~10. Death and Deviants~
Rismyn
The training hall was rarely so silent, especially at this hour. The twenty drow students stood in four rows of five, as still as statues, as they awaited further instruction from either Master Torafein or Master Enelel. Rismyn stood in his place, the first warrior of the second row--a fancy way of saying he remained in sixth place. He was getting awfully tired of staring at the back of Dreder’s head, but it couldn’t be helped. Until he either mastered the blade or a strategy to remain unchallenged once he reached the top five, he was stuck on the second row.
He didn’t wonder why their drills had been interrupted so abruptly. The masters liked to throw the students for a loop, and it wasn’t his job to question orders. It was his job to obey, and he was quite good at obeying. His sisters had made sure of it.
The minutes ticked away, and the students remained at attention, no one daring to break form. Just because the masters were absent didn’t mean they weren’t watching. Whoever broke concentration first would likely earn the whole class punishment, and the whole class would pay them back for it in the dorms later.
Well, mostly the whole class. Something in Rismyn found the vengeance distasteful, even sickening at times. He usually found some reason or another to be somewhere else when the vipers struck.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, something happened. The unlit torches in the hall blazed into life, and despite himself, Rismyn hissed and flinched. Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one. No one was prepared for the onslaught of light, for the torches were very rarely lit. In fact, Rismyn wasn’t sure he could ever remember them being lit in his five years at Melee-Magthere.
The door to the hall opened and the students quickly straightened back into form. Rismyn’s eyes watered as the fire burned them, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead as Master Torafein entered. He was not about to be the reason the whole class got punished.
Torafein stood before them, his ever-stoic features dissecting their discipline. It was hard to say whether he approved or disapproved of what he saw. His expression—or lack thereof—was notoriously impossible to read.
After an unbearable moment of staring into torchlight, Torafein crossed his arms over his chest and growled, “Students, attention!”
They couldn’t be any more at attention than they already were, but Rismyn still found his spine trying to stand up taller, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening. To stand at attention meant to always be ready to draw the blade, for danger lurked in every shadow.
The door behind Torafein opened again and Enelel entered, then a third person. Curiosity piqued, Rismyn squinted to try and make out the features of the newcomer against the bright firelight. When his eyes finally adjusted, he inhaled sharply.
“This is Toloruel Tear,” Enelel said, gesturing to the third warrior who had entered the room with them. “He is a graduate from this fine Academy with more than a century of experience on the Patrol and three successful surface raids to his name. You will show him proper respect.”
At this, the students saluted in unison, as was expected. Even Rismyn moved, mechanically, while he felt sick with dread. In the line in front of him, Dreder glanced back at him and shot him a sly wink.
They very rarely had guest instructors. It was only when the warrior had something especially impressive to teach that their mentors stepped aside, and though Rismyn knew Toloruel was considered to be one of more skilled warriors of his generation, that wasn’t enough to set him apart for special instruction. There was only one thing Toloruel had that would distinguish him enough to receive such an invitation.
Even as he thought it, Toloruel ordered the students to be at ease. His eyes fell on Rismyn and he nodded in recognition, almost imperceptibly. Rismyn was obliged to return the gesture. No matter what relations were like at home, they were expected to present a united front in public. Then, his elder brother snapped his fingers, and from the shadows behind the masters, another figure emerged.
It had been three tendays since Dreder voiced his brilliant idea. And though hard work had driven the conversation from Rismyn’s mind, it seemed the masters had not forgotten.
Several gasps and excited murmurs erupted around the class, but Rismyn heard none of them. His body went strangely numb, his attention entirely captivated by the woman who had just shuffled forward. She was dressed in dark clothes instead of her usual slave whites, but there was no mistaking who she was.
“Silence!” Enelel barked, and the class fell into sudden stillness.
Toloruel didn’t seem to mind, however. He was soaking up the attention. He rapt Kitty sharply on the shoulder. “Look up, girl, so they can see you properly.”
Kitty obeyed at once, her chin snapping up, and Rismyn’s heart began a strange dance in his chest. He couldn’t decide what he was feeling, but whatever it was, it was strong and overpowering, enough that he began to tremble slightly.
She was more beautiful than he remembered, the black garb accentuating her figure and bringing out the contrasting color of her skin. He liked the way her hair had been pulled back, and shivered slightly when he remembered how her locks had felt between his fingers.
No, this was not good. She couldn’t be here. Just the mere sight of her threatened to unravel him. He forced his thoughts to remain hyper-focused on what was happening, while his mind desperately wanted to harken back to earlier days.
His thoughts chased themselves in vicious circles as he studied her features carefully. Something was different about her. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Was it just the clothes? Her hair? Did she appear older? His eyes fell to the diamond of pearl-colored flesh exposed on her chest and a familiar sense of rage made his blood tingle. When had she acquired that scar? He supposed it could have always been there, but the way it was being shown off now made him suspect it was a new addition.
Kitty stared straight ahead, her gaze anchored just over the heads of the students. She didn’t even flinch as Toloruel circled her.
