Sithelnost - Aftermath (Part 3)

08 Newkolt 349 AC

Raven sat cross-legged on the bed, hands resting on his knees, palms up and closed his eyes. Cedron's magic had done its work. He could breathe normally without his ribs screaming in protest. The slashes across his back from the dragon's claws had closed - the wounds scabbed over and the scabs had already flaked away, leaving fresh skin beneath.

He began concentrating on the Reverie.

"Blackbird... Red One..."

Raven's eyes opened.

Ra'ziir's voice carried across the mindlink,"We're trailing the column. It's possible the ancient green Wyrm is the same beast that Shadow saw in his scrying… I'll update you as we learn more. Red One out."

He considered sending a response, but there was little point. Ra'ziir and Kysek knew what they were doing, and Ra'ziir had said he would report when they knew more.
Besides, Raven had been given explicit instructions concerning what he was supposed to be doing.

He glanced toward the closed bedroom door. He closed his eyes again and searched for the familiar path to the Reverie. Other elves seemed able to enter Reverie as naturally as humans fell asleep. They simply withdrew into themselves and allowed memory and meditation to take over.

Raven had never properly learned how. He had spent the years when an elf normally mastered the Reverie among humans, and humans had taught him a different solution to exhaustion.

Sleep.

He tried again. He slowed his breathing, tried to clear his mind of conscious thought, tried to ignore the fact that Ra'ziir and Kysek were pursuing an enemy army through hostile territory, tried to ignore that there wasn't enough food for a march back to Tarithnesti, tried to ignore the possibility that a possibly ancient green dragon was somewhere in the air above what was left of Sithelnost.

That last one was harder than the rest.

For several minutes, Raven sat motionless. Eventually his shoulders sagged. He knew the result. He had failed.

Again.

Raven opened his eyes and stared irritably at the opposite wall. "Wonderful."

There would be no second attempt today. That was the worst part. Once he failed to find the Reverie, forcing the issue accomplished nothing. Tomorrow he could try again.

Raven uncrossed his legs and stretched them out.

He was still supposed to rest. He could manage that much. He lowered himself onto the bed.

He was not going to go to sleep. He would close his eyes and lay quietly until Lady Eluarna's ridiculous four-hour prohibition expired.

Then he would get up, find Parnitha, see what Shadow had learned, find out whether Romulus had gotten anything useful from the Sivak, and wait for Kysek and Ra'ziir to....

Raven fell asleep.

- - - - -
"This shouldn't be so difficult," Cedron muttered to himself. He remained seated on the floor outside Raven's room, his back against the wall. His prayers were finished, his breathing had settled, and for the moment no one required his healing, his counsel, or his sword. Which left Cedron alone with his thoughts.

That was proving considerably more troublesome.

"I like her." There. He had admitted it... silently... to himself.

"She’s not like others..."

His thoughts returned to Parnitha. Her compassion impressed him. That was what he noticed first—or at least what he preferred to tell himself he had noticed first. She cared about the elves under her command. She cared about the prisoners. Even in the middle of a battle, with everything collapsing around them, she had never lost sight of the people they were actually fighting to save.

His memory supplied another image.

Parnitha in battle. The commander planting her feet, muscles tightening as she brought that silver warhammer around and—

Cedron closed his eyes. "Come on, Ced. She's an elf - a Silvanesti Elf. She has obligations to her people, her soldiers, her homeland. I'm an outsider, a human at that. She couldn't allow herself to become distracted by me."

Cedron frowned. "But there's always hope."

That was the problem with hope. It had survived considerably worse odds. He glanced toward Raven's door. The Black Bird of Death was finally resting. Good.

Cedron settled more comfortably against the wall and closed his eyes again. He could worry about dragons, armies, ancient evils, and impossible romances later.

For now, he was going to rest.

Although the image of Commander Parnitha swinging that hammer proved considerably more difficult to dismiss than the Dragonarmy.
- - - - -
Parnitha stood over a map of Sithelnost and the surrounding forest, listening as another of the rescued elves finished reporting. The Dragonarmy had withdrawn, but she had no intention of assuming it would stay gone.

