by Troy Denning
"Yes-on those." Tessali raised his arm and-wincing at the pain it caused him-pointed at the sandals in the Thrasson's lap. "You want to put them on and see what happens."
"How do you know that?" The Amnesian Hero sounded less contradictoly than irritated. "Can a man have no privacy even in his own thoughts?"
"Not when he wears them on his face for everyone to see. Besides, if you think it was your mother you saw…"
"I did see my mother."
"Of course." Tessali nodded as though he had never doubted it. "So it's only natural that you should want to see what happens if you wear the sandals. I don't see any reason you shouldn't"
"Except that the sandals are not mine to wear."
"How do you know that unless you try them on?"
The Amnesian Hero narrowed his eyes. "You seem anxious for me to wear them."
Tessali shrugged. "We will not solve this mystery until you do." The elf cast a wary glance at the amphora, which the Thrasson had tried to patch with a coating of wine-soaked ash. "And it would be better to know the truth before we start out again. Assuming the exit is close to where Silverwind found the thread-"
"It is."
The Thrasson's conviction did not seem to reassure Tessali. "Yes – well, in that case, the last thing we'll want is another surprise from your jar."
The Amnesian Hero smirked. "I know what you're thinking, elf."
"So, I'm not the only one who reads minds?"
Ignoring the sarcasm, the Amnesian Hero said, "Your plan won't work." He wiped a bead of fever sweat from his eyes, then looked at Tessali. "Even if I put the sandals on and remember nothing more of my mother, I would not be disappointed enough to throw the amphora over a wall – nor would I allow you to."
Tessali raised his arched eyebrows just enough to make the Amnesian Hero wonder if he had guessed wrong. "So, what are you afraid of?"
"Nothing!" Even as the Amnesian Hero snapped the word, he realized the very quickness of his answer had betrayed him. Addled as his thoughts were by fever and fatigue – and by wine as well – perhaps now was not the best time to match wits with Tessali. "But I have sworn an oath, and I do not take oaths lightly."
"I can see you don't." Tessali sighed, sounding more relieved than disappointed. "If there's no convincing you, I guess I'd better just have a look at Jayk."
"Perhaps we should let Silverwind do it." It was growing increasingly difficult to guess Tessali's game, and the Amnesian Hero did not want Jayk's condition to become part of the elf's manipulations. "He was the one who mended her skull."
"Sorry. The Imaginer of the Multiverse has worn himself out mending his creations." Tessali nodded toward the back of the passage, where Silverwind lay stretched out on his side. The old bariaur's eyes were closed, and his ribs were rising with the steady rhythm of someone deep in sleep. "Let's hope he's dreaming of us. I'd hate to vanish just because he fell asleep."
The Amnesian Hero would not let the elf's humor disarm him. "We can wait."
Tessali shook his head. "We don't want her to sleep too long. It's dangerous for people with head injuries."
With no further debate, the elf stepped around the Amnesian Hero and went to Jayk's side. As he squatted down beside her, he grimaced and dropped a hand to his ribs.
"I hope the monster does not find us soon. I won't be able to run," groaned Tessali. "Silverwind claims he healed the cracked ones, but they still feel broken to me."
"Good. I will know where to hit you if this is another ruse."
Tessali accepted the warning with a good-natured smile. "You are a peery one, aren't you?"
The elf turned back to Jayk, calling her name and gently jostling her shoulder. She did not stir. Tessali frowned and pulled her away from the Amnesian Hero's side, shaking her more violently.
The tiefling remained as limp as empty clothes.
"How long has she been asleep?" Tessali demanded.
"It may have been half an hour." The Amnesian Hero did not think Tessali was trying to manipulate him. As hard as the elf was shaking her, Jayk should have been awake. "What's wrong?"
"Abyss Sleep," said the elf. "On occasion, someone who's been hit on the head falls asleep so deeply that he is unable to awaken."
Tessali thumbed Jayk's eyes open and cursed, then shoved her at the Amnesian Hero. "Shake her, hard!"
The Thrasson sat the sandals and sword aside and obeyed.
