To Bekah, my first true fan. Thank you for voraciously reading absolutely everything I write and exclaiming over how wonderful it is, even when you and I both know it isn’t. Your encouragement keeps me going through the days I believe I’ll never succeed as a writer. Thank you for being my friend.
Forsaken by Shadows, Part 2: Where Silence Echoes
~1. The Wilds~
Mazira peered into the cavern of mushrooms that stretched endlessly before her, marveling. This grove was the largest she had come upon yet, the heights of the caps vanishing in the darkness above. A faint, phosphorescent violet light shone between the stalks. Faerzress, it was called. A type of natural forming magical energy that fed the monstrous fungi. The same energy that was harvested to create the enchanted clothing she wore now, courtesy of Bregan D’Aerthe.
She ran her hands over the sleek drowcraft-armor that covered her shoulders, hugging herself out of habit. It was worrisome enough that the mercenaries had known she existed, and knew what size of clothing to provide for her without Rismyn saying so. Now she had to trust in that armor to keep her alive.
Taking a silent breath, Mazira stepped in among the whispering shrooms. They weren’t truly whispering, but there was always something about such groves that made her feel like she was being watched and whispered about. She stepped lightly, toe-to-heel, toe-to-heel. The dance had become second nature over the last four months, and she wondered idly if she would ever walk normally again.
Deeper and deeper she went, until she was entirely enveloped by the shadowy forest. She was careful to walk straight onward, without turning to the left or right. The forest would distort her sense of direction otherwise, and getting lost would have devastating consequences. Anything could be lurking out there, waiting for fresh, tender half-elves like herself to get caught in their snares.
She shivered and quickened her pace.
Then, somewhere out in the abyss, something creaked.
Mazira froze, not daring to breathe. Her eyes darted back and forth, heart hammering loud enough to alert every creeping thing that lurked about that there was a tasty morsel in their midst.
Yet everything remained still. Nothing moved, nothing leaped out at her. After a long pause, Mazira had no choice but to continue on.
But she knew she no longer alone.
She kept on, though, aware of the presence that stalked her like spider silk threading over her skin. Yet there was nothing she could do but trust in her armor. She only carried a small knife, and it wasn’t made for cutting flesh or bone. Rismyn had tried to give her his dagger, even show her how to use it, but the feel of the killing tool in her hand made her sick. She spent too many years beneath blades just like it to become comfortable holding one herself.
At last, she reached her destination, the reason she had risked this perilous walk through the grove. Mazira climbed carefully over a fallen stalk of a funguswood and found herself on the edge of a small pool of crystal clear water. A carpet of moss grew thick and lush over the stone, dotted with a field of little bluecap shrooms. It was a private oasis, a kind of diamond in the darkness.
Yet such wellsprings of life were seldom unclaimed.
Mazira padded lightly over the moss and knelt over the mushrooms. She went to work quickly, harvesting the food source into her sack. Like a little mouse stealing crumbs from the table before the cat came to chase her away. But that was life in the Underdark. Every second was filled with imminent danger and risk of death.
Despite it all, she couldn’t help but smile as she gathered the mushrooms, remembering the first time they had found such a bounty. Rismyn had been so excited, and very few things excited him anymore.
“These are bluecaps!” he had exclaimed, plucking them up and showing her. He had beamed with boyish delight, a sight she had come to miss. “You can make bread out of them!”
Mazira had been fascinated by this revelation. “How?” she asked, eager to learn the secrets of living in freedom.
But Rismyn had only stared at her blankly. He didn’t actually know how to do it. He’d just known that it was possible.
They didn’t have bread that first night. They had roasted bluecaps, as bland and chalky as if she had eaten handfuls of flour. But at least their bellies had been full. Eventually, they discovered together if they ground the mushrooms up and mixed them with water, then heated the paste over a hot stone, it became a sort of tasteless cake. If they added spiced moss and sugar lichen, it created something almost palatable.
