his arm, but her grip was iron.

“NO MORE.” she cried. “No more today! Too many people have died in the past two days! No more, dammit!”

Grelin stepped away from the crater, concerned. Talvarien looked into Cami’s eyes and saw nothing there that he recognized, only fear.

“Let’s go home.” Talvarien suggested. Camille’s grip loosened enough for him to free his arm. “We’ll do this tomorrow, ok? Ok?” Camille nodded, wiping her eyes absently, staring at him with wide blue eyes that looked more suitable on a child than this woman dressed in plate.

“Tomorrow.” she said in a lost little voice, “Yes. I need to sleep now. I’m tired.”

“Grelin…” Talvarien began.

“Stay close.” Grelin said, eyes lighting green.

The walk back to the guildhouse was in silence, each lost in their thoughts. When they got there, Camille made a beeline straight to her room, and closed the door. Grelin and Talvarien looked at each other sadly in the officer room. Then suddenly, they heard the sound of her door open, and she entered the room they were in, with a purposeful look in her eyes.

She picked up the chess board, careful not to spill any pieces from it, and walked to the trash can. Kicking open the lid with her foot, she dumped the entire set in the garbage.

“This isn’t a game anymore.” she said intensely, looking at each of them in turn. Her look worried Talvarien. He saw Grelin look away first, unable to hold her gaze.

And then she went back to her room to sleep.
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[Riverdane]

“This way!” River exclaimed, panting, dragging Camille through the jungle, nimbly leaping over a log. Camille caught the obstacle with her foot and tripped almost onto her face, but River caught her in his arms and planted a hard kiss on her lips, winked, and dashed off again, pulling her behind him by her hand. Somewhere on the other side of the log, the growl sounded closer.

What a honeymoon, she thought, laughing inside despite the stitch in her side from running. Annir the halfing druid had dropped the two of them off, four days after the wedding. She and River had gone through a vigorous training session with Dane, who took vacation from the Knights of Truth for the first time in years in order to prepare his son and new daughter-in-law for the mission River had explained they had to make. Dane’s teachings were informative, strenuous, and brutal, spars with an edge of danger to them. Dane didn’t mind drawing blood. “You can always heal it afterwards, just don’t kill each other.” he had said to her after the first wound he inflicted to her. “If you fear pain or blood now, you’re in the wrong business!” And slowly, slice after cut after wound, fighting and listening for three days, Camille found herself learning more during that short crash course than she had in three years of training with the Knights. Her spell book almost doubled with new spells; more powerful heals, root spells, stronger stuns, ways to cripple and hurt undead. And River progressed at the same rate, with less enthusiasm and more drive. He never went to a spell vendor, but each night, as he woke, he’d roll over to her with those dark eyes still shrouded in sleep and murmur “I know more.”. And then they would make love again, with a slow lazy rhythm, totally unlike the driven, hungry passion they would end each night with. She loved both ways, the sudden sharp pain of the first night forgotten as she found that as with sparring, she had found her perfect match, perfect fit. That was it, she realized; they simply fit together. Opposites in so many ways, in look and class and other ways, they fit. This is perfect love, she had thought that first night, drifting off to sleep with her head across his chest as his breathing slowed and found a gentler, steady rhythm. This is the thing I have been looking for all my life, before I even knew what it was. This is my ‘soulmate’, the partner you pray exists and fear doesn’t. The partner who the gods created especially for you before you were born, and hoped fate would bring together.

Dane was staying at the Spelldancer’s, having graciously relinquished his home for the next three days following the wedding for the newlyweds to have some privacy. But, newlyweds or not, every morning at six sharp he was knocking at the door impatiently. He knew where she and River were going, and intended for them to be ready for it.

On the fourth morning, rather than Dane showing up, Annir, the halfling that River had promised a jade reaver to in exchange for Pavel’s smithing and Camille’s wedding ring, arrived. He grinned up at the two of them, rocking back on his overly large and hairy feet, smiling, excitement dancing in his eyes.

“I know, I know this is a business arrangement between you and Pavel, Riv.” Annir said brightly. “But I just want to thank you for doing this for me. I have no idea what really is entailed, I’m a tailor, not much of an adventurer, but I hear it’s difficult as Hells! Take your time, I haven’t even started collecting other pieces for this quest, but if you can land the jade reaver, well, damned, when I get skilled enough with the tailoring, you can have all the weightless bags you want!”

“We’ll see what I can do.” River said with a smile. “They say it requires a raid to get this jade axe you’re looking for, but, hells, I’ve gotten by this far on my brains, we’ll see if me and Ms. Stun…” (no more Miss, not since the wedding) “…can pull one out of our hat. If not, well….I honor my debts, I’ll just form a raid and get one for you.”