“This is a half-faerie,” he began. “Not so dangerous as a pure-blooded faerie, but not to be underestimated, either. Observe the shape of her ears.” He grabbed Kitty’s face and turned her head to the side so the students could see. “Not as pointed as an elf’s, not as round as a human’s.”
When Toloruel released her jaw, Kitty’s head snapped right back to straight-forward attention, and Rismyn finally recognized what had changed about her.
The light in her eyes had dulled. They were still the same, stunning shade of lavender, but they were no longer full of the vibrant life he had been so drawn to. A piece of his own heart burned out with it. Those eyes had saved his life a thousand times, encouraging him to go on when the long days of his misery seemed to never end.
The students listened for over an hour as Toloruel displayed Kitty for them to see, pointing out her features and flaws, even demonstrating in slow motion the best lethal strikes to fell her quickly. Faerie anatomy was basically the same as drow anatomy, but Toloruel’s insights came from experience with the faerie fighting styles. He knew the best places to strike to cut through their warriors’ armors and defenses.
For the first time, Rismyn heard his brother’s point of view on how he acquired Kitty. Toloruel gave the account of the surface raid he led in rich detail. Rismyn’s classmates stood in clear awe of him, while Rismyn wondered what was wrong with himself. Everything he had been learning about the faeries painted his brother as a war hero. But as he spoke, Rismyn just felt sicker and sicker, never taking his eyes off of Kitty.
Through the whole presentation, Kitty stood still and silent, her eyes remaining fixed on the wall behind them. Her face betrayed no flicker of emotion, not even when Toloruel told of how he killed her mother. She never once looked down at him, or any of the other students. She put all of their efforts at discipline to shame, yet Toloruel spoke of her as a weak, helpless thing.
After an excruciating amount of time and answering of vile questions, Toloruel glanced out the window towards Narbondel and frowned. “I have some family business to attend to at Sorcere,” he said to their masters. “Could I leave her in your care until I return?”
“Certainly,” Enelel said, an eager gleam in his eyes. “The boys would like a closer look, I expect.”
Toloruel nodded his thanks and stepped up to Kitty, removing a silver collar from around her neck. “I expect you to be well behaved,” he said to her.
Kitty only nodded.
He leaned in close and whispered something else to her, something that made her go paler, then he left.
When he was gone, Enelel stood before them. “Take some time to make your own observations,” he instructed. “We’ll discuss them afterward. The one who comes up with the most interesting insight will earn extra rest.”
That got the attention of the students, if they hadn’t been excited enough already. The younger drow converged around Kitty, forming a circle to get a closer look at the mysterious enemy of their race.
Kitty’s eyes moved for the first time, roving from student to student in her line of sight, never lingering on one face or another. Rismyn’s heart fluttered when her eyes fell on him, and he imagined she had been looking for him, but there was no hint of recognition in her expression. Her eyes merely moved on, as though assessing the threat around her, then anchored above their heads again.
Rismyn hung back, unable to stomach moving any closer to her. Something about this whole scenario felt decidedly wrong to him, and he wanted nothing more than to whisk Kitty away. Perhaps even get her alone long enough to talk. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to start with apologies or accusations, he just knew he wanted to get her away from here.
But the last time they had been alone together, things had not gone well. Shame engulfed him once again. How could he ever face her alone again? Why did Toloruel have to bring her here?
“What do you think it eats?” someone asked, as the students jostled around her.
“Probably blood,” another commented. “They suck blood, right?”
“No, that’s vampires, idiot. Faeries eat souls. That’s why their skin is so pale.”
“No way, if it ate souls they wouldn’t bring it here.”
“They said it was tamed, remember?”
“Well it has to eat something.”
“What does it do? It’s just been standing here. I don’t see what makes it so dangerous.”
“That’s why it’s dangerous. My elder brother was killed by one, in a surface raid.”
“Good thing, too, or you woulda been Lolth-meat, thirdboy.”
That last comment came from Dreder, and caused the others to hush and glance towards the masters, who fortunately didn’t seem to be paying attention. He had spoken irreverently of Lolth, and even though they all did so, none so loudly as Dreder. The first-ranked student pushed his way to the front and stood before Kitty, looking her up and down. No one else had dared to step within arm’s reach of her. Rismyn found his hand suddenly drawn to his dagger—his real dagger—as his classmate began to circle around her.
“Well, look at you,” Dreder said, softly. “And they say faeries are hideous.” He grinned as he came to stand in front of her again, taking her in with hungry eyes. “I dunno why Rizzy told us you were so ugly. He must have wanted to keep you to himself. Even he’s not dumb enough to miss this treasure.”
Fury roiled up inside of Rismyn, and his hand twitched again towards his dagger. But worse than Dreder’s obnoxious words was the way Kitty still didn’t acknowledge him, even after he was called out. He didn’t expect her to smile or wave, but at least a lingering gaze. Something to prove she saw him differently than the others.
