Majandra stumbled once again over the knotted clump ofvegetation that covered the muddy ground. A quick grab of Vaxor’s mailedshoulder steadied her before she landed face first in the muck-though she stillmanaged to twist her ankle slightly. The pain brought a rather ignoble curse hissing forth from her lips. She smiled wanly at Vaxor and shrugged her shoulders in apology as the cleric turned a concerned gaze her way. The Heironean priest remained silent, for which the half-elf was grateful. She didn’t think she had the breath to spare for conversation.
The expedition had spent the past several days slogging through the treacherous landscape of the Vast Swamp, carefully avoiding the mud traps, dragging sand, and carnivorous plants that were an essential component of the land’s deadly geography. Twice they had fought twisted, misshapen beaststhat resembled fanged alligators with thick, batlike wings, and once they’d hadto rescue one of their party from the clutches of a choking creeper. Everyone was bone-weary, their eyes red from sweat-sting and exhaustion. Days spent under the harsh glare of the sun pulling the levitating rafts behind them while avoiding patrols of lizard folk had taken their toll on the small group.
Even the normally tireless Vaxor had slowed his step. Looking at him now, Majandra could see the pinched lines of fatigue running like spider webs around his eyes and mouth. She was grateful once again that the cleric had prevailed upon Phathas to rest and ride on one of the rafts. The sharp-tongued mage had had a few choice words to say, but in the end, he had acquiesced. She hoped he was resting comfortably. This was not the best place for a man at the twilight of his life-even if that man was one of the most celebrated mages inall of Nyrond.
The coughing hiss of a large predator echoed in the distance, sending an involuntary shudder through Majandra’s body. It was clear yet againthat they wouldn’t have survived more than a day in the confines of this swampwithout the guidance of Gerwyth. The elf was uncanny in his ability to choose the swiftest and easiest path through the maze of rank pools and twisted trees, and his expertise had already thrown one lizard folk patrol off their scent. Even now, she could make out the ranger’s lithe form up ahead, tirelesslyleading their expedition forward.
As usual, thoughts of Gerwyth summoned images of his raven-haired companion, and the half-elf felt a different kind of warmth spread through her limbs. It wasn’t just the fighter’s handsome face and muscledbody-though she’d be lying if she denied her physical attraction to the man. Norwas it simply the promise of mystery that surrounded him. At least not anymore. Over the course of their journey, Majandra had watched Kaerion change. The volatile anger and self-loathing that lurked so close to the surface was softened, burned away perhaps by the man’s mysterious illness, or the steadilygrowing companionship between him and the rest of the Nyrondese expedition.
Not that the man had healed completely, or cast off the anger and grief that worried at him like the jaws of a blood-raged mastiff. Such quick transformations only occurred in the lines of the poorest sagas. But beneath his healing wounds, the half-elf felt as if she had glimpsed a spark of the man’strue soul, and that spark held such purity that she was drawn to it like a glowbeetle to Lima’s crystalline light.
A soft voice interrupted her thoughts. Majandra turned and saw one of the guards conferring with Vaxor. After a moment, the guard nodded once and moved farther back down the line. The half-elf fixed the cleric with an inquisitive gaze.
“Gerwyth has called a halt,” the Heironean priest responded.“Apparently, there is a defensible rise about a quarter of mile farther southwhere we will make camp for the night.”
Majandra sighed softly in relief and rubbed the sweat from her face. “Gods, but I’m tired,” she said after a moment. “I could use a mealand a few hours of sleep.”
“As could we all,” Vaxor said, resting a gentle hand on hershoulder. “I think I’ll take advantage of this respite and check on Phathas. Nodoubt the old fool has gone and ignored my advice.” He smiled briefly and thentook his leave.
Majandra uncorked the wineskin at her belt and took a few deep draughts of its contents. Despite its sun-warmed temperature, the tart liquid washed away the acrid sweat and metallic tang of her heat-seared mouth. Another swig and the skin was corked and placed back on her belt. With a sigh, she wiped her mouth and stared idly into the evening sky. The sun hung like a thick orange ball near the horizon, its steadily weakening rays creating pools of shadow among the gnarled, twisted trees and thick vegetation of the swamp.