Tessali astonished him by slapping the tiefling and yelling, "Jayk!" When she failed to respond, he slapped her again, then glanced up at the Amnesian Hero. "Shake her!"
The Thrasson, who had not realized he had stopped, renewed his efforts – then nearly lost his hold as Jayk lunged for Tessali's throat The astonished elf fell backward into the ash and scrambled away, his eyes round as coins. The sudden tension drained from the tiefling's body; she groaned once and grabbed her head.
"Ah, Zoombee! She hurts so much."
Jayk had barely uttered the words before her chin slumped to her chest. The Amnesian Hero began to shake her again.
"That's enough." Tessali crawled forward and carefully raised an eyelid. "We only needed to wake her briefly."
"Is she well?"
"She'll survive, but she won't be well until she spends some time in the Gatehouse. You know that"
The Amnesian Hero fell silent and leaned back against the ashen wall. Even through his fever-clouded, wine-hazed mind, he could see Tessali was right. Jayk's peculiar beliefs about her relationship to death made her a danger to herself and others – especially to others. And perhaps the Thrasson would have admitted that, had his own experience not proven the Bleak Cabal's penchant for caging people of perfectly sound mind. As it was, he thought the tiefling justified in charging that the only way those confined in the Gatehouse ever left was by becoming Bleakers themselves.
The Amnesian Hero pulled Jayk close and wrapped her in his arm. "I suppose you'll give us adjoining cells?"
Tessali was quick to shake his head. "You're well enough – or you will be, once I help you remember who you are."
The Amnesian Hero gave Tessali a wary gaze. "I have not asked your help, elf."
"There's nothing to fear. The hardest part will be figuring out how to administer to your loss. There are many ways to lose one's memory."
The Amnesian Hero could not prevent himself from being interested. "There are?"
Tessali nodded. "A blow to the head, an impairment of the emotions, an event too frightening to recall, drinking from the River Styx…" The elf paused and pointed to the flattened wineskin. "Or, more likely in your case, being too fond of wine."
"I am not too fond of wine." The Amnesian Hero looked toward the adjacent passage and stared into the blowing ash. "I was thirsty."
Tessali laid a hand across the Thrasson's forehead. "It's no wonder, as hot as you are." He reached into the pocket of his shredded cloak and extracted two holly leaves. They were both smeared with blood from his injuries. "I am not as skilled as Silverwind, but I can break your fever and mend your wound."
The Amnesian Hero continued to stare into the ash. The last time he had allowed Tessali to cast a spell on him, he had ended up with a brick foot. The elf had claimed it was the only. thing he could do to save his life, but it had since occurred to the Thrasson that it was also a good way to keep an escaped patient from fleeing again.
"It would be best to let me do what I can," said Tessali. "Healing wounds is tiring work, and Silverwind will have plenty to do before any of us are ready to run again. Whatever I can do to spare him may make the difference between going to where he found the thread or waiting here until the monster finds us."
Tessali's warning did not go unheeded. The Amnesian Hero was already surprised at how long it was taking the monster to find them; part of him feared the beast was in the adjacent passage at that moment, standing camouflaged amidst the swirling ash, watching and waiting until the Thrasson nodded off. Only the steady roar of the ashen gale reassured him this was not the c
ase; a creature that large could not come down the corridor without causing a sudden change of pitch in the howling wind.
Reluctantly, the Amnesian Hero nodded. "Do what you can for me. But if this is one of your tricks-"
"Truly, you have no reason to worry. I will even keep watch while you sleep."
"Sleep?"
"Of course. We are all in need of rest, and, after your long run, you more than any of us." Tessali picked up the wineskin and shook it. There was little fluid left to slosh in the bottom of the bag. "Besides, given your fever and how much of this you have had, it is a wonder you have not passed out already."
"If it's going to make me sleep, you can put that holly back in your pocket. I am no fool. As soon as I close my eyes, you'll throw my amphora over the wall."
"And follow it over when you wake? You must think I'm barmy."
"I am no murderer," the Amnesian Hero bristled. "No matter how angry-"
Tessali waved the Thrasson silent. "I'm sorry. I know you would never do such a thing – any more than I would throw away what belongs to you – but I don't know why you're so distrustful of me." The elf paused a moment, then said, "Let us agree on this: if the amphora isn't here when you awake, I'll accept any punishment you mete out."