“You better watch it,” a student called Jorel warned. “Talk like that might get you labeled a deviant.”
There were mixed reactions to that; some of the boys laughed and some shifted uncomfortably. A deviant was not something that was supposed to exist, but was quietly whispered about in the halls of all the drow schools. Especially in Melee-Magthere, which had trained the most infamous deviant the drow had ever known. It was the label for a dark elf who adhered to surface-like weaknesses, and it was not an accusation one made lightly.
Fortunately for Jorel, Dreder chose to laugh. “A deviant? Hardly,” he said, still leering at Kitty. “I’ve nothing but the most proper drow-like intentions for her.”
The other boys snickered and Rismyn temporarily lost his good sense. He didn’t know what he felt for Kitty, but he knew he didn’t want Dreder anywhere near her. He began to push his way to the front of the circle, his grip on his weapon tightening.
“What do you say, little faerie?” Dreder continued, stepping closer to Kitty. Even as he invaded her space, Kitty didn’t move, didn’t react. “Care to spill your secrets to me?”
“Careful, Dreder,” someone teased, “It might bite.”
“Or spit acid in your eyes!”
“Wouldn’t that be fun,” Dreder sneered. He shot a challenging look around the circle, then raised a hand and grabbed a fistful of Kitty’s hair.
The other boys gasped, clearly shocked he had the courage to touch the faerie. Their surprise quickly gave way to excited chattering and comments, most of which were lost to Rismyn’s ears as he worked his way forward.
“You’re crazy!” Jorel called, shaking his head.
“Or just stupid,” Gylas muttered, bold words Rismyn only caught because he had just elbowed past the eighteenth-seater.
“You’re all just a bunch of cowards,” Dreder said. He was grinning viciously as he pulled on Kitty’s hair until she was forced to look at him. Through it all, her expression remained blank. “Tell me, girl. For science. What color do you bleed?”
“The same color as you,” Rismyn growled. He finally made it to the front of the circle, his real dagger drawn. “Which I’ll be happy to display to the class if you don’t take your hands off of her right now.”
A hush fell over the students, their eyes burning with a fervent desire for blood. Kitty’s eyes snapped past Dreder to Rismyn, and for the first time, he saw emotion flicker across her face. He liked to imagine it was hope, a belief that he would protect her.
But considering his track record, she was probably just telling him to back off. The thought didn’t help his temper.
Dreder slipped around behind Kitty, releasing her hair but keeping an arm firmly wrapped around her shoulders as he pulled her against himself. “I thought you said you never paid attention to her,” he taunted. “Why Rizzy, did you tell us a lie?”
“Let her go,” Rismyn said again, refusing to let Dreder bait him. He had played out a thousand strategies for taking down the first-seater, and all of them involved remaining calm and collected. He glanced back at the teachers, who had gone silent as well, their eyes on the students. They didn’t often interfere when fights broke out among the class unless it turned lethal. Grudgingly, Rismyn sheathed his dagger and placed a hand on his dulled practice sword instead. He didn’t want to be stopped before he had the chance to teach Dreder a lesson he would never forget.
“Why should I?” the other drow asked. “She doesn’t belong to you, remember?”
“She is property of House Tear,” Rismyn spat, and though the statement was true it tasted bitter on his tongue.
“Oh don’t worry, I noticed,” Dreder smirked. He traced a finger around the symbol burned onto her skin. “But last I checked, House Tear has lent her to us to play with. We won’t learn anything by just looking.”
Rismyn’s anger reached its breaking point. “Remove your hand from her, or I will remove your hand from you. You will not be warned again.”
Dreder laughed and tightened his grip on Kitty. “Is that a challenge, sixth-seat?”
Enough was enough. Rismyn darted forward, drawing his short sword as he went. He had said there would be no more warnings, and he meant it. He aimed to bring the dull edge of his weapon down on Dreder’s shoulder, with enough force to shatter it, but the first-seater anticipated the move and jumped back.
“Jorel, catch!” Dreder called, and he shoved Kitty away from him into the waiting arms of the other student.
Rismyn pivoted to change his target, but Dreder wouldn’t allow it. His own twin blades snapped out and he snagged Rismyn’s, forcing his attention back to his first enemy.
“You challenged me, remember?”
Rismyn’s offhand drew his dagger--his training dagger--and he slashed at his adversary so that Dreder had to either release his sword or be badly bruised.
Dreder chose the former, but darted in between Rismyn’s blades and slashed at his gut with his own sword.
The attack hit true, and Rismyn lost his breath. Had the swords been sharpened, he would have lost his life.
“Why do you care so much?” Dreder asked, as he executed a series of swift maneuvers that Rismyn could barely keep up with parrying. “You said she wasn’t yours!”
Rismyn didn’t answer, but kept his focus on countering Dreder’s blades. There was a reason his adversary was the top of the class, and though the gap between their skills was marginal, it was still a gap. He dared to glance towards Kitty in between strikes. Jorel held her by the wrists, and by the looks of it, she had tried to pull free of him. Her eyes were riveted on Rismyn, and at last he saw something in her that hinted at the bond they once shared.
