To all of my talented voice-acting friends, many of whom offered their skills to help make this project of mine come to life. Thank you for your patience as I grow in my abilities…
Previously, on Forsaken by Shadows, from Mazira’s perspective.
Rismyn. Actually. Jumped. He jumped into the river, and he dragged me down with him. And don’t get me wrong, drowning was probably preferable to being tortured on an altar, but mercy how it hurt to hit the water!
And then we were helpless to fight the current, struggling to survive, and Rismyn had the audacity to faint. I know, it’s not his fault. He was hurt so badly it was a miracle that he didn’t do more than faint. But I’m not like him. I’m not capable and strong and I didn’t go to Melee-Magthere and learn how to survive.
But I am all he has. So I have to try.
By some miracle, the river doesn’t kill us. It just sails us along until I am numb to everything but anger. I have plenty of time to reflect on my miserable life as we float, and it fills me with rage.
Then we reach a gentler current, in a cavern full of glowing sapphire crystals. I manage to pull Rismyn to shore and coax him to wake up and walk. But I’m still angry, and when he begins coughing I am shocked to find myself furious. The stress of keeping us alive is too much to bear.
There’s no good solution to our need for shelter, so I drag Rismyn under a glowing ledge. But just because he is out of the water doesn’t mean he is out of danger. We are soaked and shivering, and our wet clothes are not helping. In the end, we shed as much of our garments as decency allows, and though I don’t like it, we curl up together for warmth.
Rismyn’s been hurt so badly. The guilt of knowing it’s my fault is too much. But then, as we lay there, he apologizes to me. He explains he hasn’t been angry all this time, he’s just been afraid, and he apologizes for being so terrible to me.
I don’t know what to say, because I finally understand. All of my anger has just been repurposed fear as well. We talk, and I apologize for being a burden, but he insists it’s not true. But we don’t have the energy to hash it all out. So we fall silent, and eventually, fall asleep…
~5. Visitors~
Mazira and Rismyn
Looking back, Mazira couldn’t say what exactly startled her awake. One moment, she was in blissful oblivion. The next, her eyes shot open, adrenaline sharpening her senses.
But all that she was hyper-aware of, as she raised her head and propped herself up by one hand, was the trickling of the river and the stillness of the light.
And Rismyn’s rough, calloused hand on the small of her back. He’d somehow managed to work his whole palm under her camisole, but she didn’t think that was what startled her. She suspected it had been there for a while.
No, something–or someone–was out there. She was sure of it. Her heartbeats quickened but she was careful to keep her breathing slow and silent, watching the shadows for movement. Perhaps she ought to wake Rismyn. But it was dangerous. Any movement, any sound, could get them caught or killed. So, she remained still, hovering protectively over his unconscious form.
For a long time, nothing happened. Mazira watched and waited until her back ached, protesting the way she arched her spine. She could try for her adamantine armor. She didn’t know for sure how long they had slept, but she felt decidedly less damp. Hopefully, her garments were, too.
Just as she thought it might be worth the risk, a shadow fell across her face. She flinched, and then her heart crumbled to dust.
Someone had just stepped in front of the crystals opposite her hiding space. Someone wearing soft leather boots.
Drow boots.
They were found. After everything they had done to escape, against all the impossible odds that should have killed them already, Toloruel had found them in the end.
It wasn’t fair. Then again, her life had never been fair, so why should it start now? Her eyes burned, but she didn’t dare move to wipe the tears away. They just leaked scalding trails down her cheek, and she prayed they wouldn’t wake Rismyn when they landed on his chest. The last thing she needed was for him to startle awake and alert their adversaries.
The boots started moving on, and for a brief moment, she thought maybe miracles came in four. But then, abruptly, they stopped.
They turned towards her.
They took two steps.
And then the owner knelt, and she found herself staring into a drow’s crimson eyes. The lower part of his face was obscured by a black fabric mask, his white hair tied into a high tail on the crown of his head.
Whoever he was, he looked just as startled to see her as she was to see him. For a moment, they just stared at each other, eyes wide.
Then the drow popped back to his feet. There was a sharp whistle, and he dropped down again.
“It’s alright,” he said, in a shockingly soothing tone. “I am not here to hurt you. Kitty, I presume?”
Mazira blinked, unable to comprehend his words. Her eyes narrowed as she traced the line of his brow. He didn’t look familiar, but then, she couldn’t see much of him.