"How many of you are able to move comfortably?" she asked.

The elf glanced toward several of the others gathered nearby.

"Perhaps twenty, Commander. More if necessary."

Parnitha looked over them. Some bore bruises from their captivity. Others had cuts that had already been dressed. They were exhausted, hungry, and in no condition to fight another battle.

But several were still capable of helping. "I need watchers."

That brought their attention immediately to her.

"Pairs, along the approaches to the city. Stay concealed. I want eyes on the roads, trails, and forest."

One of the elves reached instinctively toward a recovered bow.

Parnitha shook her head. "No. You are not there to fight. If they return, you do not engage."

Her tone left no room for misunderstanding.

"If you see Dragonarmy troops approaching Sithelnost, one of you returns here immediately. The other remains concealed and watches. I need to know how many are coming, what direction they are coming from, what they have with them, and how quickly they are moving."

She looked from one elf to the next. "If they pass your position, you let them pass."

A few expressions tightened. "Your task is to warn us," she said. "Not avenge yourselves."

Parnitha began assigning positions.

North road.

Eastern trail.

Southern approach.

The forest paths west of the city.

She made certain each group understood its route back to the manor and arranged for replacements so no one remained on watch longer than necessary.

There. One problem addressed. Now— "I'd light your beacon any day..."

Parnitha stopped.  She looked down at the map. Cedron's voice echoed perfectly in her memory. Then came Lady Eluarna's raised eyebrow. Parnitha felt heat creeping into her face...of all the things to be thinking about now.

She had a city to secure, wounded to evacuate, a Dragonarmy somewhere in the forest, two griffon riders who had disappeared after the retreating enemy, a  captured Sivak, and an ancient green dragon that might be somewhere nearby.

And she was thinking about a human priest. A rather handsome human priest.

For a human.

Parnitha frowned at the map. That qualifier wasn't helping nearly as much as it should have.

She remembered Cedron kneeling beside her after the fighting. His hands touching her as healing magic flowed through them.
Strong, gentle hands.

She stared very intently at the map.

Then there was that cloak. The flowing blue suited him. He cut quite a dashing figure in it.

She wondered — perhaps he would cut an equally dashing figure without the cloak.
Or anything else.

Parnitha abruptly straightened.

One of the rescued elves looked at her. "Commander?"

"Nothing."

Parnitha took a breath. Cedron was human. She was Silvanesti. He was an outsider. She was an officer responsible for defending what remained of her people. And judging from the man's effortless flirtation, he probably spoke that way to every reasonably attractive woman he encountered.

"I'd light your beacon any day..."

Parnitha closed her eyes briefly. Lady Eluarna's eyebrow appeared again. "First things first," she muttered.

"Commander?"

Parnitha looked up. "Have the western watch move farther into the trees. The Dragonarmy occupied this city long enough to know the obvious observation points. I don't want anyone standing where their scouts would expect to find them."

"Yes, Commander." The elf hurried away.
Parnitha returned to her map.

Dragonarmies were considerably less complicated than handsome human priests.

And for the moment, considerably more urgent.
- - - - -
Grotto remained alone for some time after the vision faded. He stared at the places where the runes had been.

Nothing. No scars. No burns. There was no trace that the marks of Kiri-Jolith and Sargonnas had ever existed.

He rubbed his thumb across the bare skin. "Whose priest am I?"

There had been no answer or perhaps there had been, and Grotto simply did not understand it.

Hanseath.

Of course Hanseath was his god.

He had always known that. But what did that mean? All his life, Grotto had understood pain.

Pain was simple, pain became anger and anger became the strength that carried him forward. War had given all of it somewhere to go. There was always another enemy, another battle, another bastard who needed an axe buried in him.

Kiri-Jolith had given that anger purpose: Justice.

Sargonnas had given it permission: Vengeance.