She looked afraid, and Rismyn was getting awfully tired of Kitty being afraid.
With a growl Rismyn forced an opening for himself, taking a strike to the shoulder for it. But the advantage was worth the numbness that shot through his arm. Dreder was good, but he wasn’t perfect. Rismyn’s sword snaked around his and with a quick flick, the enemy drow was disarmed, his blade clattering to the floor.
The class looked on, hungry to see the loser devoured. Dreder stared at his empty hand, outraged, and it would have been the perfect moment to gut him, except that Rismyn no longer cared about him. Instead, he dashed around the first-seater and charged towards Jorel, who quickly shoved Kitty to the next classmate.
Jorel had no time to draw his weapons before Rismyn was upon him, but he didn’t need to. He ducked under Rismyn’s first swing and came up under his defenses, ramming his shoulder into Rismyn’s gut. They both tumbled back together, and Rismyn just managed to keep hold of his weapons.
He recovered first, jabbing his knee up into Jorel’s middle and throwing him off. He left the adversary still scrambling to get up and went for the next one who held Kitty--Ki’teran.
Ki’teran grinned savagely as he threw Kitty down, drawing the longsword he had chosen as his primary weapon. Their blades met with a clash of sparks, and Rismyn’s blow was knocked back by the force of the two-armed strike. He glanced down and was relieved to see Kitty scurrying away, out of harm’s reach.
“What’s your problem, Tear?” Ki’teran mocked. “Don’t know how to share?” His sword came swinging for Rismyn’s throat, but Rismyn deflected it with a downward thrust and punched the swordsman in the face, as he had done to Gylas not three tendays ago.
Unlike Gylas, Ki’teran didn’t go down. He came at Rismyn with a barrage of heavy slashes, but he was slower than Rismyn, and less skilled. Within seconds, Rismyn had the swordsman disarmed. Ki’teran raised his hands to yield, but Rismyn was past caring about sparing protocols.
This was not a game to him. He raised his sword to finish the drow, and then--
“Rismyn!”
He froze at the sound of Kitty’s fearful cry, then turned.
Dreder had Kitty in his arms again, this time with one hand on her throat while the other one held a bladed knife to her cheek. Her eyes were wide with terror.
“Ohhh,” Dreder laughed. “She called you by name. That deserves some punishment, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Don’t. You. Dare.” Rismyn growled, advancing on Dreder.
“Dare what? This?” Dreder dragged the knife across her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. He leaned his face close to the cut and breathed deeply. “Mm. Smells like iron and death. Anyone else want to try?”
With a howl of rage, Rismyn charged. Unfortunately, the game was on now. At the sight of fresh faerie blood, several blades left their sheaths. Dreder gleefully threw Kitty aside, where she was quickly snatched by another classmate. Rismyn switched to the new target, and again Kitty changed captors.
Round and round they went, with Rismyn forced to fight two or three of his classmates before he could even reach the taunting drow who held Kitty. Then she would be thrown aside like a ragdoll, and though she tried to break free, someone was always there to catch her. Fortunately, they all seemed obsessed with the game of keep away, too busy watching his mad scramble to save her to harm her directly. And through it all, the masters watched, probably amused, as their students trained themselves.
Adrenaline and hate kept Rismyn going as he fought through his enemies. He’d taken a dozen or more bruising strikes already, and his chest ached in a way that reminded of cracked ribs, but he would not--could not--stop. Not until Kitty was safe. He wanted to plunge his blade into Toloruel’s heart for leaving her here alone. Even he would have objected to this. If he would only come back and stop this madness.
Jorel crumpled in a heap as Rismyn’s dull sword connected with his skull, and at last no one stood between him and Kitty’s current captor, Fraydin. His lungs burned as he breathed raggedly, advancing slowly on the lowest-ranked student in the class. He felt a sliver of satisfaction as Fraydin realized he was unprotected, his face going ashen. Then, with a yell, Fraydin shoved Kitty towards the nearest drow--Gylas.
But Gylas didn’t catch Kitty with his arms. Instead, Kitty’s momentum came to a sudden halt just before she would have reached him.
At first, Rismyn didn’t understand what had happened, until he saw the red-stained sword blade blossoming from her lower back. The laughter and the jeering ceased at once as Kitty gasped, staggering back away from Gylas.
“Oops,” Gylas said, doing a poor job of hiding a smile. He ripped his sword--his real, sharpened sword--from her abdomen. Blood splattered in a puddle at her feet.
Rismyn stood frozen in horror. His mind couldn’t comprehend--couldn’t accept--what he had just witnessed. His own weapons clattered to the floor as he rushed forward, just in time to catch Kitty as she fell backward into his arms.
“No,” he moaned, putting a hand over the wound. It didn’t matter, her blood ran hot around his palm. She stared up at him, her mouth working as if she were trying to speak. All that came out of her throat was more blood.