The drow seemed to understand her concern and pulled the mask down from his face. He looked as most drow looked–unbearably beautiful for creatures with such wicked hearts. But she definitely did not recognize him.
“My name is Beltel,” he said. Then, his eyes slid to the side briefly, and he made a quick motion with his hands. ‘Yeah, they’re here. Look like a couple of drowned rats.’
Mazira blinked, and then realized his hand talk hadn’t been meant for her. He was talking about her to someone else. He must have assumed she couldn’t read it, which was fair. Slaves weren’t supposed to know how, but when they were children Rismyn had been bored, so he taught her the motions.
The drow’s attention returned fully to her. “We’ve been looking for you for quite some time now. Is that Rismyn Tear?”
Mazira just stared, completely at a loss as to what to do. Surely he didn’t expect her to actually answer these questions. Then again, he was a drow. He probably expected compliance like he expected breath. Now would be a fantastic time for Rismyn to wake up. He would know what to do.
“Of course it’s Rismyn Tear,” said another voice as a new pair of boots appeared. “The Dark Maiden said we would find them here, and look. Here there are.”
Mazira sucked in a breath as the new speaker dropped down to peer in at her, too. This drow was dressed in the robes of a spell caster, his waist-length hair tied in a braid over one shoulder.
“Ah, you’re hurt,” the newcomer said. His tone was brisk and had an accent she wasn’t familiar with. “Come out of there, and I can heal you.”
This declaration only made Mazira more afraid. She had initially pegged him as a wizard, but as far as she knew, wizards didn’t heal. They only destroyed. If he were offering to heal, that made him one thing–a cleric. She’d never met a male cleric before, but he had referenced a Dark Maiden, which could only mean Lolth.
She meant to open her mouth and say no, or even boldly demand he go away, but she didn’t make it that far. Instead, she bared her teeth and let out a feral snarl, hunkering down a little lower over Rismyn to protect him from these servants of evil. It would have been embarrassing if she had any room for embarrassment in her heart.
The cleric looked taken aback and the warrior–Beltel–snickered.
“That’s what happens when you forget your manners, Solaurin,” the warrior said. “You’ll have to forgive him, miss. We don’t let him out of the temple much.”
“Manners?” Solaurin huffed. “What’s rude about healing?”
If they were trying to comfort her, they were doing a terrible job. Mazira only looked from one to the other, feeling trapped and helpless. How could Rismyn still be asleep through all this?
Then a third set of boots appeared. “What are you idiots doing?” growled another male.
Something about this voice made her flinch. It had a dangerous cadence she was more familiar with.
The two kneeling drow glanced up with almost identical frowns.
“Really? Name-calling? Do you–” began the cleric, but the newcomer cut him off.
“If the girl is under there, you’re scaring the life out of her.”
The cleric looked surprised and the warrior looked sheepish. They glanced at each other, then at her, then back up at the other. She couldn’t make sense of their reactions. They must have received a silent order, for they both suddenly stood and strode in opposite directions. The newest speaker took their place and knelt.
He was a broad-shouldered male, his face shrouded by a mask like the other warrior’s. His hair was worn long and cut like a nobleman’s.
Like Toloruel’s.
Mazira shuddered inwardly.
“Kitty,” the man said, in that low growl. “I’m glad to see you survived. Had I known there was hope, I would have made different choices. I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
Mazira’s brows knit together in confusion. She was missing something here, something huge. This drow spoke as though he knew her, but she didn’t think she knew him. And he was apologizing. The only drow who had ever apologized to her was Rismyn.
When she said nothing, the drow pulled down his mask, and suddenly, recognition flickered in her mind. She did know him! At least, she recognized him from a quick, furtive glance she had once cast his way.
“You…” she began, surprising herself by speaking. “You’re…”
“I am Torafein Xarrin,” the drow finished for her. “Formerly a teacher at Melee-Magthere, until I lost both a student and the faerie on the same day.”
He might have tried to smile, but the look came out as a grimace.
Was that what this was? A revenge hunt? She shrank back, though there was nowhere to go and she couldn’t move Rismyn.
Torafein seemed to understand her hesitation. “I am not here for vengeance,” he said. “My position at the Academy was a convenient cover for my real work, which was to find others like myself and help them escape Menzoberranzan. We are here to help you.”