Her remembrance turned to longing as she filled her sack. A proper oven for baking would be nice. A whole kitchen, really. Maybe a little cottage, right over there on the other side of the moss-meadow, the kind her papa always promised he would build for her mama one day. There was enough funguswood around to build such a house.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know the first thing about building. She could figure it out, given enough time. Maybe she would even gather glowworms and let them go in the cavern, so it would look like stars above her head. That might be nice. Peaceful, even. Refreshing. With clean water and so much faerzress she could grow almost anything. It would make a nice home. A safe home.
But safety was an illusion, a fantasy that came to an abrupt end as something heavy and scratchy jumped on her back.
Mazira gasped and dropped her sack of mushrooms. She clawed desperately at the unseen assailant, unsure of what kind of creature it was. The more she struggled, the more it constricted. Around her, there came the shouting and laughter of humanoid creatures.
Her assailant was not a creature at all, she realized, as goblins spilled from the mushrooms. It was a net, and the little monsters held the ends in their grubby hands. One of them jerked the line forward and she was forced down on her stomach.
“Gotcha now, little white drow,” a leering goblin sang over her in harsh, guttural Undercommon.
There were maybe eight of them. Not a full hunting party, but one goblin was too many. Mazira lay very still, knowing that the more she struggled, the tighter the hold of the net would be. She stared up at the creatures as they capered around her.
“Thought you’s gonna git away with killin’ our kinsfolk, eh? Nasty white drow.”
“But we’s got you, and we’s gonna make yous pay!”
“Boil yer hands and feed ‘em to ya!”
“Gut ya like ya gut our kindred!”
“Hold on–what?” Mazira stammered, though none of the goblins were actually listening to her. They were too busy shouting their threats and accusations and exclaiming over their success. She stared around, utterly confused by their words.
“Now,” began one, raising a curved sword. “What should we do to it first?”
His question was answered by an arrow in the throat.
Mazira winced, turning away as the monster’s eyes widened. He coughed and spluttered before he fell backwards with a thud. All the shouting and celebrating stopped as its companions froze in horror. They looked to each other, then back down to Mazira, as if trying to understand how their captive ‘white drow’ had managed to fire a bow in her current state.
They were about to learn that this ‘white drow’ traveled with a dark shadow.
Three more arrows found their marks before the remaining four goblins had the good sense to duck. They were screaming and cursing now, as they clamored for their own arrows, though Mazira knew they wouldn’t find a target. She could see the dance play out in her mind even as she heard the shrieks taper off into gurgling snarls. Rismyn would have dropped his bow as soon as his fourth–and last–arrow left the string. Now he was in and among them, slashing throats and piercing hearts, as silent as death itself.
Sure enough, the goblin voices trickled away until only one remained. Mazira opened her eyes just in time to see Rismyn grab the creature by its throat and hoist it up.
“The surface,” he growled, his red eyes sparkling like rubies in the faerzress. “How do you get to the surface?”
“I–I–I–” the terrified goblin stammered. “I dunno what yer saying! What’s a surface?”
Mazira flinched. It was the wrong answer. “Rismyn,” she called, “wait!”
But it was too late. He plunged his sword into the goblin’s gut and let it fall, where it gasped out its final breaths. He didn’t even spare it a second glance as he strode to her and slashed the net away, offering a hand to help her stand.
But Mazira didn’t take it. Her eyes were glued to the goblin that was bleeding out. ‘Why did you do that?’ she signed with her hands, a strange sense of melancholy enveloping her heart.
Rismyn looked startled by her question. ‘Because,’ he signed back, a word that only required one hand. He then reached down and grabbed her arm, impatiently hoisting her to her feet. “I had too,” he whispered, since his hands were too full to finish his sentence silently.
Mazira inhaled sharply as she found her chin suddenly level with his chest. He stood entirely too close, the sense of his presence overwhelming. Her adrenaline spiked in ways the goblin attack hadn’t triggered. The monsters were never a threat, not really. Not with Rismyn keeping watch.
But he was a threat. She wasn’t sure how, she just knew she wasn’t entirely safe with him.
She jerked out of his grip and stumbled back, turning away before she could stop herself. It was a gut reaction, one she wished she could have exchanged in that moment for anything else. For, as she whirled around, she caught a glimpse of Rismyn’s expression.
She had hurt him.
Again.
An awkward moment passed, before she heard Rismyn huff. “You knew what the plan was,” he said, soft but frustrated.