And, armed with two Knights of Truth regulation long swords, and having said goodbye to a smiling Dane, a crying Emaus and a nervous Sylver the night before, Annir ported man and wife to the Emerald Jungle and said goodbye with a wave and a flash of green light.

The Emerald Jungle, so exotic sounding. And the first thing that happened after Annir ported away, leaving them alone there, was a giant mosquito plunged its needle sharp blood sucker into the soil two inches away from River’s foot. The mosquito was literally the size of Dane’s house, paper-thin to allow itself to be airborn, but massive in size. With a startled cry, she and River hacked into the giant insect, slicing it down to a more manageable size. River finally found its body and pierced it, and the rest of its bulk crashed to the ground.

No sooner had it died, than they were attacked by a rotting gorilla, pieces of bone and deteriorated muscle showing through patches of decomposing fur. It stank of death and decay, yet some force kept it alive, and hungry. It fought ferociously, feeling no pain, coming at them again and again. Only Camille’s newly trained spells helped them put it down, as she cast a blue light from her eyes, a different shade of blue from her healing spells. The light caused the gorilla’s decaying flesh to burn and wither. Eventually, she reduced it to a mass of scorched bones. She felt her mana pool draining with the high cost of the spell, but River’s chops at the gorilla were producing no visible effect.

The smell of cooked meat, however, brought other predators. River’s head snapped up as the low feral growl rose from the bushes to their left. Peering through the foliage, she could see the orange and black stripes of the tiger who was coming to investigate the source of the burning gorilla hide. Camille touched River’s arm gently and pointed silently to where the big cat was stalking back and forth, drawing closer. He spotted it and took her hand, stepping back quietly. Right onto a twig. The twig snapped, the tiger pounced, Camille used the last of her mana on a root, fastening the big cat to the ground, and River yanked her hand and bolted through the jungle.

And there they were, four days married, running for their life through a jungle neither were familiar with, she out of mana and he with no apparent way to heal except himself by draining a life force, with a hungry tiger on their tail.

“Go go go!” River urged her onward, pushing her ahead of him as they scrambled past vine and brush. She kept running, sword swinging out in front of her to push branches and vegetation out of their way. The growl was rising into a roar, and then a mass of orange fur sprung forward, weight landing on River’s back.

She spun around, sword ready, as the big cat bore down on her husband. River’s armor saved him from having his back laid open, but the weight of the tiger had him pinned down, face first to the jungle floor. She stabbed at the tiger, sinking her sword into its shoulder, and it howled, scrambling back off of River. River twitched on the floor, as the cat glared spitefully at them, licking the wound Camille had inflicted on it.

“Mana?” River asked painfully, not getting up.

“Nothing…” she said, panic rising in her. Why didn’t he get up?

“I think it broke my back.” River said hoarsely into the ground, answering her unspoken question.

“I’ll kill it and then meditate.” she said, stepping forward. The cat didn’t flinch.

“No!” River cried from the floor. “If you don’t kill it, we’re both going to end up two dead mice.”

Camille looked warily at the cat, realizing he was right. There was no way she was going to take on the cat solo. Not without any mana.

“Roll me onto my back.” River said slowly, his words coming staggered. He was in pain, and it killed her to hear it in his voice. She gently rolled him over onto his back, his body flopping over like a rag doll.

“Are you paralyzed?” she asked, praying to Marr that he was not.

“Nothing from the waist down, but my arms are ok. Tingling, but ok..” River panted, smiling deprecatingly despite the pain. “If we don’t fix me up, I’m afraid the honeymoon is over.”

“Oh.” she replied, controlling her emotions, keeping it light like he was trying to. She watched the cat through the corner of her eye. “Can I turn you in for a working model if we don’t?”

River laughed abruptly, then squeezed his eyes shut from the pain. “We shadowknights are very durable, but if all else fails, I may suggest the warrior model for your next purchase.”

“Now what?” Camille asked, the forced levity draining from her as she realized the severity of their situation. The tiger kept licking away at the blood, glancing at them every now and then, making no move to leave.

“Now you med.” River said. “I have enough mana to take care of myself, and new spells or not, it is going to take longer than Kittycat over here is going to wait to heal me up. Get enough for a big stun.”

“And then?” she asked, not liking the sound of this.

“And then let it play with me a bit.” he finished.

“No!” she cried. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes.” he replied with a pained grin. “That’s why you married me. Now trust me, please.”

She frowned, but didn’t argue. She sat down next to him and halfclosed her eyes into the meditative state that would bring her mana back to her slowly.

“No.” River said, stopping her meditation before it even started. “From a distance. It’s still afraid of that weapon you stuck it with.”

