Sithelnost - Aftermath

 08 Newkolt 349 AC

Cedron found Parnitha moving from prisoner to prisoner. Her shoulder was wrapped where the silver draconian's jaws had torn into her but she was already unlocking chains.

Cedron watched her for a moment before approaching. "I can see why they respect you."

Parnitha glanced over. The minstrel-priest smiled faintly. "Tough as steel and unyielding."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Divine energy flowed from him, closing her wounds. The pain faded. "I'd light your beacon any day."

For the first time since the battle began, Parnitha smiled.

Beneath the dust, blood, and exhaustion of the morning, Cedron was fairly certain the commander of House Protector was blushing.

The next prisoner in line cleared her throat. "Good morning, Commander."

Parnitha froze. She turned and her eyes widened. "Lady Nihriome."

The awkwardness vanished instantly as duty returned. "I—yes. Let me get you out of those shackles."

Within moments, Lady Eluarna Nihriome of House Recorder was free. She straightened, rubbing her wrists as she surveyed the Gallery around her.

The bodies of the Dragonarmy lay scattered like trees blown down in a storm.

She looked around at the warriors and mages who had retaken her city. "That was an impressive display of martial and arcane prowess, Commander. My compliments on a rescue well executed."

Parnitha looked briefly uncomfortable. "The plan was not mine, Your Grace."

She gestured toward Raven. "That was his doing."

Lady Eluarna followed her gaze. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Which House does he belong to?"

Parnitha paused. "He does not, Your Grace. He comes from beyond the lands of Silvanesti."

Eluarna studied Raven for a moment. "Truly?"

There was curiosity now, not suspicion. "Then perhaps our nation owes him an even greater thanks."

The noblewoman moved away, but her eyes remained on Raven as he continued freeing prisoners with the adamantine edge of Nightwatcher. She gave a small nod.

Then she turned toward the remaining defenders. "Get fires started. Collect whatever food remains. We will warm and feed those who have survived."

The order passed through the Gallery. The Dragonarmy had been driven away. Shadow looked around. Broken bodies lay among the stones of the Gallery, soldiers who had survived the fall of their city.

He raised one hand. The air around him shimmered. The dark elf spoke words of power, calling upon magic far removed from the shadows and deception that most expected from his kind.

Light gathered above the stones of the Gallery, not harsh like flame or lightning, but warm and steady like dawn breaking through the clouds.

Two figures emerged.

At first glance, they appeared to be enormous golden eagles standing upright. Then the details became clear. They were tall, powerful humanoids covered in fine feathers ranging from gold and bronze to deep russet. Their heads retained the sharp features of great birds of prey, with keen eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Their wings folded behind them, vast and majestic, each feather catching the morning light like polished metal. They wore simple celestial armor, crafted not for intimidation but for purpose. Every movement carried the precision of a hunter and the calm certainty of a guardian.

Shadow gestured toward the wounded Elves. "Save these elves."

He looked across the injured defenders of Sithelnost. "They have been ravaged by evil dragons and the dragonmen who serve them."

The celestials moved among the wounded, beginning their work. Shadow turned back to the battlefield. "And I am afraid they will be back."

He reached for his healing belt and moved among the most severely wounded, using every charge he could spare.

Grotto arrived late to the healing efforts, not because he didn't care. Because he had two different gods telling him two different things and another god who wasn't telling him anything.

He turned his efforts first to his companions.

The injured elves watched with surprise as the scarred dwarf moved among them, muttering prayers and calling upon gods who seemed to argue over him as much as guide him.

When the worst of the wounded had been tended, Grotto finally returned to the Gallery and to the corpse of his double. The dead draconian still bore his face.

Grotto stared at it for several seconds. He leaned closer.

"My." A grin spread across his face. "You sure are an ugly son of a %#$$." He laughed.

"Let's see what kind of things a fake dwarf carries."

He found no great treasure, a battered waterskin, some jerky, a small pouch of steel coins. What he didn't find was any kind of unit marking or rank insignia, no maps, no written orders. If this creature had possessed anything of value, it didn't carry it with him.

Satisfied that he had learned what he could, Grotto looked back toward the fallen green dragon. His eyes brightened.

"Now..."

He clapped his hands together.

"Let's talk about scales."

Ra’ziir whistled and Redclaw dropped out of the sky. The bladesinger rustled the griffon's feathers. "Good boy." He nodded his head toward the forest, "Now let's make sure there aren't any surprises."

The griffon launched again.

Below, the Gallery of Heroes grew smaller as they climbed. They took a position alongside Kysek as Dusk flew upward as well, climbing above the smoke and dust of the battlefield.

Dusk stretched her wings, carrying her higher. Kysek scanned the horizon, focusing his magic. He saw nothing - nothing invisible, no hidden creatures, no magical signatures approaching.

He relaxed slightly.

Ra’ziir flew alongside him for about a minute. They spotted them at the same time. Below them, a column moved through the trees.

At first glance, it looked like a retreating Dragonarmy force, survivors fleeing the battle.

