To Isabel, one of my incredible beta readers for season 2. This story wouldn’t be what it is today without her kind encouragement and thoughtful critiques. ESPECIALLY this chapter. Thank you, Isabel, for giving of your time to help polish my treasure.
Previously, in chapter 1, from Rismyn’s perspective:
I hate using her like this, but there’s only two of us. We can’t hunt the hunters, so we lure them into a trap. Mazira travels in the open, foraging for bluecaps, leading the goblins to play their hand. Unbeknownst to them, I follow in the shadows. They won’t harm her, not while I watch. But there’s always a risk…
But everything goes according to plan. They spring their trap, and I spring mine. The battle is brief, and they don’t know what I need them to know. They don’t know how to get to the surface. So they die.
It’s how we always do things, and yet Mazira is angry with me for it. It was the plan all along, why is she so angry? And then she tells me…the goblins called her a drow, and made her believe that drow are nearby.
Oh, gods. What if she’s right? I know what I told her. I know I promised we’d slay Toloruel, but I’m not ready. I’m not strong enough. If Toloruel is out there, he’ll kill us both. I can’t let that happen, so I demand that we move on from our camping place.
And I’ve upset her. I can’t stop upsetting her, everything I say and do upsets her. Why am I like this? Why can’t I temper my temper? Ugh. There’s nothing to do now. I can see she’s disappointed in me. She brushes past me and our arms touch, and I want to stop her and pull her into a hug, like we used to. But I won’t touch her. Not again. Not after last time.
So I let her go. We’re just going to move on, and pray to whoever might be merciful that the goblins were wrong, and there is no Toloruel watching us from the darkness.
~2. Too Late Revelation~
Mazira awoke slowly, her whole body protesting consciousness. She didn’t know how long she had slept, but it never felt like enough. She yearned to let herself drift off once again, but that was selfish. Rismyn deserved his turn to rest. She needed to get up.
But she didn’t move. Not yet.
The last three days had been some of the most miserable in her life, and that was quite an impressive feat, all things considered. But they were miserable for entirely different reasons than she was used to, reasons she hadn’t built callouses for. A beating she could endure. Insults, spider bites, hard and wretched work, had all become normal experiences. She had grown numb to such things.
But the weight of Rismyn’s constant disappointment was becoming too much to bear.
He had gotten worse since the last goblin raid, his temper snapping shorter and shorter. Every accidental sound she made, every time her feet began to drag, even every question she asked, would trigger his ever-simmering rage.
He always apologized after, but no amount of apologies could assuage the bite of his words. She was rapidly coming to her wits end, unsure of how to respond to his turbulent moods. Not knowing how to please him was unraveling her.
She needed to find his thread and wrap herself in it tight. Every drow had a thread, something they wanted more than anything. For Toloruel, it had been her misery. That had been easy; she learned to scream before she was truly afraid, cry out before it actually hurt.
Mindra only wanted the pride of knowing her spider venoms worked, so Mazira went into great detail when interviewed after a bite, making sure the priestess was pleased that her toxins yielded the results she wanted–even if she had to lie about it.
Rismyn had once been easy. He had only wanted her. Her comfort, her stories, her songs. Other things she dared not think about. But now he didn’t seem to want anything. No amount of kindness or encouragement softened his edges. In fact, it rather made things worse.
They barely stopped to rest now, and exhaustion wasn’t helping her psyche. Rismyn was tired, too, she reminded herself. Yet that didn’t invoke the same feelings of grace that it once did. Still, it was true, and rest was one thing she could surely help him with. So, she rolled over and opened her eyes.
Rismyn sat hunched at the entrance of the cave they were hiding in. One arm hugged his knees to his chest while he balanced a blade on the tip of his finger with the other. When he heard her movement, he let the dagger fall and snatched it from the air, deft and silent.
‘How do you feel?’ he signed as soon as his hands were free of the blade.
‘Much better,’ she lied. ‘I’ll take over the watch. Get some rest.’
‘No need, I tranced a little.’ His gestures came with a shrug. ‘I’ll be alright for a while. Why…’ his fingers faltered and he looked away. ‘Why don’t you come sit with me?’
Mazira bristled. He’d just lied to her. Rismyn was too paranoid to lose any amount of consciousness while she slept, and they both knew it. And even if it were true he still needed real sleep. His body couldn’t hold out forever on trances alone, and the longer he went without sleep the surlier he became.