Mazira hesitated, weighing his words. He sounded gruff and unfriendly, but strangely that made her want to believe him. It seemed far more likely that he would be more congenial if he was trying to trick her.
But it also sounded entirely too good to be true. It had to be a ruse. There was no such thing as a drow who wanted to help. The one sleeping beneath her excluded.
“I...don’t believe you…” she found herself saying.
Torafein’s expression never wavered. “I understand. I had a hard time believing, too. If you would permit my cleric to heal your wounds–”
“No!” Mazira cut in. She wanted no part of Lolth’s magic touching her or Rismyn.
This time, a trace of impatience crossed Torafein’s eyes. “I see.” He waited a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said, “Will the boy wake?”
Mazira said nothing. She didn’t want to try.
Torafein only nodded. “I see,” he said again. He took a breath and seemed to attempt to relax as if his posture was the only thing that made her uneasy. “It’s only right that trust must be earned. There must be something we can do to prove the sincerity of our intentions.”
“Please,” she began. The word fell out of her mouth before she could stop it and she hated it. It came out as a desperate plea, and the last thing she wanted was to appear desperate before him. But it was already said. She couldn’t take it back, she could only move on. “Please, just…go away.”
The drow’s face was ever impassive. “That I cannot do,” he said, solemnly. “At least, not in good conscience. You’ve clearly been through an ordeal, and you have no supplies that I can see. Going away would be consigning you to death.”
She couldn’t fathom why that mattered to him since according to Rismyn, all the bounties out for their heads preferred them to be dead over alive. “We’ll figure it out,” she lied.
Torafein continued to study her, and she could see he was weighing some options. Finally, he said in his graveled voice, “We are not here to force you to do anything against your will. But we are here to keep you safe. How about this? As a show of good faith, we will stand guard for you while you rest. No harm will come to you or Rismyn while we keep our vigil. I only ask for one thing in return.”
When he said no more, she knew he was waiting for her to ask. “What’s that?”
“When Rismyn wakes, tell him I’d like to speak to him.”
Mazira didn’t see any other choice. She was sure this was some sort of trap, but it was the strangest trap she had ever encountered. They were completely helpless. Was the mind game really necessary?
But, if it made him go away for now, she would agree to anything. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell him.”
Torafein said nothing more. He merely rose to his feet and then his boots vanished from her view.
But she knew they were no longer alone.
–
As far as Rismyn was concerned, there was only one thing worse than waking up with multiple lacerations, several broken ribs, and more contusions than any one body had a right to. It was a wonder his veins had any blood left in them at all. But here he was, waking up, in far too much pain to actually be dead.
But of course, that couldn’t be the worst of it. No, the worst part was waking up to a gorgeous, barely-clothed woman snuggled up against him in all the best ways. A woman for whom his affections bordered on obsession–he still wasn’t sure he was allowed to call it love–and for whom he had no right to want the way he wanted. A woman who at best tolerated him because she needed him, and at worst despised him for any number of valid reasons.
He noticed, as he became slowly more lucid, that his hand had slipped under her shirt while they slept, his palm resting on the small of her back. He ought to move it before she woke up, for it was the proper thing to do. There was no chance she would have invited the touch. If his memory served–though things were admittedly a little hazy–she had done this for their survival. Something about being cold and wet, and that being a problem. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying the moment, let alone taking advantage of it.
But his whole body hurt. So, conceivably, every move he made would hurt more. He was injured and recovering. Surely it would be counterproductive to cause himself more pain. He should just stay exactly how he was.
But even as he made the innocent excuse, he knew it was nonsense. For while one part of him reasoned that there was nothing wrong here, just a couple of impossibly young elves trying to survive, another part of him fought back the temptation to let his fingers dance over her flesh.
Not much, of course. No, that would be incredibly crass. But her skin had such an interesting texture. It wasn’t smooth or silky like he remembered when he had touched her leg to heal the spider bite shortly after they first met. He wanted to explore the pattern, and that old adage he had been raised with whispered tantalizingly in his mind; anything was permissible, so long as you didn’t get caught.
Perhaps fighting the temptation was the wrong phrase. He was entertaining it. Definitely entertaining it.
His head throbbed, and with it, some of the fog in his mind cleared. All at once, he remembered why her skin was no longer smooth. Unbidden, the image of the spider scar that covered her back invaded his mind and he was quite suddenly sick.