“Gylas!” Master Enelel shouted, and the students parted to let the teachers through. “You idiot, what have you done? She wasn’t ours to kill!”
“It was an accident,” Gylas shrugged. “Drew the wrong sword, wasn’t expecting her to come at me.” He looked down at Rismyn and flashed him a wicked smile.
It was the last thing he ever did.
Gylas fell to his knees, dead, with Rismyn’s dagger protruding from his forehead. Rismyn hadn’t even realized he’d thrown it as tears burned in his eyes. Were it not for his hand still outstretched, he might have believed someone else had thrown it.
But he didn’t care. Gylas was dead and he felt nothing for it. No regret, no satisfaction. His full attention returned to Kitty as the dead drow slumped over, his grin permanently etched onto his face.
“She needs a cleric,” Rismyn said desperately, as he failed to stem the flow of blood. He glanced up and around and realized no one had moved. The whole class and both teachers just watched him, a crosshatch of every emotion represented among them. Some absorbed the carnage with glee on their faces. Others wore shock or outrage.
But still, nobody moved.
Disgusted, Rismyn lifted Kitty into his arms, intending to find his own help for her, but he didn’t make it far. Two steps were all he took before his way was barred by Master Torafein and Master Enenlel’s sword blades.
“Fool,” Enelel said. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll be dead before you find a cleric, if one would even spare their energy for a faerie.”
“What the hell were you thinking?” Torafein adding, glancing down at Gylas’ still smiling corpse. “He was out of line, but that could have been dealt with.”
Rismyn couldn’t believe how calm everyone was, while Kitty’s life dripped away through his hands. But of course, they didn’t care about that. They didn’t seem to truly care about Gylas, and her life had even less value to them. If his rage and despair alone could kill, the whole of Menzoberranzan would have blinked out of existence. “He robbed our house of the favor of Lolth,” Rismyn said, feeding them an excuse they might believe. “This faerie was ours to sacrifice when we saw fit.”
“And his family would have paid recompense for it,” Enelel argued. “Now you will owe his family, and for the death of her son Matron Sistella could demand your life.”
“She can certainly try,” Rismyn snarled. “Get out of my way. I can still save her.”
“Get back in line, boy,” Torafein snarled back. “Don’t cut your own throat.”
“Why are we wasting our breath on this weakling?” Dreder suddenly cried out, stepping out of the crowd. “Don’t you all get it yet? He’s a deviant!”
The word echoed around the chamber, and Rismyn felt it pulsate in his bones. No one laughed this time. This was no joking remark, as Jorel had used it. This was a statement, an accusation. On instinct, Rismyn scrambled for a response, an argument of some sort to contradict what had just been said. He wasn’t a deviant, he was just...just…
Just enamored with a faerie. Even after all this time apart.
In the single span of a heartbeat, the ever-raging torrent of fears and frustrations stilled inside of him, and suddenly everything seemed so clear.
Dreder was right, and he was an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
He had spent his whole life trying to walk the line between what was right and what was drow, and all he had to show for it was misery and disappointment. Now the only good thing he had ever known lay dying in his arms. He had to choose between letting her go and becoming a drow or forsaking everything he’d thought he wanted for what would probably amount to a short run and swift death.
He was outnumbered, out-skilled, and very likely out of time. The only way out of this was to submit now and endure the punishment that would come. Punishment he would survive.
But Kitty would not.
With his hands soaked in her blood, he suddenly didn’t understand why he had ever wanted to live as a drow in the first place.
“You know what, Dreder?” Rismyn said, feeling strangely at ease. “That might be the only intelligent thing you have ever said.”
“What…?” Dreder started, clearly taken aback by Rismyn’s admission. Or maybe just too stupid to understand what he had meant. Either way, the hesitation probably saved Rismyn’s life.
Before anyone could absorb the shocking declaration, Rismyn was moving, his mind jumping into action. He flung Kitty over one shoulder, wincing on her behalf as he did so. But he had little choice. Only speed would save them both now, and he needed one hand free. He dove to the side and scooped up Gylas’ fallen blade just as Dreder drew his own sharpened weapon, a sinister-looking cutlass. Instead of facing the first-seater--or any of his classmates--Rismyn turned and sprinted towards the window. He was halfway across the training hall before the other students reacted.
A chorus of angry shouts and commands followed Rismyn out the window as he smashed through the glass, calling on his innate magic to drop an impenetrable globe of darkness in his wake to block the view of anyone who tried to look after him. He somersaulted twice through the air before he was able to activate a levitation spell, sending him careening upwards towards the forest of stalactites that hung along the ceiling of Tier Breche. He had no idea what he would do next, but it was better than the cavern floor which crawled with drow warriors and mages, students though they may have been.
He didn’t make it far before his upward momentum suddenly snapped to a halt as a hand grasped around his ankle, weighing him down.
“I always knew something was wrong with you,” Dreder shouted from below him. “I just can’t believe you were stupid enough to confess it!”