She almost raised her hands to say so, but then thought better of it. It would just make him angry, and besides, he hadn’t asked for her opinion. He’d asked for her company.
And…well…maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. She would fetch some water and then go sit with him, and maybe their quiet company would work some healing into their souls. If she were being honest, it’s what she wanted, too. To be close to him, like it used to be, even though she knew it wasn’t possible. They were just too different now.
But it was worth a shot, at least. If she could just get him to smile at her, it would be worth the loss of sleep.
‘Just a moment,’ she signed, before moving to her pack. She found her waterskin laying on top.
But it was empty. Very, very empty.
Mazira’s heart seized into a knot.
It was not supposed to be empty. She distinctly remembered filling the waterskin at the stream outside of their current dwelling. She plunged her hand back into the pack and found, to her dismay, that the contents within it were completely drenched. Most of it didn’t matter. Spare clothes and rope would dry.
But the rations would not. The bluecaps were soggy beyond use, the sporebread soaked into mush.
No, this couldn’t be happening. It had to be a mistake.
But if it was, it was her mistake. And Rismyn wouldn’t forgive her this mistake. Not this time. She must have forgotten to secure the cap on the waterskin correctly, and now half their rations were ruined. Rismyn would be furious. He might even forget about his oath not to hurt her again.
Why did he insist on bringing her along? How many times could she mess up before he decided to leave her to die in the Underdark? Trembling, she felt the skin and–
–the cap was secure.
Bewildered, she checked it again, but the cap was there, snug and tight. But then how? Her fingers worked around and around, until at last she found the culprit of the leak. A hole in the bottom of the skin. Not a tear, but a cut. Like it had been done on purpose.
No. This was much worse than a mistake.
Dread flooded her gut. She might have believed this was an accident if it had been an isolated incident. But strange things had been happening to their supplies since they killed the goblins in the mushroom grove. A lock of her hair which had been cut shorter than the others. The sudden absence of her foraging knife which never left her belt. Her flint and steel gone from her pack.
Those things she’d tried to hide from Rismyn, though eventually found her out. And he could hardly miss the unlit candles that had vanished from his own pack, or the pocket watch Bregan D’Aerthe had given him.
Rismyn was going to lose his mind.
She couldn’t tell him. But she had to tell him.
This was bigger than missing items. This was half their supplies ruined. They would need to forage again, and soon. It would alter the course he had planned. He had to know immediately, so he could adjust accordingly.
Before she could decide what to do, a hand dropped on her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin, not at all comforted when she realized it was only Rismyn.
‘What’s wrong?’ his fingers asked as he knelt beside her.
Mazira clutched the waterskin to her chest, trying to calm her breathing. ‘Nothing,’ she replied, with a trembling hand.
Color rippled across the heat signature of Rismyn’s cheek as his jaw clenched tight. ‘Something else is missing, isn’t it?’
‘No, not…missing…’ she tried, but his scrutiny pierced right through her. Resigned, Mazira held out the waterskin and placed it in his hands. Then, she led his fingers to the hole so he could feel it for himself.
As soon as he felt the cut, he yanked the waterskin out of her hands and gave it a rough once over. She could see his body temperature spike with adrenaline.
‘No, no, no,’ his right hand spasmed. He dropped the skin to form his questions. ‘What’s the damage?’
Mazira looked away, ashamed as though it were her fault. ‘It…was on top…so…it soaked everything.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We’ll need to go foraging again.’
“Damnit all!”
Mazira recoiled, shocked by the ferocity of his tone and his choice of words. He snatched up the skin and hurled it into the rock wall, and Mazira ducked under her arms instinctively in case she became the next thing struck.
“C’mon,” he said, the thunder still in his voice. “We’re leav–what’re you doing?”
Slowly, Mazira peeked out from under her protection. Rismyn was staring at her, and his expression was difficult to read. “I...I’m just…” she lowered her arms tentatively, though her voice betrayed her. “It’s nothing.”
Again, the flash of red in his face, the heat of his emotion shining through the darkness. “You’re afraid of me.”
It was a statement, not a question, said in a way that made her even more afraid. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her leggings to keep from hugging herself.
“Why?” Rismyn demanded. “After all this time–after everything I’ve done–” he gestured wildly with his hands. “Why are you still afraid of me?”
Mazira was at a loss for words. How could she be anything but afraid? He was a drow throwing a tantrum, and in her experience those had only ever been placated one way.
At her expense.
She took an involuntary step back, and thankfully he didn’t press closer to her. Instead, he just stared at her, having the audacity to look hurt and offended while he raged and wondered why she was afraid of him.