Against her better judgement, she nodded, and slowly walked off a bit into the jungle, to a spot where she could still see the cat and River. Sitting down, she slowed her breathing. Meditation required a mantra, repeating a phrase over and over in her head. She found it impossible, worry creeping into her mind, disrupting the inner peace she had to find in order for meditation to work. “Be ready to have to med while all Hells is breaking loose around you.” Dane had advised them, “Or you’re going to find yourself out of mana and out of luck in the field.”. But she just couldn’t concentrate, now that she had to for the first time under real pressure. And if River died, she thought. The mere suggestion brought tears hot to her eyes. She squeezed them closed, unwilling to let her crying reach River’s ears. Knights don’t cry, she told herself. And using that as her solace, she repeated it, over and over to herself. Knights don’t cry, knights don’t cry. Slowly, her mana returned.

“Honeyyyy?” River called to her. “Enough yet?” His voice was weaker, she could only imagine the pain he was in. And still the cat waited.

“Almost…” she answered.

“Good enough, be ready.” he said, and then turned his attention to the tiger. “Here, Kittycat. Here, you oversized fleabag.”

The tiger blinked once at River, and then went back to licking at its shoulder wound. It looked content to wait for River to fall asleep, and then eat him at its leisure.

“Aw come on, you walking hairball!” River cried impatiently. “Here I am, a six foot tall scratching post!”

Still the tiger waited, large yellow eyes watching River lazily.

“Fine, you wanna play hardball, huh?” River sigh. He groped on the ground, picking up a stick, about a foot long. With effort he threw it at the tiger. It missed its mark by an yard. The tiger looked at where it landed in the brush, a low growl rising in its throat.

“Ah, crap.” River said, feeling around the ground. His hand closed on a rock. “Ok, try aiming next time, Wyldechylde.” he murmured. He threw the rock at the cat.

It hit the tiger square between the eyes.

With a roar, the tiger pounced, landing on River’s chest. All the air exploded from his lungs as the cat landed heavily on him. Fortunately, Pavel’s work with the armor held, and the chestplate didn’t buckle down to crush River’s ribs, but the pressure was intense. It was all he could do to raise his hands.

Dripping saliva, the tiger’s head darted to River’s neck, prepared to bite out his throat.

“NOW!” River cried, wrapping both hands around the tiger’s neck.

And then River….drank.

Parts of the tiger’s mass literally shrunk as River drained as much of the cat’s life force into his hands as he could. His back healed almost instantly as River drank a large portion of the tiger’s life out of it. At the same time, Camille sprang to her feet, stun pulsing out of her. It hit the cat and blew it back off of River forcefully. Blinking in pain stupidly, the cat just lay on it side, senses trying to override the stun. River leapt to his feet, and grabbed her hand.

“Let’s go!” he cried, laughing. Breathlessly she ran with him.

They heard the snarl as the tiger came to, but they had a fairly decent lead. But to where? River jumped over another obstacle, and she followed. Dimmly she realized it was not another log. Instead it was a broken column of marble. Ruins. They had found one of the ruins of Kunark. She paused for a moment, looking around her. Broken statues and columns were everywhere. Then she heard the roar of the enraged tiger.

“Cami, let’s GO!” River yelled, pulling hard on her hand. Her eyes were on the tiger, breaking through the foliage at full run. River was pulling her to a huge structure that loomed out of the ruins, giant walls obscured by vegetation, with an opening in the middle. It was towards this opening River was dragging her.

Ten more steps to the opening…five. And then suddenly, swinging out of the dark recess, was a bow, arrow cocked, straight at Camille’s head.

“DOWN!” River cried, yanking her hand down. She tripped and tumbled, rolling under the arrow ignobly as she heard the twang of the bow being released. The arrow shot out of the opening, catching the tiger in the mouth, burying itself in its tongue. The tiger screeched in pain and bolted into the jungle away from them.

Camille looked up from the heap she was in on the floor. River was wildeyed, panting, his hand gripped around the throat of a blonde woodelf, the bowman, pinning him to the wall with one strong hand. River’s other hand had the long sword pointed at the chest of a young, whitehaired highelf, who raised his hands in supplication, looking at a crazed Riverdane with an ironic smile. The woodelf River had against the wall glared at him murderously as his face went red with lack of breath.

“At ease, knight.” the high elf said carefully, eyes moving between the sword leveled at his chest and the darting eyes of his attacker. “My name is Nizzre Kyorlean, paladin of Tunare. The ranger who saved you that you are currently choking to death is Bwael, my brother.” He slowly reached up and pushed down the sword River had trained on him. River abruptly let go of Bwael, and the woodelf slumped to the ground, bow clattering to the floor, sputtering for air, muttering curses in his native tongue.

River backed away from them slowly, reaching down to help Camille up from the ground. He watched the two men warily.