Mazira took a moment to school her expression into stillness before turning back to him. He wasn’t wrong. They had learned the hard way what happened when one tried to show mercy to goblins. They always came back with significantly more numbers. Rismyn still limped slightly from their last attempt at mercy. The best way to deal with them was to set a trap–usually with Mazira as bait–and eliminate all threats.
‘Yes,’ she signed. It was easier to express herself in handtalk. The fact that the silent language helped keep them alive just made a convenient excuse to rely on it. ‘But I asked you to wait.’
Rismyn scowled and went about looting arrows from the creatures, signing in between collecting. ‘You know what happens if we let them live.’
Mazira shook her head. ‘That wasn’t why I wanted you to wait,’ she signed, when he glanced her way.
‘Well they didn’t know what we needed them to know,’ he retorted. There was a stiff, jerky flare to his motions. He was feeling attacked.
Instinctively, Mazira withdrew within herself. She should have known better than to say anything. Rismyn grew surlier with every day that passed in the maze of caverns. She couldn’t help but feel that it was her fault, somehow. If he had just left her behind, he wouldn’t be burdened with her now. He had risked everything to save her, for reasons she couldn’t understand, and all she did was drag him down.
But here they were, for better or worse. Together.
‘They called me a ‘white drow’,’ she tried to explain. Her eyes wanted to drift down, but there was a sightless goblin at her feet that she wasn’t ready to face.
‘So? They’re too dumb to know better.’
‘They said drow killed their kin. They thought I’m the one who did it.’
This made Rismyn pause briefly, before resuming his ransacking of the corpses. None of the blades would be worth carrying compared to what he already had, but he always checked for anything useful.
He didn’t say anything, so Mazira approached. He was kneeling over the last one, checking the quality of its bow versus the bow he had looted previously. She hesitated, her hand hovering over his shoulder, before gently laying it down.
“We haven’t run across a goblin raiding party in a few tendays, before this one,” she murmured. “And we’re leagues from where we killed those.”
She could feel his muscles stiffen, even through the layers of fabric. Yet still he said nothing.
“There’s no way they tracked us all this way,” she continued. “What if there are other drow nearby? What if it's–”
Rismyn stood abruptly. “Did you get enough bluecaps?” he asked, gesturing to the carpet of shrooms.
Mazira glanced down, nauseated at the sight of the blood-covered carpet. “Yes,” she said, even though she would have liked to have gathered more. She didn’t fancy the taste of iron in her sporebread, though.
Rismyn nodded and then beckoned for her to come along. Mazira had no choice but to follow after. She would have screamed in frustration if she wasn’t so afraid of upsetting him more. It seemed like everything upset him lately, no matter how hard she tried to keep him pleased. He was a riddle she didn’t know how to solve, and it left her utterly useless.
There was more she wanted to say, but she didn’t dare take Rismyn’s focus as he led her into the grove. He needed all his concentration to sift the silence for threats. It was all she could do just to move as quickly and quietly as he did so as to not be left behind. Of course, he would always pause and wait for her if she started to lag. He was very patient. Or at least, he pretended to be. He must wish he was rid of her by now. He could be so much closer to escaping if he had left her behind.
Not that she believed they would ever actually reach the surface. It was too much to hope for, when they were so deep in such darkness. She had long ago accepted that she would never see the sun again. Nothing Rismyn said changed her mind, though she always smiled and nodded along when he spoke of it. She didn’t have the heart to temper his hope with realism. The endless days of darkness would do that without her help.
At last, the forest of mushrooms broke, and they entered into another cavern. Rismyn continued to lead, following a path he had scouted that Mazira would never have fathomed. His skill in keeping them alive amazed her. He led her around a narrow ledge, and quite suddenly, they were back in front of the small cave they had claimed for shelter. How they had gotten there, she didn’t know, for they never once touched the route she had taken to lead the goblins into the grove.
She waited, while Rismyn made sure that the cave hadn’t had any new visitors while they were away, then followed him inside when he signaled that it was safe to enter.
‘We shouldn’t linger,’ he signed, kneeling over their packs.