It wasn’t right. She was so beautiful, in every sense of the word, and the drow had conspired to ruin her. Just because they could. And he wasn’t much better, he realized, as he considered the path his thoughts had been leading him down. A path he’d followed once before, that hadn’t ended well. The path of a drow, not of a respectable elf.
Disgusted with himself, he snapped his eyes open–
–and was incredibly glad he didn’t act on his temptations. He would have most assuredly been caught.
Mazira was not asleep. Her head rested on his shoulder, her face mere inches from his. Her lavender eyes filled his vision, staring unblinkingly into his. For one, horrible moment, Rismyn thought she had read his lurid mind. She had used magic, after all. For all her denials of knowing how to do it, he had watched her cast two separate spells. He whipped his hand away from her and took a breath to apologize, but Mazira moved first.
She pressed a finger to her lips, indicating he needed to be silent. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up. A small part of him was disappointed. Okay, a large part. All of him, actually. He knew this was a moment he’d never get back. He should have appreciated it longer, although actually, the view from his angle was kind of–
Her hands formed words, and his blood chilled any wandering thoughts out of him. Like jumping in the river all over again.
‘We have visitors,’ she signed.
He sobered at once. The muscles in his stomach tensed as he prepared to sit up, but he barely raised an inch before agony flared through his body, punishing him for his haste.
Sonofa…Did his brother have to be so unhinged? This hurt.
Feeling absolutely pathetic, Rismyn remained on his back as he signed, ‘What? Who? Where? Tell me everything.’
‘They’re out there, somewhere,’ Mazira replied. She kept her motions smooth, her face empty, giving the impression of speaking in monotone. ‘At least three of them. Drow males, not his men. They said they are here to help us, not hurt us.’
‘You’ve spoken to them?’ Rismyn’s hands exclaimed. He was anything but calm. ‘They’ve seen us?’
Mazira nodded. ‘They appeared out of nowhere. We were trapped. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’
At this, Mazira shrugged. ‘You didn’t wake on your own, so I thought you needed the rest. They promised not to hurt us. It’s been...’ she trailed off, looking thoughtful, then shook her head. ‘It’s been a while. I’m not sure how long, but I’ve been too afraid to sleep again, knowing they are out there.’
If she was afraid, she was doing an incredible job of hiding it. She didn’t so much as tremble as she recounted the tale.
‘Did they say what they wanted?’ he asked.
Mazira hesitated, dropping her gaze slightly. ‘He wants to talk to you–their leader. He wanted me to tell you that. Rismyn, you know him. He was one of your instructors at the Academy. I recognized him.’
This new information made Rismyn pause. Suddenly, her words started to make a little more sense, though there were several pieces missing from the puzzle. Still, there was only one person he could think of who had been his instructor and might be more interested in talking than murdering. And as it turned out, Rismyn had been wanting to talk to him, too.
He gave Mazira a quizzical look and mouthed the name. ‘Master Torafein?’
She nodded. ‘He said he and his men would guard us while you rested. In exchange, he asked me to tell you he wants to talk to you. They’re still out there, somewhere.’ She bit her lower lip as she signed, uncertainly, ‘What should we do?’
Rismyn took a slow, silent breath, and steeled himself for what he was about to do. He had never told Mazira that Torafein had pointed the way out of Menzoberranzan to him. It hadn’t seemed important at the time when he recounted their escape to her and honestly, he wasn’t sure why the teacher had done it. Since he didn’t have the answers, he didn’t want to be asked, so it was a detail he kept to himself.
But now that same teacher had found him again, and it was a problem that was going to have to be faced. With his mind mentally prepared for it, he gingerly sat up, gritting his teeth against the pain as his body protested the movement. Mazira’s hands went out around him as if to steady him if he fell. He was tempted to let it happen if only to feel her touch again.
He remained steady, though, as he looked around. He didn’t want Mazira to be afraid for him. Or rather, afraid for herself because he was too weak to protect her. So he did his best to look at ease and in control. It didn’t take long for him to assess that there was only one way out of this situation.