And Hanseath...

Grotto frowned. War. That was what Hanseath had always meant to him: THE dwarven god of war, the god who stood beside warriors when the axes came out and the blood started flowing.

But that wasn't what Hanseath had told him. "Justice is not the point. Revenge is not the point."

Then what was? "Enjoy the fight."

Grotto shook his head. He had enjoyed battle. He enjoyed the impact of his axe. The resistance when steel struck armor and the satisfaction when an enemy who had hurt someone finally stopped moving. He enjoyed winning but there had always been anger beneath it.

The burning runes had made that easier.

Now they were gone.

Grotto looked down at his hands.

He did not feel peaceful or enlightened. He just felt confused.

"Bah." The dwarf pushed himself to his feet. Sitting here wasn't accomplishing anything. There were wounded downstairs.

The makeshift hospital occupied much of the manor's lower floor. Grotto could smell them before he reached the bottom of the stairs. The scent of blood, sweat, medicinal herbs, burned flesh, and alchemical salves competed for his attention.

He entered the ward.

One of the other healers looked up. "Grotto."

The dwarf grunted. "Who's gotten worse?"

The elf pointed toward the far side of the room. Grotto went to work. His prayers had restored his magic. He knelt beside the first wounded elf and examined the bandages. He knew what to do.

For a while, Grotto stopped thinking about gods.

- - - - -
Romulus found Shadow near one of the rooms adjoining the makeshift wards.

The drow looked as though he had finally decided to follow the advice everyone else had been giving Raven and get some rest himself.

"Shadow. I'm taking Takhis to Wayreth."

Shadow blinked. "Right now?"

"Yes." Romulus said it with the same tone he might have used to announce that he was going downstairs for breakfast. "Keeping a creature capable of assuming the appearance of the dead in a city full of exhausted soldiers and recently liberated prisoners strikes me as strategically unsound. The Tower can contain him properly. More importantly, the Conclave needs to know what we've encountered."

"How long will you be gone? We have people to move." The drow asked.

Romulus thought for a second, "A few hours. Long enough to hand him over to Menathradon and Justarius, explain precisely what he can do, insist that nobody dies anywhere near his cell, answer several hundred questions from people who believe asking questions is a competitive sport, and return."

- - - - -
"Blackbird, Red One… We're trailing the column. It's possible the ancient green Wyrm is the same beast that Shadow saw in his scrying… I'll update you as we learn more. Red One out.

Ra'ziir felt the connection close.

"Expand Permanent Mind Link to more of the party," he reminded himself. "To be completed as soon as possible."

"Message sent!" he shouted.

Kysek glanced across at him from Dusk's back. "I'm with you on learning what we can, but be sure to stay close. If this goes sideways, I'll teleport us all back to Sithelnost!"

Kysek nodded. The two griffons continued after the retreating Dragonarmy.

For the next several hours, Ra'ziir concentrated on the ground below. They kept their altitude whenever possible, circling wide rather than remaining directly over the column. Dusk's black shape and Redclaw's tawny wings were difficult to distinguish at that distance, particularly when the griffons kept themselves between the Dragonarmy and the pale winter sky rather than silhouetting themselves against the horizon.

The enemy was retreating. That much was obvious. The survivors from Sithelnost had initially fled in scattered groups. Over time, those groups began finding one another. Officers gathered soldiers. Soldiers gathered stragglers. Small bands emerging from forest trails joined the larger column. The force below them grew.
Ra'ziir watched carefully.

Some of the ogres were wounded. Several limped. One was being helped along by two others. A few draconians bore obvious burns or injuries from the fighting. But most were still combat-capable. More importantly, they were becoming organized again.

Ra'ziir guided Redclaw closer to Dusk. "They're reforming!"

Kysek nodded. "I see it!"

Neither elf saw the ancient green but they searched for it. Ra'ziir repeatedly scanned the sky ahead, the distant forest canopy, and every open stretch of terrain they passed.

