Lyria worked hard, ignoring the sweltering heat from the forge. Her chest heaved with every stroke, as she moved the massive forge hammer in an unerring rhythm. Delyn ran energetically with her tiny body, curiously examing Lyria’s tools. She even named a few that she thought were cute. I sat idly on the lone stool, which Lyria rarely used, watching her work the anvil. Delyn nudged Lyria twice, receiving a pat on the head in return, each time. Motivated by the praise she received, Delyn ran ahead and picked two pieces of coal as big as her tiny hands would allow. She then presented them with excitement to Lyria, hoping to garner more praise from her. Instead, I barked at her for soiling her hands. Delyn instinctively knew that she was in trouble. She wrapped her tiny hands around Lyria’s waist and with big beady eyes looked at her for comfort.
It was cold. My limbs froze and refused to heed my command. But it was the pounding that woke me. I lay motionless or I was afloat. Devoid of any other senses, I could not tell. But the pounding continued. Like struck by a sledgehammer swung by a titan. Slowly, Zaehran’s face came into view. Intense scrutiny marred his otherwise austere face. He synchronised his breathing and his open palm struck against my chest. Like the stomping of an enraging giant golem, they stuck again and again. I slowly drifted.
Lyria leaned closer to grab my face. Our warm breaths mingled as she slowly moved her callous hands to the back of my neck. Delyn jumped in between, without any warning and proudly presented a luminous Agaric mushroom that she foraged. She placed a quick kiss on both our cheeks and wrapped her arms around Lyria’s neck before drowning her with more kisses.
The heavy bone-crunching pounding continued. I coughed eliciting a response from Zaehran. His face brightened but soon lost its glow. I drifted apart.
Curling my fingers tightly around the pommel, I blocked General Savvas’s heavy swing. Lyria stood at a distance, sitting on an upholstered chair on the dais, watching me spare. In stark contrast, to the relaxed gaze that Lyria cast, the row of attendants behind her holding various refreshments, stood to attention with perseverance. Delyn scurried after Savvas the younger, playing pretend knights.
I blocked another horizontal slash from General Savvas, but the veteran revealed more of his trick as he tripped me with a swipe from his feet. Freed of my grip, my weapon fell, clattered away from my grasp. I took the offered hand of my brother to lift myself, while he commented something about my posture. In response, I spat on the ground and cursed something about his trickery that won him the day.
Lyria ran towards me, trailed by two attendants. She thrust a goblet holding cool sweet liquid. As the contents of the ornate goblet, washed away the dryness in my throat, Lyria grabbed a wet towel and wiped the sweat from my brows. Delyn tripped herself while chasing Savvas the younger but quickly raised herself. She then spat and in an imitation of me, with her tiny rosebud lips cursed like a drunken sailor in a whorehouse.
Lyria immediately wrenched the goblet from my hands and sent me a scrutinising look. A look that admonished me. Even though we are of the same height, I felt myself shrinking under her gaze.
The inside of my chest burned while my outer limbs were cold. Zaehran, drenched in sweat and troubled by anxiety, still worked with his powerful palm strikes. His lips moved but no words reached my ears. As I strained to focus on his words, sharp pain shot. Every bone, every muscle and the insides of my skin screamed in protest. And I let go.
Delyn stood defiantly. Standing tall, she reached just above my cheeks but still rebelliously glared back at me. Eventually, our contest of will broke and Delyn stomped out of the hall. A poor unfortunate attendant carrying a filled cup happened to cross her path and with a flick of her wrist, she threw the cup across the hall to shatter. All those gathered, the pages and the maid, cowered in fear as my nostrils flared in anger. A sudden silence settled in the hall and the air became palpable. Only Lyria dared to walk towards me, unhindered by the charged atmosphere. I pushed her aside but her strong arms wrapped around, embracing me in a warm hug. She shushed with her dark velvet voice, attempting to calm me. Her enveloping presence eroded away my defences. My anger dissolved like dew under sunshine, giving away to slow sigh as I basked in her scent.
I coughed, violently. My vision struggled while the cold in my body slowly crept, attempting to invade my heart. The burning sensation in my chest slowly disappeared until only a tender warmth remained.
“She is with us now,” with relief, proclaimed T’orrac.
As I regained my senses gradually, my thoughts attained coherence. I was naked on what felt like a block of ice. I slowly breathed in. The air that I expelled condensed to mist. I tried moving my limbs and felt the sharp pain break out. A non-callous hand placed a blanket over me, covering my helplessness and my dignity. I tried to talk but only managed to croak instead.
“You are safe,” uttered Zaehran, “for now.”
I peered in my vicinity, urging for answers.
“You suffered multiple fractures,” answered T’orrac, “internal bleeding and poisoning. Only the strongest of sedatives had any impact on you.”
I glared at T’orrac and croaked once more.
“If you need an explanation to your present state,” volunteered Zaehran,” Your heart stopped. I tried to make your heart beat again with my shimmering palms, but the poison in you metabolised faster. Every time I tried to bring you back, the poison stopped your heart from functioning.”