‘Well, first I suggest we get dressed,’ he signed. He meant it as a wry joke, but as he soon said it, Mazira’s face flushed and she suddenly looked anywhere but directly at him. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but now that he had called attention to it, he became acutely aware of how awkward the situation was. That, and the fact that a drow whom he had spent the last five years trying to impress had just found him passed out in his more intimate clothing hiding under a glowing rock in the middle of the Underdark. With a girl, no less. Gracious, what kind of idiotic kids must they look like? What might they think of Mazira?
His face was suddenly hot, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his own embarrassment or anger that these drow men had laid eyes on Mazira in her current condition. Regardless, he was glad there was natural light to hide his infrared emotions. He tried to keep a stoic face as he concluded, ‘and then I guess we’re going to have a talk. I don’t see any other choice.’
All the previous color drained from Mazira’s face, but she nodded in agreement with his decision. Carefully, she worked her way over to the armor she had laid out to dry, handing him his share one by one.
It took Rismyn twice as long to dress as Mazira, as he not only tried to do so silently, but avoid as much pain as possible. The latter turned out to be a wasted effort. Everything made him hurt. The armor was still slightly damp, and the cold material against his skin less than comfortable.
When she had finished dressing in her own adamantine suit, Mazira moved over to assist him. At first, Rismyn wanted to brush her off, for the only thing worse than being too weak to defend her was her knowing it. But after his third attempt to get his shirt on was ruined by sharp, stabbing pains in his chest, he was resigned to letting her help.
‘Some hero I turned out to be,’ he signed to her, as she leaned close over him, fastening the hooks of his coat. Again, he was attempting humor, but Mazira only glanced at him before returning her attention to the hooks.
She didn’t even smirk, which made Rismyn frown. He caught her hands so she was forced to look up at him again.
“It’s going to be okay,” he dared to whisper. He was careful to keep his voice softer than the beat of a bat’s wing, but he knew she heard him.
Mazira held his gaze, then looked down at her hands engulfed by his. Rismyn let them go she could speak.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ she asked. ‘They’ve kept their word so far and left us alone. We can keep resting until you’re better. Or maybe if we wait long enough, they will just go away.’
Rismyn didn’t have the heart to tell her that in his condition, he wouldn’t be better for tendays. And rather than go away, the drow would probably just get impatient and make their intentions more roughly known.
‘We’ll starve to death first,’ he signed instead. ‘We’ve got nothing left but the hope that Torafein isn’t lying about wanting to help us. And...I don’t think he is. He’s helped me before.’ Mazira’s brows furrowed, but Rismyn didn’t want to get into the story just yet. ‘I just want to get this over with.’
She nodded, but she still looked concerned. ‘I’m with you,’ she signed. She hesitated, her hands still forming her last words. ‘I…trust you,’ she finished.
Rismyn’s heart twisted in strange ways in his chest. The words must have been magical, for in the span of a heartbeat, he became emboldened and invincible. His intense agony no longer seemed so intense. Any lingering doubts he’d had about his plan vanished.
She trusted him. Somehow that meant he could do anything.
In a moment of weakness, he raised a hand to her cheek and brushed his thumb against it. He shouldn’t have done it, for the gesture risked revealing far too much. But her words had moved him, and if he was about to walk into a trap, he wanted one last tender moment to carry with him.
Mazira seemed startled, but before she could be offended, he pulled away and turned to crawl out from under the ledge. He would have preferred a more graceful exit, but if he could manage to stand without anyone’s help he would call it a victory.
He did manage it, by using the crystal formation to lean on. He even dared to take a step forward and trust his own legs with his weight. He didn’t hear Mazira follow him, but he sensed her presence as though some phantom aura connected them. She stood beside him, near enough that he felt the warmth of her hand on his.
And then they waited. Rismyn saw no point in doing anything else. If what Mazira had told him was true, they wouldn’t have to wait long.
Sure enough, a nearby shadow began to stir. From within the inky darkness stepped the figure of a grizzled warrior. Though the lower half of his face was obscured by a fabric mask, Rismyn recognized the drow as one of the men who had made the last five years of his life so miserable. Not necessarily on purpose–he’d just been doing his job. Still, the instinct to bow and salute was strong, and Rismyn had to stiffen his back to refrain.
He was not a student anymore.
Torafein moved towards them, his relaxed stance a ruse Rismyn knew well. He could spring into deadly action at any moment. As he approached, Mazira’s eyes dropped down, but her breath remained steady. She took his hand and squeezed it tight as if offering him her quiet support.