To her left, the bent trunks and angled branches formed a spiny wall as thick and forbidding as any fortress, and beyond that, she could see the broad expanse of the stagnant lake whose edge they had been following throughout the day. In the fading light, its still surface burned with bronzed incandescence, like the glowing embers of an unbelievably large hearth fire. Even from this distance, she could smell the stench of its dank waters, redolent with the musky odor of decay.
The others had complained incessantly throughout the day about the unpleasant aroma, but Majandra hadn’t really minded it at all. Beneaththe acrid tang of rot, her refined elven senses detected the heady bouquet of life. What was occurring in and around the standing water was a continuation of a cycle so ingenious and complex, so delicate and yet so relentless that it pulled at her heart. What was, to humans, an awful assault on their senses, was to one of her blood a doorway into a communion with something far deeper and mysterious than words would allow her to express.
Out here, even in the deadly embrace of one of the world’smost dangerous places, she felt free. What would life be like once they completed their quest and she returned to the cold, dead walls of Rel Mord? The answer did not come to her. She only knew she no longer hoped for a speedy end to their expedition.
A faint rustle in the undergrowth off to her left drew her attention back to the moment at hand. The sound repeated itself as the bard scanned the dense expanse of vegetation. Majandra caught her breath. For a split second, beneath the wizened height of a tangle of manga trees, she could have sworn she’d seen the burnished gleam of two large, round eyes reflecting thedying light of the sun. She peered intently at the spot again.
Nothing.
Cursing herself for a nervous child, the half-elf lifted her traveling pack and made her way toward the front of the line. A few moments later, Gerwyth gave the order to move out. Thoughts of food and a chance to sleep beneath the stars filled her mind as the expedition trudged relentlessly forward. Beneath the steady tread of the caravan, Majandra soon forgot the memory of those cold eyes peering out from the underbrush.
Above her, the stars flickered to life, shedding their cold fire upon the earth.
Durgoth Shem looked in disgust at the creature huddled before the small fire. The beasts mottled yellow skin shimmered and pulsed sickeningly in the firelight. Thankfully, rotting leather armor covered most of its humanoid form-though he could still make out the layer of mucous that covered arms, legs,and the creatures froglike face. Occasionally, gobs of the stuff rolled off the bullywug’s body and hit the muddy ground with a stomach-heaving splorch.
“What ish it you want from ush?” the creature asked, itsbulbous eyes regarding the cleric gravely. “Why have you not deshtroyed ush?”
The dark priest stared in sickening fascination at the bloated length of the creature’s tongue as it lolled about in its wide,thin-lipped mouth. Even with the power of his spell allowing him to understand the frothing consonants, clicks, and squeals that the bullywug used for its language, his human ears had a difficult time comprehending the beasts thick-tongued words.
Finally able to tear his eyes away from its disgusting features, Durgoth looked around at the pile of broken, amphibious bodies that surrounded the fire. Around him in a circle stood Eltanel, Sydra, Jhagren, and Adrys-along with the fear-filled cultists who remained alive. The cleric castanother glance to the left of the firepot, where the golem stood, still holding the cracked and bloodied spine of a bullywug between its meaty hands.
The attack had come swiftly, without warning. At first, Durgoth thought it simply the predations of a hungry beast, for that was what had crashed into their lines. It had only taken a few moments for the defenders to react to this attack, and the furred creature was already put down when humanoid figures had erupted violently from the surrounding trees. More furred beasts had appeared in the fray, and Durgoth watched as these beasts had turned on the bullywugs, killing almost as many of them as he and his cultists. It hadn’t been very long until the battle was over and several creatures, includingthe one that huddled before his fire, had been captured.
“I did not destroy you,” the cleric replied at last, “becauseI believe that you and your companions can be of some use to me.”
The creature nodded. “Yesh. Jusht tell Braggsh what it ishthat you wish,” it said. “Braggsh will make sure that Braggsh’sh pondmatesobey.”
Durgoth’s lip curled at the bullywugs pathetic mewling.Disgusting creatures, he thought, half-considering whether he should just kill the ones who remained and be done with it. “That is good, Braggsh. I see weunderstand each other. Very well. There are other intruders to your lands, about a day’s march to the east. See to it that not a single one of them leaves thisswamp alive.”