I tried to move my head and moaned in pain. Soon, Syrune came into view with a pillow in hand which she adjusted below my neck.
“The master mage decided it would be better to slow your metabolism by freezing your body,” Continued Zaehran, “except it was impossible to make a cold heart beat again. So Colby got the idea to keep your heart warm by focussing attenuating crystals. Your heart still went into shock. It was only thanks to the generous efforts of the druids that you are alive.”
“Where are we?” I finally managed to form the nagging question.
“Inside Octant Laboratory, the only place where we could treat you,” answered Syrune.
“Out....” my breathing became erratic as I struggled with the pain and muddled thoughts, “Fast. Place me under The Aberrant Irregulars, please.”
With those words, my consciousness faded again.
Like an untamed wild horse, my consciousness roamed, visiting unannounced and departing at will. Once, I groaned helplessly under the wide canopies, leeches crawled over, draining their nourishment from my battered body. Once, I looked up at the wide starry sky. My body perspired profusely despite the cool breeze that prevailed in the calm night. Once, I was roasted under the merciless sun, with a dull green sludge with its pungent odour assailing my nostrils, wrapped around my joints with wide leaves. But each time, the pain was a constant companion. And each time, I was force fed a thick milky white bitter fluid. As the fluid worked its intended action, my thoughts jumbled till consciousness departed.
Eventually, I spit the milky fluid when it was force fed. Only T’orrac gave a hearty laugh.
“If you regained strength to spit, then you won’t need it,” explained T’orrac, “but be warned you will still feel the pain.”
His words came true on the very night when the pain visited in waves, till I abandoned all pretext of sublime willpower and begged for the merciless bitter fluid to ease my pain.
The following day, remembering the ordeal of the previous night, I willingly gulped the offered drink. T’orrac held an expression as if sculpted in stone while Zaehran pulled the corners of his lips in a small smile. Colby sat around with his attention held by a radiant purple crystal, bigger than both his fist combined. Syrune was nowhere near, but I expected her to be closer somewhere.
The next day, I felt my strength slowly welling inside and engaged the woman who came to clean my wounds.
“How long have I been out?” I asked.
Her pale blue eyes remained fixed on the wound that she dressed and without moving her gaze from her task she answered, “Ten days,”
“And where are we?” I continued.
“You will not be moving anytime soon,” uttered the woman in a stern voice as she adjusted the knots of the sling that held my broken left hand.
“But...” She sent a sharp look in my direction and cut my protests.
“We did the best we could. You have shattered your hips,” She lowered her head and worked on my right foot, “So you will not be moving for a while.”
“At my age, a broken hip means invalid for the rest of my life,” I uttered in dejection.
“You are at the hands of the druids of the Order of Chimera,” Crows feet appeared on the corner of her eyes revealing her true age as she proudly beamed a smile and continued, “Our healing may not work instantaneously like you are used to, but we have the power to beckon nature.”
I let the woman continue her task and reserved my cynical thoughts to myself.
“When we are done, your hips will be supple, like before you gave birth,” she added in a tone that was meant to be comforting. Instead, I felt violated.
“So you examined me,” I said in a grim tone, cursing my helplessness.
“Only as a physician,” she answered, “Besides someone had to change your clothes.”
At her words, I realised that I was clad in a woman’s smock that barely reached my knees.
As if possessing clairvoyance, she continued, “You companion, the mage dressed you when I was occupied.”
“I was harsh with Syrune,” I replied, “Please convey my thanks and apology to her.”
HER..... When did I start thinking of Syrune as a woman? I brushed aside the thought. My brain must have rattled inside my skull from the explosion.
Satisfied with dressing the wounds, she silently moved aside to fetch some broth for me to nourish.
On the fifth day, the pain lessened and boredom occupied instead. My mind was faster to recuperate than my old bones. With my hips still mending, sitting straight was an impossible feat and I begrudgingly let the druids carry me on their makeshift stretcher. Zaehran, occasionally intruded upon my solitude, providing me with much-needed distraction, but the ascetic failed to provide any information to amuse myself.
On the following day, at dawn when Zaehran approached me to enquire about my well being, I requested the monk to bring T’orrac.
After what seemed like an eternity, but the position of the sun above the horizon spoke otherwise, T’orrac appeared.
“I suppose you want to know all the transpired when you were recuperating,” said T’orrac without exchanging pleasantries.
Almost as if he expected this meeting to happen, T’orrac continued in a well-versed tone, “A day after you blew the central square, Arlond swarmed with Paladins. We cooped up in Octant Laboratory for two days, trying to revive you. But since the activity of the Paladins increased, we slipped.”
“Zelaphiel will now try to claim glory for discovering a Mind Flayer infestation in Arlond and exterminating the same,” I added.
“Merrick has apparently joined hands with Zelaphiel and now he leads a contingent of Paladins hunting you,” The monk delivered the grim news.