The drow stopped, his sharp eyes glancing down at their joined hands and then back to Rismyn’s face. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, and Rismyn hoped his own expression was just as shrewd and unreadable. He didn’t know how to address the older male, so he just waited.
After a moment of silent study, Torafein lowered his mask. “You look like shit.”
Rismyn grimaced. “Thanks,” he grumbled. He felt like it, too, but he didn’t need to admit that to Torafein.
“Rough day in the Underdark?”
“You could say that.” Rough four months, really.
Torafein’s lips thinned in what could have been a smile. “I’ll be honest, I’m shocked to see you’re still alive. I don’t suppose you killed whatever it was that did that to your face?”
Rismyn blinked, raising a hand to the gash on his cheek. He had forgotten about it. He almost flinched as the memory of how he had gotten it resurfaced, but managed to keep himself still. “No.”
But he almost had. He remembered his arm wrapped around his brother’s throat, choking the life out of him. Just a minute longer, and he would have had him. Part of him was disturbed that he wasn’t more disturbed about killing his own kin. Mostly, he was just furious that he missed his chance.
Torafein looked grim. “Then I guess we don’t have much time to chat.” He raised a hand and flashed a few quick commands, and quite suddenly, they were surrounded.
Rismyn tensed and Mazira’s hand jerked as if she wanted to flee. Rismyn didn’t let her go, so she shrank back instead as the forms of three more drow appeared. There were four total now, including Torafein. Two of the three newcomers were dressed in tight adamantine armor and carried bladed weapons. One, a male with his hair swept back, the other a female with sullen eyes. The third was dressed in the flowing robes of a wizard, with strange patterns on the fabric that looked like eyes.
Before Rismyn could adopt a defensive stance, the warriors took up their positions–facing away from him. Surprisingly, it rather looked like they were setting up a guard around him, not against him. The mage came to stand beside Torafein, but though his arms were crossed his expression was curious rather than hostile.
“We would appreciate it if you came with us,” Torafein said. “I cannot tell you why or where. I can only promise you will not be harmed and you will be cared for. My cleric here can tend to your wounds.”
Rismyn couldn’t decide which was the more shocking sentence. The one where Torafein expected him to just go along quietly, or the one where he declared that the drow male to his left was a cleric. He’d never heard of a male cleric before. It seemed like some sort of blasphemy. Not that he cared much about blasphemy anymore.
It was only when the cleric took a step toward him that he realized they had interpreted his stunned silence as acquiescence. He took a guarded step back, pushing Mazira a little behind him as he did.
“What do you mean you can’t tell me why or where?” Rismyn asked, a little louder than was safe in the Wilds. “You expect me to just follow you blindly?”
“You did before,” Torafein remarked. “And it turned out alright. At least, it got you out of Menzoberranzan.”
“That was different,” Rismyn said, though even he heard the denial in his voice. “I was desperate, and…”
“And you’re not desperate now?” It was the cleric who spoke, tilting his head to the side slightly. “I daresay you look quite desperate to me. Do you by any chance know how much blood you’ve lost?”
He had a strange accent, but Rismyn didn’t take the time to try and place it. He set his jaw and stood a little straighter. “We’ve survived this long.”
“With help, I suspect,” Torafein observed. He glanced down at Rismyn’s armor. “Did you steal that? No, you wouldn’t have gotten so lucky thieving. You paid the mercenaries a visit. What did it cost you?”
The question cut deeper than Rismyn expected, and for some reason, he thought that Torafein meant for it to. He shifted and looked away. “What do you want with us?”
“It’s as I told your courageous young friend there,” Torafein said, nodding to Mazira. “We’re here to protect you.”
“Why?” Rismyn asked. He genuinely could not comprehend it. He didn’t see how this could benefit anyone, let alone a drow from House Xarrin. It was the second highest house in the city, and he was a Fifth House runaway.
“Call it a professional courtesy, for now,” the older drow replied. “That’s the only answer you’ll get if you refuse our hospitality. But if you surrender yourselves to our custody, you’ll have all your questions answered, in time.”
They had come to a stalemate. He glanced at the two drow warriors who stood with their backs to him, seemingly ambivalent to the conversation happening. He glanced at the cleric who had gone from looking curious to impatient. Nothing about this situation screamed hostility. Which set him even more on edge.