Braggsh’s eyes blinked slowly beneath the flickering light ofthe fire. “Yesh. Braggsh knows the intruders you shpeak of. They are led by apointy earsh. It ish very shkilled. Pond deshide to let them passh. Too much trouble to kill.”
“I want them dead,” the cleric said again, nearly shouting atthe vile humanoid. “Is that clear?”
The bullywug nodded once more, but Durgoth could hear the wet smack of Braggsh’s throat as the creature swallowed hard. “But the pond-”
“I care nothing for the whims of your stupid pond,” Durgothshouted. “You will do exactly as I say, or I shall stake your entire pond on thedriest ground beneath the heat of the noon sun. Do I make myself clear?”
He uncurled his fist and held it before him. With a whispered prayer, Durgoth channeled the smallest fraction of his god’s power through hisupturned hand. Waves of darkness reached out to the frightened bullywug, and the creature writhed in pain, emitting a horrifying sound somewhere between a scream and a gurgle.
Durgoth almost groaned in pleasure as he felt the dreaded hooks of Tharizdun’s power tear into the creature’s spirit. He held the contactfor a moment more and then, with a sharp wave of his hand, he released the tortured beast.
It rolled around on the muddy ground for quite some time before huddling once more at the cleric’s feet. “So,” Durgoth said as Braggshshook with fear, “do we have a deal?”
“Yesh,” Braggsh said. “The intrudersh will be deshtroyed ashyou command.”
Durgoth scowled at the pathetic beast. He knew that the creature’s first thoughts would be to betray him. Such base animals always did.He slowly let his scowl turn into a smile. “One more thing, Braggsh,” he said assweetly as he could, “if you even think about betraying me, I will allow mymaster to feast upon your soul slowly, and the pain you felt just now will feel like the sweetest pleasure next to the Dark One’s kiss. Now begone, and takeyour pathetic pondmates with you.”
Braggsh let out another long, screeching gurgle-whether fromfear, anger, frustration, or all three, Durgoth did not know or care.
He knew the disgusting creatures couldn’t destroy theNyrondese band. But, he thought, they will slow them down enough so that we might catch up. He turned his back on the bullywugs, closed his eyes, and smiled.
The next five days passed in a haze of heat and almost constant motion for Majandra. Rest stops were infrequent and taken only as a necessity-mostly to apply herbs to insect bites and treat the odd wound. Despitetheir precaution, the expedition was forced to battle its way past several more fanged alligators and even one vampire vine. Lizard folk were, thankfully, not in evidence.
Throughout the long days and seemingly instantaneous nights, the half-elf’s fingers itched to pluck at the graceful strings of her harp.Unfortunately, her body’s exhaustion forced her to throw herself into herbedroll as soon as the evening meal was complete, rousing only when prodded forcefully by the rest of her companions. As a result, Majandra’s instrumentremained silent, packed carefully away in its waterproof case.
On the ninth day since the expedition entered the Vast Swamp, dawn woke bright and clear. Majandra groaned as she extricated herself from the bedroll in what had become a regular morning ritual. After a sullen breakfast of hard biscuits and dried meat, she gathered her pack and set off after the third rank of travelers in the expedition. By midmorning, the heat had become a fist that pounded into her body with each step. Despite the oppressive temperature, the half-elf couldn’t help but smile. The trees in this part of the Vast Swampwere thicker, their branches sprouting thick green leaves and colorful buds. Taking advantage of this bounty, more than threescore birds sat atop the tall trees, flitting quickly from branch to branch and filling the air with the melodic chatter of their song.
It didn’t take long for Majandra to add her own voice to theever-present music that swelled around her. Gently at first, and then with more confidence, she wove her rich alto tone around and beneath the nattering birds, providing a harmonic base that added depth to the natural chorus. She felt her step lighten. The oppressive weight of the marsh air lifted, and she was gratified to notice that those around her were feeling the same effects.
It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that she noticed something waswrong. Cocking her ear to the side, she listened intently for whatever it was that had teased her intuition. She heard nothing. Silence filled the swamp, a brooding absence of sound. She realized then that it was this silence that had struck her as odd. Only a few moments ago, the area had been filled with the sounds of life. Now, the swamp seemed frozen, as if waiting for something to happen.
