Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [56]
"Make no mistake," the witch said in a husky tone, "what we are asking is dangerous. There is a very good chance that you won't succeed. Our enemy has managed to create an army of foul creatures and dark magic without our knowledge, and she has trespassed into the forbidden arts of the vremyonni. She is powerful and quite evil."
Taen thought about it for a moment only. Even if he hadn't just promised his aid, he would still agree to this mission. From the moment he set foot in Rashemen, he felt as if he were being swept along in a chaotic tale not of his devising. He was tired of fighting it, of fighting the swirling rush of emotions that bore down on him. There was only one solution-to surrender and follow the dark tide wherever it would lead him.
"I will go," he said and stepped forward, not surprised by the fact that he hadn't been the first to do so.
Marissa stood ready, her hand holding the Staff of the Red Tree before her. The druid smiled as he joined her in the center of the witches' circle.
"Little friends not escape Borovazk that easily," the ranger replied as he, too, strode forward to join them in the circle.
Taen looked at Roberc expectantly. The halfling stood at the edge of the circle, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The fighter gazed back at him with an even look, his eyes unblinking. For a moment, the half-elf wondered if Roberc would whistle softly for Cavan and ride away. Instead, the halfling swore loudly and tramped into the circle.
"I can't believe I'm doing this to myself again!" he exclaimed.
Taen smiled at the foul-mouthed fighter's response. They had been through a lot in the past few tendays and would likely go through a lot more. Despite everything, Roberc remained as hot tempered and sharp tongued as ever. It was nice, Taen reflected, to know that some things remained constant in a world that seemed ever changing.
"You humble us," Mahara said, interrupting his thoughts, "with your generosity and bravery. Prepare yourselves well, friends of Rashemen, for if we are to move against the traitor, we must act swiftly."
At that, the companions gathered together, inspecting their equipment and making sure that they had sufficient supplies. Taen had just finished sealing a vial of sulphurous ash when he felt a hand upon his shoulder. He turned to see Marissa smiling at him.
"Thank you," she said in a soft voice. "It means a lot to me that you agreed to help the wychlaran."
For a moment, Taen did not reply. Being in such close proximity to the druid brought all of his emotions rushing around him like a whirlwind.
"How could I say no?" he responded. Especially, he thought, when he knew that wild hippogriffs wouldn't prevent Marissa from giving her aid to the othlor. "The people of this land have no one to turn to."
Marissa held his gaze for a few heartbeats without saying anything. "Still," she responded finally, "I am glad that you will be at my side through this."
Taen nodded dumbly, knowing that his voice would betray the raw mix of feeling swirling beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. He turned as if to continue with his preparations, but Marissa's hand held firmly to his shoulder.
"Taenaran," she whispered, "I promise you that we will talk after this is all over."
With that, the druid offered his shoulder a single squeeze then walked away, returning to her own preparation. Taen watched her graceful form glide toward the edge of the clearing.
Despite himself, he could not keep a smile from alighting upon his face.
* * * * *
Taen stood in a circle with his companions.
The chill afternoon breeze ran ice-tipped fingers across his skin. He shivered slightly beneath its unrelenting touch and gathered his cloak around him. The familiar weight of his armor offered some measure of comfort in the dying light of the sun, but he knew from speaking with Borovazk that the citadel to which they would be teleported sat high in the Sunrise Mountains, wrapped in winter like a king draped in royal finery.