“I’m not afraid,” she insisted so he would calm down.
But it didn’t work. “Yes, you are. I can see it all over your face. What have I done to you? I’ve tried so hard to be good, to be careful. What’s it going to take to make you understand that I’m not going to hurt you?”
Mazira took another step back, and though he still didn’t pursue, he seemed to fill her vision. All his fury, all his disappointment. Every lever she didn’t know how to pull taunted her, mocking her inability to protect herself by twisting his threads. Desperation melded together with her stress and fatigue, and seventeen years of servitude took over in the most inexplicable of ways; a drow had asked her a direct question, and without a lie to grasp she answered it truthfully.
“Well you can stop shouting at me, for starters.”
The words hung between them, taut and gleeful, like a spider leering at a moth from its web. Rismyn gaped at her, and Mazira’s own jaw had gone slack.
What had she just said? Her face burned, unable to believe the words had actually come out of her mouth. Had she lost all common sense? This wasn’t the way to Rismyn’s thread. Maybe once, before he left for Melee-Magthere, she could have gotten away with such a statement. But this Rismyn wasn’t like the one of her childhood.
He didn’t strike her, though. Instead, he stood there. Dumbstruck. “I wasn’t shouting.”
He actually sounded like he believed it. Mazira’s arms went around herself. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that he was right and she misspoke. But to her increasing sense of dread, those were not the words that came out of her mouth.
“Yes, you were.” She barely spoke above a whisper. “You always are. Nothing I do is ever good enough for you.”
He looked genuinely taken aback. As if this was news to him. “What? I...that’s not...I never said that!”
He didn’t have to say it. She could tell by the way he treated her. But she could see it in his eyes, he didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to believe his apologies mattered even though he would still be shouting, or the silent hand equivalent of it, tomorrow or the next day.
But that was the lie he wanted. So, she took a deep breath and forced herself to let her arms drop to her side. This conversation was fruitless.
“It’s okay.” Finally, her words were obeying. She turned away so he wouldn’t read her lies in her face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things. I’m just tired.”
She started to walk away, praying he would let the subject drop.
But he didn’t. Instead, he did something much worse. He grabbed her arm and spun her around.
“Stop lying to me.”
Terror burst through her body, but before she could cry out for mercy he let her go.
But he didn’t step away. “I told you I am not going to hurt you. I gave you my word. So stop being afraid of me.”
“Okay, fine!” Free of his grip, she scurried back and was relieved he didn’t follow. “Whatever you want.”
“That’s even worse!”
“What?”
“Your instant subservience. Mazira–I’m not him!”
It was one of the very rare times he used her full name, and it cut as raw as the first. She stared at him, shuddering slightly as the echoes dissipated around them.
Rismyn took several deep, supposedly calming breaths. “I am not my brother.”
“I know that,” she said, though she had a sick feeling in her gut.
“Then why do you insist on treating me like I own you? When I’ve done everything in my power to set you free?”
He looked so hurt, so vulnerable. The expression didn’t make sense. He was angry with her, right? So why did he look so much like the child Rismyn she insisted had gone away? Why did his desperate, open expression seem to be begging her for something?
Worse, why did she so badly want to give him whatever it was? She’d thought it was for her own preservation, but the tugging in her heart said otherwise. It was the same yearning, the same longing that pushed her into harm’s way to keep him safe from Toloruel. The same insanity that led her to put his needs above her own.
That insanity which had tasted dangerously close to love.
No, no. Never again. It was how he had tricked her the last time, pretending to be something he was not. Mazira knew better, now. She would not be fooled again. She didn’t love him, not anymore. He was frightening, dangerous, and a liar. He made promises he couldn’t keep, and strung her along because…because…
Why did he string her along? What could she give him that he didn’t lack within himself? What need could she, a useless, uneducated, weakling meet that would benefit him?
She truly, honestly, didn’t know, and it was terrifying. What if he left her behind? What if he grew tired of her?
Mazira stood still as stone, wanting to turn away but fearing what he might do if she turned her back to him.
But fear was clearly some sort of trigger, so she needed to be brave. She took a breath and let her expression melt into one she hoped was inscrutable.
“I’m sorry, you’re right.” She looped her fingers together behind her back so he wouldn’t see her trembling. “I’m overreacting. I know you’re just trying to keep me safe, and I’m being terribly ungrateful.”
