Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos

by Nathan P. Cardwell

  "Well, Captain, to be perfectly honest, I suppose I was hoping you might see your way clear to releasing our Ambassador," she replied calmly.

  Merfee's shoulders began to twitch, as if he were attempting to hold back tears.

  "Yes, yes of course. I will take care of that immediately, and I assure you, I will do everything in my power to make this up to our most esteemed Spurious brethren," he concluded quickly with a deep bow of respect.

  As he passed Merfee, he grasped the young man's shoulder. "Stiff upper lip, lad. Your friend is as good as free."

  When the Captain was out of sight, Amara spoke up. "And as for you!" she intoned sternly.

  Merfee faced her, lips drawn tight, face reddened, and eyes watering. "Yes, mistress?" His voice cracked.

  "Please go outside before you explode."

  "Yes, mistress."

  ***

  Jester had remained unconscious until after he had been roughly thrown through the cell door, which then slammed shut with a resounding report that echoed throughout the entire corridor. Even then, he had only stirred, and slowly reached both hands up to brace his pounding head where he had bounced off several somewhat solid wooden chairs during his capture, and then bounced again as he landed on the cell's wafer-thin mattress, which reposed on the cell's three-foot thick stone floor.

  Of course, one might argue that to be captured, one must first be of a mind to escape. In the split second after withdrawing the pick and getting mowed down by the guards, it would appear that the opportunity to mastermind anything, elaborate or otherwise, had passed him by.

  He groaned, and then began to lose consciousness again. Fortunately, the guard who had been left behind personally to attend him was quick to provide a very potent stimulus in the form of a bucket full of some rather questionable, liquid-like substance.

  As the foul stench embraced him, splashing him first in the face, then on most of his upper torso, he came alive, and scrambled back against the cell bars, where he fell again as the impact knocked the wind out of him. When he was finally able to fill his lungs with air, the stench re-registered and he came to his feet, braced against the bars while retching violently.

  The friendly guard, who had just assisted him, seemed to find this most amusing. He was even more amused when Jester had finally regained a sufficient measure of self-control to attempt casting a healing spell on himself, only to have his spell fail as the cell block's ward of magic countered the attempt.

  Minor as his injuries were, being without immediate remedy for them, he was forced to endure the discomforts provided him so graciously by his host. This appeared to be of no real hardship for the guard, who was quite content to continue watching him alternate between gagging, and then grimacing from the pain of gagging, which further served to fuel his headache.

  After becoming exhausted by this vicious cycle, he at last regained a measure of composure. As soon as he was able, he attempted to appeal to his jailor, "There has been a mistake!" he croaked. He would have done so sooner, but this was the first opportunity he had been afforded to speak since attempting to advise the now deceased Magistrate of his introduction.

  "Surely," agreed the guard, quickly jabbing the butt-end of his spear through the bars, which shot forward, poking Jester in the stomach with sufficient force to slam him back against the bars again while doubling him over as yet a new abdominal spasm sought to empty contents he no longer possessed.

  After several more minutes of this repeat performance, he began to recover yet again. Though almost too weak to respond, he turned to look in the direction of an odd sound, emanating from the cell next to his.

  Sometime during Jester's last bout of gastric expulsion, the Dwarf had risen from several days of broken slumber. Though now sober, he was currently experiencing an ancient ritual, common amongst the inebriated, but one to which he had long since become accustomed, and which, also by coincidence, closely resembled Jester's latest episode.

  Presently, the little man began to cast about as if in search of something. This continued for several moments, until he finally looked in Jester's direction and located what he had so diligently sought. The little fellow scowled, and then quickly jumped upon his bunk, which was directly adjacent to Jester's cell. He then rammed his entire arm through the bars, pointing at what he knew was his possession while growling through clenched teeth, "That's my bucket, you blasted tree-hugger!"

  Jester glanced vacantly at the furious Dwarf. His reasoning had become somewhat clouded and it took a moment longer than usual to register the Dwarf's livid directive. After a few more seconds, he began to piece together the fragmented information surrounding the Dwarf's ravings.

  "Well, it looks as if it's time for my break," the guard informed his guests with a menacing grin. "I hope you don't get too lonely. Maybe you'll have visitors while I'm gone," he concluded while closing the door behind him.

  At this point the Dwarf was preparing to commence a proper demonstration of dissatisfaction in the accommodations when a murmuring wafted in through the outer door. His attention was drawn away from the Druid, who was currently staring at the bucket in question as if grasping something of dire import.

  Then the outer door burst open, fairly slamming against the stone wall as a number of very angry-looking Humans filed into the room, each sporting a particular blunt weapon which was more often used as a means of crowd control than combat.

  The small, club-like instruments were tightly wrapped in leather and hung loosely at the end of a short leather thong. Back home, his Dwarven brethren referred to this small club as a Shillelagh, and it was reputed to have a center core of lead, or sometimes nickel. Here, in this part of the world, it was more commonly known as a Blackjack, but no matter what it was called, it was never the herald of good news.