“Any time. Don’t mention it.” Nizzre said, shaking his head wryly. “Welcome to the City of Mist.”
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[Riverdane]

She awoke suddenly, feeling a cold breeze across her face. She slowly propped herself up on her elbows, disoriented, but remembering clearly closing the window before falling into bed. A glance over, brain still fuzzy with sleep, showed the window wide open, wind blowing the curtains in. Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight as her pulse quickened. Her hand slipped to the side of the bed and grabbed Reaver. Her fingers felt fat, numb with sleep. She squeezed the hilt harder as the blood recirculated in her hands.

She saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. One gold coin, appearing in mid-air on her dresser across from the bed. Another, appearing as if from nowhere. Then another. More. One by one. A stack of five, then a new stack beginning. Four, and then stopped. Her blood ran cold. Was this a dream?

“Roc?” she asked hoarsely.

“Crap!” she heard a female voice say, accented, and suddenly the coins spilled over, some bouncing noisily to the the floor. Camille sprang out of bed, fully awake, as fear and adrenaline pumped into her sluggish body. She placed herself between the window and the dresser, Reaver ready.

“Show yourself!” Camille ordered nervously.

“I knew I should have went through the main house.” the female voice sighed.

“Show yourself!” Camille ordered again, eyes on the bedroom door. If the bolt began to turn, she would be able to cross the room in two strides.

“Listen lady, I don’t want any trouble.” the voice said.

“I know.” Camille said to the room. “Which is why I’m not swinging wildly.”

“You know?” the voice said, unsure.

“The coins.” Camille prompted. “Do they have any insignias on them?”

A short laugh. “If they do, I just wasted a lot of time.”

Camille placed the accent. Teir’dal.

“Listen, your druid friend is aleeping at the front door in wolf form, which is why I came in through your window. If you’ll just step away from the window, I’ll leave the way I came and our business will be concluded.”

Reaver came down slowly. The coins. The woman had delivered the coins. No sending in Talvarien. No slipping past the goblins and launching a three person war on the giants. The coins were laying on her dresser and floor.

“Who are you?” Camille asked.

“We have a mutual friend.” the woman replied, still invisible, as if that answered everything.

“Friend?” Camille repeated, not understanding. Who sent her? Whizbang? He detested the teir’dal race. Verdad? It could be one of his girlfriends; Verdad wasn’t known to be discriminating. But they had left Verdad in Hate before she saw Marr. He would have no clue of what she may need, or indeed, that there was a quest at all.

“He said if you are coming back for dinner, to bring radishes.” the voice said. Camille stared blankly. “He said soup needs more radishes.” the teir’dal continued.

Comprehension dawned visibly on Camille’s face. “Scurg?” she exclaimed. “Scurg sent you?”

“Vven was wrong about you light-breeds.” the voice chuckled. “You have brains, and they occasionally work.”

“And you know Vven.” Camille said, half to herself. “How did Scurg know that…”

“… ‘Scurg know all, Scurg see all!’…” the teir’dal said in a pretty decent impression. “He said you were having some problems over at Naggy’s, and since the dragon was dead would I mind picking up some coins for you? He was very explicit about which ones, probably the most lucid I have heard him yet.”

“So you just slipped into Naggy’s lair and got the coins for us?” Camille asked. “Teir’dal do favors for ‘light-breeds’?”

“Hehh, I’m not an idiot.” the voice laughed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she appeared. Pretty violet eyes. Dark blue skin, white hair. Young looking. And decked out in a king’s ransom in gold and platinum jewelry, lavish rings, diamond studded tiara, large blue sapphire hanging on a golden chain around her neck, and a multitude of other pieces. “My fee was laying there right next to the coins, and before the giants figure out someone’s getting in, I’m going back for more so I can retire.”

“Thank you for delivering the coins first.” Camille said sincerely, stepping away from the window. The teir’dal put one leg through, then crouched her body to pass through the window, and turned to Camille.

“No problem.” the woman said. “River was a good man. It figures he’s dead.”

Camille blinked. “You knew River?”

The teir’dal pulled her other leg through the window and ignored her question. “And if you see Vven, tell him I’m going to backstab him for being late. Goodbye, Mrs. Wyldechylde” And suddenly, she simply disappeared before Camille’s eyes.

“Goodbye, Runiko.” Camille said softly to herself, standing at the window, finally recognizing the woman from River’s tales of the teir’dal thief that helped rescue him from his prison in Neriak during End Game.

“See?” Runiko’s voice floated from down the dark street. “Lighties DO have brains.”

Camille closed the window, latching it, and recovered the coins, adding the nine smooth faced pieces of gold to the one she had in her pack.

“Thank you Scurg.” she said quietly, falling back into her bed.

In the morning, they would leave for Halas.
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