The hairs on the back of Majandra’s neck stood almoststraight up. The bard couldn’t shake the feeling that somebody was watching her.She scanned the surrounding vegetation, shielding her eyes with her hand, but could detect nothing. Unbidden, the memory of her sighting the other day crept into her mind. Despite the heat, she shuddered. What if someone-or something-waswatching them right now? There were far more dangers in this swamp than wandering lizard folk and the occasional alligator.
Majandra stood still, scanning the lush undergrowth, determined to discover this secret threat. The rest of the expedition walked past her, by now used to the half-elf’s penchant for stopping and appreciatingthe grandeur of the Vast Swamp. She could make out the back of the last guard as he pushed through the thick branches of a thorn bush and disappeared down the path. Still, she watched-and listened.
There! She heard something off to her right, a rustling in the bush. Carefully, she crept toward the sound, padding lightly on her feet. With only a slight scrape of metal on leather, she drew her short sword and sent a vicious cut into the center of the vegetation. A raucous scream met her attack, and she stumbled back as a brightly plumed bird exploded from the bush, taking flight with another harsh cry. Majandra swore as she sheathed her sword and tried to calm the pounding of her heart.
Still, the feeling of being watched grew. She spun around once-sure that there must be a hundred hidden eyes peering at her. With one lastbackward glance at the trees, she broke into a run.
It was time to find Gerwyth.
By the time Majandra found the ranger, he was deep in conversation with Kaerion along the side of the path. The fighter had shrugged off his pack and was carefully donning his chain mail armor. The normally placid elf’s face was turned into a frown, and Majandra could see the crease of worrylines around his mouth. She found her own mood equally as serious as she walked up to the two warriors.
“Gerwyth, I think something is behind us. It-”
The elf held up his hand. “I know,” he said in a soft voice.“We have been followed for several days. I couldn’t be sure, for whoever orwhatever it is knows this land exceptionally well. This morning, I found traces of a viscous slime along the base of several bushes.” He pointed down to themuddied ground, at a small smear of thick liquid hanging from the bottommost branches of a marsh bush.
“I will alert Vaxor and Bredeth,” said Kaerion, his voiceheavy with concern. “What about Phathas?”
“He already knows,” replied the ranger. “I informed him of myconcerns this morning. Kaerion, once we have alerted the rest of the expedition, we must be very careful not to let our guests know that we have discovered their presence. There is a stand of uprooted trees about a league south and east of here. I scouted it out earlier. It is the most defensible position I could see within a half-score of miles. If we can make it there, we have a chance of surviving whatever surprise is in store for us.”
“Who could be following us?” Majandra asked, worried evenmore by the concern that filled the faces of the warriors. If the situation was tense enough to put Kaerion and Gerwyth ill at ease, then it was serious indeed. “I thought we had evaded most of the lizard folk patrols in the area.”
The ranger shrugged. “It is difficult to say exactly howsuccessful one can be in evading the lizard folk,” he said. “Truth be told, Ithink that we led those tribes on a merry enough chase that they decided to let us pass. No, my guess is that we re dealing with another race of swamp creatures-most likely siv or bullywugs. If it’s the latter, then we should praywe can reach the relative safety of our prospective camp tonight.”
Majandra turned to help Kaerion adjust his mail. By the time she finished, Gerwyth had left to inform Landra and the rest of the guards. Kaerion thanked Majandra for her assistance and then flashed her a brief smile as he strode toward Bredeth, who was currently adjusting the straps to his own pack.
Fully aware now of the unseen enemy that dogged their steps, the expedition set out again at a brisk pace. Though no one gave any outward sign that possible death lurked just beyond the screen of vegetation rising up on either side of the rough trail, Majandra couldn’t help tossing a few glancesbackward, sure that she would see a spear or crossbow bolt arcing toward her unprotected back.
She saw nothing.
The group plodded on in silence, occasionally marking the sun’s slow, lazy arc in the sky. As the evening shadows grew, so did thetension. Each step brought an image of fearsome swamp creatures jumping out of the growing darkness to rend the flesh of friends and comrades. When Gerwyth led the expedition up a sharp rise into the waiting arms of their campsite Majandra dropped her pack and let out an explosive sigh as she ducked under the twisted wall of roots that blocked the main approach to their site.