Her heart sank. ‘You promised we could rest after this,’ she said, unable to keep the sulking out of her gestures. They had been stalked by the goblins for six restless days before deciding they needed to deal with the threat more directly. She’d barely slept at all, and unlike Rismyn, she couldn’t recover any strength through meditation.
‘That fight was loud. It’ll attract attention.’
‘But we’re so far away from it…’
‘Don’t argue,’ he snapped, and she flinched. In the pitch darkness, Mazira could see his face burn as he looked away. ‘I’m...sorry. I didn’t mean it like that...I just don’t think it’s safe here.’
She nodded sullenly and began to gather her things.
They worked quickly to erase all traces of their presence in the cave. In a matter of minutes, their supplies had been loaded and the evidence of a cooking fire had been obliterated. Mazira stood, hunched over in the low-ceilinged cavern and waited for Rismyn to determine it was safe to leave. She tried her best not to cry, an unfortunate side-effect of leaving her captivity. She’d been dry-eyed for years, until Rismyn came back. Now she felt always on the brink of tears.
Unfortunately, Rismyn noticed her expression. He paused in his work, but he didn’t ask what was wrong. He never did, for he always seemed to think he knew. ‘We’ll stop and rest soon,’ he signed, looking crestfallen.
Mazira just nodded again, wishing he wouldn’t stare at her so intently.
‘I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just trying to keep you safe.’
‘I know.’
He sighed, silently. ‘Please, Mazi…’
‘I’m fine,’ she flashed back, though she couldn’t quite hide her edge. ‘I’m just tired.’
He looked like he wanted to believe her, but they both knew better. His fingers twitched several times, as though he wanted to say something more, but instead, he gestured for her to follow.
Mazira watched him go, her heart sinking deeper and deeper. She willed her feet to follow after him, but she was rooted to the stone. She hadn’t lied, she was tired. She had been looking forward to the rest now that this goblin party was no longer stalking them.
But that was before the goblins had spoken to her, calling her a drow and accusing her of murder. Goblins weren’t the brightest creature in the Underdark, but they knew drow. Everything knew, and feared, the drow. So if they said their kin were murdered by dark elves, then that meant there were dark elves nearby.
Common sense told her that Rismyn was right. If there were drow around, they ought to get moving. They ought to put as much distance between themselves and the threat as possible. Fear told her to hurry on after him, but something deeper than fear held her back.
Rismyn had promised her they would kill Toloruel. And yet four months into their sojourn, they were no closer to finding and ending him than when she had lived in the corner of his bedroom, shackled to the wall.
The frustrated tears began to fall, and before Mazira realized what she was doing, the words tumbled out of her mouth.
“You promised!” she whispered fiercely.
Rismyn froze at the entrance of the cave. He looked absolutely scandalized, probably because she had spoken out loud in their safe place, something they did their best to avoid. ‘I know, we’ll rest soon. But we need to find somewhere safer–’
“No!” she cut him off with slashing gesture. Her own rising fury surprised her. It roiled and frothed in her gut, demanding a release even as she feared what the consequences might be. But she couldn’t stop now. She had his full attention.
“You promised we’d kill him,” she said, trembling. A voice in her head cried out that she needed to stop talking, before it was too late. Before she angered him past forgiveness and he left her behind. But her deeper hate, her deeper fear, wrenched the words she’d been sleeping on right out of her throat.
“You promised,” she repeated. “Before we left the Underdark. You said it was too dangerous to go after him in Menzoberranzan so we would kill him when he came after us. We’ve been waiting for four months.” She took a deep, heaving breath. “Those goblins said they saw drow and you wouldn’t even listen to me. And now we’re running, instead of looking. What if...what if it's him? What if this is our chance?”
Rismyn had gone very still. By the look of his heat signature, the blood had drained from his face. “I…” he began, but got no further. He just stared at her, fidgeting, running a hand through his hair and looking like a frightened child.
And then, she suddenly understood. He was afraid. He hadn’t dismissed the idea because he didn’t believe it. He’d dismissed it because he feared it was true.
The revelation was shocking. Had he ever intended to hunt down Toloruel? Or was it just a lie he told her to make her go along with him because he didn’t want to travel alone?