Rismyn’s brows disappeared under the locks of his hair. “Mazi…”
“Really, it’s okay,” she insisted. She needed to sell it. Now would be the right moment for her to take a step forward, maybe even take his hand or touch his shoulder. But she didn’t trust her legs not to give out on her if she tried to use them. “I’m sorry. It’s just the exhaustion. I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”
But her words had the exact opposite effect than she’d been intending. Something in Rismyn snapped. She could see it in his eyes. His face lost all color, before suddenly flashing hot again. His hands clenched into fists. “Stop lying to me.”
The words felt like a slap. Panicked, Mazira backed away. “What? I’m not lying!”
“Yes you are,” Rismyn growled, striding towards her. “You’re always lying to me, and I’m sick of it. You’re always feeding me the words you think I want to hear. Like I’m just another drow master lording over you. Like I only set you free to make you mypet, and not because I–”
He broke of suddenly, looking startled. Then, he shook his head.
When he spoke again, she could tell he was making an effort to control his tone. “Not because a long time ago, a little girl taught me that life had value and meaning. She taught me the difference between good and evil and, yes. I get it. I took a painfully long time to figure it all out. But I didn’t save you so you would serve me instead of Toloruel. I saved you because it was right.”
His words made no sense. He saved her because it was right? Drow didn’t do things because they were right. He had to want something from her.
She fell back against the cave wall, feeling weak. “I don’t understand,” she breathed, desperation squeezing the words right out of her. “What is it that you want from me? I…I’ll be whatever you want…”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Just stop!” Rismyn shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.
Mazira ducked under her arms again. This was it, the moment he was going to break his promise.
“I don’t want you to be anything,” he snarled. He grabbed her wrists and wrenched her arms away from her face so that she was forced to look at him. “You want to know what I want from you? I want you to be genuine. If you hate me, then hate me. I don’t care. I wouldn’t blame you for it. I’m terrible at all this. I don’t know how to get you to the surface, but I swear I’m going to keep trying until I figure it out. Until then, you can be whatever you want, treat me however you want. Just stop being afraid! You’re not a slave anymore. I don’t control you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Before Mazira could tremble further, before she could beg for her life or even comprehend the words he had said, a sound caught both their attention.
It was a slow, rhythmic clapping.
“Well said, little brother,” said the voice of Mazira’s nightmares. “Marvelous speech. But I would like to offer some...let’s say constructive criticism.”
Rismyn had his blades in hand before Mazira even registered that he’d let her go. Her head snapped to the cave entrance, horror filling her soul as she confirmed with her eyes what her heart refused to accept.
Toloruel had found them.
All her insistence that they hunt him down and kill him fled from her mind as she beheld her former master. She couldn’t fathom what she had been thinking. Killing him was impossible. She should never have let Rismyn talk her into running away. She ought to drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness. He would forgive her rebellion, right? He always forgave her. He wouldn’t replace her, not if she went home. She just had to go home.
Her torrent of thoughts jarred to a halt as Rismyn stepped in front of her, blocking her direct view of the monster. “It’s alright,” he murmured, so softly she almost didn’t hear it. “I’m here this time. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Mazira didn’t believe him for a second, but she cowered behind him anyway. She had forgotten what true terror felt like. Just moments ago, she had been afraid of Rismyn. But now she couldn’t remember why. He’d only shouted at her. What was shouting compared to the agony Toloruel would bring upon her?
The serpent laughed, not at all concerned about Rismyn’s drawn weapons. He strode forward, glancing around their cave as if he were a guest invited to their home admiring the decorations.
“You see,” he said, as he drew nearer. His hand rested casually on the hilt of his own blade. “That last part wasn’t completely accurate. You were right in that she is no longer a slave, of course.” His dead eyes caught hers over Rismyn’s shoulder, and Mazira dropped her gaze automatically. “I couldn’t possibly take her back now that you’ve defiled her for so long. But that doesn’t mean she has nothing to fear. If anything, she has more reason to be afraid.”
“Stay back,” Rismyn commanded, raising the point of the shortsword higher. He sounded remarkably calm and sure of himself. But these were no goblin hunters or duegar raiders. They couldn’t beat Toloruel. They were going to die.
Rismyn was going to die.
A thought that caused her a shocking amount of fear. She was going to lose him all over again, like when he’d left her for Melee-Magthere. Only this time, he wouldn’t come back.
“Unfortunately, I can’t do that,” Toloruel sneered. “You see, Mother misses you very much. And I? Well,” his grin turned hungry. “I do miss my...Mazira.”