Then Kysek saw the massive silver escorts.

Several of the draconians moved around the column, directing its movement and keeping the retreat organized.

Romulus slowly circled the forcecage.

The captured draconian watched him approach. It had stopped testing the magical barrier some time ago. It had stopped searching for weaknesses.
It simply waited.

Romulus found that noteworthy. "Interesting."

The draconian tilted its head slightly. "You find my imprisonment interesting?"

"No." Romulus looked over the creature. "Your behavior. Most creatures placed in an inescapable prison attempt escape until exhaustion. You tested the limits, confirmed the nature of the barrier, and then ceased."

The Sivak stared at him. "You are studying me."

"Yes." Romulus said it without hesitation.

"I will tell you nothing," the silver-scaled creature hissed.

"You already have," Romulus countered. "I now know that an intelligent, disciplined species exists with the ability to perfectly imitate individuals after death. That has significant implications."

The archmage paused. "What do you call yourself?"

The draconian paused, considering its answer. "Takhis."

Romulus nodded, "And that is your name or your species, Takhis?"

"My name. I am a Sivak."

"Well then, Takhis the Sivak, know that your survival is currently of considerable interest to me. Tell me, why did you stay behind?"

"The commander needed time. We provided it. We fulfilled our duty," Takhis replied.

"Four of your brothers were killed. You have been captured. The rider on the dragon that escaped was slumped in his saddle and quite possibly dead. You failed in your duty," Romulus answered.

Takhis hissed, lashing out and raking the inside of the cage with his talons.

The invisible barrier held but the force of the blow echoed through the Gallery. Several nearby elves looked over.

Romulus did not move. He simply watched.
"Interesting."

The Sivak's eyes narrowed. "Do not mock me."

"I am not." Romulus tilted his head slightly. "Your previous responses were controlled. Precise. You accepted captivity. You accepted the loss of your comrades. "But the suggestion that you failed produced an emotional response."

Takhis said nothing.

Romulus continued. "Therefore, your duty is not merely an assignment. It is a fundamental part of your identity."

"You know nothing of us." Takhis hissed.

"Correct." Romulus's answer came immediately. "That is why I am asking questions."

"I have a question." Romulus stated.

"Another?" Growled the Sivak.

"Several, actually." Romulus answered.

For the first time, the Sivak seemed almost annoyed rather than hostile. "Of course you do."

Romulus ignored the comment. "When you take another form, do you acquire their memories?"

The Sivak stared at him. "No."

Romulus nodded slowly. "Good. That would... complicate matters considerably."

The freed prisoners were led away from the Gallery of Heroes and toward the manor of Lady Eluarna Nihriome. Those who could walk helped those who could not. Soldiers leaned on one another. The wounded were carried by their comrades.

The empty city was silent around them.

The Dragonarmy had taken everything of value they could find. Doors hung open. Rooms had been overturned. Furniture was broken. The halls that had once belonged to one of Silvanesti's ruling houses had been stripped bare.

But the fireplaces still worked.

The first fires were lit, and slowly warmth returned to the manor. The elves gathered around them, wrapping themselves in whatever blankets and cloth could be found. Many had spent days chained outside, exposed to the cold of early
Newkolt.

Raven moved through the manor with a piece of charcoal and a scrap of parchment, counting the injured and the able-bodied. Luckily, there were no children or elderly - just soldiers. Shadow’s summoned angels had healed as many as they could before the spell calling them to the Material Plane lapsed but several still bore injuries from the battle that led to their capture and the subsequent hypothermia and frostbite that followed their imprisonment.

Lady Eluarna observed him for several minutes before approaching. "You are taking inventory of my people?"

Raven looked up, "Of what we have."

The noblewoman studied him. "And what have you determined?"

Raven glanced down at the notes in his hand. "A problem."

Eluarna's expression tightened slightly. The noblewoman studied him. "And what have you determined?"

Raven glanced down at the notes in his hand. "A problem."

Eluarna's expression tightened slightly. "What kind of problem?"

"Food," was his simple reply.

She looked toward the servants gathering supplies from the damaged kitchens. "The Dragonarmy took much of what was stored."

"I saw that," he said, shaking his head.

She leaned in and asked, "How much remains?"

Raven looked back at the numbers. "Not enough. The march to Tarithnesti," Raven continued, "will take several days. Longer for those who are wounded."

Lady Eluarna nodded slowly. "And supplies?"

Raven shook his head. "Not enough for everyone."

She watched him a moment longer, "How long has it been since you slept?"

"I slept before before the battle," he answered as he made another mark on his parchment.

"This battle?" Came her question.

"Before the farmhouse before the battle of Tarithnesti."

"So, two days?" She glanced at his coat. "Your jacket is torn, you are breathing very carefully. You may have cracked ribs." The room continued around them. Fires crackled. Wounded elves spoke quietly. Servants moved through the manor. She raised a hand. A servant came over.

"Take this man up to my son's bedroom. Make sure he gets something warm to eat and put him to bed." She turned to Raven, "No arguments. We'll make it through the next four hours without you."