Violet fire spread from Dreder’s grip and traced the whole outline of Rismyn and Kitty’s bodies. Rismyn cursed and kicked at Dreder’s face. He needed to break the other drow’s focus, or the faerie fire would make it impossible to hide.
Unfortunately, Dreder let go and dropped low enough to avoid the kick.
Rismyn didn’t wait, but willed himself upward as fast as he could. Fighting in the air was graceless at best, a waste of the precious moments he had before the levitation spell faded. He needed to lose himself in the stalactites. It was his only hope of escape.
Yet even with the added strength of the enchanted house crest he wore around his neck, Kitty’s weight was an encumbrance Dreder didn’t have. The warrior easily rose to Rismyn’s level, even circling him just out of sword’s reach.
“Where do you think you’re running away to?” he taunted. “There’s nothing but stone all around. Oh, look! Company’s coming!”
Despite himself, Rismyn glanced down. His two teachers were rising steadily after them. Some of the other students hovered around the window as well, but they didn’t follow. Likely, the teachers had ordered them not to.
“Why don’t you come back down, and we can talk about this,” Dreder said. “I’m on your side! I like the faerie better when she’s breathing, too. Maybe I’ll get to keep her as a reward for purging your traitorous blood from our kind!”
The words jabbed right under his skin. Snarling, Rismyn stopped his ascent and shot to the side, swinging Gylas’ short sword as he went. Dreder laughed and deflected the strike easily, barely being pushed back.
“You’re not very smart, are you, Tear?” Dreder said, with a wicked smile. “One-handed, injured, in the air? You don’t stand a chance.”
Rismyn clenched his jaw and swung again, and again, determined to swat the gnat from the sky. He didn’t have time to be playing this game, but he was still covered in faerie fire and overcome with the strong urge to see the inside of Dreder’s skull. All the while, Dreder parried and deflected, floating circles around him while he laughed in delight.
Rismyn was hardly trying for finesse anymore. He hacked away wildly, fury and bloodlust driving his strikes. If he just had two hands, if just had a dagger, Dreder would be minced by now. But he was carrying a precious burden, one he valued more than himself. He had to save Kitty’s life.
With a shout of rage, Rismyn brought the short sword down vertically, aiming to cleave Dreder’s head in two. Of course, Dreder had anticipated this and executed the correct blocking strike, so that their blades clanged together in a cross above their heads, and for a moment, they were eye to eye.
“I’m going to give your head to Gylas’ mother,” Dreder hissed. “She’ll be a powerful ally when House Ti’glath comes for House Tear.”
“Do I look like I care about what happens to House Tear?” Rismyn growled, bearing his weight down on his blade. Unfortunately, without solid ground beneath them, Dreder merely lowered slightly in his elevation.
A sudden shout echoed around the cavern. “Get out of the way, Dreder!”
It was Master Torafein. Dreder’s concentration broke as he glanced past Rismyn, surprised.
It was all the warning Rismyn needed. He dropped like a stone just as he heard the twang of twin handheld crossbows firing. The bolts punched straight through Dreder’s drowcrafted armor, not anything close to lethal wounds. But the bolts weren’t made for killing, they were made for trapping.
“No!” Dreder cried, as his strength left him. He struggled to lift his cutlass, fighting the sleeping potions that laced the crossbow bolts. “I’m gonna...kill...you…” he managed to force out. “And take...your faerie…”
Dreder dove after Rismyn, swinging his cutlass with all of his strength and none of his usual finesse. Rismyn darted to the side and swung his own blade in response. Dreder’s strike was so sloppy that he actually miscalculated the parrying blow. Instead of another clashing of swords, Rismyn’s weapon sliced true and clean through Dreder’s wrist, completely severing flesh and bone. Dreder’s eyes went wide with shock as he watched his hand and cutlass fall away from him, but fortunately for him, he succumbed to the potion before the agony could make him scream.
His body went limp, suspended by the power of his own house crest which would not release the spell until time elapsed. Rismyn grabbed his body and kicked off of it, using him as a launch pad to gain more speed in his own ascent.
Dreder went spinning down, nearly careening into Master Enenlel. The drow warrior cursed and maneuvered around him, until another shout from Torafein halted him.
“Make sure Ti’glath doesn’t fall to his doom,” he called. “We’ve lost enough students today. I’ll deal with Tear.”
Rismyn didn’t look back. He could hear the teachers arguing, and he knew he didn’t have much of a lead. The faerie fire vanished with Dreder’s consciousness, which meant he could possibly have a chance now. He just needed to get among the concealing stones of the cavern ceiling.
He was sure he wasn’t going to make it. Any second now, Torafein would catch him. That or another crossbow bolt would take him in the back. Yet the ceiling drew closer and closer, and still, he was not assailed. When the darkness finally swallowed him, he almost dared to breathe a sigh of relief.
Almost.