Ice flooded Mazira’s veins as the name she had held so precious for so long fell from the viper’s lips. She stood as still as the stone around her, reeling over the loss of it. He couldn’t know it. If he knew it, then he knew her. Her real self, the person she had been so careful to protect.
Rismyn, on the other hand, was not shocked into silence. Instead, he snarled like a feral beast and lunged recklessly forward. “Don’t you dare say her name!”
“Rismyn, no!” Mazira cried, but it was too late.
There was the clang of metal on metal, and the dirk Rismyn carried in his left hand went flying off to the side. Rismyn didn’t let it distract him, but instead put both hands on the hilt of his shortsword and hacked madly at his brother with none of the finesse she’d grown accustomed to.
Toloruel never stopped grinning. His heavy, black-steeled sword flashed silver as it parried each of Rismyn’s blows. He was completely at ease, nonchalantly striking Rismyn’s weapons aside with all the effort of swatting a moth.
“You didn’t seem surprised to see me,” Toloruel remarked, as he shoved Rismyn back with a half-hearted thrust of his own blade. “How long have you known I’ve been on your trail? Was it when I took the candle? Or maybe the watch? I’m most proud of the lock of her hair. She didn’t even flinch.”
Rismyn didn’t answer. He lunged again, aiming a flurry of stabs at the older drow’s chest.
Toloruel dodged easily, as graceful as a leopard stalking its prey. “Why didn’t you ever tell Mazira?” He dashed forward suddenly and struck under Rismyn’s guard, slicing through his side.
Rismyn grunted, staggering back. But otherwise, he showed no sign of pain.
“Did you want to protect her from the fear?”
Another vicious slice, one that Rismyn barely parried.
“Or were you hoping it was all in your head?”
Toloruel brought his blade crashing down. Rismyn was forced to block high, using his hand on the back of the blade to keep the sword from cleaving his head in two.
Unfortunately, it left him wide open. Toloruel kicked him in the gut, sending him stumbling back as he gasped for breath.
Then, he pounced.
His sword snaked around Rismyn’s and the weapon went flying out of the younger drow’s grip.
“It’s time you learned an important lesson,” Toloruel said, sheathing his own blade. He grabbed Rismyn’s collar and hoisted him up.
“No!” Mazira cried. This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t lose Rismyn. It wasn’t courage that drove her on, but incomprehensible terror. Before she knew it, she was dashing, flinging her arms around Toloruel’s waist.
But she was small and slight of frame, and Toloruel was experienced. He barely lost his footing and didn’t so much drop Rismyn as let him go so he could seize her instead.
“Not your turn yet,” he hissed, as he threw her aside.
She fell gracelessly to the ground, the skin tearing on her palms as she tried to catch herself. It wasn’t all for naught, however. When she looked up, Rismyn had recovered his breath and was on his way to retrieve his weapon.
For a moment, she was elated. She had helped, and he had a chance again. The moment passed, however, when a slender throwing knife dug into Rismyn’s shoulder.
Again, Rismyn grunted, staggering a little as the blade’s momentum jerked his right shoulder forward. He dove for his shortsword and snatched it up just in time to deflect another thrown knife from his brother.
This time, Toloruel followed after the ranged attack, drawing his sword and chopping straight down. Rismyn blocked it, but he was driven down to one knee.
“Give up, brother. Your fate is inevitable.”
“I won’t let you have her,” Rismyn seethed through gritted teeth.
“You’re incapable of stopping me.”
I won’t let you have her.
The words reverberated around Mazira’s head, splintering her heart into a thousand pieces.
Rismyn meant those words. He really, truly meant them. He was fighting to protect her, and though he had said it to her over and over, she realized now she’d never actually believed him. It was just a phrase he used to manipulate her into following his orders.
But now he was quite literally bleeding for her. Her mind reeled over the implications she had been ignoring all along. His words, uttered mere moments before Toloruel made his appearance, began to sink in. To make sense.
He really had saved her from Menzoberranzan because he believed it was right. He had really just wanted her to be free.
And now he was going to die. But he wasn’t just going to die, he was going to die because of her. Because he cared about what happened to her, just like he’d been telling her all along. And worse, she cared about him, too. Like she always had.
Now was a terrible time to be having these revelations.
“No,” Mazira moaned, crawling forward. “Please, Master. Let him go, it’s not his fault.” She was sobbing now, though she likely had been for a while and had only just noticed. “I made him take me away–I...I bewitched him!”