Gerwyth called the guards to unload the rafts and lash them up against several of the fallen trunks on the sides of the camp. Once completed, the group would have a makeshift fortress that would offer them additional protection against assault.
The entire camp hustled with purpose as first Gerwyth and then Kaerion issued orders. It wasn’t long before Bredeth came by, enlistingMajandra’s aid in gathering wood and starting the large watchfire at the centerof the site. The half-elf could see Vaxor and Phathas conferring in quiet tones as she bent under the weight of her load, but the rest of the camp’spreparations were lost to her beneath the countless repetition of snatching wood with deft fingers and scooping it into an orderly pile near the hastily dug fire pit.
Several hours later, Majandra sat bathed in soft light as the moons dangled in the night sky like jewels. With the camp’s defensive measuresin place and a solid network of sentries posted, the level of tension among the members of the expedition had dissipated somewhat, settling into an uneasy wariness. Dinner that evening consisted of a thick root soup and dried beef. Stomachs full and boots removed, most of the guards not on watch had already settled into their bedrolls.
The bard yawned once, stretched, and grabbed the leather case that protected her harp from the sting of the elements. She stifled another yawn. The unrelenting tensions and exertions of the day had definitely taken their toll on her. She had spent far too much time away from the instrument that had been her guiding passion for so many years. Gently, almost reverently, she unlaced the strings of the case and removed the harp. Its rich, stained wood melted into the evening darkness, but its strings caught the silvered moonlight, held it for a brief moment, and then cast it back like soft, jeweled fire.
The half-elf ran nimble, calloused fingertips across the glowing strings and winced at the jangle of sounds. Master Parvus would likely throw an apoplectic fit if he had heard what her neglect had done to the tuning of his harp. Deftly, she adjusted the tautness of each string with minute turns of the instrument’s wooden pegs, until at last, a chord of almost heartbreakingpurity thrummed from the vibrating strings.
Majandra smiled softly as she noticed several of the previously sleeping guards, as well as her own companions, angle their bedrolls toward her, eager expressions on their faces. Gently, she ran her fingers across the harp strings, loosening muscles stiff with fatigue and disuse. Music tumbled forth from the instrument like rain, falling in playful patches as the half-elf wove several different melodies together, tantalizing her listeners.
The bard smiled again as her fingers moved faster and faster across the strings. Still, she searched with a performer’s covert eye for theone person for whom she really wanted to play this night. She found him, a hulking shadow patrolling the edges of the camp, implacable and tireless. Beneath the warrior’s cloak, the links of a mail shirt gleamed brightly. Seeingthis, Majandra recalled the words of a song made popular during the Greyhawk Wars.
Mantled still in light-forged mail,
Whitehart held the crumbling line;
Though thousands strong fell ’neath the touch
Of Iuz’s claws and demon throng.
The half-elf almost gasped out loud as the truth camecrashing down upon her. How could she have been so blind? All of it made sense now: the mysterious presence of the sword, Vaxor’s cold attitude, the warrior’sown reticence. It fit perfectly.
Majandra’s discovery brought a surge of emotion welling up,and she wanted to crow with delight Instead, her fingers quickly strummed the opening chords to the song. Raising her voice only slightly, for they were still in the middle of a dangerous swamp, possibly surrounded by enemies, the half-elf began to sing the first stanza of “Whitehart’s Hope.” Knowing the power of thissong, and knowing the depths of her own talent, the bard was unsurprised to see the rest of the camp caught up in the driving pulse of the music. Here, engulfed in a forbidding land, surrounded by darkness and an unseen enemy, the members of the expedition could take strength in the courage, nobility, and valor of the Whitehart, one of the most celebrated paladins in all the Shield Lands.
She smiled at the thought that this legend was even closer to them than they had dared realize, but the smile faded, replaced by the focused demeanor of a consummate musician-head cocked slightly to the side, eyes closedas if listening to a ratified stream of music undetectable by the normal ear-asshe played through one of the most difficult passages in the song. Absorbed completely by the demands of the tune, still Majandra could sense the hope and courage rising in her audience, could feel the give and take, the marvelous interplay of energy as performer and listener were enfolded in the music, made one, however briefly, by the crystalline purity of each note.
It was only when a shadow fell over her and Majandra looked up into Kaerion’s stricken face, eyes white with equal parts fury and agony,that she realized her mistake.
