Mi'ishaen contemplated the fangs of her daggers carefully as she spun them over her hands. While she was able to spin them the moment she'd gotten them into her hands, that had been- for her- only the beginning of the process necessary to break them in. As she sat in the arms of a grey-trunked tree, she also counted the different sounds around her- the distant cawing of some nocturnal bird of prey, the persistent hum of insects, the leisurely stroll of some animal through the low tufts of grass. The Tiefling didn't bother to look down when another tread sounded beneath her- it was familiar enough not to be a concern.
Stone, who made it all the way to Mi'ishaen's tree without seeing a single border guardsman, felt somewhat annoyed that she didn't bother herself to check what was moving toward her location. "Need you sharp," he reminded when he arrived, turning around and leaning on the tree as though she wasn't in it.
"I'm fine," Mi'ishaen replied, still looking carefully over the straightness of the main part of the dagger's blade. "Still as a grave."
"Check both ways. The gift's in the scrub oak; top of Witchrun," Stone said flatly, moving away. "Thorn's inside, Clover's outside; hands off 'em."
"Four sets of hands instead of two, and plagues instead of poisons," Mi'ishaen noted. "What're we, taking apart an army?"
Stone scoffed, then simply began walking away from the tree. Mi'ishaen looked down to watch him go with a sigh- his lack of an answer was an answer, and not one that she liked. She spun her daggers around her hands just once more, then put them away. Carefully and calmly, she pulled her strips of cloth from one of the packs on her waist. She consciously breathed as she began to wrap her palms- one time, two times, three times- thick enough for protection, but thin enough to permit free movement. As a precaution, she wrapped her forefinger and thumb just once each before she tied the knots on the outside of her hands. When she'd finished, she rested her hands on her thighs and looked out over the area. Much of the small wildlife that had been moving before- rats, snakes and the like- had moved away, a testament to Stone's presence. While he'd apparently been in Spectre for years, and could elude a two-legged creature's gaze like a wight, he'd never learned the art of keeping nature from telling on him. Mi'ishaen slid herself out of her tree, having plotted a quick movement from the tree she'd been in to one closer to the Witchrun footpath.
"Perhaps you never have to learn that, crammed in paved streets all the time."
Witchrun had been so named because it was reputed to be both the escape path for discovered Semmite spies, which were often mages, and a slave route for abducted magic practitioners on their way to their Thultanthar masters. Since neither of Urmlaspyr's recent high captains had been overly concerned about the Dark Quarter, any guard who bothered to patrol the area was on his or her own. While this left the route free to be used by escaping Semmites, it also left it to be openly used by House Darkness, Phoenix, and when they had existed, the Rattails and Stingers. Mi'ishaen's task had been to keep a sharp lookout for Drow travelers, but the dirt footpath seemed deserted. In the effort to keep alert and stave off boredom, the Tiefling set up a search pattern for herself.
"North to west- clear. Shift. East to south- clear. Shift back. Again."
She repeated this movement in the same tree three times, then slid herself out and began carefully moving toward the so-called "top" of Witchrun. There, the two-person wide footpath branched off from a similarly sized, unpaved delivery route that circled the outside of the Dark Quarter. Farther north, where it touched the Mage Quarter, the path suddenly grew cobblestones and was dubbed Magebelt. Not many mages actually used it, but to Mi'íshaen, it seemed that Urmlaspyr folk seemed to have a habit of consigning everything a magic worker touched even once to the embrace of magic for all time. Farther south, where it ran past the far side of the graveyard's strange willows and swung in toward the docks, it was called Ravenway and was avoided like a plague- unless one was speaking of the Raven Queen adherents, who occasionally visited the Dark Quarter to see friends or family, or to drink off some of the pressures of having promised themselves to an apparently unfathomable goddess of death. Here, where the Dark Quarter trustingly leaned on the path like a heavy spouse on an unwilling partner, it was merely referred to as the West Way, and it was used for its original purpose- to ship things around the Dark Quarter's old, narrow streets to anxious recipients in other quarters or districts with wider pathways.