Toloruel didn’t relent, but his eyes shifted in her direction. He laughed cruelly. “How quaint.”
“It’s true!” Mazira insisted. “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want. Please let him go.”
“Mazira, no!” Rismyn said. “Don’t give up!”
Rather than complying, Toloruel raised his blade, so suddenly that Rismyn overbalanced. He fell forward, right into Toloruel’s rising foot. Rismyn’s head snapped back with a sickening crack that made Mazira fear the worst until he started to rise again.
“Even if I believed that,” Toloruel said, descending upon Rismyn with another kick to his gut. “It wouldn’t matter.” Again and again, he pounded away at Rismyn with his boot, so the younger elf had no chance to get up. “Lolth demands the head of all traitors.”
“But it was me–” Mazira tried again.
“Silence!” With one final kick, Rismyn was flung into the wall. The throwing knife that had been driven into his back clattered to the floor. He groaned and made no attempt to rise.
“I am not an idiot,” Toloruel continued. He spoke to Mazira but never took his eyes off of Rismyn as he advanced on him. “There is nothing special about you. You possess no magic. You would have used it by now if you had.”
“Please,” she begged. She tried to stand but found herself paralyzed with dread. “Please don’t.”
Toloruel raised his sword over Rismyn’s head and shoved it straight down. To her shame, Mazira couldn’t watch. She shut her eyes, crying out as if the sword had pierced her own heart.
Rismyn cried out as well, and there was a sound of scuffling. It wasn’t until she heard Toloruel’s frustrated growl that she was brave enough to look again.
Either Rismyn had managed to move just in time, or Toloruel hadn’t been striking for a lethal blow. Regardless, she was amazed to see he was up on his feet again. Though blood poured liberally down his arm, the younger drow had managed to right himself and actually had his brother in a headlock. Mazira didn’t know how it had happened, but hope surged inside of her. He was several inches taller than Toloruel, and this situation seemed like one where his height would give him an advantage.
“I won’t…” Rismyn growled as he choked the life out of his brother, “Let...you...have her.”
Mazira’s own breath caught in her throat as she looked on in awe. She had seen Rismyn do violence before, against the denizens that had threatened their lives. He was frightfully good at it. The carnage had always made her a little sick, even when she knew it was necessary.
But this didn’t make her sick. This sent a wave of exhilaration through her.
He was actually going to do it. He was actually going to win. The nightmare would finally be over. They were going to make it; they might even reach the surface and have many long conversations about fear and shouting and how to properly be kind to one another. And maybe they could go back to what once was.
An all too familiar twang dashed that hope to pieces.
At first, Mazira didn’t understand what happened. Rismyn jerked a little, but the struggle continued. Then his grip on his brother loosened, enough that Toloruel was able to break free. The monster seized Rismyn’s arm and flung him forward, where he landed face-first at Mazira’s feet.
It was then that she saw what had happened. A crossbow bolt had lodged into his back, and she knew it had all been too good to be true. Rismyn wouldn’t be capable of rising anytime soon. The drows’ infamous sleeping poisons would see to that.
Toloruel stood, gasping for breath, fire blazing in his eyes. Mazira was certain he was going to finish them both right then and there, but instead, he whirled around. “I told you not to interfere.”
Another drow, one Mazira didn’t recognize, lounged in the cave entrance. How long he had been there, she didn’t know. Her heart sank. Of course Toloruel hadn’t come alone. It was suicide to travel the Underdark alone.
The other drow casually reloaded his hand crossbow and leveled it at Mazira. “You’re taking too long. One for the whelp?”
With a snarl, Toloruel hurled his sword straight into the warrior’s gut. The soldier’s eyes widened and he coughed. Blood dribbled down his chin before he dropped the crossbow and fell to his knees.
Toloruel strode forward and wrenched his blade free, kicking the corpse back. He turned back to Mazira, the very image of a rabid monster.
“That,” he said, between breaths, “is what happens to those unable to obey. Now, then, my Kitty.” He pointed the black, blood-soaked blade at her. “You have a choice to make.”
Mazira had still been staring in horror at the scene unfolding before her. At Toloruel’s words, she dropped her gaze and fell prostrate, covering the back of her head with her forearms. Though she trembled with legitimate fear, every inch of her soul loathed what she was doing. But she had no choice. He had won, and the only chance she had to save Rismyn was to comply.
She hadn’t had to think about it. She would obey.
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.
Share this post