“Ar’krak and Zurin are out there throwing them off our trails,” explained T’orrac. For once, the elf before me deserted the guise of a wolfish politician and held pity.
“What happend to Karlienne?” I asked.
“We could not find her,” explained Zaehran, “If she had wits, she would have sought refugee with the Orcs.”
I simple nodded. The half-elven herbalist is resourceful in her own ways. She would have definitely found a way out.
“How is Syrune?” I struggled with the knowledge of words that I threw at the scholar.
“In haste, you uttered words,” carefully worded Zaehran after much contemplation, “though the mage is wise enough to realise that such words were said in the spur of the moment, with an impending death breathing down your neck, your words have inevitably left the scholar broken.”
“The planar mage took a blow as severe as your external wounds,” added T’orrac.
“I should make amends with Syrune immediately,” I requested.
“The wounds you inflicted were a symptom, not the cause,” explained T’orrac again with concern clouding his eyes, “Let the mage journey to unravel the cause. There is no need to treat the symptoms.”
T’orrac’s advice regarding Syrune sounded profoundly cryptic, prompting me to switch to an easier question.
“How is Colby?” I asked.
“The young gnome is satisfying his curiosity with the ordinance Crystal,” said Zaehran nonchalantly, “he found it in the collapsed pylon and has ever since been playing with it.”
“An object from the pylon at Colby’s disposal?” my voice shimmered with concern.
“Your concerns are valid but be assured that for all his intelligence, he will succeed as much as anyone trying to read a philosophical treatise penned in a foreign script,” assured Zaehran.
Even though Zaehran was firm in his conclusion, an unexplainable shiver ran down my spine.
“In two days, we should be close to the main route between Westerlygates and Sarenthill,” announced T’orrac, “We would take our leave then. Our debt fully paid.”
“Where will you go now?” I asked despite knowing the obvious answer.
“Away from civilisation,” answered T’orrac, “We commune with nature.”
“I could offer a place,” I suggested.
“Your companions tell me that you lead a mercenary company,” said T’orrac as a matter of fact, “We need a place to bond with nature and you lead an itinerant life. Both extremities cannot mingle.”
“And if I were to provide you a land to settle?” I prodded the elf.
“Being a druid does not make me blind to politics,” scoffed T’orrac with his hand folded behind his back, in a gesture of disagreement, “no Lord would willingly allow a foreign army with swaying allegiances, to settle in their lands.”
“But I know a Lady who might be persuaded,” I surprised myself by grinning despite my battered state.
My words received a scrutinizing gaze from T’orrac as he attempted with bewilderment and deliberation to process my offer.
“Promise me your army of Chimeras and I pledge in return, that no one would disturb your beloved commune,” I made the final offer.
The wolfish smile danced again on T’orrac’s face.
“Then, let me formalise,” proclaimed T’orrac in a solemn voice, “We, the druids of the Order of Chimera accept your deal.”
Having secured a powerful ally, I turned towards Zaehran.
An all-knowing smile held fixed on the ascetic’s face.
“There is nothing you could offer that would tempt me,” said Zaehran, “but in the collapse, there was no remnant of the Elder Brain. It is prudent to assume that this will not be your last encounter with the Mind Flayers. I would not seek foolishly, rather wait where they would strike.”
“Then welcome to The Aberrant Irregulars,” Despite my injury, I could not help but clasp the monk’s offered palms with both my hands.
It was on the dusk of the third day, when the lights of Westerleygates twinkled at a distance, that the amorphous lithe form of Arlene strode into the camp. In the typical fashion of a ranger, she quickly scanned the surroundings and finally settled on me. Instead of concern, she chuckled.
“When the twisted halfling returned with grave news, I knew things were going to get complicated,” she uttered between her contorted laugh, “I suppose Nemeash will have to wait. You are not travelling anywhere in this state.”
“Nemeash found something?” I could barely conceal the enthusiasm in my voice.
“Yes,” Arlene sounded as if she was bored of boredom itself, “Something about him knowing the location but would not divulge any more. Only for your ears.”
Zaehran stepped before Arlene and pondered for a brief moment before he boldly asked, “Tell me young maiden, that ethereal presence guarding you, is it some sort of spirit that you bound to your will?”
Arlene’s eyes widened in shock while despite my ribs aching, I burst into laughter.
I finally screamed at the top of my voice, “Provost Vitalia, I think it is time that you drop all pretext and appear normally.”
That night, despite the protest from all, I could barely sleep. Nemeash has Lyria’s location and soon I would meet her. The excitement of seeing her overrode my sense of pain.
“You suffered multiple fractures,” answered T’orrac, “internal bleeding
Now I’m really glad that Rylon thought Colby shouldn’t be the one to set off the explosives. Colby really might have died or at least heavily injured himself.
Thank you so much for yours nice comment.
Rylon has decades of parenting experience -- with Delyn. So she knows what to expect with kids and their plans.