  Crumly slowly withdrew his arm, and then backed away to the other side of his own cell. Once there, he turned away, cowering in a direction that did not afford him a view of what he felt sure was to come. Though he would be relieved to learn he was not to be the target of their anger, he would still find no pleasure in what was to follow.

  "So, you're the sorry bastard of a half-breed what killed our Magistrate!" drawled the leader of the Vigilante group.

  Up to this point, Jester had remained oblivious to most of what transpired about him. He had been preoccupied, pushing his battered brain to piece together what would have ordinarily been obvious. Then, somewhere in the distance, or perhaps naught but a few feet away, someone was speaking, though Jester could not quite make out what they were saying. He was too busy with the rising revulsion generated as all the pieces were finally fitting together.

  The foul substance now adorning his entire upper body, including his hair, face, and ears, had come from the very same bucket now laying upturned on the floor of his cell-the self-same bucket that had been claimed by the Dwarf, who needed it for no other purpose than to house the only substance in all the world that might come close to…

  "Did you hear me?" shouted the Vigilante, now only centimeters from Jester's face.

  Jester opened his eyes, wide with alarm, and not in reference to the angry people about him, or even the really angry man who now hovered just in front of his face. No, Jester's alarm was due to the realization that his stomach was not quite as empty as he previously thought-a fact soon to register on the unfortunate Vigilante as well.

  ***

  Reginald had just sent a full Detail to the Garrison with specific orders to liberate Ambassador Thistle with all haste. He was about to return to Elder Ironwood, to further reinforce his apologetic sincerity, when he witnessed something almost as upsetting as learning that he had jailed an innocent man.

  Another Detail was just arriving. However, these men weren't supposed to be here. They were all attached to Mistress Bane for the entire evening. Reginald was just about to reprimand each of them for abandoning their posts when he saw their faces. They were all haggard, as if they had been on a forced march, or perhaps
had been running hard for several miles through the city's winding streets.

  They came to a halt, but remained at attention while the Sergeant rushed over to Reginald.

  "You had better have an exceptionally good reason for deserting your post, Sergeant!" he snapped, prepared to allow the man a reasonable opportunity for said explanation, but reserving the right to lower the boom if his account came up short of reasonable.

  The soldier drew a breath to answer, but was cut off by a deafening explosion that rocked the very foundation of the building. This was followed by a sudden rush of war cries. More upsetting than anything else was that the cries were in Dark Speech.

  ***

  As per Mistress Ironwood's instruction, Merfee stepped outside to regain his composure. He knew she wasn't really angry with him, but her point was well taken. The Humans were a sensitive lot, easily upset when it comes to such things as humor. In retrospect, he supposed that he should have been more sensitive to the loss of their Magistrate.

  Still, he was now the father of the most beautiful baby girl in all the world, and husband to the most beautiful woman in the world. His good friend Jester was to be exonerated and most assuredly restored to his position as Ambassador. He just couldn't help it. Tonight he felt as if he were all of two meters tall and walking on air without levitation.

  The night air had been fresh, and watching the stars had always given him a sense of renewal. It was so pleasant that he decided to take advantage of its healing quality, so he exited via the North Gate.

  He strolled along, watching the incandescent Moon beetles marching in their crisscrossed patterns, no doubt either searching for food, or building materials for their nests. It was that season.

  In a relatively short period of time, he covered a goodly distance without even noticing. Then he paused to sniff a particularly inviting patch of wild flowers, only to discover that it was not quite so inviting as he had imagined. There was a whiff of something…perhaps naught but imagination. Beetles were known to excrete fumes similar to…

  No! I smell Dark elves! Oh, Natura! I smell thousands !

  He wheeled back toward the distant Arbitos gates to witness a line of Dark-elf infantry hugging the Northeast wall, and then winding around the corner as the endless column continued to flow in from the Lowlands to the northeast.

  The remote light over that horizon, greenish-gold and perhaps as wide as a hundred meters, could only represent the combined efforts of as many Wizards, their collective gate providing the requisite mass to accommodate an envisioned magnitude no less than that of the very invasion now before him.

  His attention shot back to the Northeast wall just as a number of casters, no doubt the same Wizards, simultaneously bombarded the city wall with giant fireballs. The wall literally exploded inward. What stone was not immediately affected by the explosion itself was yet burned away by the residual Wizard Fire as it continued to incinerate.

  He was now effectively cut off, unable to join the Arbitos forces. Then it struck him. What if Arbitos wasn't their only target?

  He instantly bolted southward. He would have prayed, but he couldn't think straight. He had a hard enough time just keeping his eyes clear enough to keep running. The tears of mind-numbing fear just kept flowing.

  He ran, his legs pumping as if each step might be the difference between life and death. After a time, his breathing became ragged, and still he continued to push with all he had. His legs began to burn, as did the air in his lungs, and still he pushed.

  After what seemed an eternity, his heart, which already felt as if it might burst from his chest, began to beat with an irregular rhythm. After another eternity, it began to loose what felt like bolts of lightning throughout his body, and still he pushed.

  At last, he cleared the final hill to view the elevated northern grove that housed the Spurious community. In racing toward the base of its upward incline, he was suddenly struck by a dark figure as they fell together to land within a stand of bushes.