“Calm night out there, isn’t it?” the guard to Kaerion’s leftwhispered, not quite masking his apprehensive tone.
Kaerion grunted and threw a thin cloak about his shoulders, fastening it with the metal clasp. Despite the heat, he had ordered all of the sentries to cover their armor. Moonlight on mail made for an inviting target. As sweat began to drip from his neck, he once again cursed the necessity. If whatever was following them didn’t kill them, the thick, humid air andunrelenting heat certainly would.
“It’s calm enough,” he said, “but you can rest assured thatour friends are out there, waiting for their moment.”
“What do you think they are?” another whispered. This time,surprisingly, from Bredeth, who had volunteered for second watch.
Kaerion shrugged and offered another grunt. “Gerwyth believesthey’re bullywugs, some type of swamp humanoid with a nasty disposition. Neverfought against any myself.”
“I don’t care what they are,” said the first guard, “as longas they bleed when I cut ’em.” He punctuated his statement with a twist of hissword.
Despite the tension of the situation, Kaerion found himself smiling, and was even more surprised to note that Bredeth had also captured the mood. The young noble bore a fierce grin of his own. These are good warriors, Kaerion thought. I would hate too lose any of them to this cursed swamp.
A sudden morbidity, at odds with the spirit of the moment, crept over him. Shaking off his negative thoughts, he clapped Bredeth and the guard lightly on the shoulders. “Both of you spread out,” he said softly, “butremain within each other’s hearing. If either of you sense anything out of theordinary, alert the other before going to investigate. I’ll spread the word tothe rest of the watch.” With that, Kaerion moved silently away from the two men,confident in their training and skill to see them through.
As he wandered from sentry post to sentry post, Kaerion observed the camp, wondering how long the expedition could continue to function under the strain of ever-present danger. Looking at the camp from the perimeter, it was evident that the men and women within its bounds had undergone a forced march for several days. Exhaustion had finally taken its toll, and Kaerion could see by the weary way his companions stumbled into their bedrolls or hung their heads that they had reached the end of their endurance. Living under the constant threat of attack brought its own attendant dangers to morale, as well as tempers. It was only a matter of time before either frayed past the point of restraint. Someone would do something foolish; mistakes, possibly life threatening ones, would be made. If their enemies were going to attack, Kaerion thought, they had better do it soon.
The breathtaking sounds of a harp drifted lightly through the thick night air, and Kaerion smiled as he recognized Majandra’s masterfulplaying. For a moment, his warrior’s instincts objected to the superfluous noisethat could draw unwanted attention to their camp. But they already had unwanted attention. It was unlikely that their pursuers didn’t already know where theywere.
A shift in the night air brought all of his senses to attention. Kaerion looked about quickly, searching for the source of this disturbance. His heart raced faster than a war-horse in a joust, and a feeling of dread crept up his spine. What in the Nine Hells could be unsettling him so?
And then he realized it.
It hadn’t been the night air that had changed. It was themusic. As he listened to the opening strains of a song he hadn’t heard in overten years, he felt as if a sharp arrow had imbedded itself deep in his chest. Someone had discovered his secret, and now the bard was revealing it to the entire expedition. Panic gripped him, as the words to the song rang out with accusation.
Betrayer!
Coward!
Child-killer!
Out of the darkness, he could see leering faces appear, demons and demon-spawn as familiar to him as the unrelenting press of hatred and grief over his own cowardly actions. The healing scabs that had formed over his wounds during the past few months were ripped open, and he felt soul-tearing pain as the memories of his abominable disgrace poured forth. Kaerion knew that he was unworthy of the friendships bestowed upon him, and he prayed for the first time in nearly a decade, that the god he betrayed would strike him dead.
Even the great moon cast its judgment upon him, for in its face he saw the features of an innocent boy smiling expectantly down on him-aboy he knew now lay dead, his desiccated corpse rotting in a demon-cursed dungeon.
Oblivious to his own pain, the song continued. Each word was like a glass-tipped whip lashed against the raw wounds of his spirit. Kaerion closed his eyes and threw his hands up to cover his ears in an attempt to shut out the music-but to no avail. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprisedto see Majandra’s face staring up at him from her seat on the ground. His ownlegs had betrayed him, carrying him to the source of his pain, like a sacrifice.
