by Rowe, Andrew
“I suppose,” came the eventual reply. The sorceress raised her hand to turn the door handle and stepped inside, finding Taelien sitting on the guest bed, wearing little more than underwear. She blushed in spite of having seen him in a similar state of undress before, her eyes taking in his other accoutrements – a heavy series of bandages wrapped around his leg, already soaked through with blood.
“Gods,” she muttered, closing the distance between them in moments and kneeling at the bedside. A closer inspection showed three distinct trails of blood merging together in the cloth. “Are there more bandages?”
Taelien jerked a thumb at a closet nearby. “You needn’t bother. I’ll be fine.”
Lydia shook her head and rose to go to the closet. She found a broad roll of fresh bandages in the second drawer she searched. Nearby, she found an unlabeled bottle, scissors, and a smaller bottle of “Reed’s Finest Whiskey”. Apparently, Jonan had been at least somewhat prepared to deal with injuries.
She snipped off a few additional pieces from the roll of bandages with the scissors and returned to Taelien.
“I’m going to change these out for fresh ones,” Lydia explained, beginning to undo the wrap around Taelien’s leg. Whoever wrapped this – Jonan, I assume, given Taelien’s attitude – did a good job with it. The cuts must be pretty vicious to have soaked through this far.
The wounds, once exposed, were fairly gruesome. Three nearly parallel cuts stretched half the length of his lower leg. They had been stitched shut and cleaned, but multiple of the stitches had already snapped, and a trickle of fresh blood was visible near those breaches. “I’m going to need to give you more stitches,” Lydia explained.
“Don’t bother yourself,” Taelien replied, pulling his injured leg away from her hands.
He can’t be shy about a needle after having an injury like this, can he? “I’ll make it quick. I can put you to sleep, if you’d like.”
“No,” Taelien said firmly at first. His expression softened after a moment, and he added, “No, I know you’re trying to help, but no thought sorcery. I don’t like the idea of my mind being altered. You can stitch the wounds if you feel the need, but I do not deserve such attention.”
Ah, is that what this is about? Punishing yourself out of guilt? And it’d be dream sorcery, but I suppose that doesn’t matter.
“I’ll go ask Jonan where the needle and thread are,” Lydia said. “In the meantime, apply pressure to the wound to help slow the flow of the blood.”
Lydia started to stand up, but Taelien grabbed her arm. “Wait. I mean, please. Sorry for grabbing you,” he paused, releasing her arm. “Can you just wrap the wound for now? I don’t want to drag Jonan back up here.”
Lydia shrugged. “Sure, but I’m just going to have to unwrap it again later.”
“That’s fine,” Taelien supplied. “I just... I can’t talk to him right now.”
Lydia sat down on the floor, unrolling her fresh bandages and beginning to wrap them around the leg. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
Taelien looked skyward. “I am not sure.”
Lydia began re-wrapping the wound in silence for a time, thinking about how best to approach him.
“Jonan mentioned that you blame yourself for killing an Esharen. He didn’t supply me with all the details, but I can only assume you were defending yourself,” Lydia offered.
“I was,” Taelien replied, “But I wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t been meddling in the first place.”
Lydia nodded, continuing her ministrations. “I can understand that, but sometimes doing nothing can be far worse.”
Taelien leaned over, looming above her. For a moment, it was disconcerting – his hand had felt like iron when he had grabbed her, and if Jonan’s story was true, he had beaten an Esharen to death with his bare hands. That meant he could probably just as easily break solid rocks – he could injure her fatally with a single moment of rage. If I didn’t have a sorcerous barrier in place, Lydia reassured herself. And a glance at Taelien’s eyes told her that it was sorrow, not anger, which guided his movements.
“What can be far worse than taking a life?” Taelien asked.
Lydia paused, suddenly more aware of the droplets of Taelien’s blood that had splattered across her hands. “Letting people die due to your inaction,” Lydia replied.