  Merfee's thoughts were almost completely incoherent now. He did on some level realize that his life was about to end here, and knowing this would have been a great relief to him, for it would end the fire now raging in his mind and body. And yet, all he had left was an overpowering sense of regret at having failed his family-members when they needed him the most.

  When at last his heart stopped beating, though he could produce no sound, he yet mouthed his beloved daughter's name, and then began to close his weary eyes. Then there came a brilliant blue aura.

  ***

  As per her promise to the Sergeant, Delphi had finally backtracked her way to the Garrison. She would complete her agreement with him by returning to her quarters until he sent word of her secured permission to join the War Council.

  She had just placed her hand on the door-lever when another door at the other end of the hall burst open, and a number of civilian-garbed men raced through, to exit the Garrison by the same way she had just entered. They hadn't even noticed her.

  She still intended to keep her promise, but first she would investigate this odd business. She walked down the hall and peered down the steps to the lower tier, remembering that this led back to her first accommodations. It led back to the cell next to that… Dwarf. A shiver ran through her at the thought of the horrid little man. Against her better judgment, she descended to the prison area. If the men she had just witnessed were part of a prison break, she should report it as soon as possible.

  Then it struck her. Where were all the guards? She hadn't seen any on her way in, and this entire section appeared deserted as well. She did not like this at all. Something felt very wrong.

  Then she was beset by yet another alarming thought. The second flare! The Garrison was second in priority to strike. This was actually rather strange, considering the Garrison's fortifications. Furthermore, it was located near the center of the city. How could it be second to strike when there was no way to reach it without fighting through the majority of Arbitos forces?

  ***

  Magnatha had pushed her outrage aside. For the moment, she must concentrate upon the business at hand. Still, it had been simply deplorable. There was absolutely no one at his post. Perhaps they had rallied to the pavilion when they heard about the Assassination. The very idea of such a complete disregard for duty was unthinkable. Regi would never allow such an infraction to occur.

  Then, upon entering the main foyer, she had immediately grown aware of the clamor from below. It had taken no great deduction to realize what it was. She had heard those chaotic tones many times during her career. It was the unmistakable sound of an angry mob. Knowing the Garrison as well, or better than anyone else alive, she had also known where the shouts were emanating. They were in the lower tier, where Jester would have been taken.

  She had made her way down to the cells as quickly as possible, her first instinct being to rend the rabble of their useless lives. But the distance traversed from pavilion to Garrison had drained her considerably, and her reduced progress from foyer to cells afforded sufficient time to realize just who and where she was. She would not profane these hallowed walls by lowering herself to the mob's mentality. Instead, when she reached them, she merely drove them off of him, and then ran them out of the lower Garrison altogether.

  It hadn't really been that difficult. After she cracked the first one across the face, thereby breaking his jaw, the others were reluctant to be next in line. She wasn't sure if they had taken flight because they feared her, or because they feared that the guards would return. Perhaps they couldn't bring themselves to strike an old woman, though she doubted the latter. They didn't strike her as morally burdened.

  He lay askew in the corner, much like a discarded marionette with one arm hanging through the bars and draped across the lower cross beam at an odd angle, obviously broken. She could see many places where he had received multiple blows and kicks, though he was so completely covered in a noxious combination of blood and filth, it was all but impo
ssible to view all of his injuries.

  She was reluctant to move him for fear of worsening his condition. Ultimately, she had no choice. Mobs were unpredictable things, and she couldn't be certain that they wouldn't screw up the courage for another try.

  She cast about, searching for some means to get him out of this place. She would have carried him if she could, but her legs were barely capable of holding her own weight anymore. Ya feeble old hag! she cursed herself.

  She pulled the mattress to her and positioned it on the floor beside him. Then she carefully pulled his arm back through the bars. At this, he stirred restlessly in response to the pain. "I know, Grub. I'm here now. I know," she soothed in a tone not offered since he was four and had scraped his knee while scuffling with Cleetis.

  In due course, she allowed herself a brief moment to recover. She sat on the stone floor, resting her back against the bars.

  ***

  Merfee opened his eyes, and as his vision cleared, he saw Nefari's beautiful face form over his as the effects of her wolf-form faded, at which point she fell upon him, showering his face with both kisses and tears.

  "I thought you were dead!" she cried.

  He managed a smile, and then dropped it quickly.

  "Aqua is just fine," she assured him.

  ***

  Voices wafted through the dark corridors as she descended. When she reached the outer cells, she stopped. Something else now reached her ears. It was as if something was being dragged over the stone floor. As it drew closer, she concealed herself and waited.

  ***

  After positioning most of his body over the makeshift gurney, she found herself nearing true exhaustion. In truth, she was no longer entirely certain if what remained of her resources would be enough. Then again, there really wasn't anything to be done about it. We do what we can, she thought in consolation. The rest be up to Fate. With that, she got to her feet, with both knees popping almost loudly enough to drown out her grunt of exertion. Finally, she ran each of her canes through the cloth loops on either side of the mattress, and then grasped the canes firmly in each hand and began to pull.