As he met the equally surprised and horrified gaze of the bard, Kaerion felt his anger build into white-hot rage. Not content simply to excoriate the shattered dregs of his own soul, his anger now found an external focus-the cause of his current pain. Unable to stop himself, the warrior felthis arm pull steel from its scabbard and raise up the blade for a killing blow.
Silence filled the camp as Majandra’s fingers stoppedplaying. Her wide-eyed gaze never wavered from his, yet Kaerion felt as if he were on a precipice. One simple motion would send him tumbling, irrevocably, down.
The bard’s eyes softened, moving from fear to that familiarcompassionate look that Kaerion had often longed to have aimed at him. Still, his rage drove him on. Sword held high, he battled for control of his own body.
At last, it was the bard herself who saved him. Slowly, she stood, seemingly oblivious to the death that hung above her, and placed one hand gently upon his face. “I am so very sorry, Kaerion,” she said in a measured tonesoft enough to reach only his ears.
The half-elf’s voice was warm, its timbre a rich, dulcet,earthy tone that absorbed the heat of his rage, enfolding him in its compassionate embrace. Kaerion knew now, in the part of his mind still capable of rational thought, that the bard had never intended this to happen, had never played “Whitehart’s Hope” as a means of exposing his shame.
With a heaving shudder, he sheathed the naked blade. As if this motion released them all from a powerful spell, his companions moved forward. Kaerion was surprised to see Gerwyth stand abruptly and bar their way.
Kaerion looked back at Majandra, whose gentle fingers now traced the curve of his jaw. The half-elf appeared as stunned as he felt. With a slow swallow, she spoke again, “Kaerion, I-”
“No, Majandra,” he growled. “Not here.” And with that, hepulled her, far less gently than he should have, away from the center of the camp, back toward the shadows and relative privacy of the supply rafts.
Once there, the thousand things he had wanted to say swirled around in his head, getting in each others way. Dully, he gaped at the half-elf, who regarded him with a slight smile upon her face. His own mouth worked absently, opening and closing despite the silence that issued forth from it.
When at last someone spoke, it was Majandra. “So, it’s true,”she said in a gentle voice. “You are the Whitehart.”
Kaerion wanted to deny the accusation. Instead, he felt his shoulders slump under the weight of acceptance as he nodded.
“But how is that possible?” Majandra asked. “You weresupposed to have died during the expedition that was sent to free Earl Holmer from Dorakaa. There’s even a song of lament about how you sacrificed yourself sothat the others could escape with the earl.”
Kaerion bowed his head at the bard’s pronouncement. When hefinally found his voice, it was tinged with bitterness. “There isn’t a day thathas gone past since that cursed expedition when I don’t wish I was dead,” hesaid, “but there was no heroic sacrifice. You of all people should know theunreliability of bard’s tales.”
Majandra’s brow wrinkled in confusion.
“No,” he spoke again, shuddering as the memories rippedthrough him, “that expedition was doomed from the start. We were betrayed. Iuzknew we were coming and he set a trap. He let the others go and… andprepared a special place for me.”
Majandra shifted in her place and placed her hand in his. “But Kaerion, you beat Iuz. You escaped from his clutches, and now you’realive.”
“You call this living?” Kaerion shouted, shrugging off thebard’s attempt at comfort. “At first, I thought Heironeous would save me, butthen that demon-spawned bastard buried me in an oubliette. I sat there in the stinking darkness for so long I lost track of time as his minions whispered their foul wisdom into my ear. At one point, I can remember trying to pray, and the words of my prayer tasted like ash in my mouth. I wasn’t sure if Heironeouswas listening, and after a while, I wasn’t sure if he was even real. All I couldremember was fear, and darkness, and a soul-numbing chill that sucked every last bit of heat from my body. I was alone for the first time in my life.”
“You’re not alone anymore, Kaerion,” the bard said, movingcloser. “You have Gerwyth, Bredeth, the others-and me.” Majandra’s voice becametremulous. “You have me.”
Despite himself, Kaerion barked with bitter laughter. “Andwhy would they want me?” he asked. “Why would you want me? Don’t you know whatI’ve done? Can’t you see what I am? After all this time traveling together,Majandra, are you truly so blind?” The words spilled out of him, ugly, hateful,and yet he could not stop them, wasn’t sure he wanted to stop them.