Taelien tilted his head to the side quizzically. “There is no way to know if the creature would have lived or died if I had not intervened.”
“That’s precisely the point,” Lydia replied, wiping her blood-stained hands on her trousers. “There’s no way to know. It could have been tortured to death. At least a death in battle is clean – and you were trying to rescue it, from what Jonan explained. If it failed to cooperate, that can hardly be blamed on you.”
“My involvement can be blamed on me,” Taelien replied. “I didn’t have to go with Jonan at all. And, even later on, I had a choice. Jonan told me to leave the room without freeing the creature – I didn’t listen. After I knocked it out, Jonan told me to leave it behind – again, I didn’t listen. It had been alive when I picked it up. Maybe I transported it too roughly, and that is why it died. I had choices, and each time, I chose the route that led to the Esharen’s demise.”
“You made choices that led to the creature’s death, true – but not necessarily the only ones that could have. There is no way of knowing if any choice you had made could have saved the creature. And, more than likely, you spared it a fate more horrible than death in any case. Jonan showed me an image of the Esharen in his mirrors. Someone was hurting it deliberately, while it was helpless. You prevented it from facing more of that.”
“I would’ve thought that a follower of one of the Tae’os gods would be more concerned with preserving life than providing an honorable death.” There was a hint of accusation in Taelien’s tone, but perhaps a layer of confusion as well.
“It’s true that followers of Tae’os believe in preserving life as best we can. From what I understand, you did precisely that. You tried to rescue someone from captivity – at great personal risk, no less – and then even tried to carry the creature’s body after it attacked you. And badly wounded you, if I am not mistaking the source of these cuts,” Lydia pointed out.
Taelien’s silence was her only confirmation, but it was sufficient. He was slouched over now, not looking at her work on his leg, but just staring at the floor.
“Let me tell you a story,” Lydia offered. “One of my first missions after being made a full paladin was to investigate claims that monsters had appeared in a noble’s house in a small town north of Aayara. We were given the location, the name of the family making the claim, and a brief description of what they had seen. There were things that looked like claw marks in the wood, writing out a name – the name of a deceased previous owner of the house – and something that looked like blood. The child apparently said he saw a monster, too, but we didn’t have a good description of it.”
“They sent four of us – not out of any real concern that there could be some kind of monster, of course. At the time, I assumed we were being sent because three of us were fresh out of training, and this was supposed to be a no-risk mission to get us to know each other. In retrospect, I believe our commander sent four people so we could insist on greater pay for handling the problem.”
Taelien had lifted his head now, and he was listening intently. Unfortunately, Lydia felt her own enthusiasm for the story fading – it was getting harder and harder to tell as her emotions began to kick in.
“Our leader, I won’t say his name in case you ever meet him, had us head to the town at a leisurely pace. No horses, no hurrying, no marching at night. It was just going to turn out to be one of the neighbors trying to scare the noble out of the town – or extort them to make a ‘sacrifice’ to the spirit of the previous owner, which the neighbors would collect. A common con, he told us. I never quite believed it was that simple. My gut told me sorcery was involved, but I did not
press the issue.”
“And he was wrong?” Taelien asked almost silently.
“We arrived in the town six days after being given the assignment. Four days after we could have arrived, if we had taken horses. Two days after the family had been murdered, torn apart by an abomination from the Plane of Dreams,” Lydia said somberly.
There were no tears blurring her eyes, but she rubbed at them anyway. It was a common gesture for evoking emotional impact. “I knew, I just knew, that we should have taken the assignment more seriously. If we had rushed, if we had listened – if we had done something – that family might have survived.”
“Or you might have died, too,” Taelien weakly attempted to reassure her. He even stretched out a hand to put on her shoulder. It didn’t comfort her, but she let him keep it there. If he was trying to comfort her, he had something to distract him from his own worries.