The Amnesian Hero asked, "Why are you so concerned with my health?"
"Pure self-preservation. You're as much my way out of the mazes as you are Silverwind's. If we run into that monster again – and I don't doubt we will – you're the only one who seems capable of slaying it."
"Have you forgotten the last time?" The Thrasson gestured at the elf's wounds. "I didn't do very well."
"We're alive, aren't we? And you felled that giant nicely," Tessali pointed out. "When the monster comes the next time, perhaps Jayk and I can be ready with some magic. We all stand a better chance of getting out of here if we work together."
"That is the truest thing I have ever heard you say." The Amnesian Hero paused, glancing at the sword and sandals lying by his side. "Now that you are in a more truthful mood, tell me why you want me to put the sandals on."
"I don't want you to; I think you must," the elf answered. "To me, it makes no difference whether you put the sandals on or throw them over the wall. But you won't be happy until you try them on, and it would be better for all of us if that wasn't distracting you right now."
The explanation seemed both practical enough and adequately lacking in principle to convince the Amnesian Hero that Tessali was being honest. "What you say is true enough, but you forget they may not be mine."
"Bar that!" said Tessali. "You are the one who felled Periphetes, not the Lady. That makes them yours by right of combat."
"Perhaps, but the issue is not clear." As much as the Amnesian Hero wanted to accept the elf's reasoning, he feared even more the possibility that doing so would be a breach of honor. "If my neighbor's bull breaks free and wanders onto my lands, I may certainly kill it to spare my cows. But then do I have the right to slaughter it and eat it?"
"Better that than to leave it rotting because he is away," countered Tessali. "And if you can give him some extra meat later because of what you ate from his bull, then he will be better off than had you dragged the beast back to rot on his land. Certainly, it would have been better for all had the bull stayed at home, but it did not and now it is your duty to do as well by your neighbor as you can."
The Amnesian Hero knitted his brow, trying in vain to clearly see the analogy through the haze in his head. "I fail to see what this bull has to do with my sandals."
"If you don't put the sandals on, you'll remain distracted and we'll all be killed," Tessali explained. "The Lady's bull will rot in the field."
"That's true." The Amnesian Hero began to unlace his own sandal. "I am doing good for her, am I not?"
What a pointless thing is the mortal mind; with its snaking walls and untold conjunctions and endless looping passages, it is a maze that builds itself – a maze where every path always leads wherever the captive wishes. Where is the challenge in that? Was there ever any doubt that the Thrasson would step into the sandal? I said he would, and even now his bare foot is settling upon the insole.
You recall what comes next: the ashen arms rising to lace the thews, the voice on the wind offering advice, the mention of King Aegeus, one of his two fathers. So you will not be surprised to see the joyful tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, or to hear him bellowing, "I am the son of Aegeus! I am the grandson of Pittheus! I am the son of…"
Here, it will occur to the Amnesian Hero that he does not know the name of his mother. He will look down and realize that he cannot remove the sandal from his brick foot, and a cry of despair will rise from his throat. Tessali will place the new sandal on the ground and suggest it still might work its magic. The Thrasson's legs will start to tremble so hard that he can hardly stand. He will support himself by grasping the Bleaker's shoulder-a poignant touch, that-and begin to lower his foot.
All that could have happened by now, had the Amnesian Hero not spent so long fretting over what is right and what is wrong. But he pondered and brooded and wasted a precious hour seeking to justify what he already knew he would do. And so he has not yet heard the voice on the wind or learned his father's name or realized that he still does not know his mother's; only now are the ashen arms rising to lace the sandal thews about his leg. We must wait for the woman to speak, and for the Thrasson to bellow his joy and realize what he does not know, and all the while there is a figure in the adjacent passage skulking through the gray, howling haze.