“No, damn you. I’m not the blind one!” It was Majandra’s turnto shout, and despite his own anger, Kaerion was taken aback at the depth of the bard’s own feelings. “I’m not the one who clutches to this isolation all thewhile refusing the hand of true friendship and companionship being offered. So I don’t know what you’ve done. So what? If you want to put me to the test, thentell me what happened in Dorakaa. Give me the chance to make a decision about it, rather than constantly making one for me!”
She threw this last out like a challenge, and Kaerion found himself accepting. It wasn’t because he needed to share the burden of his griefwith someone. Not by a long shot. Rather, he knew that he deserved to be reviled for his actions, and what better way than to be reviled by someone he truly cared about. Let Majandra feel the shock and disgust as he listed the details of his own sins. In a perverse way, he knew he would take pleasure in shattering the faith and trust she had placed in him.
They stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily in their anger, staring at each other. He could see the challenge still in the bard’s eyes. When he began, Kaerion held his voice steady, as if retelling asimple tavern story. “Eventually, they let me out of the circular hole thatdefined my world. I remember blinking hard at the light, as if I had never seen it before. I stank of fear and human waste. Several of Iuz’s servants led me toa large chamber, a shrine of some sort. Even now it is difficult to remember the details.
“As they marched me toward this chamber, the foul demonswhispered to me again, but this time, they told me of the ways I would be used and tortured for Iuz’s own pleasure. At this point, I no longer recalled my lifebefore Dorakaa. For me, there was only misery and fear. By the time we reached the door to the shrine, I was shaking in terror. Thoughts of escape were beyond me, but I knew, despite my misery, that I would do anything to avoid the horror that awaited me.
“When they opened the door-” Kaerion’s voice broke as hesputtered and choked on the memories.
Without hesitation, Majandra opened her arms, and he could feel the bard drawing him toward her. He didn’t resist.
“When they opened the door,” Kaerion continued, his voice abit stronger, “I saw a pack of the foulest demons the Nine Hells had everspawned. They surrounded a stone slab. As my captors drew me into the room, the hellspawn parted, revealing a boy, no more than eight years old, splayed out like a sacrifice. One of the beasts hopped toward me, its vestigial wings flapping wetly, and gave me a choice. I could either offer myself in the boy’sstead, exchanging my life for his, or they would spare my life and take the boys. I-”
Kaerion’s body nearly convulsed as heaving shudders rackedhis frame. He could feel hot tears scalding his cheeks and jaw as he relived that memory once again. “Don’t you see?” he nearly shrieked, pulling away fromMajandra’s embrace. “I let them kill the boy. I watched as a demon clawripped the child’s throat apart and the demon pack feasted on his blood. It wasmy fault! Mine!”
Majandra’s mouth hung open, but she did not leave.
“It was my fault!” he shouted, and then he collapsed in asobbing heap.
He felt Majandra’s arms wrap themselves around him, her handsgently lifting his tear-stained face up. At first, he closed his eyes, unwilling to see the condemnation he knew would be there, but at last, he forced them open-and was amazed to see compassion and forgiveness in the half-elf’s face.
“It was then I knew Heironeous had never forsaken me,” hesaid in a much softer voice. “It was I who had walked away from him.”
Tears continued to roll down Kaerion’s face, and he,powerless to stop it, let them fall unchallenged down his face. Gradually, the shudders lessened and the great heaving sobs withdrew, leaving him weakened and empty. Despite his emotional state, he was almost painfully aware of Majandra’sarms as they wrapped gently around his neck. His heart beat in an unfamiliar rhythm.
“Majandra, I-” he began, but was quickly silenced by thepress of the half-elf’s lips to his own. He stiffened at first in surprise, butgradually relaxed as the soft touch of her tear-salted lips sent delicious warmth through his grief-spent body. For a brief moment, he felt weightless, suspended in a private universe beyond his own inner demons, a world whose boundaries began and ended in the arms that surrounded him.
Kaerion sighed and returned the kiss deeply-only to be flungout of his contentment by the gurgling scream of a dying guardsman. He looked at the equally stunned bard as shouts and other screams filled the camp.
The attack had begun.