It was only a matter of time before more came after him. Rismyn risked tucking the short sword into his belt so he could cradle Kitty in his arms, then pushed silently from one stalactite to the next. He glanced down at her in quick intervals, never wanting to take his eyes off his surroundings for too long. She could have been sleeping peacefully, if not for the deathly pallor of her skin and the blood smeared on her face.
It’s going to be alright, he promised her, as if she could hear his silent thoughts. It’s not too late, we’re going to be fine.
But he hardly believed himself.
On and on he traveled, peering around each pillar as he went. At first, he chose random directions, hoping to throw off any tail he might have gained. But as the seconds stretched into tense minutes, he knew he was running out of time. Exhaustion was creeping into his bones now that adrenaline was fading. He’d already taken a beating today, and his levitation spell wasn’t meant to be used for so long. He was certain he would have fallen already, if not for the house crest.
He needed a plan. This had seemed like such a good idea at first, but now he was trapped. Alarms would be raised by now down below. Toloruel had probably been alerted. There were only two ways out of Tier Breche. The back entrance, which would have given him direct access to the Wilds, was guarded by two monstrous spider statues that would come to life if anyone but those with permission tried to pass.
The main entrance was wide, though highly populated. Still, if he could slip out of it, he could touch down in the city proper and hide among the alleys. Then he just needed to find an alchemist and acquire healing potions for Kitty. What he lacked in gold he could make up for with deft hands and stealth.
It was as good a plan as any, so Rismyn began to weave his way more purposefully towards the entrance of the cavern. Though he hadn’t heard or seen anyone for many long minutes, he didn’t dare believe he was safe. Any second now, he expected to come around a pillar and find Torafein waiting for him.
When at last the cavern opening came into view, Rismyn held his breath. It was too good to be true. He checked, double-checked, and triple-checked that there was no telltale heat signature of his pursuers, and then carefully drifted forward.
A hand suddenly shot out of the darkness, grabbing Rismyn’s collar and yanking him back. He didn’t even have time to gasp in shock before he hit stone, the face of his one-time master materializing out of the gloom. Torafein pinned him against the stalactite with his forearm pressed against his shoulders. With his hands full of Kitty, Rismyn was completely defenseless.
What followed next was a series of the strangest moments Rismyn had ever experienced in his life, stranger even then a little half-elf girl offering him kindness when he was a boy. Torafein lifted a finger to his lips, indicating silence. Then, he reached under his armor and lifted his house crest--the symbol of House Xarrin. If this wasn’t odd enough, Torafein turned the amulet over and showed Rismyn another symbol etched onto the back.
The carving was of a strange creature, one that Rismyn only recognized because of Kitty’s surface teaching. A bird, it was called. Smooth and round, with feathered wings outstretched. It had something clamped between its beak. Something Rismyn would have sworn was a spider, based on the spindly lines, but that was impossible. The drow worshiped spiders. None of them would depict art of a dead spider, even the least devout among them.
Torafein then let Rismyn go, backing away slowly with his hands raised defensively. He pointed back the way Rismyn had come, to a great white limestone pillar descending downwards. Then, he ‘spoke’ in the silent language of drow hand talk.
‘Sanctuary.’
Whatever that meant, Rismyn didn’t find out. There was another twang and suddenly Torafein jerked, as a crossbow bolt struck him in the side. He dropped limp and Rismyn wasted no time scurrying to the other side of the pillar, away from where the bolt had come from.
A moment later, he heard Enelel’s familiar curse. “Dammit, Torafein. I thought you were the Deviant.” There was a smacking sound and Torafein groaned as he roused slightly.
“Did you see the boy?”
“Tracked him…” Torafein muttered. “Out...into….city...hurry….”
Enelel cursed again. Rismyn didn’t dare look. He didn’t dare move, either, not even to shift Kitty and draw his sword. The slightest rustling would give his position away. He could only hope Enelel went off in another direction.
He waited several long moments before he finally began to work his way back around, completely mystified at what had happened. Enelel was gone, but Torafein still hung limply, caught in the trap of his levitation. Rismyn drifted up to him, his eyes darting around for Enelel or any other hunters that might be up here by now.
As carefully as he could, he shifted Kitty onto his shoulder and then worked the cloak off of his master’s shoulders. Oddly enough, he felt a bit guilty for it. But the cloak had hidden Torafein completely, and Rismyn needed that kind of power. His own piwafwi would hide much of his own movement and body heat, but Kitty was completely exposed. Rismyn draped the fabric over her body, and then hesitated.
He had wanted to go out into the city, but now he knew there were drow looking for him there. He looked back at the white limestone structure Torafein had pointed out to him. He’d called it a sanctuary. Was it some kind of trap? But why not just kill him when he had the chance?
He had precious little time to make the decision. Hoping he wouldn’t regret it, Rismyn pushed towards the stalactite. He didn’t worry about Torafein. When his levitate enchantment timed out, his amulet would activate its failsafe spell, feather fall.