A dragon that large should have been easy to see if it were traveling openly with the column. Which meant either it wasn't here—
—or it didn't want to be seen.

Kysek urged Dusk closer.
"I'm counting a force of at least three hundred below!"

Ra'ziir looked down again.

Kysek looked toward the western horizon and then down at Dusk. The black griffon had been flying for hours after an already exhausting battle.

Redclaw was no better.
"We should return!" Kysek called. "Our griffons need rest, as do we."

Ra'ziir nodded.

Kysek looked down at the column once more. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Send down a couple of well-placed Fireballs to thin their numbers a bit as we turn back to the city?"

Ra'ziir grinned.
- - - - -
After Romulus left, Shadow found one of the quieter rooms adjoining the makeshift wards.

A Silvanesti guard stood nearby. Shadow stopped beside him. "I need to Reverie and prepare new spells. We will be leaving soon after."

The elf nodded. Shadow smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You have done well, my friend."

The guard seemed momentarily surprised. "Um, thank you, sir."

"Wake me if there's danger." Shadow entered the room and closed the door.
There was a bed, a chair, a small table, and little else that hadn't been removed or destroyed.

Shadow crossed to the bed and sat heavily upon it. Spewer climbed down beside him.
Shadow ran both hands through his white hair.

"I think we may be in over our heads here. They just keep coming, and we are running out of elves. We know very little about our enemy's movements and force strength. Our scouts may come back with some answers, but before we nap..."

Shadow reached down and opened his Bag of Holding. "Let's take a peek at what our green friend is up to, shall we?"

He withdrew his staff. Cold immediately seeped through his gloves.

Shadow barely noticed it anymore. Someone unattuned to the weapon would have found its touch deeply unpleasant.

He rested the staff across his knees. At its head, the crystal sphere churned with an endless storm of snow and ice. Shadow placed both hands upon the staff and concentrated upon the dragon that had descended upon Sithelnost, the dragon that had delivered the silver draconians into battle.

The storm inside the crystal began to turn.

Snow spiraled through the sphere. Ice obscured its depths. Shadow focused his will until the storm opened.

Shadow leaned closer.
"There you are."

The green dragon lay in the center of a large encampment. For a moment Shadow almost didn't recognize it. At Sithelnost, the creature had seemed enormous. Now it was battered. Blood streaked its scales. One wing showed obvious damage. Its hide bore the marks of the battle it had escaped.

Soldiers surrounded it. Several had climbed onto the dragon's saddle.
They were struggling with something.

Shadow narrowed his eyes then he realized what they were doing. They were removing the rider.

Dead.

Shadow's expression hardened. "Well. Looks like the Flight Marshal didn't make it."

Shadow continued watching.

The dragon moved weakly beneath the saddle. Then something beyond it moved. A red dragon stepped into view. It was enormous.

Larger than the wounded green, much larger.

Another shape moved on the opposite side, a second red.

Shadow slowly straightened. Then he saw the third dragon.

Green. Ancient. Immense.

The wounded dragon that had seemed so large over Sithelnost was dwarfed by it.

Shadow stopped breathing. He knew that dragon. He had seen it before, after Silvanost.

The crystal had shown him that same enormous green wyrm. And that time— It had seen him too.

Shadow stared into the crystal. The great green stood before the battered survivor from Sithelnost, flanked by the two enormous reds. Around them stretched a military encampment far larger than anything Shadow had hoped to find.

Then the great green dragon stopped moving. Slowly, the wyrm raised its head.

The green's enormous head tilted slightly. Recognition entered its eyes. Then the dragon spoke. "You again, little mage? This is the second time you have violated my privacy."

"I warn against a third attempt." The great wyrm stared at him for another moment.
Then deliberately turned away and Shadow’s spell ended.

For several seconds, Shadow sat absolutely still.

Spewer looked at him.

Shadow looked back. "Well, that went well."
Shadow stared his familiar. "He remembers me."

Thei lzard replied, "I remember you too. It's not that impressive."