“I might have,” she admitted. “We all might have. We found the etchings in the wood with the previous owner’s name that the messenger had described. The name had been scratched out, and a symbol above it – a rune representing Daesmodin, the Devourer of Souls.”
Taelien frowned at the name. Daesmodin was a story that parents told their children to scare them – a creature of nightmares that was impervious to ordinary blades and sorcery. He vaguely remembered a nursery rhyme that was meant to teach children not to wander into the woods on their own. As he grew older and learned about history, he heard theories that the stories about Daesmodin were based on an actual entity – a harvester of nightmares.
Harvesters were a subcategory of gatherers – dangerous entities native to each of the other planes. The function of gatherers was to reclaim essence of their particular dominion and bring it back to their home plane. Thus, a gatherer of dreams collected dreams. Unlike other gatherers, harvesters were known to spread the influence of their dominion broadly before collecting and returning it. A harvester of flame might set an entire forest ablaze before returning the flame to its home plane. Taelien wasn’t clear on the reasoning behind the difference in methodology, but if Daesmodin was a harvester of nightmares, it meant that he’d deliberately spread nightmares in order to collect them at a later time.
Like most entities native to other planes, harvesters were vastly more powerful than most mortal sorcerers. They were not unstoppable – stories indicated that the Xixian empire managed to bind several and use them as living siege weapons. Still, if Daesmodin was real, Taelien was glad that Lydia had not had to face him in battle.
“My spells confirmed a lingering aura from the Dominion of Dreams, but there were no beasts present when we arrived – only bodies,” Lydia said. “The parents, three children, and two servants,” she added more quietly, finally feeling hints of moisture around her eyes.
That hand on her should did feel slightly reassuring now – but something else made her feel more.
Lydia looked up, locking Taelien’s eyes in her own. “That’s what can happen you do nothing, Taelien. You’re right – I might have died if I had arrived sooner. If Daesmodin really was involved, even four of us would not have stood a chance. But it is more likely that some lesser nightmare was simply invoking his name, or that a sorcerer did the same. And I would have rather tried and failed – tried and died – than failed through inaction.”
Taelien nodded. “I am sorry. I have been a burden to you, as well as to Jonan.”
That wasn’t my point at all.
“My point is that you should not blame yourself for trying to rescue someone,” Lydia said. “You mentioned earlier that you were surprised at how easily I seemed to dismiss the taking of a life. Tae’os followers have many precepts, but another one of them is that captivity and torture are a worse fate than death.”
Taelien raised his other hand to scratch at his chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“It’s one of Eratar’s precepts, specifically,” Lydia explained. “Each of the seven gods has different precepts. As paladins, we choose a specific member of the pantheon to follow, but we recall the philosophies that are sacred to each of our gods.”
“Is that the reason why you rescued me?” Taelien asked.
A good question, Lydia realized. Is it?
“No,” Lydia replied, putting one of her hands on top of the hand that sat on her shoulder, a hint of a smile crossing her face. “I did it because it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Taelien returned her fraction of a grin with an even weaker version of his own. “I suppose that was my motivation, too.”
Lydia removed her hand from his to finish the bandaging, but she could still feel the lingering warmth from his skin. “The things Jonan and I are doing – spying on people, deceiving them – they are not easy. If you continue to work with us, you may be forced to do more...upsetting things.”
“I understand.” Taelien removed his hand from her shoulder, sitting instead upon the scabbard of his sword hidden amongst the sheets, which she had neglected to notice before. “Your story has given me a new perspective, and I thank you for that. I still believe that I failed that Esharen, but I understand now that inaction will not unmake that failure. I must try harder – push myself harder – to ensure I do not make the same mistake again.”
That’s not precisely what I was trying to get across from the story. It doesn’t sound like you were weak or needed to try harder, but I suppose if this motivates you to push your despair away, at least I’ve accomplished my goal.