The small vial that Mi'ishaen found in the cold tree's largest knothole was placed into a pocket on the other side of her belt, and the Tiefling quickly moved on down Witchrun as though she were going to go all the way into Sembia. Once she'd moved slightly past what seemed to be the border- in the dead of night without guards, it was difficult for her to tell- she found another tree, posted herself there, and began her sweep again. When she didn't find anything there, she began moving her sweeps northward toward the area known to belong to House Darkness. A near half hour of sweeps brought no sight of anyone, and Mi'ishaen began to wonder if she had been set up in the area as a preparation for an eventuality that would never happen. As she scaled her sixth tree of the night, she picked up a rock and began tapping on the grey bark. It was an eventual sound- like that of a jewelry maker attempting to cut a tree for resin. The silence that followed was too long for Mi'ishaen's liking, but she refrained from repeating herself. The patience paid off, and in a few more minutes, there was a rapid fire tapping, like a woodpecker who'd misunderstood what time of night it was.
"Okay, nothing to see," Mi'ishaen thought grimly. Just as she began to think of how she'd get a retreating message through the scout- whom she assumed was Clover- another bout of rapid fire tapping began from a different location. Some of it was unfamiliar, but the part of it that the Tiefling did understand indicated that something was going on on the scout's left side- so, farther to the north than she currently was. She began plotting a tree-hopping course that would take her closer to the heart of the territory under which House Darkness laid, thinking over Rashiira's instructions and methods as she moved. Mi'ishaen didn't know how many other operatives were on this one job- she and Stone were the only two of which she could be sure. While this seemed to be to protect operatives from informing on each other if they were caught, it also prevented Mi'ishaen from knowing whether she was walking into a controlled area or an utter mess.
Unfortunately, it was the latter.
Mi'ishaen noted and avoided a strange circle on the ground, and climbed a tree she hadn't planned on to avoid it. It placed her farther to the northeast than she would have preferred. The fortunate thing about that was her ability to see five Drow males fighting together against their two remaining female masters. The unfortunate thing about it was the sight of nine Drow males and four females coming toward her area with the clear intent of eliminating the riot in the camp beyond her. Some magic had already been unleashed, but the distance between the two groups was too great for the casters to do anything but alert the two besieged women to the fact that help was coming.
"That bunch either hadn't touched Witchrun at all, or passed at least a day ago, Dark. What do you expect me to do?"
With this frustrated thought, Mi'ishaen watched the second Drow group move southeast toward the first, and began to look for a way around them. As she looked, however, she noted that two out of the five male Drow suddenly turned to attack the other three. Their strikes and parries joining the sounds of the others began to concern Mi'ishaen, who wondered if Semmite guards were as lax about their border as Nithraz and his so-called Merry Mercies were. The female Drow, without even looking back, left the males to their own devices, continuing to move toward the rescue of the two females who were now contending with only three rebels. The four moved closely together, some checking their flanks and their backs for foul play.
Mi'ishaen began moving westward, toward a tree that stood about fifty yards east of the Drow campsite. As she went, she noticed that a few grass tufts some distance away from here were already broken toward that direction. She changed her path slightly, keeping an eye on the faint trail left in the disturbed ground cover, but spotted movement in the tree she'd planned to get into when she'd covered a little more than half of the distance to it. She stopped and double backed, posting up beneath a tree that was farther to the southeast of the camp than she would have liked. The shifting breeze, pushing inland from the water, brought with it the scent of mage-burned flesh- some of the second group's magic attacks were now close enough to the frenzied males to hit them. Mi'ishaen moved more slowly to make sure that she did not cross into the lines of sight or fire, but decided to enjoy the view a bit as well.
One of the males dropped after a well-placed shock spell of some sort- eyes wide and body twitching, he screamed his agony into the night. The one remaining rebel was suddenly the focus of nearly every magic element discovered, but surprisingly enough, one of the females that barely survived the initial rebellion found herself set upon by her companion and her three supposed rescuers. As the three females unleashed their attacks on both targets from a distance, the two males who had attacked the other three in their own party closed in on them, short swords still drawn for the kill. When they shot past the women without striking them down or being stricken in passing, Mi'ishaen realized that they must have been protecting the women from the three nutters.