To be certain, matters would be different had the Amnesian Hero no fear of dishonor (I called him a coward, and every coward fears something), had he not squandered priceless time in pointless debate, had he acted without awaiting the permission of an eel-tongued elf. But it is the Thrasson's nature to act when he should ponder and ponder when he should act, and to deny him his quandary would have been violence to his character. Better to let him grapple with his honor, to let him reluctantly forsake his morals and slide unwittingly into the abyss of iniquity; better to leave him to his palter, no matter the consequence, than to let him come off a high-talking fraud:
And now the Thrasson has caught his story: his brick foot is quaking upon the crocodile sole, his hand is clamping the elf's shoulder, his eyes are waiting for the arms to rise from the ash. I hope you will not be disappointed by what follows next:
Nothing.
On trembling legs, the Amnesian Hero stood waiting for the second sandal to work its sorcery. In his mind, he could almost hear his mother's voice, whispering both her name and his in words too wind-garbled to comprehend. But no magic sizzled into his foot, no arms rose from the ash to lace the thews about his leg, no words of motherly advice came to him on the roaring wind. His brick foot remained stone-numb in its brick sandal. His stomach seemed heavy and cold, and his knees felt ready to buckle. The Thrasson twisted his foot against the insole, as though grinding the sandal into the dross might summon forth the ashen arms. Nothing happened, except that he grew even more despairing and frustrated.
"It's this damned brick foot!" The Amnesian Hero tried not to sound as though he were blaming the elf for the problem, though of course he was. He could not help himself. "The magic will not work through brick."
"I doubt it would have worked through ooze, either." Tessali kneeled at the feet of the Amnesian Hero. "But you have flesh above the ankle. Perhaps if I lace the thews…"
The elf crossed two laces over the Amnesian Hero's shin, wrapping the thews in a half square-knot so they would not slip, then ran them behind his calf. This time, as Tessali tied the half-knot, the Thrasson felt the thongs biting into his leg. He resisted the temptation to look down, knowing he would only be disappointed by the sight of the straps still glowing with their magic.
The elf crossed the laces once more and made a third half-knot before the Amnesian Hero noticed the slight rise in the pitch of the wind. Even as he turned to see what was coming down the ad
jacent passage, the Thrasson was unsheathing that star-forged blade of his. Tessali, rising too fast, nearly lost an ear as the sword flashed past his head.
"What is it?" the elf whispered.
"Trouble most untimely." The Thrasson saw nothing save ash whirling down the adjacent corridor, but the pop-pop, pop-pop-pop of shaggy mats of fur came loud to his ears. "Wake Jayk and Silverwind – and have no fear of drawing that." He pointed at the golden sword he had left lying beside the tiefling.
"We'll come back once I've roused them." Tessali scooped up the sword and Jayk-with an anguished groanthen limped toward the back of the blind. "Try to hold the fight until we return."
The Amnesian Hero did not say so, but he doubted he would have much choice in the matter. The monster of the labyrinth had already proven itself to be a cunning hunter. Certainly, it would see the advantage in attacking while its foes were lethargic and trapped in a dead-end blind. The company's best chance, whether for victory or flight, lay in stalling the beast until Tessali roused the others. The Thrasson stepped into the adjacent passage, then, staying close to the wall where he would prove more difficult to see, started forward to ambush the beast.
The wine and fever had taken a heavier toll on his body than he realized. Within a few clumping steps, he was dizzy and coated with sweat-moistened ash. His breath came ragged and hot, and his star-forged sword felt as heavy as the iron blades of the githyanki bounty hunters. In no condition for a long battle, he knew that his best tactic would be to lop off one of the creature's feet and flee back to his companions.
The Amnesian Hero dropped to his belly, then crawled to the center of the passage. He scooped out a shallow pit to lie in, then swept a coating of ash over his back. With any luck, the monster would not see him until he raised himself to attack, and by then it would be too late. The Thrasson closed his eyes against the stinging ash – this close to the ground it was so thick that it clung to his eyeballs like flour to wet grapes-and trusted his ears to tell him when the beast arrived.
It required only a moment for the flapping sounds to grow loud enough for him to tell the creature was creeping down one side of the passage. The Amnesian Hero reoriented himself slightly. Then, wishing he had some wine to wash a mounting cough from his throat, he raised himself to his knees and hefted his sword.