Spewer crawled onto the bed beside him.

"Three more dragons," Shadow continued. "An army. The Flight Marshal is dead, and an ancient green dragon has now personally warned me to stop spying on him."

"Could've been worse." Shadow looked at him.

Shadow looked back at him, "How?"

"Not sure. But it could have been."

Shadow closed his eyes. "Why do I talk to you?"

"Because I'm delightful."

Shadow lay back on the bed. Spewer crawled onto his chest. Shadow stared at the ceiling. "We need to tell the others."

"After." Spewer hissed.

The dark elf nodded, "Yes. Later."

Spewer's tail swished back and forth like a cat's, "You need Reverie."

"I need spells." Shadow replied.

The lizard hissed, "Yes. You will."
- - - - - -
Ra'ziir looked down at the column. "On your signal, we dive and make a strafing run overhead. I'm fresh out of Fireballs, but I have some alternatives."

Kysek glanced across at him.

Ra'ziir smiled. "Chain Lightning and Ice Storm."

He reached down and stroked Redclaw's neck. "Death from Above shall we be... fast like lightning we will strike, before freezing them in their tracks..."

The griffon turned his head slightly.

"We must fly fast, my friend. One pass is all and then back to Sithelnost." He leaned closer. "Show me your speed, Red."

Kysek nodded. "Let's do this!"
He pointed toward the retreating Dragonarmy. Dusk folded her wings.
The black griffon dropped from the sky.
Redclaw followed.

For the first several seconds, the Dragonarmy noticed nothing. The two griffons had spent hours circling high overhead, distant shapes against the winter sky. If anyone below had spotted them, the scouts had given no indication that they intended to attack.

Now Dusk plummeted toward them. Her legs tucked tightly beneath her. Her wings pulled close to her body, leaving only enough exposed for control. Kysek flattened himself against her back. Wind tore at his clothing. His eyes watered as the ground rushed toward them.

Redclaw was hot on their tail. Ra'ziir leaned low over the tawny griffon's shoulders. Grumbar's Razor streamed smoke and ash behind them, a dark trail marking their descent like a meteor falling from the heavens.

Two hundred yards.

One hundred.

Seventy-five...

Kysek felt Dusk shift beneath him. "Now, girl!"

Her wings opened. The effect was immediate and violent. Air caught beneath the enormous wings as Dusk fought to arrest the dive. Kysek pressed himself against her back as momentum tried to tear him from the saddle.

Below them, someone finally looked up.

A Baaz pointed and shouted.

Then Dusk screamed.

Heads snapped upward. "GRIFFONS!"

The warning  came too late.

Kysek extended his right arm. The Fireball streaked downward. It struck near the center of the column. Flame rolled outward in a sudden sphere, swallowing draconians and ogres. Baaz vanished behind the blast. One ogre staggered from the flames with its clothing burning. Another was knocked from its feet.

Soldiers started to scatter.

Dusk was already climbing as Redclaw screamed in.

Ra'ziir sang. The Song of Celerity rose above the rushing wind. Lightning struck the column.
The first bolt slammed into a Baaz, then jumped, again and again.

White-blue branches tore through the soldiers packed along the trail, seeking one target after another. Some fell while others hardened into stone as death overtook them.

An ogre roared as electricity coursed across its armor.

The Dragonarmy responded. "BOWS! LOOSE!"

Arrows rose after them.

None even came close.

Someone farther down the column was shouting orders. "SPREAD OUT!"

Too late again. Ra'ziir twisted in the saddle and changed the words to his song.

The air behind Redclaw suddenly filled with ice and hail hammered down upon the column.

Then the griffons were gone.

Redclaw leveled barely above the treetops. Kysek urged Dusk alongside. "Let's get back, girl! Nice flying!"

Dusk answered with a triumphant screech.

Ra'ziir patted Redclaw's neck. "That's my Red."

The griffons surged forward. Together they raced across the treetops toward Sithelnost.

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