The Tiefling drew the dagger on her right hip, pulled out the disease essence, and carefully applied the strange paste to her weapon. This done, she replaced the not-quite-empty vial, held her dagger between her teeth and began running after the males, marking their approach to the tree she'd wanted to get into. The two males, well trained, began taking turns sweeping the area for the oncoming attacker as they continued to move, slowing down slightly for their trouble. Mi'ishaen, moving toward the tree at an angle, sped past them, and ran around the tree. Now facing them, she leaped for the lowest bough and grabbed it, swinging herself over it without any apparent effort. The male closest to the tree saw the daring movement and headed straight for her, only to realize that she hadn't swung herself up to get into the tree. A pair of hooves connected with his chest two seconds later, pushing him back into the grass and winding him. Mi'ishaen let go of the bough, landing ungraciously on her behind just two inches beyond him. Strangely enough, she didn't hear the second male come to save the first, so she- gritting her teeth at the momentary pain- turned herself around on her behind, kicked the male in the head to keep him down, then ran her knife from his chin toward her. This done, she got to her feet and began to move down toward her previous position, only to be confronted by two of the four Drow females.
For a single second, Mi'ishaen stood absolutely still.
Relying only on her awareness of the area around her, the Tiefling turned to the east and began running farther into Semmite territory at top speed. She hoped to lead the two females away from both the male and the camp, but her hoof struck an unexpected obstacle, sending her hurtling face-first toward the ground. As she fell, she was aware that deft fingers whipped her other dagger out of its place on her left hip. A solid hand was placed high on her back, and her struggle to get up was rewarded with a solid elbow to the small of her back.
"In an open field? With no guards, no fight- just my own dagger in my back?"
Someone else fell the way she did, right on top of her. A gust of breath pushed on her neck. Then, there was a strange, slightly painful pressure on her lower back, followed immediately by a low grunt. Whoever it was was pushed off of her, and she rolled over at once to see an older Human male in a heavy-looking black robe give a snap to his wrist to get blood off the dagger.
He, like Stone, didn't bother to be nice. He simply clamped a leathery hand around Mi'ishaen's upper arm and began moving away from the struggling Drow male. It took Mi'ishaen a full minute to realize that they were skirting the camp and moving back toward Urmlaspyr.
"Piss-poor rogue," he commented in a terse whisper as they moved. "Didn't use the infectant."
"The first one, I did," Mi'ishaen shot back, instantly defensive. "I only got two hands; I needed them both. Who are you?"
"Could ask the same," the man spat. "Gimme your other blade or suffer."
"Give me that one back or die," Mi'ishaen demanded. "Those females-"
"Are my job," the Human growled. "Thanks to you, there's a few new reasons I can't complete it. Fix it. Bag me the other three."
In the silence that followed, there was a slinging sound, followed by an annoyed cry.
"Make that two."
"You laid those traps," Mi'ishaen huffed, finally sheathing the one dagger she had.
"And you avoided them," the Human replied, "Wish you hadn't. What, you want higher pay?"
In the distance, a shrill note of alarm sounded. The Human male looked up at once, his face a mask of concern.
"I'm taking this; deal with you later," he stated flatly, beginning to move away. Mi'ishaen moved swiftly after him, smacking a balled fist in the back of his neck. When he stumbled, she turned, whipped her tail around his leg and watched as he attempted to keep moving.
"How's it feel, m'lord?" she when he fell. She jiggled her weapon free of his hand, noting the hideous smell. "What in Baator did you put on here?"
"Put it in somebody and find out," the Human coughed bitterly, rolling over on his back.
Mi'ishaen, remembering that the Drow were probably actively looking for their attackers, thought better of trading wits with an old man. She moved away from him, setting her sights back on the tree in which she'd swung before. One of the Drow females cut her off, then began charging at her. Mi'ishaen could hear footsteps behind her, and having no confidence that it was the old man, turned to shoot up straight into the camp, which was now oddly empty. The Tiefling thought to drag an unattended blanket through the still-lit fire, until she saw a delicate, ethereal-looking hand pointing back toward the Urmlaspyr border. Terrified, Mi'ishaen dropped down into the brush and dry dirt to slide for a few seconds, then turned and ran in the complete opposite direction as though she'd finally decided to push through to Sembia. She heard a cry from one of her pursuers, but didn't dare get into a tree to look back until she could no longer hear footsteps behind her.