“Your bandages look sound now,” Lydia said, wiping her hands on her trousers again. “Will you be well until morning? I have some further business with Jonan, and then I need to return to the palace. I can come back and redo your stitches in the morning.”
“I’ll be fine,” Taelien assured her. He moved a hand to her face, triggering an instinct to pull away, but she realized after a moment that he was just awkwardly trying to give her a sign of affection. It wasn’t something she was particularly used to – her family had never been very physical with her.
“All right,” Lydia said, standing abruptly. “I will see you in the morning, then.” She nodded to him curtly and turned to leave.
“Good night, Lydia,” Taelien said as she departed. “And thank you.”
She nodded again silently as she left the room, raising a hand to trace the line where he had touched her face.
After a minute of catching her breath on the upper floor, Lydia descended the stairs to find Jonan still eating.
Huh, she realized, I guess it’s only been a few minutes. It certainly felt a lot longer.
Jonan glanced in her direction. “Manage to cheer him up at all?”
“Not cheer him up, precisely,” Lydia admitted. “But I’ve fired him up a bit, at least.”
“Better than I managed to do,” Jonan said with a grin. “You sure you don’t want any food?”
“Yeah,” Lydia said, “Especially after re-bandaging his leg.”
“Oh,” Jonan said, noticing her hands. “Um, there’s a bowl of water in my bedroom near the bed. It’s fresh from the well.”
Lydia nodded. “Thanks.”
She headed to the back where Jonan had shown them his bedchamber during the forced ‘tour’ of the house when they had first met. Just yesterday, she recalled. Gods, I get involved with strange men too quickly sometimes.
She took note of how plain the bedchamber was, aside from an elegant rug near the center of the room. The tools of Jonan’s assumed trade were laid out in an orderly fashion next to an assembled mirror. Another of his dominion bonded ones, she guessed. Three pairs of glasses – one of which had no lenses – sat mirror.
Lydia rinsed her hands with only the slightest suspicion that the bowl might actually contain some sort of acid and returned to sit with Jonan a few moments later.
“Should I empty the bloody water out somewhere?” she inquired, drying her hands on a non-bloodied portion of her pants.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll deal with it
in the morning,” he replied. “How is he doing?”
I’m mildly surprised that you care so much, Lydia realized. Maybe you’re not quite the monster most of the Order of Vaelien are.
“He’s still plenty depressed about killing the Esharen, and I think he will be for a while. I think I’ve just managed to focus that feeling into motivation to improve, which should be more productive,” Lydia explained.
“Maybe,” Jonan replied dubiously. “He was plenty motivated before. That was part of the problem.”
Lydia shrugged. “I will take a motivated ally over a complacent one at any time.”
Jonan snorted, setting down his cup. “Any time, really? That’s a line I plan to remind you about later.”
Lydia quirked a brow. “That implies a longer-term partnership than I anticipate.”
“You underestimate my charms,” Jonan gave her an exaggerated wink. Lydia was forced to giggle in spite of herself. The absurdity was more welcome than she realized. “But more realistically, I have already been here for months. I’ll wager you have been as well. This will not be a short assignment.”
“Our timeframe draws close to an end, I’m afraid,” Lydia replied, his last words drawing her back to serious contemplation. “Or, our time with access to Taelien, at least. Myros is definitely on his way, and he’ll arrive in less than a week.”
“Well,” Jonan said, steepling his fingers, “That’s bad.”
“You found an Esharen in the bank. Did you find anything else of interest?” Lydia asked, leaning forward against the table.
Jonan shook his head swiftly. “Nothing aside from the runes I already showed you. And they’re gibberish, so far as I can tell.”
“I could try to using a spell to identify them if you took me there,” Lydia volunteered, surprising herself. That’s quite a risk.
“Too much of a risk,” Jonan said. “We didn’t leave noisily, but there will be evidence of our break-in. The missing Esharen, and damage to the room besides. I expect the building to be much better guarded, and with the Esharen gone, they may simply remove the runes.”