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t know why she was so surprised. Drow lied. It was in their nature. She had already seen Rismyn for what he was, back before he left for Melee-Magthere. Yet the little reminders of it hurt. She had held onto a small hope, when they first ran from the city, that things between them would go back to the way it had been. She could pretend that little enlightening incident in the cleric room never happened.
But that was impossible. They were both different people now. She was older and wiser, and his softness had been chiseled away.
Finally, Mazira sniffled and wiped her face. ‘Let’s just go,’ she signed. She brushed past him, but couldn’t help but hesitate, ever so slightly, as their arms touched.
He didn’t do anything. He just let her go. It hurt as bad as the lie.
They wouldn’t ever have what they shared as children again, just as they would never see the sun or feel the rain. It was a fact as plain as the shadows, and she had accepted it.
One day, Rismyn would, too.
–
Toloruel watched the little drama unfold, not more than ten meters from the stage. He lounged against a stalagmite, completely hidden in plain sight thanks to the use of an enchanted mask he wore under the cowl of his piwafwi. Not a shred of his body heat would escape from his skin. Unless an actual light was lit, he was invisible to all visual observations.
But of course, no lights were lit. Because Rismyn was a fool who hadn’t thought of such things. He clung to all the wrong survival tactics–complete silence and darkness–without ever once considering how light and sound might possibly be beneficial in the right circumstances. But then, that was the difference between him and his pathetic relation. Toloruel had actual experience to accompany his intelligence. Rismyn was just...Rismyn. Second son, second class. Worthless. Toloruel was honestly surprised to find them still alive after all these tendays.
He watched the pair as they traveled into the cavern, mulling over what he wanted to do about them. Of course they were both destined for a brutal and bloody end, but he couldn’t decide precisely how he wanted to do it.
How long did he want it to take? Who should go first? There was some part of him inclined to keep his slave alive as long as possible while she watched him slowly let the blood out of Rismyn’s veins, helpless to do anything about it, shackled until her blood mingled with his.
But he had waited for twenty-five years to get both permission and opportunity to ruin his brother. He wanted it to be special, and letting the girl die first while the boy writhed would certainly be special.
There was no need to rush, he decided, even as the tight knot of barely controlled, burning rage rebelled against such decisions. His primal instinct was to leap upon them now and slash them into savage pieces, but that was never as satisfying as his bloodlust told him it would be. A brief buzz when he wanted intoxication. No, this would be slow, calculated. He grinned just thinking about it.
As the pair bobbed from view around a corner, Toloruel removed his mask and gestured to the shadows behind him.
‘Keep back. We have the trail, let’s enjoy the hunt.’
He didn’t need to look to see if his six hand-picked warriors acknowledged his orders. They were there, and they would obey. There was no reason to suspect treachery–yet–for at the moment the soldiers had exactly what they wanted; a chance for glory, an excuse to escape the city for a bit, and unlimited sport in the form of stray goblins and kobolds. This was a holiday for them, and they were in no hurry to complete the mission and return to House Tear.
This was no holiday for Toloruel, though. This hunt was his life, the beating heart of his existence. The whole of House Tear’s survival depended on his righting what Rismyn had wronged. Lolth’s favor hung in the balance of his actions. How the blame of the entire affair had come to rest on his shoulders alone was logic he was still trying to puzzle out. It wasn’t like he had blasphemed the Spider Queen, nor had he taught Rismyn to do so.
Yet he had been whipped and humiliated for it, as though he had been the one to shame Matron Xatel’s name for the whole city to see. He had been confined to the compound when he ought to have been fresh on the trail that those good-for-nothing mercenaries conveniently ‘lost’. He had been made to wait and wallow while scheme after scheme to track the boy failed, forbidden from the fruit he so desperately craved until finally, his mother let him go.
He would not–could not–fail in this endeavor.
“Elliya Lolthu,” he whispered, as he set off down the trail of quickly fading infrared footsteps. Test me, Lolth, it meant in Elvish. The only prayer the deity would hear and answer. He knew in his heart nothing would please the Spider Queen more than to watch the two brothers of House Tear duel over her favor. She hungered for both of their blood. For that reason alone, he knew he would get his chance at Rismyn’s throat.
All that remained was how he wanted to slit it.
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.
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