Three full minute's break-neck run put her solidly in Sembia, although neither terrain nor the presence of a guard could indicate that such was the case. Mi'ishaen collapsed gracelessly to the ground, face up to the sky and panting. It took two more minutes for her to catch her breath, and when she did, she rolled over onto her belly to look back over the distant camp scene. It seemed both males had survived, along with four females. Mi'ishaen was too far to tell which of the females had been from what group, but wondered if the turned-upon female had proven her worth in battle to the others by surviving. Three of the females were contemplating something that fit in their hands while one of the males carefully looked over the gash that Mi'ishaen had put in his comrade's cheek. The fourth female, sitting alone, was looking down at one of her legs. After some deliberation between the six of them, wounds were patched, the camp fire was put out, and they began moving toward the southern part of the Dark Quarter.
"Maybe that's why I was supposed to be on the top of Witchrun," she thought as she remembered she needed to wipe her daggers before putting them back into their places.
"Oh, don't get shook, honey," a soft, gentle female voice cooed. "We done what we was s'posed to do."
Mi'ishaen grabbed up her daggers, sat up and looked around herself, completely spooked, but saw only the pulsing glimmer of a feminine-seeming outline.
"I'm Spark," the voice continued. "Here- let me."
Mi'ishaen didn't contest the solid hands that she felt around her own. Although she couldn't see them, they were firm, and warm. She let her daggers go, unwilling to fight a benevolent-seeming, allied creature that she couldn't see, and watched as they seemed to float in thin air for a few moments.
"There you are," the voice cheered. The feminine outline reappeared, and it was apparent that it was handing the daggers back to Mi'ishaen. "Forgot to keep the spell up; I don't always. Betcha wonder how I got my tag, huh?"
"No- no, I think I get it," Mi'ishaen replied with a note of pity. She accepted her daggers back and slid them back into their places after a cursory glance at each one. "Do you...um...have..."
"Oh yes, I sure do. Phoenix mages got no sense of humor, and I don't like to scare alchemic drinkers. Most of 'em been through enough." Five small points of light glowed in the air a few feet in front of Mi'ishaen's chest. "This here's me offering you a hand up, honey."
"I got it." Mi'ishaen got to her knees, then stood, carefully avoiding the area with the lights in the effort to miss smacking into the invisible female. "You saw what happened? With the nutty male Drow?"
"Saw? Child, most o' that was me," the voice laughed sweetly. "I ain't much for weapons, though I try. Don't do much burnin', shockin', poisonin' or freezin' neither. But when it come to persuadin' folks- well, Mama always said I could make a stone think it was water. You green, but you ain't bad. I was sitting in that tree you come to, 'til you looked like you was gonna jump in it. Saw everything, 'til then, 'cause after, I ran like I haven't had to in a long while. But Pox oughta thank you."
"Pox?" Mi'ishaen asked, having a feeling she already knew the answer.
"Grizzled up old man; bites like a viper, if the mood take him," the voice replied simply. "But the mages is dead, and now the rest of 'em gotta go into Nedstra's hole all shakin' and sweatin'; it's gonna be big fun for whoever else gonna be down there."
"You're going?"
"Course I am, honey," the voice chuckled. "How many permanently invisible enchanters you think Dark's got? Wish me luck, won't you?"
"Sure, Spark," Mi'ishaen smirked. "Good luck. And hey- good sneaking up. I didn't hear you at all."
"Let's see if I can get away with it after we play together some more," Spark replied with a smile in her voice. "But I 'preciate the compliment."
Mi'ishaen watched the outline fade away, not sure what else to say. The brush and low grass moved as she passed, but there were no other visible signs that a woman was there at all.
The Tiefling huffed quietly to herself about the strangeness of it all, then moved southward to pick up Witchrun and return to the Forge before dawn.
No comments:
Post a Comment