When he reached the stalactite, Rismyn put a hand out to touch it, and to his astonishment, his hand passed straight through the stone. His jaw dropped as he marveled at this unexpected discovery, waving his hand back and forth. He would have kept on doing it, but a distant voice reached his hearing, and he remembered where he was and what he was doing. Steeling himself, Rismyn attempted to drift into the stalactite, and found to his relief nothing barred his way in.
He glanced up and around and discovered a pocket of darker darkness above his head. A cave opening. Rismyn made for it at once, praying to any deity but Lolth that he wasn’t drifting into a hookhorror’s nest.
The opening was less of a cave and more of a tunnel, which drifted steadily upward for quite some time. Rismyn had just begun to worry that it wouldn’t end when his eyes finally crested the rim of a new cavern floor. He drifted all the way up and then finally let his feet touch down on solid stone.
He stared in wonder at this all-together foreign cavern. He was in the Wilds of the Underdark, unsupervised for the first time.
He was in the Wilds of the Underdark.
Rismyn would have cursed out loud if every sound he made now wouldn’t attract untold legions of monsters in his direction. He wasn’t sure what was more dangerous, his present circumstances or remaining in the city. He hurried along, drawing his sword, as silent as only a drow could be.
He needed to treat Kitty’s wounds. He needed to find somewhere safe. Torafein would know he came this way, and he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted Torafein to know anything. Rismyn moved without thought or direction, taking one passage, then another. Fear and desperation drove good sense out of him. He was going to get lost if he wasn’t careful, but that was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. He needed a sanctuary.
Rismyn turned down another passageway and took three steps before he paused, then doubled back. There was a crack in this wall, a crack just wide enough for him to fit though. He hesitated, weighing his options, and then made a decision. There might be nothing on the other side of the crack but flat stone, but he had to try. Carefully, he maneuvered Kitty so that her arms went around his neck and her chest pressed against his back. Through all of it, she never stirred or made a sound. Then, he stepped into the crack and shuffled carefully through.
He almost cried aloud when the crack opened into a small cave. This had been exactly what he needed. He quickly lay Kitty down and leaned over her.
“Kitty,” he whispered, brushing the hair back from her face. “Kitty, we made it. We escaped.” He knelt low and put his ear to her mouth.
Her breath was so faint.
Panic flooded his body. Rismyn scrambled with the bottom of her blouse, rolling it up so he could see the wound in her belly. His throat tightened as he beheld it. He had learned much about the art of killing over the last few years.
This didn’t look good.
“No,” he moaned, grabbing the stolen cloak and carving strips off of it for bandage. “No, Kitty. I’m so sorry. I waited too long. I should have taken you away sooner.”
Guilt ripped away strips of his heart as he ripped bandages. Despite what he knew to be inevitable, he quickly went to work field dressing her wounds.
“You can’t die, Kitty,” he whispered as he worked. “You’ve endured so much...just hold on a bit longer. I...I...I’m gonna take you home.”
He hadn’t realized he meant it until he said. Until now, his only intention had been to get away. But away to where? There was only one option.
“I’m taking you back where you belong,” he said, tying off the bandages. “To the surface world. I know, I should have done this sooner, please forgive me. Please, please forgive me. Just wake up. Don’t die. Please.”
He laid his head down on her chest, listening for heartbeats. It took a long time to finally hear them.
“Oh no,” he breathed. He lifted her into his lap and cradled her in his arms. “Kitty, no. Mercy me again, Kitty. Please. Please. Kitty...” Of course by now he knew that wasn’t the proper way to use the word mercy. Kitty had finally corrected him. But it had become a sort of saying between them, something that made them smile and laugh.
“Mmmmm…”
The sound of her voice made Rismyn look up. Her eyes fluttered like the hope that stirred within him. “Kitty!”
Her eyes opened slightly, glazed and distant. “Maz...Mazira,” she finally whispered.
Rismyn blinked, unsure of what the word meant. Kitty had taught him many Common words, and he’d learned more of the language at Melee-Magthere, but this one was foreign to him. “What…?” he asked, leaning close to hear her better. “Kitty, I don’t understand.”
“Mazziiira,” she moaned. “My...name.” She groaned and her head lolled to the side. “Not Kit...ty. Mazira.”
“Mazira…” he breathed, staring down at her as if seeing her for the first time. It had never once occurred to him that Kitty was not the name she was born with. Now that she said it, he realized that should have been obvious. There was so little he knew about her, so much he had missed by wasting the years focused on himself, when her suffering had been infinitely worse than his own.
He didn’t realize it was possible to hate himself so much. But now was not the time for that.
“Mazira,” he repeated, stroking her hair. The name tasted sweet on his tongue. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. Please, Mazira, stay with me.”
But Mazira said no more. Her skin was growing cooler, the color had completely drained from her flesh. Even her lips had gone white. She had lost too much blood.
He had waited too long.
Rismyn crushed her against his chest and wept, the way he hadn’t wept since he’d first held her too many years before.
Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Forsaken by Shadows 10: Death and Deviants