“Why,” Rismyn began, slowly, “should I trust you?”
A shadow of a smile touched the old warrior’s lips. It had been the expression of approval Rismyn had always fought so hard to receive, and he was surprised to see it now.
“It’s simple,” Torafein said, resting his hands casually on the hilt of his sword. More of a display of power than a threat. “Because I asked you to. And we both know I didn’t have to ask.”
He wasn’t wrong, and it made for a compelling argument. Torafein was considered one of Menzoberranzan’s best fighters; he had to be, or they wouldn’t have let him teach at the Academy. And he hadn’t come alone. If they had wanted to take Rismyn and Mazira against their will, they didn’t have to bother waiting for it to be convenient. They could have just had them.
Yet here they were. Asking nicely.
Torafein had saved his life once before, by pointing him to freedom. Maybe they were there to help.
“If...I agree to this...what becomes of Ma–” Rismyn broke off, realizing suddenly that she might not want her name given to other drow, despite the confident way she had claimed her identity previously. But he wasn’t about to call her by the name the drow had given her, either. That word would never cross his lips again if he could help it. So, he improvised. “My companion? Is her safety guaranteed as well?”
Torafein snorted. “You know I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety out here.” He gestured to the cavern around them. “But I swear that no harm will come to either of you by my hand or the hand of my associates, both here and where we are going. You and your lady will be treated as honored guests, equal in dignity and respect.”
Rismyn bristled at the use of the possessive pronoun. Partially because it wasn’t true–Mazira wasn’t ‘his’ anything, no matter how much he wanted her to be–and partially because he didn’t want her to start thinking she was.
Nevertheless, his heart ached to believe Torafein’s words. It was so incredibly tempting, to just give up, to let the older warrior take control and make the decisions. Having allies against Toloruel and House Tear’s forces wouldn’t be terrible, either. His brother wouldn’t make the same arrogant mistake twice. Next time he found them, he wouldn’t make his men stand back and watch.
But even as he was ready to say the words, he felt Mazira’s forehead press into his shoulder. She let out a little moan and shook her head back and forth. Her thoughts on the matter were implicitly clear. As much as Rismyn wanted to just make the decision for them so he could rest, he remembered the way that pronoun had pricked him.
She didn’t belong to him. He couldn’t make this decision for her. They had to make it together.
He raised a hand and made the signal for ‘moment,’ before risking turning his back on Torafein. Mazira looked up at him, startled, and he pulled her so close their foreheads touched.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” he whispered, as low as he could manage.
Her lip trembled and her face was ghostly white, even in the blue light of the cavern. “They’re drow,” she breathed. “We can’t trust them.”
“I know,” he said, and his heart broke as he knew what was coming next. He had to convince her. “But you said you trusted me. I think”– he held his breath, hoping he wasn’t making a colossal mistake–“I think this is the best choice. We won’t survive alone. Not with him hunting us. We need allies.”
He held both of Mazira’s hands now, and she gripped him so tightly his fingers started to tingle. He began to second guess his decision. Maybe there were other options. He was just choosing not to see them because he wanted the sweet release of responsibility that Torafein was offering him.
But that was the easy way out. And what might it cost them? How could consider this, if there was even the slightest chance these drow would return Mazira to slavery? Torafein had said they’d be honored guests, but Rismyn knew how the drow treated their guests. With knives in the spine.
But before he could turn around and give his answer, Mazira took a breath and looked over his shoulder, directly at Torafein and the cleric.
“What happens if we refuse?” she asked, in a voice that trembled. But her jaw was set and there was fire in her eyes.
“Refuse?” the cleric spluttered. “You can’t refuse! You’ll die–we can’t just leave you here to die! We were sent–”
He cut off suddenly, and though Rismyn hadn’t turned around, he could imagine Torafein raising a hand to stem the flow of words.
“Then I will be incredibly frustrated that we wasted our time,” Torafein replied, gravely. “But we will leave you in peace.”
Mazira nodded and then locked eyes with Rismyn. She didn’t need to speak. He understood her as clearly as if she had signed the words. Still, he gave her one last questioning look, afraid to misinterpret her meaning and cause her even more trauma.
By way of an answer, Mazira pulled her left hand free from his right, so that she could step forward. Rismyn turned with her as she faced the drow directly.
“Okay,” she said. “We surrender.”
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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